Talk of Beijing: a language revolution

In the mid-1990s, officials briefly moved to police the language. Long diatribes warned of vulgarization. But the change is happening so quickly that few officials challenge it today.

"It is important for every language to watch against foreign words," says Lu Zen Wu, a linguist with the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. "But it is now an unavoidable trend that new words are coming. Many daily words we only find out later are from outside."

Only in recent years has a "language of intimacy" entered the vocabulary. A graduate student recently read letters written by her father, a soldier, to her mother, before they were married in the late '60s. They were love letters. But the soldier dared not state his love directly. Such talk might bring suspicion of petty bourgeois sentiments. "You and I will work and fight on the same battlefield forever," he wrote.

"We can now say 'I love you' every day," says a different student.

For thousands of years, until the turn of the 20th century, language was the province of Chinese scholars. They guarded classical Chinese, especially its written form, almost a separate language, with the fervor of a priestly class. But by 1919, the winds of modernity brought new ideas and a more common usage.

The second major shift came in 1949, with Mao. The chairman brought a language of revolution and a revolution of language. He sped up the simplification of Mandarin characters, and had Chinese words "pinyinized," or transliterated into the Latin alphabet.

Mao's experiment, conducted as China closed itself off from the world, melded the earthy language of Chinese peasants with Marxist ideas. A new vernacular was born with phrases like danwei meaning "work unit" and ganbu for "egalitarian official."

Twenty years after the opening brought by Deng Xiaoping, Chinese is under construction again. Consumerism is incubating a culture of want, need, and demand. By Western standards, that might not sound like a ge ming. But in a country of 1.3 billion people, where collective sacrifice has been a moral ideal, it's a real shift.

Open a Beijing newspaper, and one sees an ad by a utility company showing a dapper white collar or bai ling Chinese saying, "I want more electricity." Perhaps more shocking was a Beijing real estate billboard advertising homes, which read, "I want. I want. I want."

The sign was later removed. But as one scholar commented, "It isn't surprising that the billboard came down. What's surprising is that it ever went up."

Market-driven China is witnessing new forms of business civility. The revolutionary era phrase yin mou, often used to accuse others of ill intent or conspiracy, is giving way to sang yang, which means "you have plans" that are clear to see.

In some ways, the very heart of China's new ideological frontier reflects new usage. San Ge Dai Biao, or "Three Represents," is a new party theory, championed by President Jiang Zemin, that offers a rationale for China's shift from the Maoist era to the high-tech market era. The title "Three Represents" does not echo Marxist-Soviet language. Dai Biao, or "Represents" is an English-derived term that seems to many friendlier and even quasi-democratic. It's essential message: "Go with the times."

"Inside the language of San Ge Dai Biao, you can be either liberal or conservative," says a Beijing business executive. "It is an excuse to move forward."

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