On Translations

I have always been fascinated with problems in translations. Perhaps this is because I have no language but English. I have also seen how inaccurate translations can cause trouble.

A recent example is that of U..S. Secretaey of State Hilary Clinton, who, with all of the resources of the State Department at her disposal, still couldn't get an accurate translation. In 2009, she presented a large button labeled "peregruzka" to the Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov to symbolize how the United States wanted to reset its relationship with Russia. The only problem was that "peregruzka" doesn't mean "reset," it means "overload."

My first awareness of translation problems was when the good nuns in my Catholic elementary school showed our eighth class the Italian film "La Strada." It was subtitled, and the translation was supplied by the Catholic Educational Association. Much to my everlasting regret, my parents did not teach us Italian, even though they both spoke it fluently. It was part of the "melting pot" idea of America that was in vogue at the time in which all cultures melted into U.S. culture. The only Italian I had ever heard my Dad speak was the occasional words that ususally began with an "m" that he uttered in anger or annoyance. And so my class was watching the film, and Anthony Quinn, playing a brutish circus strongman spat out the word "mannaggia," which was one of the words I had heard my father say. The subtitled translation read, "Phooey," which I had a pretty good idea was not what my Dad had said.

Years later, I heard the story about my Uncle Pat when his daughter was dating a young man that my uncle did not like. After a while, however, my uncle's attitude appeared to have changed because he began to call the young man "ciuco," as in "Hey, ciuco" or "Well, here's my friend ciuco." The boyfriend had taken high school French and was familiar with the expression  "mon petit chose," which literally means "my little thing" and is uttered with affection to another person. He thought that "ciuco" meant the same thing in Italian. Soon, the boyfriend's friends were calling him "ciuco" too. It was only later that he found out that in Italian "ciuco" means "jackass."

Inaacurate translations can be embarrassing; they can also be dangerous. In 1961, Soviet Premiere Nikita Khrushchev met with U.S. President John F. Kennedy and in their talks Khrushchev used the expression "We will bury you." The United States and the Soviet Union were in the middle of an arms race, with each trying to stockpile more nuclear weapons than the other. It was a natural assumption that when Khrushchev said, "We will bury you" he meant in nuclear rubble. It was perceived as a threat, and it made the cold war colder. The next year, the Soviets were found to have placed missles in Cuba, just 90 miles off the coast of the United States, and the world was on the brink of nuclear war.

Years later, someone who spoke Russian and was familiar with the Russian culture pointed out that Khrushchev had not said, "We will bury you" but rather "We will dance at your funeral," quoting, I believe, a Russian folk song. Khrushchev was not threatening the United States but instead whimiscally expressing the view that the Soviet Union would outlive the United States and other democratic countries. He was probably surprised by the reaction and maybe was even expecting to have gotten a laugh. The translator either only heard something about funerals and jumped to the wrong conclusion or just didn't understand the expression or know the folk song. And yet, largely because of this mistranslation, the world was almost destroyed.

My brother married a young lady from San Salvador, and their two daughterfs are learning both English and Spanish. I envy them and hope that they'll be better at translations than  the Catholic Education Association or Hillary Clinton's staff. I know in my heart they will be.