Le utilitate de linguas construite

Iste articulo in Interlingua era originalmente publicate le 21 de novembre  2017 a Áya Dan, e es etiam conservate in le archivo “Wayback Machine.”

Recentemente un troll esperantista entrava in un canal de IRC re Interlingua pro demandar proque nos parla un lingua inutile. Io replicava que io ha nulle illusiones re un lingua international construite. Etiam si il es possibile, il non es le cosa le plus importante in le mundo moderne. Le activismo debe concentrar se al problemas le plus importante in le mundo, e hodie illo non es le problema linguistic. Il ancora ha homines sin homes in tote le paises del mundo.

Totevia il me place le linguas construite, como Esperanto e Interlingua, pro le opportunitates que illos me da in le vita presente. Per exemplo, distraction ab le problemas plus seriose. Totos ha necessitate de distraction, necuno pote semper molestar se per cosas urgente/practical. E qui semper se applica solmente al cosas practical, derelinque un parte essential del humanitate. Il es practical distraher se, quia il es bon pro le sanitate.

Le esperantistas troppo enthusiastic pensa que le parlantes del majoritate de linguas construite sole valutar iste linguas excessivemente, mais illo non es ver. Nos correctemente valuta nostre linguas, humilemente. Il es iste sorta de esperantista qui valuta su lingua excessivemente.

Idea for conlang pronoun system, partly inspired by Lojban

This article was originally posted on October 7,  2017 at Áya Dan, and is also archived in the Wayback Machine.

In Lojban you can declare pronouns that consistently refer back to nominals. This idea is very similar, but attempts to make the same concept slightly more naturalistic – a hybrid or “compromise” between logical and naturalistic. Most of the vocabulary in the examples given below is very European-derived, and if I took the concept further I might replace it.


With the exception of the inclusive first-person plural which is a combination of two other pronouns, pronouns take the pattern (C)V(n) where (n) is the optional letter n and, when used, signifies the plural.

In the first person there is a singular, inclusive plural, and exclusive plural: ti, tinren, and tin, respectively.

In the second person there is a singular and a plural: re and ren, respectively.

The generic third person pronoun is i, which also has singular and plural forms: i and in.

However, pronouns can also be declared with the particle let:

Let he Johano este viro. He amra katon.
(John is a man. He loves cats.)

Let xi Maria este fema. Xi amra katon.
(Maria is a woman. Xi loves cats.)

Let li Zamenhofo este mediko. Li amra katon.
(Zamenhof is a doctor. Li loves cats.)

Let lu Jepeseno este lingiso. Lu amra katon.
(Jespersen is a linguist. Lu loves cats.)

Let ri Kori este nobinari. Ri amra katon.
(Cory is nonbinary. Ri loves cats.)

Here he, xi, li, lu, and ri are assigned to the respective individuals: Johano, Maria, Zamenhofo, Jepeseno, Kori, and then the sentences as a whole are evaluated with the referent of the newly declared pronoun as the subject.

It might even be possible to extend this even further to non-pronouns, for example:

let Viki kato xel ti
(Viki = my cat)

let konlingo lingo wat homo akjo
(konlingo = language that a human makes)

Universalism, international auxiliary languages, and social justice

This article was originally posted on November 22,  2016 at Áya Dan, and is also archived in the Wayback Machine.

The universalist premise behind Esperanto is often described as “idealistic” and “utopian,” and can be summed up with its interna ideo (internal idea): “On the foundation of a neutral language eliminate the walls between the nations and make the people accustomed to each other, so that each of them will see in their neighbor only a human and a brother.” (Zamenhof, 1912, Parolado antaŭ la Oka Kongreso Esperantista; translation my own.)

In a sense, looking at everyone as a human, ignoring differences and focusing on similarities, sounds like a great idea. This premise is far from exclusive to the Esperanto movement, and defined many social justice movements in the 20th century. But unfortunately, it has not brought the justice it has promised. Inequality does not go away just because you ignore it. For example, if I associate with a group of abuse victims, and the group ignores LGBT issues because they’re a movement for abuse victims only, that doesn’t change the fact that when I apply for PTSD therapy or housing for battered women, my being transgender and bisexual can cause me to be discriminated against, and it has. Add the fact that I am neurodivergent and disabled, so my insurance options are limited, and the situation looks even worse. My issue is not that exactly that I’m LGBT, nor that I have PTSD, nor that I’m neurodivergent, nor that I’m disabled: it’s all of these things at the same time.

Last year I wrote a post, “How universal can a language be?”, which sparked a discussion of how an auxlang that was truly inclusive would be made. I think as a fundamental principle, any auxlang designed for the world we live in right now, rather than a future utopia, must acknowledge that there are differences between the ways people are treated by society, and that these differences often have a combined effect more severe than the sum of its parts. This means allowing for self-definition, allowing for the people who have experience with something to decide how to define themselves, instead of following the gospel of someone who lived over a century ago and didn’t even see the problem with saying that all humans should see each other as brothers.

The criticism often raised by traditionalist Esperanto speakers is, “Wouldn’t this make it devolve into dialects?” Such a belief stems from 19th-century attitudes about language, where dialects were seen as terrible and unfortunate things, as “impurities” arising from the one true language. The ideal auxlang, in my eyes, allows for dialects. What does it matter if different social groups speak differently, if they understand each other? Dialects are not a problem, but snobby and pretentious attitudes towards so-called “proper language use” definitely are. And anyone who is analytic about Esperanto would recognize that even “fundamenta Esperanto” already has quite a few dialects, reflecting different schools of Esperanto instruction as well as viewpoints on things like the 15th rule (neologisms) and pseudosuffixes (e.g. changing -kcio to -ado, when underlying roots didn’t previously exist).

The goal of any auxlang that strives to create a just world, should be to decenter the dominant culture, and to eliminate cultural dominance. Of course, it would be ridiculous to claim that a language could do this. Such a language must only be part of a broader movement, a means to the creation of a just world. And it must be considered replaceable whenever it proves to be unjust, or whenever people have become too rigid about it. The goal is not linguistic stability; the goal is justice. The goal is not to make people see each other as equals, but to make people equal.

Gender in Volapük

This article was originally posted on January 8,  2016 at Áya Dan, and is also archived in the Wayback Machine.

Volapük was constructed by Johann Martin Schleyer, a German Roman Catholic priest, in the late 1800s, after he claimed to have had a vision from God. It was the original international auxiliary language movement; the third international Volapük convention took place entirely in Volapük, which was the first time (that I’m aware of) when a constructed language was brought out of theory and into practice. The second was probably Esperanto.

Volapük eventually died as a result of infighting between the Academy and Schleyer (the Cifal or Chief) over control of the language. This same story has often been repeated in the communities of various constructed languages, such as Loglan for example. The Academy went on to make Idiom Neutral, which was very heavily influenced by Volapük, but the movement never recovered. Today there are a handful of people who still speak it, and a significantly larger number of people who study it. Personally, I am not fluent in Volapük, but I do study it, and if I ever had the time, I think it would be fun to become fluent.

Volapük, as spoken today, has three third-person pronouns: on, om, and of. On is an all-purpose pronoun, usable for both people and things. A group of men would be caled oms as a pronoun, a group of women would be called ofs, and a mixed group would be called ons. It is also possible to simply refer to everyone as on and ons. This system is the result of the grammatical reform of Arie de Jong, which happened decades after the original Volapük movement had mostly died out. Under the old system, men and things would go by om in the singular, oms in the plural. Women would go by of in the singular, ofs in the plural.

Volapük is a pro-drop language, meaning you ordinarily don’t use pronouns in the nominative except for emphasis. But the personal suffixes of verbs are exactly the same as the pronouns:

binom: He is
binof: She is
binon: It is; They (sing) are
binons: They are
binoms: They (masc) are
binofs: They (fem) are

Informally and regardless of whatever the official policy might be, genderqueer people could certainly add pronouns to Volapük the same way they do in Esperanto with e.g. “ri”. The following letters are currently used for Volapük pronouns: b, d, f, k, l, m, n, r, s, y. This leaves the following letters left over: g, p, t, v. There are other letters in the Volapük alphabet (c, h, j, x, z), but it would be hard to pluralize them in pronouns, since plurals are formed with s. The pronoun os is impersonal, and has no plural form. Yet it might still be feasible if you wanted your personal pronoun to be (for example) “oz”, and for the plural of it to simply be “ons.”

Of course, you would be likely to find the same difficulties using non-standard pronouns in Volapük that you did anywhere else.

There are also two Volapük gender prefixes, hi- and ji-, which make a noun masculine or feminine, respectively. So the Volapük word for “human” is men (derived from German Mensch), and if you wanted to say “man” you could either say himen, or you could synonymously say man. For “woman” you could say jimen or, synonymously, vom. There is no prefix that makes something non-binary, but as with pronouns, I’m sure someone could find a way if they wanted to 🙂

I find it interesting that Volapük uses “on” to represent both people and things. There are Esperanto speakers who claim that this function is fulfilled by ĝi in Esperanto, but unlike in Volapük, this has never been common or established usage except in reference to animals and babies.

I personally love Volapük; it’s a fun language with its own character, and it gets a very bad name in the Esperanto community. It’s easier to understand than it seems, once you get used to its alphabet and weird ways of assimilating words. Most of the words are derived from natural sources, and are more phonologically faithful than orthographically. This means that spoken aloud, some of them even sound more like their original root words than Esperanto words do.

Also, because Volapük has religious roots, I find the idea of talking about irreligious (or even sacrilegious) things in the language amusing 🙂

You can learn more about Volapük at volapük.com.

How universal can a language be?

This article was originally posted on October 19, 2015 at Áya Dan, and is also archived in the Wayback Machine.

For queer people, learning any language can be a very invalidating experience. Learning materials generally focus on the language that is standard, acceptable and “normal,” never on the language of non-binary or queer people. For example, a genderqueer French learner will have to do some extra research to find out about non-binary French pronouns such as iel, yel, ille, yol, and ol. It is likely that, until they are able to read the language, it will be difficult for them to even find information about such things. And using such pronouns prior to reaching complete fluency and eliminating their accent will make them vulnerable to even greater derision than non-binary native speakers.

Learning a constructed language can be even more invalidating. Constructed languages have been made with a particular goal in mind, and queer people soon discover that this goal did not involve them. As an example, Láadan is a language designed to express female thought, and a Láadan learner can expect to learn words for concepts such as “baby,” “pregnant” and “menstruate” from the very start. But perusing the dictionaries in the back of the First Dictionary and Grammar of Láadan, Second Edition, a student will find no words whatsoever for concepts like “transgender,” “transsexual” or “non-binary,” despite the fact that the first two concepts were well-known to feminists at the time of Láadan’s creation.

When thinking about the possibility of a queer language, it is hard to imagine constructing such a thing without invalidating someone. Any constructed language is very likely to push, consciously or unconsciously, the particular biases of the author. For example, if a transmedicalist were to construct a language designed to be inclusive to trans people, the author would probably make sex equivalent to gender, erase the concept of being cis or trans altogether and strictly assert the gender binary. A person who does not believe in gender, on the other hand, may choose to erase any concept of gender from their language altogether. Yet to many trans people, either of these would be less inclusive and less validating than a Romance language, whose queer native speakers have already found their own ways around the problem of binary gender.

As social agreements, languages suffer from the same fundamental problems that any social arrangement suffers, and constructed languages inherit these problems while introducing their own. We may have several answers to the ultimate question of the Universal Language, but it is also possible that we have never actually known what the question is.