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rfmcdonaldToronto Star correspondent Oakland Ross' article "English is cool in trendy Beirut" makes the argument that in Lebanon, the English language has managed to outcompete the long-implanted French language as Lebanon's most popular lingua franca.
Ross goes on to identify a suite of factors, like the emergence of prestigious English-language educational institutions, the attractive forces of Anglophone mass media and popular culture, and the concentration of Lebanese emigrants in Anglophone countries like the United States, Canada, and Australia, as being responsible for this shift. Other factors in the wider world, like the end of the Maronite Christian hegemony in Lebanon, and the relative disinterest of Lebanese Muslims in the French language and culture so closely associated with their Christian co-nationals, also seem to have played a role in boosting the prestige of the English l;anguage relative to French and Lebanese Arabic.
Ross' article aside, predicting the disappearance of the French language in Lebanon would be rash, not least since French serves an crucial role as a marker of identity for centuries. In his French-language survey of the language situation in Lebanon, Jacques Leclerc identified "une certaine triglossie où l’arabe libanais est utilisé à la fois comme langue maternelle et comme langue vernaculaire, le français servant essentiellement comme langue de culture et l’anglais comme langue fonctionnelle pour les communications avec l’extérieur" ("a certain triglossia where Lebanese Arabic is used both as a mother tongue and as a vernacular language, French serves essentially as a language of culture and English as a functional language for communications with the outside world"). Doomed to third place behind Lebanese Arabic and English in the long run though it might be, French seems solidly rooted in Lebanon, as the comments of Mustapha, author of Beirut Spring's post on Ross' article, suggest.
There's a deal being offered on Mazda automobiles in this frenetic Middle Eastern capital, a city where little stays the same for long.
"Turn me on," urges a billboard on Zalka St. in the east end of Beirut. "Zero down payment, 1.99 per cent interest. Limited quantity."
Sounds good--but what is most intriguing about this advertisement is not the nature of the offer. It is the nature of the language in which the offer is being made.
The offer is being made in English--and only in English.
The same goes for much, if not most, of the brash outdoor advertising that sprouts like gaudy thickets of mercantilism along the boulevards and avenues of Beirut.
"The Chivas Life." "For Burger Lovers!" "Chicken Your Way." "Sally Hansen Line Freeze for Lips."
Never mind the absence of French--long the language of choice for cultured Lebanese--there isn't even a single Arabic character to be found on most of these signs.
"English is cool," said a Western diplomat in Beirut. "If you're hip and you're young, you speak English."
You do if you are Lebanese.
According to Christian Merville, an editorial writer at L'Orient Le Jour, Lebanon's only French-language daily newspaper, English has incontestablement (indisputably) supplanted French as the language of status in this resolutely status-conscious land. Or, as Merville, puts it: "Rambo has replaced Rimbaud."
Ross goes on to identify a suite of factors, like the emergence of prestigious English-language educational institutions, the attractive forces of Anglophone mass media and popular culture, and the concentration of Lebanese emigrants in Anglophone countries like the United States, Canada, and Australia, as being responsible for this shift. Other factors in the wider world, like the end of the Maronite Christian hegemony in Lebanon, and the relative disinterest of Lebanese Muslims in the French language and culture so closely associated with their Christian co-nationals, also seem to have played a role in boosting the prestige of the English l;anguage relative to French and Lebanese Arabic.
Ross' article aside, predicting the disappearance of the French language in Lebanon would be rash, not least since French serves an crucial role as a marker of identity for centuries. In his French-language survey of the language situation in Lebanon, Jacques Leclerc identified "une certaine triglossie où l’arabe libanais est utilisé à la fois comme langue maternelle et comme langue vernaculaire, le français servant essentiellement comme langue de culture et l’anglais comme langue fonctionnelle pour les communications avec l’extérieur" ("a certain triglossia where Lebanese Arabic is used both as a mother tongue and as a vernacular language, French serves essentially as a language of culture and English as a functional language for communications with the outside world"). Doomed to third place behind Lebanese Arabic and English in the long run though it might be, French seems solidly rooted in Lebanon, as the comments of Mustapha, author of Beirut Spring's post on Ross' article, suggest.
When I have kids, I know that I’m going to put them in a Lycée despite all what is being said about French losing its worldwide influence. I guess I’m not quite ready to let my kids miss out on Tintin and conjugaison.
I try to rationalize this seemingly sentimental behavior by saying that it’s always easier to learn English after Learning French than the other way around. Besides, have you ever heard Carrie Bradshaw try to speak French? That’s not what I want my kids to sound like!
