Big Mistake

My younger sister's batchmate in high school, Roselyn Cantos, mentioned in her comment on my FB wall a Manila Bulletin article of a certain James Soriano. It has earned quite a flak because of the sensitive chord it has touched in every Filipino's pride. Allow me to re-post here his essay. Of course, I took the liberty of inserting a few of my 2-cents worth here and there as you read on.

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Language, learning, identity, privilege

Ithink
By JAMES SORIANO
August 24, 2011, 4:06am

MANILA, Philippines — English is the language of learning. I’ve known this since before I could go to school. As a toddler, my first study materials were a set of flash cards that my mother used to teach me the English alphabet.

(MM: Sino nga ba sa atin ang hindi nag-umpisang aralin ang ABC song keysa sa abakada? Hindi nga ba't mas alam natin ang Jack and Jill rhyme keysa sa Bahay Kubo? Kundi nga lang sa Abakada Song ni Florante, wala naman talaga tayong kanta na nagtuturo sa atin ng alpabetong Pilipino.) 

My mother made home conducive to learning English: all my storybooks and coloring books were in English, and so were the cartoons I watched and the music I listened to. She required me to speak English at home. She even hired tutors to help me learn to read and write in English.

(MM: E di ba't namulat tayo sa Sesame Street at The Electric Company? Salamat na lamang at nagpalabas din tayo ng Batibot--sina Pong Pagong, Kuya Bodji, at Kuya Ching, natatandaan mo pa? Ang malungkot nito, hindi ito tumagal para mapanood ng sarili kong mga anak. Kaya hayun, sa Cartoon Network, Nickelodeon, at Disney Channel sila nahumaling.)

In school I learned to think in English. We used English to learn about numbers, equations and variables. With it we learned about observation and inference, the moon and the stars, monsoons and photosynthesis. With it we learned about shapes and colors, about meter and rhythm. I learned about God in English, and I prayed to Him in English.

(MM: Isa sa mga limitasyon ng ating wika ay ang kakulangan nito sa pagsasalin sa mga salitang agham at siyensya, kaya rin napilitan tayong aralin ito sa banyagang salita. Pero ang ipinagtataka ko, ay bakit ang mga Prances, Alimanya, Hapon, o Koreano ay natiyagang matutunan ang lahat ng ito sa kani-kanilang katutubong dila. Bakit hindi natin ito nakayang gawin? A, oo nga pala, ang una nating mga guro ay ang mga Kastila, tapos ay ang mga Amerikano, na pinilipit ang dila nga ating mga ninuno upang matutunan ang kanilang salita. Hayun, hindi na natin nakuhang pagtuunan nang pansing pagyamanin ang ating sariling wika.)

Filipino, on the other hand, was always the ‘other’ subject — almost a special subject like PE or Home Economics, except that it was graded the same way as Science, Math, Religion, and English. My classmates and I used to complain about Filipino all the time. Filipino was a chore, like washing the dishes; it was not the language of learning. It was the language we used to speak to the people who washed our dishes.

(MM: Hayan tuloy, kahit na ginagamit natin ang salitang Pilipino sa ating pakikipag-usap sa ating kapamilya at kaibigan, marami pa rin ang nahihirapan sa pag-aaral nito. E kung ang marami sa mga Tagalog ang nahihirapan sa araling Filipino, naisip mo na ba ang mga mag-aaral sa Visayas at Mindanao? Isa ito sa mga kinakatakutan nilang aralin. Madalas ay bokya ang kanilang nakukuhang grado dahil sa hindi nila ito nakagisnang wika. Kahanay dito ang aking mga anak na lumaki sa hilagang bahagi ng ating bansa.)

We used to think learning Filipino was important because it was practical: Filipino was the language of the world outside the classroom. It was the language of the streets: it was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed “sundo na.”

(MM: Dito sa puntong ito hindi ko na nagustuhan ang tabas ng dila ng may akda. Isang pag-aalipusta sa ating wika ang pagsasabing nagagamit lamang ang Pilipino sa pakikipag-usap sa mga taong mas mababa ang estado. Oo nga't marahil ay ipinanganak siyang may kaya, pero nasaan ang pagiging mapagkumbabang loob niya? At akala ko pa nama'y aral siya sa Ateneo!)

These skills were required to survive in the outside world, because we are forced to relate with the tinderas and the manongs and the katulongs of this world. If we wanted to communicate to these people — or otherwise avoid being mugged on the jeepney — we needed to learn Filipino.

That being said though, I was proud of my proficiency with the language. Filipino was the language I used to speak with my cousins and uncles and grandparents in the province, so I never had much trouble reciting.

(MM: Hindi ba siya nahiyang inihambing din niya sa mga tindero at yaya ang kanyang mga kamag-anak sa prubinsiya? Ito ang isa sa kinaiinis ko minsan sa mga lumaki sa Maynila. Ang tingin nila sa mga taga-prubinsya'y mas mababa sa kaalaman keysa sa kanila.) 

It was the reading and writing that was tedious and difficult. I spoke Filipino, but only when I was in a different world like the streets or the province; it did not come naturally to me. English was more natural; I read, wrote and thought in English. And so, in much of the same way that I learned German later on, I learned Filipino in terms of English. In this way I survived Filipino in high school, albeit with too many sentences that had the preposition ‘ay.’

It was really only in university that I began to grasp Filipino in terms of language and not just dialect. Filipino was not merely a peculiar variety of language, derived and continuously borrowing from the English and Spanish alphabets; it was its own system, with its own grammar, semantics, sounds, even symbols.

But more significantly, it was its own way of reading, writing, and thinking. There are ideas and concepts unique to Filipino that can never be translated into another. Try translating bayanihan, tagay, kilig or diskarte.

(MM: Bumawi pa kunwari si G. Soriano para sabihing may katuturan pala ang wikang Pilipino dahil may kasararinlan pala itong natatangi. Pero huli na ang lahat, totoy. Marami ka nang nasaling at nasaktan.)

Only recently have I begun to grasp Filipino as the language of identity: the language of emotion, experience, and even of learning. And with this comes the realization that I do, in fact, smell worse than a malansang isda. My own language is foreign to me: I speak, think, read and write primarily in English. To borrow the terminology of Fr. Bulatao, I am a split-level Filipino.

But perhaps this is not so bad in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. For while Filipino may be the language of identity, it is the language of the streets. It might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned.

It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege. I may be disconnected from my being Filipino, but with a tongue of privilege I will always have my connections.

(MM: Masakit mang aminin, ngunit pawang totoo ang sinabi niya ritong kung magaling kang mag-Ingles, mas may oportunidad kang umupo sa board room, o maging de-kampanilyang abogado, o maging dalubhasa at sikat na doktor. Pero isang malaking pagkakamali na tahasan ka nang tumiwalag na mahalin ang iyong sariling wika at ipagsigawan sa buong mundong "English (is) my mother language."

So I have my education to thank for making English my mother language. ***

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Pretty harsh huh? No wonder a lot of Netizens, bloggers, and iskos protested to the high heavens the arrogance of the message. Claiming that Filipino as the language of the yayas and the drivers, and the manong street vendors is the ultimate insult to our identity. 

In retrospect, though, I felt guilty a little bit because I, myself, have trained my children to speak only English in our house when they were young. The difference though with my kids and Mr. Soriano, is that my Issa, Paolo, and Carlo have learned to embrace our language as they grew up, and they have not acted superciliously if other people can't speak English with a twang. 

To be adept at a language you weren't really born with is not a crime. On the contrary, I think learning English is necessary all for practicality's sake. What is despicable and laughable at the same time is while you, James, think that English is your mother tongue, it is questionable that it will ever accept you as its own son.

Tsk. Tsk. Big mistake.