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Promoting Dzongkha has been our long-standing policy since it became our national language. From briefly using Dzongkha as the medium of instruction for subjects traditionally taught in English (such as history) and making it a compulsory subject in national exams to enforcing the use of Dzongkha in all official settings through administrative orders – we have tried everything. Have these policies promoted Dzongkha or made young people like it?
First, Dzongkha is no different from any other language. And, like any other language, it is developing, or must be developing, in a dynamic social environment, shedding some of its outdated formalisms, acquiring new vocabulary, and expanding itself to accommodate the evolving complexity of globalized interaction, science, and modern culture. English has followed the same path from Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Milton to Hemingway, Raymond Carver, and Stephen Hawking.
Dzongkha tries to evolve. Many young people don’t adhere to the formality and ornateness of past usage. But we don’t always view these evolutions kindly. As a result, we give Dzongkha the image of a language with rigid forms that can only change with the approval of the institutions responsible for creating words and publishing grammar texts. Our aversion to foreign words doesn’t help either; it stunts Dzongkha’s ability to evolve as fast as science, philosophy, and modern culture advance. This stunted evolution has allowed English, with its heavy loanwords, to gain the upper hand in replacing the language that failed to evolve. Then, the authorities enforce it, lest the language disappear entirely.
However, we should not criticize these organizations for their good intentions in promoting Dzongkha. Below, I will briefly introduce the areas where we have neglected in promoting Dzongkha.
Create literary works, rather than
dictionary
The former Dzongkha Language Development Committee has published various versions of dictionaries – Dzongkha dictionaries, Dzongkha-English dictionaries, its antonyms and electronic dictionaries. But dictionaries (I once foolishly tried to get students to memorize the Oxford Dictionary) do not make you a proficient language user.
This is true of literature. But while dictionaries are expensive, literary creation is poorly funded or even non-existent. A country that wants to promote a language must support literary creation in that language. Only through literary creation can we test the vitality of the Dzongkha language and its range and richness, expressing a variety of ideas and concepts in a style that ordinary people can understand. Should the state subsidize writers? How? Yes, I will explain my thoughts below.
The writing market in Bhutan is very small, and for Dzongkha, that market is entirely local. Therefore, in the current market environment, it would be financially foolish for someone to spend months researching and writing Dzongkha material. For a writer willing to write in the simple and understandable Dzongkha language, the least we can do is to help him/her cover expenses at least during the research and writing period.
I’m not talking about a percentage of GDP. Writing fellowships and residency programs can provide that assurance. But where do we have such programs in this country? The government could help the colleges of the Rajabhat University create residency programs or fellowships that provide resident writers with housing, writing space, and a decent stipend. Resident writers would focus primarily on producing publishable work, and could also teach a few Dzongkha writing classes to students who choose such courses. Even better would be to offer writing classes to students of all disciplines who are interested; good writers can come from any discipline. Universities elsewhere have such programs, and many writers and books have come out of them.
Writers in Residence can work on different projects, including fiction, biography, translation, poetry, and more. For example, a poetry writing fellow could write a free verse book in Dzongkha, freeing Dzongkha poetry from the constraints of traditional rhyme and meter. Translation is another exciting area. Bringing quality writing in other languages to Dzongkha not only expands the Dzongkha reading material, but also exposes Bhutanese audiences to new writing styles and approaches to different genres in Dzongkha.
I would queue up to buy the Dzongkha translation of Raymond Carver’s What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. But when we don’t even have a Dzongkha translation of such an important work as Lopon Karma Phuntsok’s History of Bhutan, it’s a far cry. Dzongkha speakers have no access to high-quality scholarship on Bhutanese history. This is just the tip of the iceberg. Dare I suggest that the funds we use to compile dictionaries be redirected to funding scholarships for Dzongkha writers?
Pope Card
As a language
We unfairly place the onus of promoting Dzongkha on students who see syllabi changed and exam subject weightings adjusted at will. State support for a language is a blessing, but it should not turn into an embrace of nosy aunties. What we do must make the language endearing to its speakers. Is the way we teach the language to young people making them love Dzongkha? I’m afraid not. Dzongkha may be rightly presented as a sacred language because it shares a script with Choekey. As a result, Dzongkha is presented to children in all its gorgeous spirituality.
Students study Jasira Grun Dzongkha literature in grades nine and ten. This wonderful poem is treated like a religious text, not as a work of literature in a literature class. Students memorize the text, debate its spiritual themes, and even recite it, ignoring its extraordinary literary qualities. The beauty of the poem—the rich metaphors, the enchanting beauty of the stanzas, and the author’s deft handling of profound themes in ordinary language—is overlooked.
Some might say that deconstructing the technical details is too advanced for our argumentative abilities. But the beauty, flexibility, and richness of language remain hidden unless we use it not only for official documents but also for novels, poetry, and prose. To do this, we must learn from what has already been written. If we relax a little on the mental level and focus on the principles of creation, perhaps it will help with Dzongkha.
Institutions are not supposed to monitor language use; at best they can only record changes. The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language is a handy example. It observes the way people use English and updates social conventions and new words about language use. Language changes over time; new words are coined, new expressions become accepted, and new uses of old forms are invented.
When scientists announced that Pluto was no longer a planet, the function of the noun “Pluto” changed, that is, the noun was now also used as a verb again. At that point, the word “Pluto” was downgraded or devalued.
Are we willing to be so bold in our own language? I mean, can we not mind using jigs as an adjective in everyday communication, despite its origins as a millennial plebeian transgression? English is seen as a threat to Dzongkha, but not because of arrogant holdouts who get indignant when you end a sentence with a preposition or boldly try to split an infinitive. Rather, it’s a product of evolution.
Without serious work to create literature to endear Dzongkha to the younger generation, token gestures and exhortations will only make Dzongkha the pampered child of overbearing parents. We want others to admire our child, admire her eloquence, and be in awe of her intelligence, while locking her in her room all the time to prevent her from swallowing filth and speaking slang in the street. But this is also where you absorb starlight.
Contributors
Ben, Australia
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