Translators, Interpreters Underappreciated

By Daniel H. Fernald
Professor of Hankuk University of Foreign Studies

By 1876, when the Joseon Kingdom at long last opened itself up to the West, there was not a single person in the so-called "Hermit Kingdom" who was able to interpret or translate any Western language. This unfortunate situation was the result of the humble place accorded the study of most foreign languages.

During the period spanning from 1392 to 1910, translators were few in number, were poorly paid for their services, and were held in low regard.

The situation for interpreters was better, but even they knew nothing of Western tongues. Thus, although Korea had finally extended a hesitant hand of welcome to the West, it had no way of communicating with those who would come.

The attitudes of the three great East Asian powers toward Westerners in the mid-19th century varied widely: Japan welcomed Westerners, though warily; China tolerated them; and Korea shunned them, sometimes on pain of death.

Japan, which had since time immemorial been eagerly adapting elements of Korean and other Asian cultures to its own, was relatively receptive to Western overtures for trade and scientific exchange, despite understandable reluctance initially.

Hence, when the Western powers became more aggressive in their courting of East Asia, Japan was fairly well-prepared, with hundreds of qualified translators and interpreters.

Even China, despite its sense of cultural and scientific superiority, ultimately indulged in the persistent questioning and curiosity of these odd Westerners, if only with the vague condescension of an uncle reluctantly explaining a simple card trick to his dim-witted nephews.

Consequently, as Korea was casting about for qualified linguists, China had several dozen who knew Western languages. Of the three nations, Korea was the last to engage with the West.

Moreover, foreign language study in Korea was typically limited to Japanese, Mongol, and Chinese; and even these languages were mostly restricted to the royal court, where they were spoken far more frequently than they were written. This led to an increase in the status of interpreters relative to translators, but neither group knew anything of the West.

Even if Korea had followed Japan and China in electing early on to trade with the West which it did not, merely commercial exchanges would have required relatively few interpreters, and no translators. In addition, the blunt, direct language of commerce is of course far easier to master than the more nuanced expressions of scientific discourse. Thus, Korea was twice removed from having to consider the need for experts in the often arcane subtleties of the language of scholarship. In short, Korea saw no need for Western contact, made no provision for it, and thus fell behind its neighbors and rivals.

Although the situation has improved dramatically, some elements of the old pattern persist to this day. The 1988 Seoul Olympics may have led, however briefly, to a greater appreciation for trained linguists, but 21 years later can anyone say that either interpreters or translators are appropriately recognized and respected for their talents and training.

Even as an economic hub and cultural center, which warmly embraces so much of world culture, Korea in the 21st century remains influenced by a mindset with roots in the 14th.

The relatively low status of language specialists in Korea has had significant ― and readily observed ― consequences in everyday life.

For example, visitors to an office building in Mapo-gu are greeted with the helpful warning, "Head Careful" (i.e. "Watch Your Head"), on the swinging glass doors. A sign for a nearby "Bear, Whiskey, Cocktail" bar also invites chuckles. (Perhaps, one muses, they have a dancing bear who drinks whiskey while mixing cocktails?) Both are effects of the low status and pay of translators. Neither is an isolated occurrence.

The prevailing view is that such admittedly minor instances of incorrect English usage are harmless, and that focusing on them is a needless distraction from larger issues.

Can a lack of nuance and accuracy in translating very simple phrases, and even single words, really have no further implications? In other words, if "Watch Your Head" and "Beer" can't get translated properly, what hope is there for Chaucer, Shakespeare, and Byron, or Twain, Hemingway, and Updike?

As a native English speaker and longtime university professor, both in the U.S. and abroad, I have been struck by the number of egregious, yet easily avoidable, errors in English usage, even in the most popular and successful English-language textbooks in this new Joseon.

For better or worse, the English dialect known as "Konglish" is due at least in part to a culture of translation that values speed over subtlety, efficiency over elegance, and the bottom line over beauty.

It is not too far a leap to connect this issue to a "translation culture" that continues to regard language as essentially another commodity-like carrots, kalbi, or kimchi-with the focus on the lowest price rather than the highest quality.

If Korea is to interact with other cultures constructively, it must both understand and express their languages correctly, rather than through the prism of a low-bid translation pushed through to meet an arbitrary deadline and unrealistic cost projections. As the old saying goes, "You get what you pay for."

We must eagerly await the day when Korea may claim its first Nobel Prize for Literature. A good first step toward that laudable goal would be to respect, recognize, and reward those highly skilled language specialists who make Western culture accessible to Korea, and who are, additionally, the ambassadors of Korean language and culture to other nations.

After all, the world cannot honor what it cannot understand.

The writer is an associate at Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. The views expressed are his own, and do not necessarily reflect those of Hankuk University of Foreign Studies. He can be reached at professordhf@hotmail.com

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