Essay

Franglais in Canada — Does It Facilitate or Impede Clear Expression?

by Anne-Marie Mayotte

I was visiting a friend who works in an Ottawa sports equipment store when a man came in and walked towards us with the mildly hostile gait of one who is determined to be heard.

"Parlez-vous français?" he asked in a commanding tone.

My friend quickly assured him that he did.

"Tant mieux," replied the man, relieved. "J’ai besoin de straps de pads de goalie pour mon fils."

For people who, like me, spend their days pouring over specialized dictionaries and terminology databases in search of the precise French term or expression, the incident is both a sad and humorous reflection of the state of "French as she is spoke" in many parts of Canada. A perfect example of Franglais. But for a large number of French Canadians — be they from New Brunswick, Quebec, Ontario, or Manitoba — it is probably an entirely unremarkable exchange like hundreds of others in which they participate or to which they are witness every day.

This difference in perspective is at the heart of a debate that has kept scholars employed for several centuries: Is lexical and grammatical cross-pollination a sign of the type of dynamic evolution that enhances communication or a sign of a form of bastardization that impedes clear expression?

The answer is ... "yes." For language is, as it should be, the reflection of those who speak it; it is their signature as political, social, and cultural beings. Language can represent anything from the most basic communication tool to the most exquisite art form, depending on who uses it and for what purpose.

The Franglais phenomenon in Canada raises the same question, and in the end, provides the same answer.

Inherent to the word "Franglais" is the juxtaposition of French and English. Thanks to the media, we know that France is waging an unforgiving war against what it calls the "cultural imperialism" of the English-speaking world. But in researching this article, I was amused to discover that this juxtaposition extends well beyond language and linguistics. In fact, a quick search for "Franglais" on the Internet produces hundreds of hits in several languages. An American travel columnist uses "Franglais" to describe the hybrid breakfasts served in European inns. An architect presents a paper to the Association of Art Historians entitled "[…] Architectural Franglais in Late Twelfth-Century England." European social commentators speak of the "Franglais" connection.

In Canada, however, Franglais has a predominantly linguistic connotation, and the consensus among specialists is that it refers to the francophone practice of "borrowing" English words and randomly stringing together English and French sentence fragments.

If there is consensus on the definition of Franglais, its effect on the French language has always been (and is destined to remain) at the core of a heated debate. There are two main participants in this debate: the "Pragmatic Many" and what the Pragmatic Many call the "Snobbish Few."

For the Pragmatic Many, language derives most of its importance from its ability to enable people to be understood by those around them, whether at home, at work, or at play. The primary function of language becomes communication.

University of Ottawa sociolinguist Shana Poplack is one of the rare academics who has joined the ranks of the Pragmatic Many. For her, Franglais is a "skill rather than some kind of defect." Poplack has spent more than a decade studying the effect of the French language’s long contact with the English language in Ottawa-Hull, one of Canada’s largest bilingual enclaves. Her influential — and controversial — findings suggest that the French language has been enhanced rather than impoverished by the development of Franglais.

The argument in favour of Franglais is simple: linguistic cross-pollination is as old as time and most languages have remained vibrant thanks to the influx of new words, new meanings, and new discoveries. French is no exception. Over the centuries, it has borrowed extensively from Latin and Greek, of course, but also from English (club), Italian (fanal, grotesque, gondole), Dutch (flèche), Chinese (ginseng), Arabic (harem, henné), and Inuit (iglou), among others.

If Franglais is a result of "borrowing" English words, is it not a natural extension of the dynamic interplay that Poplack considers beneficial? And are not the worries of experts and organizations devoted to the preservation of the French language narrow and somewhat hysterical?

As one of the Snobbish Few, my answer is an unqualified "NO."

"Communication" and "expression" are not synonymous. Language is not simply a set of key words whose definitions have been agreed upon by select individuals. It is also a complex system of historical, cultural, psychological, and philosophical references. Language carries a certain amount of tradition that defines us as individuals and as societies. Knowing the vocabulary, idioms, grammar, and origins of our language helps us to know ourselves. Anybody can communicate. The American tourist trying to mime two eggs sunny side up in a restaurant on the coast of Portugal will convince you of that. The question is "What are we communicating?" Are we really saying what is in — and on — our minds, or are we settling for a reasonable facsimile? That is where clear expression comes in.

Clear expression is the ability not only to find a word that conveys the gist of an idea, but to find the word that invokes all the nuances and subtleties of our thinking. It is about "getting across," not "getting by." Clear expression helps others know us better. It helps us give the full measure of our complexity and of our intelligence. How many of us have thought or felt that someone was not as well-versed in a subject as we were because he or she had difficulty expressing himself or herself properly in a second language?

We, the Snobbish Few, hold the profound conviction that clear expression is derived from the ability to make optimum use of a language. We do not believe in stifling language by halting its enrichment. But we also do not believe in sacrificing its texture at the altar of the "least effort principle" or assimilation. Franglais is not so much a revitalization of the French language as the result of two cultures cohabiting on an unequal footing. The lopsided proportions of French and English in Canada, and the ensuing economic imperative are facts of life. Assimilation need not be.

Centuries ago, people borrowed new words to describe, for example, places, animals, plants, and foods discovered by explorers, by soldiers of the Holy Wars, by pilgrims. Today, we need words to describe new technology, new medical treatments, new sociological trends. Borrowing the word "gondole" to describe the boats designed to travel the narrow canals of Venice or "laser" to describe a new process is one thing, saying "J’va parquer mon truck dans ton driveway" is quite another.

As the comedian and actor Steve Martin once said in a monologue: "Those French, they have a word for EVERYTHING." He may not have been entirely correct, but we do have long-established words for many things, including parking, trucks, and driveways. And when the words elude us, we often possess the tools necessary to create neologisms that reflect the spirit of our language. Borrowed words or neologisms used to stay in tune with our time: YES. Foreign words used to name objects, actions, or concepts for which there are perfectly adequate French words: NO.

Does Franglais enhance or impede clear expression? If Franglais is the reflection of our social fabric at the dawn of the 21st century, the Pragmatic Many have won the argument. But for the sake of clear expression, beauty, poetry, literature, and a sense of pride and history, I hope they have not won.

Anne-Marie Mayotte has written, edited, and translated in French and English for the past 20 years, the last 13 of which as a freelancer. She can be reached by e-mail at amm@trytel.com.