What is your motherland? Is it Spain? Belgium? France? Holland? Britain? Do you feel connected to it?
It’s an odd question, but according to this definition by Cambridge Dictionary, your motherland is attached to you, like the umbilical cord between a mother and a newborn baby, but this cord is never severed. For instance, do you live by the social codes of your motherland, or speak their language? If your mother country is Britain, you would speak British English (BE). But across the world, although English may be the official language of many, once colonised, countries, it is usually American English (AE) which it’s speakers use. Although America was a British colony between 1607 to 1783, American English dominates the realm of language. Consequently, these two nations are the two main nodes of the Anglosphere (a group of English-speaking nations that share common cultural and historical ties to the United Kingdom, such as Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the UK and the U.S - hence why we now have Canadian, New Zealand and Australian English, and which today maintain close political, diplomatic and military cooperation) The two countries have had a significant, and particularly negative, impact on the cultures in the non-western world. So, it is safe to say that these Anglo-American relations have taken the world by storm.
The spread of American English began decades following the Second World War, as America's military and technological powers advanced and the expansion of the British empire led to American English being forced upon the Caribbean and parts of Central and South America. Both AE and BE have dominated the world, with BE reaching as far as Nigeria and India in the 20th century, along with a plethora of other commonwealth countries where English remains the official language. However, it was America who propelled globalisation in the 20th century. It was “because of their commercial and cultural clout” states Bill Bryson (An American author)
It is this ‘clout’ that drives people in the non-Western world to associate English, be it the language or culture, with success and affluence. English became ‘The Plastics’, famed for their popularity and adoration, and the non-western world trailed behind their stride, desperately grasping at their dropped litter; access to an international education, access to higher job roles, entrance into the global realm of business, politics and healthcare, and social prestige. Today, speaking English gives one abstract and intangible success, so growing up in a post-colonial country, it is inevitable for people, especially kids, to feel a longing to be engulfed in American and British culture. For my father growing up in Jamaica, flicking through the TV channels on a blistering weekday afternoon and stumbling upon Sesame Street, broadcasted all the way from Queens, New York, felt surreal and unfamiliar. Sitting wide-eyed at these vibrant and fluffy creatures, jolting around the screen with their huge, pit-like mouths, it would have been strange to hear the voices of American puppeteers. I image a similar experience would have been felt by children from other non-western countries, where 75% of global television broadcast is controlled by the United States, as so many of the voices projected from their from boxy television set, starting at infancy, does not sound like the voices of their parents, aunties and cousins.
By today’s standards, this is the norm. Children are taught to speak Standard English, or ‘the Queen’s English’, from kindergarten instead of their creole native tongue. The textbooks they read, particularly before the independence of these post-colonial nations, are part of the British education curriculum. My older cousins sat English A-Level exams and learned the same content as the English kid’s back home (although the Jamaican education system, especially for the elite in society, is extremely good- much better than the English system). In history lessons, my father’s generation learnt about the English monarchs, about Henry the VIII and all his wives, analysed Chaucer and Shakespeare, read of the winter snowfall in London and the sewage in the streets from Dickens, they were taught Standard English grammar as 'correct' and 'proper', simultaneously instructed that their native creole (or patois in Jamaica) was 'broken' English. Kamai Brathwaite, a poet who is considered the voice of the Caribbean literary canon, wrote a poem in 1958 about snowfall. The Day the First Snow Fell. This may seem pretty ordinary and underwhelming, what is so notable about a poem about snow? Well, considering Brathwaite is from Barbados and he had never seen snow- you know, being from the Caribbean and all- the fact that this well established poem did not touch his nation's own landscape or climate says a lot about the kind of Eurocentric education system in the non-western world.
Ngugi wa Thiong’o, a Kenyan writer and academic who writes primarily in Gikuyu, illustrates his own experience with English in his education in Decolonising the Mind. He states that English became the language of his formal education, and English was the language and others had to bow before it in defence, despite speaking Gikuyu at home as his mother tongue. From an early age, it is made clear that children in African countries are taught the lucrative value of being a traitor to one’s immediate community as children were punished for speaking their mother tongue in the school compound.
Although America is the driving force behind globalisation, it remains that British culture is so inherent in the non-western world that it is only natural for children to grow up aspiring to sound like those from the ‘mother country’, to act like those from the ‘mother country’, to look like those from the ‘mother country’ and eventually to move to the ‘mother country’. It has become increasingly difficult to escape Anglicism and British culture, despite the literal colonialists being long gone (well, not that ‘long’ really), the footprint of colonialism remains, untouched, guarded and sometimes, praised.
The term ‘mother country’ does not sit right with me. To me, it implies the European countries are the hub for fruition and growth and the slave owners and colonialists are parental and maternal figures. Like a bird leaving the nest, but one day the bird has a longing to return, returning to the comfort of ‘home’. The tendency to worship the BBC world broadcast and only hold those who speak ‘perfect’ British English with high esteem. Applauding the cousins who have left Jamaica for Britain or the U.S and pitying those who remain, as ‘they will never get a big time job’. This can be extremely damaging to those who do not not have a clear cut route to ‘success’ through merely speaking, acting and looking like the British. I have read stories and heard firsthand about the arduous process of elocution lessons, training ones vocal cords to abandon the natural tinge to their voice. The great effort women go through to ‘tame’ their natural hair, using relaxers, straighteners and other devices that I, as a straight haired woman, am unaccustomed to. The lengthy process of applying for student visas in America or Britain, and, of course, the psychological toll it takes to never quite fit in, despite Britain being, what you thought of, as your ‘mother country’.
Over the course of lockdown, I tapped into my inner bookworm and read my weight in novels (who is surprised?) I read Small Island by Andrea Levy. (although I will not go into detail about the book in this post) Levy articulates the real and exhausting struggle for black people, predominantly from the West Indies, in post-war Britain, writing about their arduous struggle to be accepted and valued by the white majority. Although Gilbert, a RAF pilot from Jamaica, had been deported to the ‘motherland’ to fight in WWII, he was confronted with the fact that Britain was not as ‘Great’ as it seemed. With it’s ramped prejudice and racism, it was incredibly difficult for migrants to ‘adjust’, and although time has passed since WWII, not much has changed. As you have probably seen in the media recently, migrants and asylum seekers, seeking refuge to Europe, still face racism, xenophobia and marginalisation when stepping on British shores. So for all of those who say ‘this happened a long time ago’ or ‘post-war Britain was a different society’, and ‘we’ve come a long way’, I say, turn on the “objective” and “unbiased” BBC news and see the xenophobia for yourself. (in case you didn’t catch it on TV… https://metro.co.uk/2020/08/10/bbc-breakfast-flooded-backlash-airing-live-footage-refugee-boat-crossing-channel-13111605/)
Anyway… focusing back on books, I recently was enthralled by Americannah by Chimamanda Adichie (I can not recommend it enough) which spans three continents and two protagonists lives, both from Nigeria. Ifemelu’s character, who has settled in America, is often seen discussing her hair type, her ‘nappy’ and big afro is disfavoured by her white
colleagues, and also her accent, as she endlessly tussles between embracing her Nigerian accent and abandoning it for the sake of making her white American peers comfortable. Likewise, Obinze, who moved from Lagos to Essex faces similar battles to Gilbert from Small Island, in his attempt to blend into the British scene.
For many of us with relatives in the ‘non-western world’, or even those of you who were not born in Europe or North America, it is not news to us that Britain and America are the ‘promised land’. A fictitious paradise where all dreams are made reality, and although this is true for some, it is merely a dream, sold to the rest of the world to ensure the colonial powers live on, 400 years later. I feel it says more about the indoctrination of our non-western brother and sisters than the excellency of British and American life.
Like this post and subscribe to the blog is you enjoyed this piece !
댓글