March 21, 2004

Linguistic capital is the capacity to produce expressions suited for the cultural market. It involves the choice of words, turns of phrases and, indeed, accent. To get the highest jobs in Pakistan one must know English. All other languages are little more than identity markers

PIERRE Bourdieu, a French sociologist, has used terms from economics to describe sociological matters, including the use of language in society. One of these terms is ‘capital’. Economists define it as ‘assets which are capable of generating income and which have themselves been produced’. The essence of capital is that ‘it represents deferred consumption’.

Bourdieu has expanded the meaning to cover such phenomena as the use of language. Linguistic capital is the capacity to produce expressions suited for the cultural market, i.e. the words, turns of phrase, pronunciation etc., which give advantage in a certain situation.

An excellent example of this is the study and use of rhetoric — the art of using words effectively — which has been used by many successful public figures, notably Winston Churchill. I mention Churchill because he actually wrote about the power of words to create effects.

In his novel Savrola (1900), Churchill described how Savrola, an idealized character based upon himself, led a revolution by giving a stirring speech. But this speech was rehearsed. A lot of labour had gone in the choice of words so as to create a cadence, an evocative peroration, and a mesmerizing flow of words. Churchill himself became a master at exactly this sort of magic in parliament. For him, the art of public speaking was not just social capital, it was political capital as well.

Churchill was an Englishman and English was the language of the British parliament. But the irony is that all Englishmen did not have an equal chance of speaking as effectively. They did not all possess the same social capital for various reasons. First, they did not have the same cognitive abilities; second, they were not equally educated or had the time and inclination to educate themselves; third, and very importantly, they did not speak standard English in their homes or in their schools.

While in theory a poor boy too could possess as superior cognitive abilities as a Duke’s grandson (though dietary insufficiency does create cognitive problems), he could hardly aspire to the same kind of education, or the leisure to be able to read books or, most crucially, speak standard English.

Churchill was born with the social capital of ‘standard English’, complete with an upper class accent, because he was the Duke of Marlborough’s grandson. Moreover, he was educated at Harrow, an upper class school, which polished his accent. This advantage a working class boy would never have. He would be born in families speaking dialects — Derbyshire, Yorkshire, Cockney, Brummy, Scots — and his school would not change them completely.

So, if he wanted to be an effective parliamentary speaker he would have to work much harder than Churchill to acquire this social capital, the right accent, to acquire the approbation of his fellow parliamentarians and power over their minds.

Now let us come to Pakistan. We have 69 language listed in the Ethnologue, a publication of the Summer Institute of Linguistics, under the name of the country. However, the major languages, according to the census of 1981, are: Punjabi (spoken by 44.15 per cent people); Pashto (15.42); Sindhi (14.10); Siraiki (10.53); Urdu (7.57); Balochi (3.57) and ‘Others’ (4.66). Since Siraiki, Punjabi, Hindko, Potohari, Pahari, etc, are mutually intelligible, they may be regarded as constituting the varieties of a great language spread out form the cities of the NWFP up to Delhi.

Let us see now whether these Pakistani languages are social capital and, if so, under what circumstances. First, Punjabi — the language of the most numerous and dominant section of the Pakistani population — is ‘capital’ only in the family, among intimate male friends, in the streets of Punjab and perhaps for camaraderie. In certain social circles, even in the middle and upper classes where Urdu and English are used otherwise, one would feel left out if one does not enjoy a joke or a song in Punjabi. Young men, even from English-medium schools, learn to get along in Punjabi to give a street-credible, tough guy, down-to-earth, no-nonsense kind of image.

The women of their class, however, do not share in this macho sub-culture. They keep using Urdu or English, the languages of sophistication. Only in marriage ceremonies they condescend to sing a few Punjabi songs, but that is analogous to an American resident in Pakistan putting in an odd hookah or rulli for decoration in the drawing room.

Punjabi immediately becomes social stigma rather than capital in the world of public interaction. Indeed, even in the middle-and upper-class drawing rooms it is more the deviation from the norm than the norm. But in the court, the conference room, the parliament, the medical consultant’s room — in all the domains of power — it is not the language of work.

It may be a concession granted to the illiterate, but it is not the currency used in those elitist market places. To get a job of a middle level of power you must know standard written Urdu in Pakistani Punjab, but not written Punjabi. To get the highest jobs you must know English.

Skills in these two languages are cashable in this market of power. Skills in Punjabi, in the absence of skills in Urdu and English, are not cashable. In short, Punjabi does not carry social capital in the domains of power. Indeed, knowing Punjabi alone carries a stigma.

Sindhi is better off as knowledge in written Sindhi can procure some lower-level jobs in Sindh. However, one cannot rise high even in Sindh, at least in the world of modern employment, without knowing Urdu and English. But Sindhi has a high symbolic value as an identity marker. It helps one become a member of the Sindhi community: This is an important role in Sindh where identity preservation is politically, culturally and even economically significant.

Some jobs are, after all, dependent on other members of the community who ensure that you are a member of the group by testing your language skills — skills which the job itself may never use later, but which are a badge of identity to enable you to enter a reserved job.

This role of an identity marker is also reserved for Pashto, but skill in written Pashto is not cashable. There are hardly any good jobs for those who know Pashto alone. It does not, therefore, have high social capital. However, like Sindhi, it does not carry stigma either. It is an identity marker and it gives a sense of belonging, a sense of pride, a sense of togetherness.

Other languages are somewhere in between. Most people are positive towards their languages, but they do have a rough sense of language hierarchy based upon social capital. English comes at the top followed by Urdu. Their own language is at the bottom, though in the case of identity-conscious people, their mother tongue is proclaimed to be number one.

In practice, the circumstances being what they are, people are pragmatic enough to acquire social capital through learning English and Urdu. Sometimes they do not burden their children with their own language because they want to empower them so much by learning the languages of power that they have no time or energy for their own language.

What creates social capital? As far as languages are concerned, the state’s policies are the major factor. Persian was used in the Mughal court — indeed, not only the Mughals, but other rulers succeeding them also used it — and in the other domains of power, like bureaucracy, judiciary, military, education, high culture etc.

It dominated other languages and devalued them. It was used both in Punjab and Sindh by the local rulers for the highest functions of the state. It, therefore, possessed social capital. Those who spoke it were considered civilized, sophisticated, cultured and trustworthy. They could attain access to the sources of power — the durbar — and, if they wanted them, obtain jobs wielding influence. Then the British state withdrew its patronage from Persian and it lost its social capital. It took almost half-a-century to lose it and even now knowledge of Persian is seen as a sign of old-world sophistication. But it is no longer in fashion. It is useless for the domains of power in Pakistan now nor does it unlock the doors of drawing rooms. That is the property of English.

The policy of the Pakistani state is no different from that of the British state. English is still the language of the highest offices of the state, the corporate sector, the most dominant media, the most fashionable NGOs, the most exclusive clubs and drawing rooms and the most prestigious schools, universities and think tanks.

The social capital of this language is the highest in the land because of these reasons. The public understands this very well because of which it allows itself to be fleeced by schools that advertize themselves as ‘English medium’ schools. These may be two-roomed places in a slum, but they charge a fees that poor people pay only at the cost of almost starving themselves. Then there are the real ‘English medium’ schools which charge so much that they become rich people’s clubs. The middle class squeezes in somehow by working overtime and, if possible, fleecing those whom they can fleece.

The social capital one acquires gives one confidence which passes for intelligence. It is cashed for good jobs. It puts others at a disadvantage and so helps in making one powerful.

The social capital of Urdu is less than that of English, but more than the indigenous languages of Pakistan. As no policies have been made to make the latter the languages of power, Urdu dominates them in the world of power and high culture. This is resented by the ethnic activists of the dominated languages.

This happened in Pakistan in East Bengal (1948 and 1952), Sindh, the NWFP and Balochistan where language movements symbolic of ethnic identity challenged the domination of the Centre. In short, languages deprived of social capital reacted by acquiring symbolic identity capital. This capital was used for mobilizing a group and obtaining rights, autonomy and concessions from the Centre.

To sum up, language has social capital. What creates this capital, above all, is the policy of the politically and culturally dominant elites. Because of these policies the dominant languages are rich — they have more knowledge, arts, literature etc — precisely because they are used in so many domains of power.

However, there are languages, like Persian, which dominated a large part of the world because of their prestige as languages of high culture. But then, Persian acquired this high prestige because it was the language of an ancient empire. In short, social capital is intimately connected with power. It is created by power and it has the potential to make others powerful. Such are the ironies of life.

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