An article in the Wall Street Journal in July 2010 discusses research about how language influences the way people think and see the world. I’m continually surprised to see elaborate studies conducted on what seems intuitive and accepted as such for ages. In any case, it gives credence to something that might actually be leveraged for the benefit of society.
I’m not someone who generally advocates for the deliberate manipulation of language, though I can scarcely imagine politics without it. It seems plausible to me that it might have a place in positively shaping a people’s collective outlook on the future. Surely there isn’t a culture in the world that couldn’t stand to benefit from an attitude adjustment in some way or another. I know that mine could.
The brooding side of Armenians is immediately obvious through the way they choose their words. No matter the discussion, their anxiety for themselves and others is ubiquitous. When I had first arrived in Armenia, I was frequently asked by men, “Hayriqt vonts toghets vor du menak gas aystegh?” (How did your father let you come here alone?). It was comical to explain that he really didn’t have much say in the matter at all, much to his chagrin. Of course this perspective isn’t unique to Armenians, nor would it be considered entirely strange in the U.S. Nonetheless, it became quickly obvious to me that Armenians have a rather deficit-based approach to thinking, at least as expressed through language.
When I lived in the Lori region, they said, “Don’t go into the forest, there are bears.” When I lived in Yerevan, they said, “Don’t walk around by yourself, you will get lost.” When I visited a village home where they made their own lavash bread, they said, “Don’t eat that lavash dough, you will get sick.” Whereas my innate responses would have been: “Be careful of bears,” “Be sure to take a map,” “Are you sure you want to eat that?”
The difference between the spirit of these statements is nuanced, but potentially important. Perhaps mine are naive and based on a life of relative safety. But should we assume the worst is to happen, or should we assume the best, given a reasonable amount of preparedness? It’s understandable that after centuries of oppression the population should be skeptical and even fearful about many things, but how does language affect the Armenian nation moving into the 21st century?
For years I would sit in Yerevan taxis and hear the following response to my question of how they’re doing: “Gordz chka, jur chka, luys chka, voch mi ban el chka” (There’s no work, there’s no water, there’s no electricity, there’s nothing). One day, I was simply too tired of the response to engage in a conversation, so I fell silent for what must have seemed like an eternity to the taxi driver. Finally, he looked at me in the mirror and said with concern and a question in his voice, “Maybe I’ve offended you.” I guess my emotions are easier to read on my face than I’d care to admit. He hadn’t offended me, of course, but I could no longer find the energy to respond to statements of what there was NOT. I wanted to talk about what there IS, what CAN BE, and what can be DONE to make it happen. I tried to make him understand that if I thought it were hopeless, why on earth would I be living there?
But this shift in dialogue requires that we dust off some vocabulary of days gone by. We need to call on the language of the greats in Armenian history. The people who built cities and nations, who wrote the poetry and songs we still recite and sing, who established the traditions of learning and excellence, who would not be defeated because they cherished all that they knew to be Armenian. I imagine these people to have can-do attitudes and to see the possibilities despite the odds.
I hope that it goes without saying that I’m aware of the inadequacies of my own native tongue. We’ve resorted to text-speak acronyms over complete sentences, soundbites over substance, and a U.S.-centric view of most everything. We could learn from the Armenian language, no doubt. The word for hospitality in Armenian–hyurasirutyun (to love the guest)–is so much more meaningful and instructive than in English. The word for friend– unker–the latter part of which is ker (to eat), symbolizes that a true friend is someone with whom you have eaten. We could cite countless examples of how Armenians use language in a more positive way than Americans and other cultures.
There are people who examine language far more closely and expertly than I, linguistics by nature and training, and I wouldn’t dare to tread on their expertise, but it’s my humble observation that there may be opportunities to change the national discourse to one that is more positive and forward thinking, while not being dismissive of the past. I wonder how that lexicon would sound to our ears, and how it would translate into action.
Kristi Rendahl
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I’m a trilingual Armenian currently residing in Arizona and I loved the analysis of our language. As a native speaker, I believe that Armenian can be a bit negative and have a lack of euphemisms sometimes, but that’s mostly because of our history and struggles. It also affects Armenians’ communications with people who speak other languages.
Fascinating observation. I wonder what patterns one would find in other longstanding Armenian communities in the diaspora. Would these negative patterns persist where life has been more stable? Certainly an endemic depression is not surprising in Haiastan given the history of the last century. This would make for a very interesting research topic for a socio-linguist.
Thanks, Kristi for raising our consciousness to the idea that there is something we can do to change our words, thus change our thoughts and actions in a more positive direction. A very timely suggestion. Cognitive therapy psychologists around the world will agree with you.
sorry, but you can’t change things by living in denial. First, you name the problem. Then you address it. The taxi driver was naming it.
Thanks for the feedback everyone.
Perouz – I agree that it’s necessary to name the problem and then address it. The problem lies in moving to the second step. My position is not to ignore the problem or live in denial, but to think about what we can do to address problems rather than be paralyzed by them.
Interesting points you raise. I don’t believe that the “glass is half empty” syndrome can be deemed to be a genetically inherited mind-set for the Armenians living in the Republic of Armenia. It’s probably a learned behavior adopted to help them survive the 75 years of Soviet Communism. I remember my first visit there in the mid 1900’s. Whenever we greeted someone and asked “how are you?” the response was always the same “voch inch.” Later we learned that this was a survival strategy because if you said you were doing well, you were immediately suspect and the same was true if you answered you were not.
Anyhow, I’d like to recommend my newly published book, THE POWER OF CHOICE: Living the Life you Always Wanted and Absolutely Deserve. We address the entire spectrum of optimism vs. pessimism. The good news is that we can all learn to be optimistic. It’s a learned behavior. Find out more by visiting my web site at http://www.livingthepowerofchoice.com.
Berge, you comment suggests to me that the fact that Armenians are speaking openly about their problems might actually be seen as progress—rather than being afraid to speak honestly, they just tell it like it is. Isn’t this a step toward health from a therapeutic point of view? If they get stuck there, then we have a problem as Kristi suggests. To me, I think this suggests that there are many of my countrymen in pain.