Mongolian Connections: Paterfamilias

One of the main banks here is named Golomt Bank, and their signs/branches are everywhere. I didn’t know what “Golomt” means, but it seemed like an interesting word, so I was there with a Mongolian member of the University Staff, I figured I’d asked her. She thought about it for a minute. Then she said, “I don’t know in English; it is like the father of a household, who is in charge of the family.” I followed up with, “So it’s like the ‘head’ or something?” She shook her head. “It’s more than that, but I cannot explain.”

I knew what she meant—though there isn’t an English word with the full connotations (“patriarch” doesn’t quite cut it), there is a Latin word “paterfamilias,” which is literally the father of the household, but has more to it than just that. The paterfamilias had both legal and social jurisdiction over his extended family; his wife, children, slaves, etc. were supposed to obey his will and respect his authority. He was the foundation of the family, the central core whose duty was to keep his family in perfect Roman order.

So I said to her, “I think I know what you mean. It is like the family is a tree, and ‘golomt’ is the trunk, with all the other branches growing out of it and dependent on it, and it is the central authority.” “Yes, yes, that is exactly it!” she said, sort of glad I got it.

I don’t know where exactly that description came from, because I don’t think that quite describes paterfamilias, but her reaction showed that it was pretty much what “golomt” meant. It’s interesting that both Roman and Mongolian society (very different worlds) have the same (or similar) concepts of golomt/paterfamilias. Apparently the patriarchy in these societies is well established and extends beyond mere property rights or even legal rights to the social order within an extended family. Yet it’s not as patriarchal as it might seem, since both Roman and Mongolian high society has a history of women exercising more influence over their powerful husbands/children than the law would like to admit. (And I’ll post more on that later.)

But I wonder why we don’t have this word in English like in Latin or Modern Mongolian. Is it because husbands/fathers don’t have the legal jurisdiction they used to? Or is it because they don’t have the social power? Or is it perhaps because women’s influence was not as common and/or threatening in our society as it was in the Roman/Mongol courts, so there was no backlash to establish the concept of “paterfamilias” or “golomt”? In any case, this connection between two of my favorite empires intrigues me.

Meditations: How We Speak

We all use language to communicate every day, hundreds or thousands of times a day. In a country that speaks the same language we do, we don’t necessarily think about our language. Sure, we might try to use our “I” statements when confronting someone, or carefully put something into the passive to avoid blame. With or without thinking about it, we might use a single word to make a judgment call or an expression to get someone on our side. But these are the cases where we alter normal language for a purpose. We don’t dedicate a lot of thought to modes of expressing ourselves that are considered normal, the commonly used constructions and phrases we utter daily and automatically.

In Mongolia, I am sometimes a little taken aback by the directness of people’s language. There is not a lot of room for politeness; though I repeat “bayarlaa, bayarlaa” (“Thank you, thank you”), Mongolians don’t use the expression nearly as often as in the States. And according to my phrasebook, there’s really no way to say please. So when I order lunch, I always feel like I’m missing that element of respect, and I have to remind myself that they don’t notice the absence. One instance of directness that I found particularly jarring was hearing people on the phone loudly ask the caller, “Khen be?” translated as, “Who is it?” This isn’t too out of the ordinary, but how do Americans ask the same question? With “May I ask who’s calling?” It means the same thing; it would be weird for someone to respond with, “No, you may not” or “Yes, you may,” because the proper response is the same as for “Who is it?” But the fact is, when we say, “May I ask who’s calling?” we are not saying what we mean. This isn’t a big deal, because we are all part of a culture that uses this; we all know what the question really is.

But I’ve taken notice here of how many phrases we use like this, phrases that make perfect sense in America, because everyone knows the code, but that say something different from what they are supposed to mean. This is true even in English-speaking countries; an English friend of mine who went to the States for college was surprised by how many people would ask, “What’s up?” or  “How are you doing?” as they passed. She’d stop and tell them what was going on in her life while they stood there, confused that she didn’t just give the customary response, “Nothing” or “Fine, thanks.” On the other side, a couple times in England people asked me, “Are you all right?” and I got confused, thinking, “Did they hear something about me? Am I supposedly sick or injured or upset? Of course I’m all right.” In both cases, these phrases, though they literally mean the same things, are codified differently in the different countries.

Naturally, though, these differences are compounded in countries where there already is a language barrier. I noticed it first in my homestay, when Prof C would translate that someone was asking if I’d like more tea or yogurt or something. My response was always, “I’m fine, thank you.” Of course, “I’m fine, thank you,” really just means “No.” And probably, Prof C just translated it back into Mongolian as “No.” But for someone who’s just learning the language, “I’m fine, thank you” must be a pretty confusing phrase. Because, though it means “no,” that’s just not what it says--and what it says isn't really "yes" or "no." Ordering things or requesting menus and napkins (in English) here, I face a similar problem. I usually preface my request with, “Could I please get—.” For people whose English isn’t fluent, this could be confusing; what are those extra syllables tacked on to the beginning of the sentence? (It wouldn’t be a big deal if I didn’t say it so unnecessarily fast, as if it were a single word.) And the other day after receiving coffee, I asked, “Would it be possible for me to get some milk?” The woman at the café, understandably, thought I was requesting password and milk. (The wi-fi password.) These are just a few examples; our language is full of indirect demands, requests that aren’t really requests, and implicit statements that just aren’t clear in the literal language. This is one of many, many reasons I think English must be the worst language in the world to have to learn.

Why does English do this? Why is our language so riddled with expressions and conventions that get us around saying what we actually mean? Is this a bad thing? Of course, being me, I actually love these conventions. Saying “I’m fine, thank you” as a way to say “No” actually does say more than that; it expresses gratitude and qualifies the “No.” (That is, it says, “I’m happy how I am, which is why I will refuse.”) This polite phrase is a way for me to say “No” without sounding ungrateful. And “May I ask who’s calling?” or “Could I please get—“ are courteous way to get information or goods; they express respect and deference, but still get the point across. So I’m a fan. But I do worry a bit about a language that teaches us not to say what we mean, and there is always an issue when what I think is an implicit request doesn’t get across, when other people don’t get the rules I think are widely known. (And I’m sure I, too, miss plenty of implications.) So whose way is best? The no-frills Mongolian where you pretty much say what you mean, or the labyrinthine code of English, where almost everything you say also means something else? Does it even make sense to ask which way is “best”? Are they just different traditions, dependent on their own cultures? Is there a “best” middle ground? And do these expressions make a difference in how we think and feel? Does being linguistically courteous actually make an impact on how we feel about other human beings? Or is it all just talk?

Mongolia is Awesome: Names Edition

Bold is common enough to make it into my Mongolian book as the first boy’s name featured, and my guidebook even classifies it as a generic Mongolian name. “But wait,” you might be thinking, “That name is an English word, so you can’t count it as an Awesome purely Mongolian name.” It IS an English word (and a good one), and if that were the only Awesome feature of the name Bold, that would still be pretty Awesome.

But “bold” is also the Mongolian word for “steel,” and is a popular name for boys because of the strength and enduring power of steel. Thus, not only is there a Mongolian Max Steel, but the country is positively CRAWLING with them. Awesome.