In Defence of the ‘Hux’ , the ‘Imma ... But’ and Other Murder Weapons - Mariana

In Defence of the ‘Hux’ , the ‘Imma ... But’ and Other Murder Weapons


Contrary to popular belief, we are not murderers.  These days I flash my most docile smile as they accuse us of all crimes under the sun: from being unpatriotic to being lazy and plain, old stupid.  Still nothing beats the irony of when we, the life-givers, are termed murderers.  

Granted: to the pedantically narrow-minded few who love to warm a seat in this or that Akkademja, or just spew their horseshit rules all over internet fora, we epitomize all that is decadent in today’s society.  But let’s face it, they have a vested interest: a seat to warm, an intellectual’s reputation to live up to. Of course they’ll tell us that we’re murderers.  

But in truth, we many ... we happy many ... we band of codeswitchers actually give life to languages!

Now let me set the record straight: like liars and villains everywhere these pedantics are partly right. Some people do switch from one language to another for sheer lack of fluency. But - and this is where our friends, the pedantics, betray their infinite stupidity - there is very often much more to an ‘It’s cold marelli today, hux?’ or a ‘Come here pupa ghax it’s raining’ than will initially hit the eye.

You see, people use language to communicate  - normally of course: some use it to have a seat to warm at some Akkademja, or to attack people with charges of stupidity hence improving their own self esteem, but I think we’ve already established that, haven’t we?  However, most of us - the vast, non-senile majority of us - use language to communicate.  As we have two languages at our disposal we really have two gold mines to employ, and in a country such as Malta, with such a deliciously complex relationship between English and Maltese, we are veritably blest: every ‘hux’ and ‘imma but’ adorns our speech with added meaning (sadly if one happens to be Gozitani this doesn’t apply, as whatever language you use and however much you pepper your ‘ejje hoj’s with ‘imma but’s, it still sounds Gozitani).

What the guys at the Akkademja won’t tell, is that codeswitching is different from other language contact phenomena like loan translations and borrowing.  Codeswitching has meaning. It is often a complex exercise in power relations: Do you notice how often a conversation which starts off with one speaker speaking English and the other Maltese is subjected to a tug of war between two languages until (if they ever do) the speakers find their balance?  Did it ever strike you how codeswitching is used to explore the speakers’ choices?  It is ultimately a power struggle represented as the speakers explore their arsenal of choices - English, Maltese, a balanced mixture of both, peppered Maltese or peppered English - each speaker trying to reach a balance between accommodating the other and sticking to his guns.  

There are social motivations, other than power struggles, for switching: the topic and setting of the discussion may lead speakers to switch. I remember when we were at University, discussing Dickens and Elliot in passionate terms and flawless English, how we would move on to a more humdrum but more personal subject with, ‘Inmorru nieħdu kafè?’  

On a more interesting note, and a more purely interactive basis, speaker or group identity and a desire for relationship-building are also key factors in codeswitching and language choice.  It is a show of solidarity to switch even if it is just from a purely English, ‘Parking on the front was such a hassle,’ to the occasional peppering of such a statement with a ‘marelli’, ‘hux’ or ‘veru’ when conversing with a speaker of Maltese, and it is one act of accommodation and solidarity that even the most untrained of ears will react to as such, even if subconsciously.  

So an ‘it’s cold marelli today, hux’ can mean many things, depending on the context.  It can mean ‘I know I speak English but I’m not a snob, I tag my questions in Maltese’.  It can also mean that the speaker, who is more comfortable speaking English, wants to show solidarity with his Maltese interlocutor but is not yet prepared to bend all way and speak in Maltese.  That’s a far cry from linguistic incompetence, isn’t it Akkademja guys?

English and Maltese will both remain alive and kicking in Malta as long as these struggles persist in our everyday conversations, as long as we find a social need for them and as long as we feel that they help us assert something about ourselves.

Languages don’t stay alive thanks to regular injections of twenty words from some fuddy-duddies in some Akkademja. Languages are created and kept alive by the man in the street who uses them, who marries them, who struggles with them and employs them in his struggles. When the man in the street stops struggling with a language, then, no matter how many Akkademji try to revive it, it will be well and truly dead.