Signs lose effectiveness when they can’t be read
Renaming sites in name of reconciliation is great; gobbledygook spellings are not
It makes no sense that in the name of reconciliation, politicians are renaming landmarks using gobbledygook spellings invented by well-meaning linguists for languages that were spoken but never written.
But that’s what is happening here.
One of the first was the Strathcona branch of the Vancouver Public Library when it was renamed nə́c̓ aʔmat ct last year. It means “we are one” and it’s apparently pronounced “nahtsah-mahtst.” So, why not just spell it that way, since it’s only the rare few among us who has any idea how to pronounce a question mark in the middle of a word?
In June, the Vancouver Art Gallery’s north plaza was named
šxʷƛənəq Xwtl’e7énḵ Square. The Queen Elizabeth Theatre Plaza was named šxʷƛexən Xwtl’a7shn.
The Salish names refer to gathering places and celebration sites, which is appropriate. Many of us might use those names if — and it’s a big if given how they’re spelled — we could pronounce the words or even spell them.
A few weeks ago, park board chair Stuart Mackinnon proposed reverting to the traditional Salish names for Spanish Banks and Lumbermen’s Arch. His motion was to replace Lumbermen’s Arch with ͟Xwáỷxway (the Squamish name) or χʷaỷχʷəỷ (Musqueam) and to rename Spanish Banks šxʷsyiΦəm (Musqueam) or Ḵweḵw7úpay (Squamish).
With an election looming, the board wisely chose not to deal with it.
I have no quarrel with the transcription of oral languages. It’s an important teaching tool and essential if these languages are to be saved from extinction.
As a signal to learners that there may be an aspirated vowel or a consonant or some other unique sound not captured by the Latin alphabet, there is nothing inherently wrong with using numbers, symbols, umlauts or lines under letters to signal sounds that aren’t found in English.
The problem comes when those transcriptions with their unusual combinations are put on signs and maps. Most of us aren’t looking to learn the language. We simply want to locate something so we can get there or so we can text or tell a friend where to meet up.
Years ago when Salish names were posted on signs along the Sea-to- Sky Highway, I asked a Squamish leader how to pronounce “7.” He laughed, gave it a try and then admitted that he didn’t really know.
If he can’t do that, it almost certainly guarantees few of us will use — let alone embrace — the traditional names.
The solution is to transliterate the words using the Latin alphabet of Canada’s two official languages into the best approximation of the First Nations’ names.
Kitsilano, for example, almost certainly doesn’t capture the exact sound of the Salish language. The older spelling Khatsahlano may be closer to the original Xats’alanexw. It’s likely each is only a shadow of the original, but at least everyone from tourists to locals can recognize the word, spell it, write it down and even say it.
When the Queen Charlotte Islands reverted to Haida Gwaii, there was barely a whimper of complaint. Not only is it easy to say, people can recognize in those words the uniqueness of the place.
I’m not sure why decisionmakers are wedded to these linguists’ transcriptions. There’s nothing nefarious about using transliterations when you consider the whole point of language is to make oneself understood by others.
In cities I’ve visited where the official language is written in something other than Latin script — Seoul, Taipei, Beijing, Phnom Penh, Bangkok, Vientiane, Hanoi and Ulaanbaatar — names of important streets, sites and buildings have transliterated signs. Even then, some can be unpronounceable, but at least they’re recognizable.
Chinese-language newspapers and their websites in Canada don’t transliterate English or French names into characters. If they do, they usually bracket the name using the Latin alphabet for clarity.
Transliteration is not a betrayal of language or culture. It’s common sense.
It also makes sense to return to original names and not just for the sake of reconciliation.
The map of Canada is littered with names of minor European royals, patrons of explorers (or those of their spouses) who never set foot on the continent. The whole continent, for heaven sakes, is named for a guy who, at most, made four trips to it. (Historians quarrel over whether it was two or four.)
Our province bears the name of another four-time visitor — a guy who thought he was in Asia. And Vancouver? George spent nine days here before heading south to spend the winter in the Sandwich Islands.
Of course, we’ve grown accustomed to these colonial names. Some, like Prince George, have even taken on new currency. But most were slapped on maps to curry favour with those who’d paid for the trip and to make a seemingly new world easier to navigate.
We’ve travelled a long way since then as a nation. Canadians have also embraced, or at very least accept, the pressing need to reset our relationship with First Nations. Renaming can be part of that reconciliation and transformation by enhancing the sense that we live in a unique place with its own unique culture.
But if politicians insist on these unfathomable and unpronounceable transcriptions, it will almost certainly have the opposite effect.