Charlemagne
I understand, up to a point
Sep 2nd 2004 From The Economist print edition

Decoding a Euro-diplomat takes more than a dictionary


IF THERE is one thing interpreters working for the European Union dread, it is attempts at humour. It is not just that jokes are hard to translate; because of the time needed for interpretation, they can prompt laughter at the wrong moment. A speaker once began with an anecdote, and then mourned a dead colleague--to be met by a gale of giggles, as listeners got his joke.

The time-lags have grown worse with the expansion of the EU, to make a total of 25 countries. Finding interpreters who can translate directly from Estonian to Portuguese is well-nigh impossible. So now speeches are translated in relays, first into English and then into a third language. If only everybody would agree to speak one or two official tongues, it would be easier. Or would it? In fact, misunderstandings can abound even when all parties speak fluent English or French. Cultural differences mean that a literal understanding of what someone says is often a world away from real understanding. For example, how many non-Brits could decode the irony (and literary allusion) which lies behind the expression "up to a point", which is used to mean "no, not in the slightest"?

The problem is now so widely recognised that informal guides to what the French or the English really mean, when they are speaking their mother tongues, have been drawn up by other nationalities. Two modest examples recently fell into your correspondent's hands. Both are genuine.

One was written for the Dutch, trying to do business with the British. Another was written by British diplomats, as a guide to the language used by their French counterparts. The fact that the Dutch--so eerily fluent in English--should need a guide to Britspeak is particularly striking. But the problem--to judge by the guide, which was spotted on an office wall in the European Court of Justice--is that Brits make their points in an indirect manner that the plain-speaking Nederlanders find baffling.

Hence the guide's warning that when a Briton says "I hear what you say", the foreign listener may understand: "He accepts my point of view." In fact, the British speaker means: "I disagree and I do not want to discuss it any further." Similarly the phrase "with the greatest respect" when used by an Englishman is recognisable to a compatriot as an icy put-down, correctly translated by the guide as meaning "I think you are wrong, or a fool."

The guide also points out helpfully that when a Briton says "by the way/incidentally", he is usually understood by foreigners as meaning "this is not very important", whereas in fact he means, "The primary purpose of our discussion is..." On the other hand, the phrase "I'll bear it in mind" means "I'll do nothing about it"; while "Correct me if I'm wrong" means "I'm right, please don't contradict me."

Fog in the Channel

The British guide to what the French really mean has a narrower aim: it was written specifically for officials attending the meetings of the European Union's Council of Ministers, where diplomats haggle over legal texts. The boredom and frustration which this sort of exercise can induce comes through very clearly in the authors' sarcastic observations.

No less obvious is the fact that ideas about plain speaking do not travel easily across the Channel. As the Brits see things, a Frenchman who says "je serai clair" (which literally means "I will be clear") should be understood as meaning: "I will be rude". Also evident is the Anglo-Saxons' contempt for spectacular gestures a la franaise. The phrase "Il faut la visibilite Europeenne" ("We need European visibility") is rendered as: "The EU must indulge in some pointless, annoying and, with luck, damaging international grand-standing." The British also suggest that the sentence "Il faut trouver une solution pragmatique" (literal translation: "We must find a pragmatic solution") should be understood as meaning: "Warning: I am about to propose a highly complex, theoretical, legalistic and unworkable way forward."

The British, the French and the Dutch are old sparring partners who know each other's little ways. So the capacity for misunderstanding is amplified when nationalities that are less familiar with each other come into contact. Often the problems are less to do with the meaning of words than with their unexpected impact on an audience. Take the European summit last December, when it fell to Silvio Berlusconi, the Italian prime minister, to try to wrap up sensitive negotiations over a proposed constitution for the European Union.

When EU leaders filed into lunch, they were braced for tough negotiation; so they were startled when Mr Berlusconi suggested that they discuss "football and women"--and that Gerhard Schroder, the German chancellor, should lead the discussion, as he has been married four times. Some European diplomats concluded that Mr Berlusconi must have been deliberately bating Mr Schroder. But when the Italian leader was questioned about his chairmanship at a press conference, he grew hot under the collar, pointing out that he would hardly have become a billionaire unless he were fully capable of chairing a meeting. And indeed his defenders say that in Italian business circles it can be perfectly normal to set a jocular and relaxed tone before a difficult meeting, by discussing last night's football, or even teasing your colleagues about their love lives.

These sorts of misunderstandings are unlikely to be erased even if all Europe's political leaders and bureaucrats were both willing and able to speak English. But ever-inventive Brussels is coming up with a solution of sorts through the emergence of "Euro-speak"--a form of dead, bureaucratic English.

The joy of phrases like "qualified majority voting", "the community method" and "the commission's sole right of initiative" is that they are completely meaningless to all ordinary Europeans--whether in translation or in the original. But, crucially, they are crystal-clear to insiders.