Can the Chinese language survive in Singapore?

Last month, a large shopping mall was about to open, and a colleague said the mall owner did not have a Chinese name for it. Later, I checked with the journalist covering the event and she told me that she had already thought of a translation and was going to seek the advice of the mall’s public relations department. However, I suggested using Singapore’s machine translation database SGTranslate, and indicating the source.

I explained that since the mall owners had spent hundreds of millions of dollars on this shopping mall project but did not want a Chinese name for it, it is inappropriate to spend time and effort to do so on their behalf.

One, you may think that your translation is appropriate, or even ingenious, but the owners may not necessarily agree. Even if the PR department likes it, their bosses at various levels may have something to say and may not appreciate your effort. Two, your translation would be different from that by other media and cause public confusion (of course, the same issue would occur with machine translation).

Three, the newspaper’s readers, not the mall owners, are the ones you serve; the priority is writing the news properly, and our limited resources should not be spent on thinking of Chinese names for shopping malls. Doing this conscientiously would involve a group to study and conceptualise it over a few days, or perhaps even paying for the services of a professional brand consultancy. Four…

I could have given more reasons, but I stopped myself as I was worried about being too much of a wet blanket.

In fact, the greater resistance comes from the growing number of people in society who are indifferent to or dismissive of the Chinese language, with some even displaying a sense of arrogance in their attitudes.

My colleagues, who are all Chinese language elites, are inevitably somewhat dejected. Look around and one sees that the signboards of many hawker stalls and neighbourhood shops no longer feature Chinese characters. It can also be seen from Lianhe Zaobao’s many feature stories of SMEs and branding that Chinese names have become rare or dispensable.

Of course, the choice of names and whether to have Chinese names is entirely subjective. Some rather quirky interviewees refuse to give their Chinese names and insist on using their English names in Chinese news reports. The problem is that even in the public sphere, the trend towards monolingualism is becoming increasingly apparent.

For example, the concept of using both English and Chinese names (and possibly names in other mother tongue languages) for neighbourhoods in HDB estates reportedly began in the late 1980s and early 1990s. However, in recent years, only English names that are increasingly ‘grand,’ ‘classy,’ and ‘sophisticated’ (高大上) remain. The shopping mall mentioned above has presumably followed the trend and is unlikely to be the last.

It must be emphasised that Lianhe Zaobao does not reject the use of English in its news reports. Sometimes, to aid readers’ understanding, it gets reporters to include bracketed notes, especially technical terms and jargon. However, if the names of businesses, brands, buildings, events, programmes or projects are all in English, the reading experience would not be good, while making journalists force a translation would probably affect communication effectiveness.

For those who read and write the newspapers, they can probably stand a mash of Chinese and English text, but imagine the pain and resentment of the poor radio and TV journalists if they have to code-switch between languages during broadcasts.

And that is just the shrinking scope of use of the Chinese language. Among the four official languages, Malay is in an even more precarious situation than Chinese, and Tamil has long since faded from use.

I recently attended an inter-agency translation seminar focused on the next decade. During a breakout session, someone asked whether human translation would still be needed with the advent of machine translation. This led to a crucial question: If English were to become everyone’s “mother tongue language”, would public translation still be necessary?

It used to be said that passing on mother tongue language and culture depends on three pillars. First, the Chinese community and associations, which mainly include clans and industry associations, represented by the Singapore Federation of Chinese Clan Associations and the Singapore Chinese Chamber of Commerce and Industry. Second, the Chinese education sector that mainly includes Chinese language teachers, academics and educational institutions. Third, the Chinese newspapers of the past and the entire Chinese media industry of the present. Many people in these three domains are still working hard, but they have their respective challenges and concerns.

The main challenge for clan associations is their diminishing functions. Unlike clan associations in the past that took on all kinds of responsibilities for immigrants including education, support, medical care, funeral, prayers and mediation of disputes, most of them currently only maintain relationships and preserve homeland nostalgia, while the more able clan associations also undertake cultural promotion. Attempts by clan associations at rejuvenation by attracting younger members have had varying results, and some of the smaller ones are slipping into a crisis of continuity as homeland nostalgia has worn thin.

Chinese language education is directly related to language proficiency and cultural identity of future generations. Some feel the outlook is optimistic but more are concerned, and Lianhe Zaobao commentaries and letters tend to see more of the latter view. Another less discussed topic is the training of Chinese language teachers. While there is no issue with numbers, there are doubts about their quality compared to the previous two generations of teachers.

And what about the Chinese media industry? We face two major problems, namely the disruption of the entire ecosystem, and declining use and standards of the Chinese language. Therefore, I often ask myself whether there will be enough Chinese language talents in the future, and whether there will be a large enough audience and demand in the market. In one Sunday edition of Lianhe Zaobao last month, there was a special report looking at these difficulties, with interviews with the heads of the Malay and Tamil newspapers to say how they stem the tide and their views on their prospects.

Going beyond these three pillars, the Chinese community actually comprises two loose but clearly identifiable groups. The first group are the “Little Tradition” locals (allow me to borrow the concept of Little Tradition from anthropology). These are the locals among the grassroots, who mainly rely on the people’s beliefs, the words and deeds passed down by the elders in the family as well as popular music and subcultures to preserve many traditional concepts, customs and norms in their lives. Of course, they possess a certain level of ability in the mother tongue language and dialects.

They are not cultured literati, but are mostly believers who observe the Ghost Festival, participants of activities in temples, and “uncles” and “aunties” (elderly men and women) who reserve the front row seats at getai (歌台, lit. song stage, or singing performances) during the seventh lunar month.

At the Wu Bai and China Blue 2024 Rock Live concert at Marina Bay Sands last month, there was a chorus of the songs Wanderer’s Love Song and Norwegian Forest among the dispersing crowd at the end of the concert. I believe these several thousand fans could be considered part of the “Little Tradition” local group.

At times, I feel that this group has significant presence with their occasional shouts of “heng, ong, huat” (兴、旺、发, luck, prosperity, fortune). However, the presence seems to be gradually waning, especially when the part of this group that is attached to tradition gradually disperses, along with the decline in beliefs.

The other group are new immigrants and their children, who know the Chinese language. They come from two main locations. The first category come from Greater China with various Chinese accents, and with varying degrees of integration into Singapore society. Some are still strangers feeling their way around on the sidelines, while others have begun to establish their own hometown associations and interest organisations.

They are spread across various fields — some are in business, some are teachers, and many are in the cultural industry. Their children are generally excellent in the Chinese language. With this obvious advantage, they often excel and dominate in the annual National Chinese Challenge organised by Lianhe Zaobao for the schools. The arrival of these immigrants has injected much new blood and vibrancy into the local Chinese community and enriched local Chinese culture. At the very least, all the Chinese cuisines and flavours are covered.

The other category comprises the Malaysians (known as 州府, chew hoo in the Hokkien and Teochew dialects locally) with whom we are more familiar. Among them are immigrants old and new, and permanent residents, as well as those who self-deprecatingly call themselves “Malaysian migrant workers”(马劳), who rush back and forth across the Causeway to earn Singapore dollars.

I often think that if they had not constantly come into our neighbourhoods, schools, workplaces and every corner of our lives, we would have much fewer opportunities to hear and use the Chinese language. Moreover, the foundation and character of Singapore’s entire Chinese community would undoubtedly be very different — whether it has been strengthened or weakened and enriched or made monotonous, the answer is self-evident.

It has to be said that the Malaysians’ Chinese language ability is indeed “rather powerful” (几厉害一下, jilihaiyixia, a Malaysian pet phrase), mainly because they have retained a complete Chinese schools system that has endured.

According to a recent report in The Straits Times, about 21% of students in Chinese primary schools in Malaysia are Indigenous or Indian. To add another figure I previously read, the total student enrollment across the six grades in these schools nationwide exceeds 500,000, meaning that over 100,000 non-Chinese children are attending these schools!

The level of Chinese proficiency in these Chinese primary schools is probably higher than in Singapore. There are also many independent Chinese high schools in Malaysia, as well as the Chinese faculties in universities such as the University of Malaya, Universiti Tunku Abdul Rahman, New Era University College, Southern University College, Han Chiang University College of Communication and Xiamen University Malaysia. In a few years, there will be as many, if not more, young Malays and Indians in Malaysia with “rather powerful” Chinese language ability than young Singaporean Chinese. Incredible as it seems, this is very probable.

Last month, some friends and I visited the Southern University College in Skudai, Malaysia. The person in charge brought us to a special room for Singaporean Chinese literature in the library, where the size and completeness of the collections took me by surprise. My former colleague Pan Cheng Lui autographed his works, of which there were a dozen or so, more than I knew of.

And in another collection specially for the 6,000 books donated by the late Singaporean academic Dr Gwee Yee Hean, I was both gratified and saddened to see hundreds of his stitch-bound publications. Why are they not kept in Singapore? The chief librarian said that he has in his office the manuscripts of the late reporter Ly Singko. I thought to myself that they are probably not even kept in the huge reference room in our newspaper office. And as I was writing this article, I came to know of another friend who has agreed to deliver a batch of his books to the Southern University College this month.

The use of the Chinese language in Singapore is decent and not too bad, thanks to the influx of the hundreds of thousands of Chinese-speaking foreigners in the past few decades. In fact, Lianhe Zaobao’s editorial department is a microcosm of our island state. Without the cream of the crop from Malaysia, China, Hong Kong and Taiwan, including the second generation of the new immigrants, you would be reading a very different newspaper; whether its standards would be higher or lower, the answer also goes without saying.

At this point, the tribute dinner in June for former PM Lee Hsien Loong, organised by the Chinese community leaders, came to mind. I was touched by the retrospective video that Lianhe Zaobao made for him. He really sees himself as a student from a Chinese-language school; he is connected to the Chinese community and understands its concerns. He reads Lianhe Zaobao and sings the xinyao (新谣, Singaporean songs) tune Friendship Forever (《细水长流》), and he has quoted the line “in a high dwelling one cannot bear the cold” (高处不胜寒) from Su Dongpo’s poem Shuidiao Getou (水调歌头, Water Melody) to Wu Yi, former vice-premier of China.

What struck me most was the interview before he stepped down as PM, in which he said that he would have more time in the future to read the book he wants to read most, which is Chi Pang-Yuan’s novel The Great Flowing River: A Memoir of China, from Manchuria to Taiwan (《巨流河》). I thought at the time that he must be the last PM of his kind. There would probably never be such a PM, let alone a minister, from the 4G, 5G or 6G leadership in Singapore.

Nevertheless, I hope that the Chinese community, the Chinese education sector and the Chinese media industry will continue to strive and continue to be a mainstay, as they have done for more than a century. I also hope that the younger ethnic Chinese generations, whether born in Singapore or the children of new immigrants, retain the skills and be “rather powerful” in their Chinese language ability, which will enable them to continue their inheritance as well as sustain and contribute to the longevity and splendour of the use of the Chinese language in Singapore.

As for right now, when we see malls or whatever with no Chinese name, there is probably no point in trying to insist on having one. We would already have done our part by using machine translation for it.

This article was first published in Lianhe Zaobao as “华语文的细水，还能否长流？”.

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