Musings about hán
Birgitta Björg Guðmarsdóttir The tongue sticks to the palate. The tongue works hard all day to form words, lifting itself under teeth, moving a little forward, and then disappearing back under the palate. But of course, it is not just the tongue that works on the formation of language. The vocal cords are often an important part, as are the uvula, lips, and teeth. Do not forget the mind. The tool that shapes language the most is intangible – and even more unreliable. We tend to think of language as if it were immutable. Something that is steadfast, and from there we can always look for the right solution. That is a good and easy thought. But the reality is that languages are mutable. Languages are by their very nature fluid, creative, forgetful - language is a sieve. It goes through a constant metamorphosis - and one of those is happening right now. No doubt that many scholars were horrified by the idea of consciously adding words to a closed class word group, but since the pronoun “hán” was introduced into the language, a lot has happened. Language users are more aware of the presence of gender in language. They think twice before saying “allir” (all, masculine), because they realize that masculine pronouns may be exclusionary or derogatory and may even choose to use “öll” (all, neutral) even if it sounds strange. They are also more aware of their language feeling in general. Icelandic is in a state of flux, the gender of words is not as carved in stone, for example I have heard in the last few days the inflection stúdentur (students, feminine) - a word that is traditionally masculine but was used as feminine– not to describe female students – but students in general. I also heard an example of a man using the word vinkonur (female friends) to describe his friendship with his wife, as well as many examples where the suffix of the word vinur (friend) has been omitted and the word form vin used for individuals who identify themselves outside the traditional gender dichotomy, using the pronoun “hán.” Other gender-neutral pronouns exist, such as “það,” “hé” and “hín,” but “hán” seems to be the most common. That is perhaps because of how similar it is to the pronouns “hún” and “hann” and seems to fall somewhere in between. But there is also a problem because “hán” tends to merge with “hann” in everyday speech, as pronouns are rarely stressed in sentences. We abbreviate them and cut the h off, we say ‘ún fór útí búð (she went to a shop) or ‘ann fór í bankann (he went to the bank). We want to do the same with “hán,” but
then there is a risk that ‘án fór í bankann (they went to the bank) will similar to ‘ann fór í bankann (he went to the bank), and then we run the risk of misrepresenting ourselves or other people mistaking “hán” for “hann.” To counteract this, we would need to put more emphasis on “hán,” but it can also be irritating, because then we draw out the novelty and otherness of the word. If this happens repeatedly, we run the risk of being scared or annoyed to use this word, but it must not happen at all if we want to continue to work towards making language an equality domain. Instead, we must power through these changes: metamorphosis is an uncomfortable and even painful process, but it is necessary and educational. German is a masculine-centric language like Icelandic. The language is very gendered, and all job titles tend to be masculine. However, there is also an established language policy: for each job title there must be a similar word in the feminine, and therefore an embarrassing in-suffix has been added behind most of these words. Lehrer (a teacher) becomes Lehrerin (a female teacher), Maler (a painter) becomes Malerin (a female painter) and Schauspieler (an actor) becomes Schauspielerin (an actress). This kind of mentality belongs to an ideology that assumes that women are equal to men, and that this ideology needs to have prerequisites in the societal regulation but does not assume the existence of queer people. This way Germany has painted itself into a corner. To get out of this predicament, the German speakers would either have to invent a new suffix or accept that the masculine is neutral and return to the generic masculine job title. It is worth noting that this article will not include everything that has changed since the pronoun hán was adopted, because such is the subject of a doctoral thesis and cannot be clearly articulated in just eight hundred words. Hán is a word that has been given magical powers. It has and will continue to have a profound impact on the language. In the words of Eiríkur Rögnvaldsson: what is the use of a language that does not serve its users? This is a good foundation for a language policy. The question is: what is the purpose of a house you cannot enter? What is the use of a dress that does not fit you? The idea that bodies have to change to fit into the environments created for them is outdated and ridiculous. You enlarge the entrance of the house. You widen or tighten the outfit. It is the same with language. If it fails to encompass all its language users so that they can apply it and feel good about themselves, then it is the language, not its users, which must change.
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