Attack of the Loanwords

"University seminar on education." Photo: Roberto Villaseca, 2015.

As a professor welcomed us to Chile for the third time that day, I opened my red, spiral-bound notebook and flipped through last semester's notes on pedagogy and U.S. education policy, finding the first blank page half-way through. I copied the title of his PowerPoint presentation —"La inequidad educativa y segmentación del sistema escolar" (educational inequality and segregation of the school system)— before jotting down translations of the Chilean edulingo I would use for the year to come. The basics included...

Estudiante. Student.

Liceo. High school.

Voucher. Voucher.

Easy enough. I caught on to voucher, a term used to describe the system of school funding meant to turn education into a competitive market subsidized by the government, right away because it had already been written in the first half of my notebook a hundred times. Meanwhile, the professor was carrying on at a famously fast Chilean pace, so I scribbled along, continuing my list of key Spanish words related to education...

Prueba. Test.

Ranking. Ranking.

Strange. Some Chilean terms regarding education policy are loanwords, that is, phrases adopted from English without translation into Spanish. What's that I hear? Could it be the sound of imperialist influence?

"Class rankings in a Santiago middle school." Photo: Daniel Bergerson, 2015.

Admittedly, the mere presence of an English loanword like voucher does not prove that the thing itself originates in the United States. For example, though un piercing is a loanword, people all over the world have been sticking jewelry in their belly button for centuries. On the other hand, if something sounds like neocolonialism, looks like neocolonialism and feels like neocolonialism, then we should probably at least consider the chance that it is a tiny bit neocolonial.

To do that, history students like me turn to recorded history...

In this way, a club of Chicago economists injected Chile with an ideology that eventually became the CIA-approved dictator's education policy. In this way, vouchers became vouchers. (Uncle Sam, your test came back positive: It's a bad case of neocolonialism.)

It seems just as kindergarten is evidence of German educator Friedrich Fröbel's influence on every American who attended that developmentally-crucial half-day snot conference at age five, the Spanish word voucher is a clue as to who Chilean youth can blame for turning education, formerly known as a social right, into a commodity bought and sold on the free market.

"U.S. Secretary of State Kissinger shaking hands with Chilean dictator Pinochet." Photo: Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores de Chile, 1976.

Come to think of it, however, there are few spaces in Chile free of imported English.

When Chilean students get out from school, where English instruction is usually mandatory, they might use un gift card to go shopping for shorts, blazers or crop tops. On the ride home they could listen to el jazz, rock or hip-hop (unless, of course, they prefer comedy, be it stand-up or sketch). While their parents are still at el business, having un meeting with el manager to discuss el marketing, some teens kill zombies on their PlayStation while others simply have un chat on WhatsApp or (Facebook) Messenger, using abbreviations like OMG and LOL to save time. To plan the rest of their evening, Chileans can log onto Google to search for el trailer of the latest film starring Leonardo DiCaprio if they don't already have plans to go to el club and sip tequila sunrise among the VIPs. Later that night, they might pick up fast food (and perhaps la diabetes) before stumbling through the front door and collapsing in el living (room).

"Conversations in Spanish are littered with English." Photo: Roberto Villaseca, 2015.

All personal advantages aside, the pervasiveness of English loanwords raises troubling questions.

Are vouchers as American as the shopping mall? Is the idea of a school ranking the hidden track to each U.S. pop record that tops the charts overseas? Does the multiple choice test (which, to be fair, is also referred to as elección multiple) stand among Netflix and Tinder as behavior-changing technology exported by the States?

In short, are consumer culture and neoliberal education reform a package deal?

Sure —my spiral-bound notebook also contains plenty of Spanish edspeak without exact English translations (e.g. aula, toma, convivencia). True —America itself is a salad bowl of words from French, Spanish and Latin (e.g. restaurant, rodeo, alter ego). Yes —the Spanish language is also heavily influenced by Latin, Arabic and Basque, but none of those languages can call itself the language of a current superpower.

Like the Union Jack before it, the Star-Spangled Banner has reached every nook and cranny of this earth, be it through an embassy, military base or television screen. For better or for worse, so have American words. More powerful than any piece of fabric that we call a flag, words are the figurative fabric of American society, carrying ideas about culture, technology and power wherever they wander.

I'm not Chilean, and it's not my place to judge whether or not English loanwords belong in Chile. But as a citizen of the United States, I do want to make this point about U.S. symbols abroad.

We do not always fly the right flag.

"Confederate brand used to sell clothes in Buenos Aires mall." Photo: Daniel Bergerson, 2015.

~

Many are creative.

peinar la muñeca = to comb the doll (to be crazy)

estár arriba de la pelota = to be on top of the soccer ball (to be tipsy)

ponerse las manitos del gato = to put kitten paws to your face (to do your makeup)

Others a bit mean.

bailar con la fea = to dance with the ugly (to get the short end of the stick)

ser un cero a la izquierda = to be a zero to the left (to be useless)

And some are just odd.

hacer perro muerto = to do the dead dog (to dine and dash)

quedarse con cuello = to be left with neck (to have something not work out as planned)