More Language Politics

I was pleased to see that the French language lobby stopped the Esso Corporation’s plan to give its depanneurs an English name — “On the Go,” and I am pleased to see that people are now starting to ask questions about the English-language signs for multinationals.

Since Bill 101 the Quebec language police have been the target of much Anglo wrath and mockery. And some of the resentment seemed reasonable: small business owners had to have their signage in French, but large multinationals were excused from the requirement. I’ve heard people say that the conversion of “Stop” to “Arrét” is extreme since the signs say “Stop” in France. But France has its own language laws and language police, and it’s an independent country, not a part of a country where the majority language is English.

As La Presse pointed out this week, a quick drive around the Maché Centrale shopping centre confirms that multinationals get off easy when it comes to signage. If your company name is an international trademark, well, that’s that. Phrases like “English Language Sign Creep” are starting to show up in the local media.

If it’s a proper name, like “Ikea” that’s one thing (though for all I know it’s Swedish for “particle board” or “KMart” or something), but English names like “Future Shop” and “Best Buy” are easily translatable and should be translated.

Here’s why.

The point of the French language signage policy is to preserve the French language, and especially to help stop English from completely taking over the city as the language of commerce. It works. I moved here in 2004 not knowing a word of French. I have taken lessons but I haven’t had time to immerse myself in spoken French. My spoken French and listening comprehension are crap, though I do know how to be polite. My reading, however, is doing pretty well. As I go around town, I can now understand a good deal of French signage and even some of the strangely idiomatic wording of billboard ads. I can read French menus, I can read French instructions. I can even read emails in French (especially queries about the grad program). Why? Because even though I live and work in English and almost everything I read (newspapers, books, etc) is in English, there is a great deal of “ambient French” in my visual environment as I go about my life here. I pick it up. I pay attention. I incorporate words. And I learn the best way possible: rather than translating the word in my head, I associate the word with its referent directly. Like “depanneur.”

Before you say that this is economic suicide, keep in mind that this is already a regular event in Canadian commerce: Bureau en Gros (aka “Staples”) is doing just fine with English and French names, and English-language companies routinely re-brand themselves because of Canadian trademarks: witness the recent birth of “The Source by Circuit City” (used to be Radio Shack) and “Cashmere” toilette paper (used to be Cottonelle). If it works in English, French shouldn’t be a problem.

Thursday’s Gazette had another one of those ugly Anglo essays, by Robert Libman (the mayor of Cóte St. Luc), complaining that “timid Anglos” should stand up for their rights to have depanneurs called by an English trademark, and to give their children english-speaking toys (newsflash: they can if they want, they just can’t find a big selection at Toys R Us), among other things. The piece argues that the only reason Anglos don’t stand up to this is that they are afraid of stirring up nationalist sentiment, and that the result is that Montreal’s historic English-speaking community is “marginalized.” You can imagine what I’d say about that.

The less we protect English-speakers from French signage and other media, the easier it will be for English speakers like me to learn French. That was the point of Canadian bilingualism, right? Of course that’s complicated because Quebec is officially monolingual, and the language is French. So if the goal of Quebec cultural policy is to promote French language culture, then it needs to pay the most attention to multinationals. That’s where the action is. Meanwhile, “timid Anglos” in Montreal ought to know that “depanneur” means “convenience store,” and if they don’t know that by now, it’s their own fault.

End of a Blog

It was interesting to read the final posts over at Michael Bérubé’s website. It was one of the first blogs I read regularly, though I confess that as he got a bigger following and it became a thing-in-itself, I spent less time reading. His blogger resignation letter, such as it is, was interesting to read. He’s got too much going on and something had to give (and no wonder, given the number of hours he puts into his posts).

Before I read his note, I was feeling bad about this space: like I want to spend more time here (and more time writing generally; this appears to be an existential condition of associate professors); like there are all these things that have happened recently that I’d love to write about but not for strangers under my own name (Charlie Bertsch does cryptic posts well; I wrote a couple and deleted them without posting — it’s not my style); and like I should be posting more pictures. But now I feel a bit better. The reality is that I post at least once a week and occasionally hit a home run with something interesting for my relatively small audience. And really, what more can you ask of a blog?

Habs 4 Thrashers 2

Our first regular season hockey game after last year’s giant screwup.

We went on a moment’s notice and it was really fun. It was easy to root for the Habs because, well, Atlanta has no business having a hockey team.

But when did they decide to put a mic on the ice and amplify the sounds of the stakes, whistle, puck and sticks? That’s just plain weird.

What’s the punchline?

“Three childless couples go to see a movie about a future dystopic world where women can’t give birth, but then a woman is discovered who can . . . ”

Actually, Children of Men was great in that 1970s everything’s-gone-to-hell way. Even the opening title reminds me of that genre. I was totally entertained. Still, the natalist theme was up for discussion afterwards. How could it not be?

Kitchenware and Ammo, Together as You’ve Always Wanted Them

Locals will wonder what took us so long and everyone reading at a distance will have to file this under “what the hell?” We finally made it to Quincaillerie Dante yesterday while on some errands about town. What an amazing store. Much better prices on kitchen gadgetry and cookware than the fancy-pants cooking stores and it’s a trip to boot. “Quincaillerie” means “hardware store” in French, and Dante is the name of the street (no hell references here). It’s not a true hardware store, but rather a store with all your cooking needs and all of your hunting needs. Yes, that’s right: gourmet on one side and well-armed on the other. I’m not sure as to the history behind the concept, but one can imagine either a shoot-it-and-eat-it sort of sensibility or that the tools are all kind of related (knives are knives, right? Though the shared roots of guns and ovens in fire takes a little imagination, I know). The place was cramped but exceedingly well-staffed (unusual for Montreal) — they seemed to know how to handle the Saturday Jean-Talon Market crowd. We dropped off some knives to be sharpened, and scored a giant cast iron dutch oven, which is something I’ve been wanting for awhile. You can sautee in it, and then you can bake in it. Brilliant. On the way home, Carrie also pointed out that cast iron is a great way for vegetarians to get their iron. I call it “nature’s nonstick.”

You can read more about Quincaillerie Dante here (scroll down), here, and here (en Francais)

Yes, I’m sure I sound even more Anglo than usual when I say “quincaillerie.”

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On another note, I actually felt pity for Tony Romo as the camera followed him off the field at the end of last night’s game.