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Sociolinguistics studies the relationship between language and society and its functions in social life. |
If a Persian, in a formal gathering, utters a sentence in Turkish—for instance, Yaşasın Azerbaycan—for most Turkish-speaking listeners, it will be pleasing. But the same sentence, said by a Turk in one of Tabriz’s teahouses, will likely provoke no particular reaction. At the very least, the responses will not be the same. The sentence is repeated verbatim, yet the identity of the speaker and the context in which it is spoken change. Where does this difference in reception come from?
Pierre Bourdieu, within the framework of his idea of the linguistic market, explains this phenomenon. In his view, the linguistic market, much like the economic market, operates under rules of valuation. That is, the relations of power that dominate this market cause some producers and some linguistic productions to possess inherent advantages from the start.
Here, we are faced with two distinct situations. Two unequal positions—one backed by linguistic mechanisms and policies that grant it absolute advantage and superiority: the formal setting, in which the legitimate language is Persian; and the informal sphere, where Turkish circulates. Often, the mere presence of a single Persian among many Turks can impose the Persian language on the group. This is because the Persian speaker carries with them the “domain of officialdom,” while Turkish in this domain appears illegitimate, stammering, embarrassed, and displaying a kind of backwardness that inevitably leads it to prefer silence. Turkish becomes the language of jokes, curses perhaps, and casual gatherings devoid of any official element—the language of intimacy, bluntness, and informality among Turks. But why does this illegitimate language occasionally find its way into official contexts?
Most non-local candidates in their election rallies in Azerbaijan say a sentence or two in Turkish, exciting their audiences. Yet interpreting this excitement simply as love for the mother tongue is a misunderstanding. Indeed, some of these very audience members speak Persian with their children, identify as Azeri and Aryan, and their favorite music may well be in Persian. For such an audience, the significance of the moment lies not in the use of their illegitimate language in a formal context, but rather in the fact that a non-Turkish element has, by uttering a Turkish phrase, shown them kindness and attention. This element, which monopolizes the official domain, disguises its demagoguery as magnanimity, pushing its audience deeper into alienation. By speaking just one sentence, this element appears so magnanimous to the identityless listener that it implants the idea that so long as one carries fragments of the illegitimate with them—from their accent to their music, from their customs to their history—they cannot achieve magnanimity. These fragments must be erased for them to ascend to the official sphere.
In reality, this kind of use of the illegitimate language becomes a tool through which unequal linguistic conditions are perpetuated.