Of course there is the practical side of life. You have to get around, buy food, wait in city hall for your number to come up, etc. When you don't have the local language, it makes things difficult to say the least. The Flemish are wonderful at learning foreign languages, and most speak English quite well; you could say they have learned how to learn languages. As enthusiastic language learners, they also want to practice speaking; they are very obliging to foreigners as well, switching languages adroitly.
But there's a down side to that. I hate to say this, but sometimes their enthusiasm for learning other languages hinders visitors from learning to speak on local terms. Water flows downhill, and people generally won't learn a language if they don't need to. I'm surrounded by Dutch (or Flemish, depending on how strong your provincial feeling is), and my competence hasn't improved much over the last five years; I learned enough to get by, and that was it. When I'm in the shops, I speak Dutch till I run out of words; then, if the shopkeeper doesn't switch to English, I ask "Excuseer, mevrouw/meneer, spreekt U Engels?"
This isn't an apology for my linguistic incompetence. Without excusing myself, I'm simply describing some of the effects I've noticed. They're not limited to me; I know people from other countries here who share the same difficulties.
Now English is the common language in Leuven, a university town bustling with 20,000+ students, more than 1000 of whom are from abroad. As the tongue of the most powerful nation in the world its businesses and popular culture, English has current status as the lingua franca (!). In Brussels the demand for English instruction is greater than any other language; at one point there were more contracts for English in my school than for French and Dutch combined!
You would think that this would solve our communication problems: everybody speaks English already, so why not just make that the official language? Obviously, native speakers have a leg up on their second-language colleagues. It's painfully obvious to me when I edit a master's thesis written by a student who's competent in their field, but not so competent in the language.
"America was the land where they were old and sick, Norway where they were young and full of hopes - and much smarter, for you are never so smart again in a language learned in middle age nor so romantic or brave or kind. All the best of you is in the old tongue, but when you speak your best in America you become a yokel, a dumb Norskie, and when you speak English, an idiot. No wonder the old-timers loved the places where the mother tongue was spoken, the Evangelical Lutheran Church, the Sons of Knute lodge, the tavern, where they could talk and cry and sing to their hearts' content." --Garrison Keillor, Lake Wobegon Days, p. 65.
The political dimension of language cannot be underestimated, either. As Keillor's poor Norwegian knows, the weaker user of a language is lower on the totem pole than the stronger ones. And in Leuven, the students who are native speakers of English enjoy an advantage over everyone else - simply because they were born in the right place at the right time. Of course some are better with words than others, but at a certain level it cannot be denied that native is just better.
I haven't gone into the domestic politics of language here. This is a problem as old as the country itself: ever since the Francophones lorded it over the Flemish, there has been resentment breeded in the north of Belgium. This feeling makes itself known, even in the bakeries, literally.
Once I was in a bakery to get some worstenbroodjes (sausage rolls) for lunch; I ordered in Dutch, and she asked if I wanted the rolls heated up. Everything was going fine until she rang it up and said, "Twee euro twintig, alsublieft." I didn't hear her clearly, but then she said "Two euros twenty." I gave her the money and spoke in Dutch, and Dutch the transaction remained to the end.
While I was waiting for my sausage rolls, the next guy in line stepped up. He didn't even bother to try speaking Dutch, he just ordered in French. The gal got the stuff and rang it up - she obviously understood, but she never stopped speaking Dutch. English would have been a more neutral language, but the Flemish-Wallon tension has this backlash effect, even in the simplest places.
And it's not just me. A Greek friend of mine was nearly beaten up one New Year's Eve, simply because he was wishing folks Bon annee. He didn't know any better, it was his first year. But he learned fast.
If we want to look at something more "objective", let us turn to the European Union and its legions of translators and interpreters. Any document has to be translated from its original language into the other member languages, and the premium for good work is crucial: a misunderstood clause can spell the difference of a few million euros. In meetings speakers are attended to by headphone-wearing audience - listening not to the speaker directly, but through a translator. Naturally all these services cost something, and their cumulative total must be staggering.
It's all in the interest of fairness. After all, how can you make one language the official one for the whole EU? But again, things are complicated enough without adding to it.
You can probably guess where I'm headed. What's we need, I argue, is a language that is politically neutral, easy to learn, and lively enough to make it less of a chore. That need would easily be filled by Esperanto. I know there are criticisms, but I'd like to address those in the near future.
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