I've been in Andalusia for a few days and I've had a curious feeling of well-being, not new, because it reminds me of a recent stay in Madrid, under totally different circumstances. I soon deduced that the reason for this well-being is the language. More precisely, the absence of linguistic stress that we Catalans suffer in our daily lives. When I move around the territories of monolingual Spain, my brain clicks and frees itself from linguistic unease: here Spanish is spoken, only Spanish, and there's nothing to discuss. Then the relationship with others, with people, is simplified from the outset, the conversation flows and lengthens, and after a short while this linguistic truce translates into physical relaxation; the brain feels it has been freed from a nuisance.No matter how much they tell us that bilingualism is a richness, the truth is that an undisputed lingua franca greatly facilitates human relationships. And in most cities and countries, the language of collective relation is one and sufficient. In Barcelona and a good part of Catalonia, for mental, social, and finally demographic reasons, the lingua franca is Spanish, and we who consider that Catalan needs our firmness as much as the empathy of others, like a good legal umbrella, rebel against this fact. But we Catalan speakers socialize with the certainty that every day we expose ourselves to potentially conflictive situations. If we always speak Catalan – as is our right, and as sociolinguists recommend – we risk not being understood, having to repeat everything twice, enduring scowls and perhaps some exclamation, being labeled as intolerant, xenophobic, and even unsociable. And even if our Spanish-speaking interlocutor is receptive, empathetic, or has understood that life will be better with Catalan (which is what should be), often the conversation that arises is too basic, orthopedic, like tourists, and the linguistic stress remains.If, on the other hand, we switch to the other person's language (out of "politeness", laziness, to avoid unpleasantness, or because simply the future of Catalan doesn't matter to us that much), we are condemned to a second added linguistic stress: the one that comes from guilt, the little voice inside (or outside, for that there are social networks) that tells us we're doing it wrong, that it will be of little use to invest in normalization if Catalan speakers don't always speak it, risking spoiling our day, or catching a cold, or who knows what.I understand very well the frustration of the Pakistani or Honduran citizen who, after taking the relevant Catalan course, cannot practice it because the natives take for granted that he won't understand. But that's usually the case: the vast majority of foreigners do not understand Catalan nor do they speak it (they haven't needed to). And it comes to a moment for all of us when linguistic stress asks for a truce. Or for a little affection: Catalan speakers, in addition to demanding firmness, must also be reminded that the decline of Catalan is not their fault, and they must be thanked for the sum of small and large gestures that have allowed our language to survive centuries of aggression.I'm writing this on the plane that's taking me from Seville to Barcelona. In the boarding queue, a lovely elderly couple approached me with a smile: "You used to be on TV3, right? You're not on now. Let's see if you come back!"
They've been living in Terrassa for decades, but they're visiting family in Cordoba. I speak Catalan, but we're in Seville. How do I address them? I say a couple of sentences in each. I praise the Andalusian spring. They reply in Spanish, they watch Polònia. I stay silent and smile. Linguistic stress. I could ask them why they don't speak Catalan after so long in Catalonia. But they are so nice...
