Category: Language

  • Passive Unfortunate

    The LA Review of Books’ China Channel recently featured an essay on the passive voice in Mandarin (HT LanguageLog). Entitled “Passive Aggressive,” it explains a particular Mandarin construction of the passive voice that emphasizes that something happened that has a negative connotation. Example:

    Gōngkè bèi gǒu chī diào le
    功課 被 狗 吃掉 了
    Homework bèi dog eat up le

    The homework was eaten up by the dog.

    The essay also notes that this “adversative passive” can be found in other Asian languages as well, including many (Japanese, Vietnamese, and Indonesian) that are 100% unrelated to Chinese (or to one another, for that matter). Adversative passive is an example of what linguists call an areal feature, or a linguistic feature that is shared across multiple languages regardless of their relationship with one another.

    But is Mandarin’s adversative passive bèi construction actually a parallel to the others? I am skeptical that the parallel is so clear.

    In Indonesian and Vietnamese, there are clear grammatical distinctions between a non-adversative passive and the adversative passive. These are things which a student learns in the first year of study. In Vietnamese:

    The active voice can be changed to passive voice by adding the following words: “được” if the verb describing the action implies beneficial effects for the agent and “bị” if the verb describing the action implies negative effects. The words “được” and “bị” must stand in front of the main verb.

    Trà được trồng ở Nhật Bản.
    Tea is grown in Japan.

    Anh ta bị chóng mặt.
    He is feeling dizzy.

    And in Indonesian:

    Transitive sentences can be transformed into passive sentences by:

    1, making the object of the active sentence become the subject of the passive sentence;
    2. replacing the prefix me- with di-
    3. making the subject of the active sentence become the agent…

    The prefix ter- is also used to express the passive voice but the prefix ter- implies that the action is accidentally done.

    As the above link notes, it’s entirely possible in Indonesian to have parallel passive constructions, one of which implies just passive voice, the other what I like to call the “passive unfortunate.”*

    Rumahnya dibakar tadi malam [= the house was burned down last night]
    Rumahnya terbakar tadi malam [= the house was unfortunately/accidentally burned down last night]

    For Mandarin to be a real parallel, we would need there to be a construction of the passive voice that does not imply adversativeness or unfortunateness. Does such a construction exist? This online resource provides examples of passive voice constructions that do not use bèi, but none is presented in the same way as the clear được/bị** or di-/ter- distinctions. If such a parallel does not exist, then the adversativeness of bèi is a pragmatic feature of the passive voice in Mandarin rather than a grammatical one, as in Indonesian ter- and Vietnamese bị.

    NOTES

    * Many an Indonesian poem and song lyric features the phrase terjatuh cinta [ = fell in love with involuntarily]. Indonesian also has an oddly rich grammar for expressing unfortunate things: terjatuh cinta, kejatuhan cinta, kena jatuh cinta
    ** I wonder if it’s incidental that the Chinese adversative passive particle bèi is so similar to the Vietnamese adversative particle bị.

  • False Cognates: The Case of Village Patrols in Indonesia and Peru

    False cognates are words of two different languages with similar meaning that look like they share a common origin, but which actually do not. They are fun because they get us thinking about how languages develop and how they relate to one another, even when looks can be deceiving. Classic examples include arigato (Japanese) and obrigadu (Portuguese), both of which mean “thank you” but are entirely unrelated etymologically. Recently I stumbled across a pair of false cognates that are particularly interesting for political scientists: ronda kampung and ronda campesina, both of which refer to a local village security patrol.

    The Spanish term ronda campesina comes from Peru. It translates literally as “peasant rounds,” and describes a form of local security patrol. They are most well-known as “peasant self-defense forces” that resisted the Shining Path insurgency, although to the best of my understanding the concept of the ronda campesina predated the insurgency movement, and they originally developed organically before being legalized and armed by the Peruvian state under Fujimori.

    The word ronda shares an etymology with the English word round and means roughly the same thing, a “going around of” something. Campesino derives from the Spanish word campo, meaning field or countryside, so a campesino is literally someone who lives in the countryside. Campo derives from the Latin campus, the source of the word camp in English and champs in French.

    The Indonesian term ronda kampung, by contrast, translates as “village rounds.” These are not as well documented in English as are ronda campesina,[*] but descriptions can be found in the literature on village organization and local security in the post-independence period, frequently appearing near the term siskamling (or sistem keamanan lingkungan [= system of environmental safety], which also refers to local security provision). Sometimes ronda kampung is translated as “neighborhood watch.” The settlement that a campesino would inhabit could be described, in Indonesian or Malay, as a kampung, although the proper word for peasant (see, e.g., the authoritative Echols and Shadily) is petani [= farmer] and the word desa in Indonesian connotes something more decidedly rural than kampung, which can be an urban settlement too.

    The word ronda in Indonesian has no etymology that I can find. It is not listed as an Indonesian loanword on Wikipedia, but it almost certainly comes from Portuguese, as in Spanish above.

    The word kampung is more interesting. It is the source of the English word compound, as in encampment, via Malay.[**] Its etymology seems to trace back to Old Cham, the predecessor of the Cham language spoken today in mostly in Cambodia and a relative of Malay/Indonesian that also happens to be the first attested written example of any Austronesian language. Variations of kampung also appear in regional languages unrelated to Cham or Malay/Indonesian, namely Khmer and Thai (there is even a province in Cambodia called Kampong Cham).

    Here is where things get interesting. Observe that the meanings for Old Khmer kaṃveṅ are given as “enclosing wall, rampart.” And then observe that the reconstructed Proto-Indo-European source word from which the Latin campus derives is given as *kh2emp- (“to bend, curve”). Are these two more false cognates? I am aware of no historical linguistic work that documents borrowing between proto-IE and proto-Austronesian, in the way that we do have evidence of links between proto-IE and Old Sinitic. But it strikes me as entirely plausible that this parallel is not an accident.

    Maybe a historical linguist can help set me straight. To clarify exactly what I’m asking: is there any evidence that Latin campus and Old Cham kampong are derived from a common root shared (through borrowing) by proto-IE and proto-Austronesian? If not, is that link at all plausible?

    NOTES

    * A google search for ronda kampung returns mainly recordings of a moderately well-known Javanese gamelan song.
    ** Best Malay loanwords in English: amok, compound, cootie, gingham, ketchup, rattan.