2004 台灣羅馬字國際研討會論文集 Tâi-oân
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Lün-bûn-ch…p
“Taiwanese don’t have written words”: Language
ideologies and language practice in a Taipei County high
school
Dominika Baran
Department of Linguistics, Harvard University
This paper examines how ideologies surrounding Taiwanese (Holo) and
Mandarin are reflected and reproduced in the language attitudes of students in a
vocational high school in Taipei County. My data shows that in the institutional
context of the school, social construction of identities is informed by ideologies
which link Taiwanese with an inferior educational level or “less polite” and “rough”
speech more appropriate for males. Originally the product of forty years of
Mandarin-only language policy, these ideologies are now sustained, on one hand, by
the “localization” (本土化 bentuhua) movement, which links Taiwanese with local
identities, and on the other, by the fact that Taiwanese lacks standardization or a
unified written system. The result is that Taiwanese, while in principle enjoying
equal rights in Taiwan’s current linguistic (and ethnic) marketplace, does not in fact
have the cultural prestige of Mandarin.
Keywords: Language ideologies, Taiwanese, identity, education.
1. Introduction.
Since the beginning of Taiwan’s democratization in 1987, the ideological motivation
behind the language debate has changed from creating a Chinese nation-state united by one
language, to the vision of Taiwan as an ethnically and linguistically diverse society. But the
current ideologies continue to rely on the linking of language to ethnic identity. An example
of this may be the 2004 presidential campaign debate on February 21, in which presidential
candidates Lien Chan and incumbent Chen Shui-bian raised the issue of language rights in
Taiwan in terms of ethnic equality and discord. Lien Chan pointed to the Examination Yuan’s
use of local languages in the national examinations as a case of discrimination against
students from other ethnic groups, while Chen Shui-bian defended his government’s efforts at
promoting ethnic unity by bringing up the language equality law (語言平等法) currently
studied by the Cabinet (Taipei Times, Feb. 22, 2004: 3). In these statements ethnic groups are
defined in terms of their respective languages, and, conversely, language becomes first and
foremost a marker of ethnicity.
Such discourse on Taiwan’s multilingualism, in which linguistic distinctions are seen as
ethnic distinctions and language equality as ethnic equality, risks ignoring other dimensions
of social inequalities by masking the complexity of identities indexed by Taiwan’s different
language varieties, and negotiated along the axes of socio-economic status, educational level,
gender, and age (cf. Bucholtz and Hall 2004). To put it differently, the official promotion of
certain language ideologies – ones which link language with ethnicity – obscures others,
which, however, are also salient in informing linguistic choices and practices, including social
discrimination based on language.
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2. “Góa sī bô thãk-chheh”: Language ideologies in Taiwan.
Silverstein 1979 defines language ideologies as “sets of beliefs about language
articulated by users as a rationalization or justification of perceived language structure and
use” (Silverstein 1979: 193). Language ideologies link linguistic forms to aspects of social
identities, norms and values. Thus, they can be used to naturalize inequalities in the
distribution of linguistic and cultural resources, or as tools in the negotiation of social
relationships (cf. Woolard 1998, Heller 1995, Bourdieu 1982, Gumperz 1982).
In post-1945 Taiwan, dominant language ideology gave cultural prestige to Mandarin,
with Taiwanese relegated to the status of a subordinate provincial dialect, “inadequate for
academic and cultural communication” as officially declared in 1948 (Cheng 1979: 560). The
legacy of this ideology has been the enduring perception of Taiwanese as culturally inferior
(cf. Feifel 1994, Huang 1988). After 1987 official ideology gradually shifted to the image of
Taiwan as a multilingual and multiethnic society, in which all language varieties are equal –
an idea expressed in President Lee Tung-Hui’s use of the term “New Taiwanese.” Tse 2000
takes up this concept as if it were reflective of social reality, claiming that since 1987 “a new
sense of group identity gradually emerged, crossing ethnolinguistic boundaries and uniting all
ethnic groups” (159). Similarly, Huang 2000 says that following 1987, “Taiwan’s residents
suddenly discovered that theirs is an ethnolinguistically plural society” (144). This kind of
discourse proves problematic in that it obscures social identities and social inequalities linked
to language which are not based purely in ethnicity. Ideologies which link Taiwanese with
lower-level education, blue-collar occupations, the countryside, and traditional home life,
continue to inform social behavior and be reproduced in it.1
The different cultural value accorded to Taiwanese and Mandarin, and the different
qualities that the two languages’ speakers are imagined to possess, are well-illustrated in a
commercial for the Bank of Taipei lottery that ran daily on national television beginning on
August 22, 2003. The commercial shows a family sitting at a table, arguing over the correct
ordering of lottery numbers. The conversation, which switches between Taiwanese and
Mandarin, is transcribed below (Mandarin in bold and underlined).
1
For discussions of the history of language ideologies in Taiwan, see e.g. Sandel 2003, Hsiau 1997.
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〈Language ideologies and language practice in a Taipei County high school〉Dominika Baran
1
Father:
chiàu góa sǹ g lâi--ah
let me predict it!
(counts his fingers on one hand)
Son:
3
4
this time it’s definitely right!
chit pái ún tiâu e lah!
2
(looks up from his laptop)
that’s not right!
bu dui la!
Father:
5
góa ùn kòe ê täu-iû pí lí
I have dipped in more soy sauce
lim ê khȯ -la chòe lah
than you have drunk cola
6
Son:
keshi wo you du daxue-a
but I have been to university
7
Mother:
sī lah! góa sī bô thãk-chheh
that’s right! I haven’t been to school
[lit. read-book]
8
9
Grandma:
10
11
12
Father:
keshi wo shi yi jia zhi zhu-e
but I run the household
jöa gâu chú! góa chú g³ chãp tang
what a cook you are! I have cooked
án-ne góa koat-tëng lah!
for fifty years so I will decide!
a-bú che kap chú-p g bô
mother this has nothing
koan-hē lah
to do with cooking
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My assistant described this as a “typical” Taiwanese family on the basis of linguistic
distribution: the Taiwanese-speaking grandma and father, the code-switching mother bridging
the old and the new, and the son – a Mandarin-speaking college student. Significantly, the
reason why these images work so well to identify what is perceived as “typical” is precisely
because they rely on dominant ideologies that, both historically and today, link particular
languages with particular kinds of speakers.
Taiwanese is clearly presented as the language of traditional and “local” Taiwan: it is
spoken by the elderly grandma (lines 9-10), and by the father as he attempts to predict the
lottery result the way a temple fortune teller would (lines 1-2), or admonishes his
college-educated son that he has “dipped in more soy sauce than you have drunk cola” (lines
4-5). The exchange between the son and the mother (lines 6-8) establishes the link between
Mandarin and education, and Taiwanese and its lack, illustrating the fact that the two
languages index more than ethnicity. First comes the contrast between the son’s argument
“but I have been to university” (line 6), delivered in Standard Mandarin, and the mother’s
admission, in Taiwanese, “that’s right! I haven’t been to school” (line 7). The mother then
continues in Mandarin: “but I run the household” (line 8). She implies that she is not less
capable of making intelligent judgments because of her lack of formal education, and her
demonstrated knowledge of Mandarin emphasizes this point. The mother’s shift from
Taiwanese to Mandarin can be seen as her shift between the “less educated” and the “equally
capable” aspects of her identity.
The scene in the ad is intended as humorous, but the humor only obtains because
viewers can recognize the ideological links between language and identity which make this
family “typical.” The identities indexed here are more than just ethnic, yet they are obviously
familiar to a wide audience, which shows the need for them to be addressed in research.
Below, I explore the ways in which these same ideological links are recognized and
reproduced inside a school environment.
3. Research methods.
This paper is based on data from ethnographic research in a private vocational high
school in Taipei County, which I will call Sunrise Senior High School (the names of the
school and all research participants have been changed). The data includes notes from
participant-observation, and recorded interviews and conversations with students and teachers.
Sunrise SHS has college-preparatory classes, but most classes are vocational, including
data-processing, computer technology, electronics, and car mechanics. During my two
semesters at Sunrise SHS, I attended class with the students on a daily basis and conducted
informal interviews with them about their backgrounds, activities, friendships, school
experiences, and language attitudes. I conducted similar interviews with the teachers. I also
recorded the students’ conversations in school and after school. All recordings were made
with the participants’ full knowledge and permission. Recordings of both interviews and
conversations have been transcribed and translated with the help of native-speaker assistants
bilingual in Mandarin and Taiwanese.
4. Language attitudes and practice at Sunrise SHS.
4.1. “Taiwanese don’t have (written) words”: Perceptions of Taiwanese as a
vernacular.
〈Language ideologies and language practice in a Taipei County high school〉Dominika Baran
The fact that Taiwanese does not have a place in formal education – except for the
mother-tongue language classes in elementary school – and lacks a well-publicized,
standardized written system, contributes to its enduring image as the local vernacular. This is
demonstrated in the following excerpt from an interview with Sara, a student in the
college-preparatory course. Sara has traveled to the United States and speaks excellent
English, so some of her answers are in English. Mandarin and Taiwanese are translated in
italics below the original text, with Taiwanese in bold and underlined.
(XL = myself)
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
S:
Ni hui shuo Taiyu-a?
Can you speak Taiwanese?
XL: Ch t-sut-á.
A little.
S:
Ch t-sut-á.
A little.
XL: Tän-sī (.) kóng ê bô sím-m h hó (laughs)
But not very well.
S:
Mhm. Mhm. Right.
XL: =uh, wo juedeI think…
[
]
S:
Taiwanese don’t have words.
XL: huh?
S:
Taiwanese don’t have words. Meiyou zhongwen- Zhongwen xie bu chu taiyu.
Don’t have Chinese- You can’t write Taiwanese with Chinese.
XL: =Don’t have words? What does that mean? Don’t have words?
S: Taiyu lí chiãh-pá--bō e? lí chiãh-pá--bō e tamen- mei banfa xie chu tade taiyude yin. Yes
Taiwanese have you eaten? Have you eaten you can’t write its Taiwanese sound.
sometimes we can’t write, uh, Taiwanese words because Taiwanese don’t have words.
XL: Don’t have words?
S:
Yes.
XL: You mean, meiyou wenzi ma? Haishi meiyoudon’t have written letters? Or don’t have[
]
[
]
S:
Yes
wenzi, wenzi dou yong zhongwen qu xie=
letters, letters you have to use Chinese to write
XL: Dui-a
Right.
S:
=meiyou taiyu de yufa- wenzi, so it’s different. Yeah.
= don’t have Taiwanese grammar- letters
XL: Do you think it should have words?
S:
No.
XL: No?
S:
Word is very strange.
XL: Weishenme?
Why?
S:
Mmm… Sometimes we write Chinese to mean Taiwanese, but this so strange.
At the beginning of this excerpt Sara interrupts my attempts at demonstrating my
Taiwanese ability by declaring that “Taiwanese don’t have words” (line 7). What she means,
and what becomes clear later in our exchange, is that Taiwanese has no written form. Because
she is speaking in her second language, English, her statement is a direct translation from
Mandarin taiyu meiyou zi “Taiwanese doesn’t have letters.” When selecting her quote for the
title of this paper I deliberately modified it to say “Taiwanese don’t have written words” so as
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to avoid conveying a meaning she did not intend, namely, that Taiwanese people don’t have
words – a very different idea in English.
While rendering Sara’s statement without altering either her words or her intended
meaning presented a dilemma, still I chose to use her words in the title because they so clearly
illustrate the process through which Taiwanese comes to index a lower level of education. Not
having a written system – “written words” – confines a language to the status of a vernacular.
In the case of Taiwanese, written systems for it have long existed, as discussed for example
by Chiung (forthcoming). However, none of these have as yet been officially adopted, or
given a legitimate status that could be equivalent to that of Mandarin. As a result, the
possibility of writing in Taiwanese does not even appear as an option to students like Sara. At
the end of our exchange (lines 18-24) she misunderstands my question “Do you think it
should have words?” to mean “Do you think you should write in Taiwanese?,” as evidenced
by her answer: no, because when you use Chinese characters to express Taiwanese, the result
is “strange.” Sara does not consider the possibility of Taiwanese having its own written
system. On this basis, she constructs Taiwanese as unsuitable for being written, and thus
incapable of becoming the equivalent of Mandarin in formal or educational settings. This
vernacular identification and exclusion from education of Taiwanese allows for it to be
deemed “unrefined,” a judgment that will be discussed in section 4.2. below.
4.2. Class, gender, and language: Aspects of identity construction.
At Sunrise SHS – as at most high schools in Taiwan – students are grouped into
classes according to their academic performance, generally placing them in specific career
trajectories. College-preparatory classes guide students to continue academic study,
vocational classes such as data-processing prepare students for technical colleges or for the
white-collar job market, and vocational classes such as electronics are meant to lead to more
blue-collar careers. In this way, the school system at least theoretically mirrors the
distribution of socio-economic classes in the society at large.
Within the school, the better-performing students speak Mandarin almost
exclusively. Taiwanese is used more by students in the vocational classes, and two
explanations are given for this: one, that these classes are mostly male, and second, that their
educational level is “lower.” Students tend to give the gender-based explanation, where they
rely on the traditional construction of women as gentler and more polite: Taiwanese is a
“rougher” language, and thus it is inappropriate for use in contexts where females are present.
This explanation makes an ideological link between Taiwanese and less refined, less polite
speech. Teachers, on the other hand, are more direct in linking the use of Taiwanese to
students’ academic performance and career trajectories. In both cases, however, it is the
perceived status of Taiwanese as a working-class or countryside vernacular that is articulated
and reproduced. These attitudes are illustrated in excerpts from student and teacher interviews
below.
Zhen-yi: “Taiwanese seems very crude.”
When asked why the male-only vocational classes speak more Taiwanese than the
mixed-gender college-preparatory classes, Zhen-yi, an electronics student, gave this answer
(Taiwanese in bold and underlined):
1
2
3
4
Jiaru ban dou nansheng jihu dou jiang taiyu. Dou jihu jiang taiyu. A ni you nusheng, ni you
nusheng, a zeyang jiang? Yinwei ziji de xingwei hui shoulian. Dui. Yinwei, yinwei jiang taiyu
dui xuesheng lai jiang shi man sông de, sông ni zhidao ma? Jiushi man- man tu de. Man tu de.
Jiushi Taiwan xiangxia lai de neizhong de.
1
If the class is all boys mostly they speak all Taiwanese. They mostly speak all Taiwanese. But
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〈Language ideologies and language practice in a Taipei County high school〉Dominika Baran
2
3
4
if there are girls, if there are girls, how do you say? Because you will restrain your own
behavior. Right. Because, because speaking Taiwanese for students it seems quite crude, you
know crude? Like very- very local. Very local. It’s like from Taiwan’s countryside, that kind.
Zhen-yi is of working-class background and after graduation he intends to enter the
blue-collar job market. He speaks Taiwanese regularly with his friends and classmates, and
even uses it with me throughout his interview – one of very few students to do so. He is not
embarrassed by Taiwanese, and uses it to perform an important aspect of his identity.
However, he is aware of the lower cultural value of Taiwanese in Taiwan’s linguistic
marketplace. He constructs Taiwanese as “crude” and therefore inappropriate for use with
girls, who should be addressed more politely. To convey the meaning of “crude” he uses the
Taiwanese word sông, which he then explains in Mandarin as tu, meaning “local” but also
“unrefined.” This is the same tu (土) which appears in bentuhua (本土化), but here, far from
having the positive connotation of ethnic pluralism or local pride, it appears as “crudeness” to
be avoided in polite interaction.
Jerry: “Polite gentleman feeling.”
Jerry is a data-processing student with plans to become a teacher. He is the
president of his class (banzhang 班長), has very good grades, and hopes to attend a good
university. He does not speak Taiwanese very much with his peers, although he knows it and
speaks it with older members of his family. When questioned about language use among
young people, he observed that Taiwanese is spoken with boys, but not with girls. This was
his explanation for the difference (notice the extralinguistic information in parentheses):
1
2
3
4
J: mm, zheyangzi haole/ jiashe, jiashe nansheng gen nusheng jiang hua jiu- hen jiandan jiushi
‘ni chi
bao le mei’/ na, gen nusheng jiang hua- gen nusheng jiang guoyu jiu zheyang (softer) ‘a, chi bao
le mei’ ni yao yong yi zhong wenrou shenshi de ganjue/ ruguo gen (laughs) nusheng jiang taiyu
(louder) ‘lí chiãh-pá--böe’ jiu shi hen- taiyu bijiao culu de ganjue
5
XL: zhende?
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
J: eng, xiang wo-/ ni gang bu juede ma? (softer) ‘ni chi bao le mei’ gen (louder) ‘a lí
chiãh-pá--böe’
na yige ganjue bijiao hao? gen ni- ruguo ni gen nusheng jiang hua xuan na yige yuyan? guoyu/ a
buran jiushi (softer) ‘ni yao hui- ni yao hui jia le ma?’ ‘lí beh tng chhù á-hioh’ (laughs) keneng/
tongxue-a/ nansheng gen nansheng (louder and harsher) ‘a lí chiãh-pá--böe--ah? haN?’ xiang
pengyou zai liaotian/ keshi ruguo ni qu bifang jiang gen nuhaizi jiang hua zongshi yao wenrou
(softer) ‘a, chi fan le mei-a’ ‘shui le mei’/ xiang ‘ni shui le mei’/ ‘lí khùn-khì--ah--böe’ (laughs)
hen guai/
English translation:
2
3
4
J: mm, it’s like this/ imagine, imagine a boy is speaking with a girl so- very simple like ‘have
you
eaten’/ so talking with a girl- talking Mandarin with a girl like this (softer) ‘so, have you eaten’
you want to use a kind of polite gentleman feeling/ if with (laughs) a girl you speak Taiwanese
(louder) ‘have you eaten’ it’s so- Taiwanese has more of a crude feeling
5
XL: really?
6
J: eng, like I-/ didn’t you think so just now? (softer) ‘have you eaten’ and (louder) ‘have you
eaten’
1
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7
8
9
ah?’
10
11
12
which one has a better feeling? with you- if you speak with a girl which one will you choose?
Mandarin/ or another like ‘are you going- are you going home?’ ‘are you going home for a rest’
(laughs) maybe/ classmates/ boys with boys (louder and harsher) ‘eh have you eaten, huh?
like friends chatting/ but if you go for example speaking with a girl you always have to be soft
(softer) ‘hey, have you eaten’ ‘have you slept’/ like ‘have you slept’ ‘have you slept’ (laughs)
very weird/
While Zhen-yi, who identifies with Taiwanese and the cultural values it represents –
those of working-class male speech – expresses an awareness that Taiwanese is perceived as
“crude” by students (Zhen-yi, lines 3-4), Jerry seems to personally subscribe to this belief. He
even seems surprised that the relative “roughness” of Taiwanese is not obvious to me (line 6).
He illustrates the perceived difference between Mandarin and Taiwanese by giving specific
comparative examples of the two.
Jerry believes that girls need to be addressed in a soft, gentle way, using what he
describes as “a kind of polite gentleman feeling” (line 3). In his view, only Mandarin is
capable of conveying this feeling, while Taiwanese is inherently suitable for use with
“classmates/ boys with boys” (lines 9-10). In fact, Jerry finds the idea of speaking Taiwanese
to a girl so out of sync with the norms he subscribes to that imagining it makes him laugh
almost every time (lines 3, 9, 11). The language ideology that informs Jerry’s attitudes links
language with aesthetics: Mandarin is seen as more pleasant, softer, gentler, while Taiwanese
is seen as harsh and crude-sounding. This becomes explicit in Jerry’s own rendition of the
examples he compares. Whenever he illustrates Mandarin speech addressed to a girl, he
softens and slows down his voice (lines 2, 6, 11), but for the Taiwanese equivalents he speaks
louder, faster, and with a harsh tone (lines 4, 6, 9). Although he makes it appear as though it is
some inherent quality of the two languages that makes them sound this way, in reality the
difference is only in the tone he chooses to pronounce each example with. There is nothing
that prevents Mandarin from being shouted loud and harsh, or Taiwanese from being spoken
softly. But Jerry’s assignment of these particular voice qualities to each language shows how,
in his case, language ideologies that see Taiwanese as unrefined are reproduced.
Teacher Li: “People from lower social strata.”
Teacher Li is 30 years old, and has been at Sunrise SHS for several years. In the
interview, she stated that the reasons why Taiwanese is spoken more in vocational classes lie
in the history of language policy in Taiwan, which has led to the cultural devaluation of
Taiwanese.
1
2
3
4
5
Taiyu jiang dou shi bijiao cusu de ren, bijiao dixia jieceng de ren. Dui dui dui. Jiushi ni jiaoyu
chengdu di yidian ni cai hui jiang taiyu. Meiyou shouguo jiaoyu de cai hui jiang taiyu. Suoyi zaikan, ganjue chulai, putongke tamen buhui jiang taiyu, zai ziliao ke hui yidiandian, dianzi ke yue
lai yue duo, qiche ke yue lai yue duo. Yinwei qiche ke shi suo women xuexiao limian chengji zui
di de. (…) Tamen lian laoshi dou yong taiyu jiaotan.
1
right
2
3
don’t
4
car 5
Taiwanese speaking were all more vulgar people, more people from lower social strata. Right
right. That is if your education level is lower then you will speak Taiwanese. Only those who
haven’t had education will speak Taiwanese. So in- look, you can sense it, college-prep they
speak Taiwanese, data-processing a little, electronics more, car mechanics even more. Because
mechanics has the lowest grades in our school. (…) There even teachers use Taiwanese to talk.
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〈Language ideologies and language practice in a Taipei County high school〉Dominika Baran
Like the students, Teacher Li articulates the perception of Taiwanese as less refined, but
she links it explicitly with differences in education and socio-economic status. The students
explained this through their understanding of gender identity: Taiwanese “sounds” unrefined,
so it seems inappropriate for girls. Teacher Li offers a theory for why Taiwanese should
sound this way, and her explanation shows the process through which language is linked to
social identities. She also observes the reproduction of this ideological link in the school,
where both students and teachers see it as acceptable to speak Taiwanese in the vocational
classes with “low grades” (line 5), but not in the better-performing classes.
5. Conclusion.
Educational institutions are particularly important for the study of language ideologies
and language practice because it is through them that dominant ideologies surrounding
language are transmitted. As Morgan 2004 points out, “educational institutions convey not
only specific and specialized knowledge, but also the presumption that the prestige variety is
more valuable than that acquired in the homes of those who do not characterize the dominant
language” (15). The expressed goal of an educational institution is to socialize those it
educates into the desirable roles and ways of participating in society, including attitudes
towards and uses of language (cf. Bourdieu 1991).
Within Taiwan’s education system, Taiwanese is no longer banned and is even given an
official spot as one of the mother-tongue languages that feature in the nine-year curriculum.
But where success is measured in terms of test performance and acceptance at prestigious
universities, fluency in Mandarin is still of primary importance. Meanwhile, Taiwanese
remains without a written standard, and its representation in the bentuhua movement
reproduces its construction as a local vernacular. These ideological representations of
Taiwanese become the currency in the negotiation of class, gender, and other social
identities – a process obscured in the official discourse by its narrow focus on language as the
marker of ethnicity.
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