If I was a language dictator …

We are all prisoners of our mother tongue, in a way. Often we like to believe that our way of speaking is natural and healthy, while other languages ​​are exotic and indulge in nonsense that no Christian person can understand. At the same time, we probably realize deep down that speakers of these languages ​​could see us the same way.

In my more megalomaniacal moments, I have sometimes pondered what features I would incorporate into the Swedish language, if I was an almighty dictator. Now let’s remember that linguists are not supposed to have opinions about “good” and “bad” languages, but sometimes it is hard not to be struck by a feeling of: “Why don’t we have this extremely practical thing?”.

One such thing is clusivity. A third of the world’s languages ​​have it, but Swedish does not.

Clusivity means distinguishing between two different kinds of “we”, namely “you and I (and possibly various others)” and “I and others, but not you”. Both are actually called we for us. Maybe you haven’t actively thought about the fact that the word can have two different meanings, but at the same time I suspect that most people have at least once in their lives been in a situation where a member of the group said something like “we’re going to the movies” or “we’re going to the party”, and where we ourselves, if only for a brief second, wondered: “Was I really invited or not?”. Was it only the speaker, Benke and Pernilla in 8.b and the other popular types, who were allowed to come, or is a nerd like me also welcome?

That particular problem does not exist in languages ​​with clusivity. There is a mandatory distinction between an inclusive and an exclusive “we”. In the first case, you are included, in the second case you are not. If a speaker of Maori says that maatou should participate, then you are not welcome to join in. Because maatou is an exclusive we. But if he suggests that taatou should do it, then you are back in the fold and can start polishing your dancing shoes, buy a sixpack, or whatever it takes to feel well prepared. Because that form denotes an inclusive we, that is, “me and others including you”.

For some of us, it is already fascinating. We may not even have been struck by the idea that there are gaps in our own language that others have filled. But if you still don’t think this is cool enough, it can be argued that the distinction has actually has significance beyond the confusion that arises when you don’t know whether you can hang out with the cool guys Benke and Pernilla or not.

In a famous Australian court case, a defendant confessed to the crime with the words “we killed him”, whereupon he turned to his alleged accomplice: “Or what?”. The answer from the designated co-conspirator was a simple “yes”.

For a speaker of European languages, there are two interpretations. Did person number two admit that he had participated in the act, i.e. “sure, you and I committed the murder” (inclusive) or did he actually mean “yeah, man, you (and possibly someone else) did it, but I wasn’t involved myself” (exclusive)?

Again: every third language has clusivity, but not Swedish. Is this really the kind of society we want to live in?

This post is a translation of Mikael Parkvall’s column for Svenska Dagbladet from 16.05. 2023. Coverphoto: colourbox.dk.

Mikael Parkvall is a Stockholm-based researcher and has a fondness for pidgin and creole languages all around the world. He is currently affiliated with the Carriols project at Aarhus University.

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