The current paper argues that speakers of Tongan English, an emergent variety spoken in the Kingdom of Tonga, may use rhoticity to construct a cosmopolitan and globally oriented local social identity. A variationist analysis of non-prevocalic /r/ in a corpus of 56 speakers reveals a change in progress towards rhoticity led by young females, whereas an affiliation with Liahona High School, a Mormon secondary school, predicts advanced adoption of the feature. I argue that rhoticity carries a positive ideological load for younger speakers as an index of globalness, modernity and Western cultural values, whereas for Liahona-affiliated speakers, an additional indexicality of rhoticity is Mormonism. Linguistic constraints on variation mirror patterns found in previous studies on L1/L2 varieties and are thus more universal, whereas social constraints on variation are best examined through a local lens.
汤加英语是汤加王国的一种新兴语言，本文认为，汤加英语的使用者可能会利用rhoticity来构建一种世界性的、面向全球的地方社会身份。通过对 56 位讲汤加英语的人的语料库中的非前元音 /r/ 进行变异分析，发现年轻女性在使用根音的过程中出现了变化，而隶属于摩门教中学 Liahona High School 的人则更早地使用了根音。我认为，对于年轻的说话者来说，rhoticity 作为全球性、现代性和西方文化价值观的一个指标，具有积极的意识形态负载；而对于隶属于 Liahona 的说话者来说，rhoticity 的另一个指标是摩门教。对变异的语言限制反映了以前对 L1/L2 变异的研究中发现的模式，因此更具普遍性，而对变异的社会限制则最好从地方视角进行研究。
{"title":"We /r/ Tongan, not American: Variation and the social meaning of rhoticity in Tongan English","authors":"Danielle Tod","doi":"10.1111/josl.12664","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12664","url":null,"abstract":"<p>The current paper argues that speakers of Tongan English, an emergent variety spoken in the Kingdom of Tonga, may use rhoticity to construct a cosmopolitan and globally oriented local social identity. A variationist analysis of non-prevocalic /r/ in a corpus of 56 speakers reveals a change in progress towards rhoticity led by young females, whereas an affiliation with Liahona High School, a Mormon secondary school, predicts advanced adoption of the feature. I argue that rhoticity carries a positive ideological load for younger speakers as an index of globalness, modernity and Western cultural values, whereas for Liahona-affiliated speakers, an additional indexicality of rhoticity is Mormonism. Linguistic constraints on variation mirror patterns found in previous studies on L1/L2 varieties and are thus more universal, whereas social constraints on variation are best examined through a local lens.</p>","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 4","pages":"3-23"},"PeriodicalIF":1.5,"publicationDate":"2024-05-27","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/josl.12664","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141189102","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>I thank Lal Zimman for his thought-provoking piece on trans language activism (TLA) and sociolinguistic justice. Heeding his call for intersectional coalitions, I focus my comments on colonisation and decolonisation in trans-affirming language in Aotearoa (New Zealand).</p><p>Aotearoa is a settler colonial society, where Māori, the Indigenous people, have continuously resisted non-Māori dominance. Pākehā (non-Māori of European origin) are the largest population group at 70%, compared to Māori at 17% (2018 Census). Pākehā have imposed their social and cultural norms, resulting in the devastating loss of Māori language and culture. Although language revitalisation is occurring, most Māori mainly speak English. Issues relating to gender and language mirror those in other colonised countries, with Western gender discourses supplanting Indigenous ones (Clark, <span>2016</span>). Each cultural context remains specific, and I will focus on what I see as the most pressing issues in Aotearoa. I am Pākehā, cisgender and queer. I offer my perspective as a sociolinguist and activist working in trans-affirming spaces, but my views do not hold the same weight as those of Indigenous trans people.</p><p>I will address three issues: problems associated with the use of Western-origin terms to refer to groups with experiences of colonisation, the challenge of de-centring whiteness in trans-affirming spaces and the rise of Indigenous efforts to decolonise language and gender.</p><p>The use of Māori gender terms in English contrasts with the low linguistic prominence of gender in the Māori language, which has no grammatical gender and uses the non-gendered pronoun ia for he/she/they. When Māori gender terms are used in English, binary or non-binary pronouns appear around them and speakers operate in a colonised linguistic context. This reflects the colonisation of Māori gender norms more generally. Christian ideas were imposed on Māori, including restrictive Victorian norms of gender and sexuality. These were internalised, so that, despite a tradition of openness to gender and sexual fluidity (Kerekere, <span>2017</span>), homophobia and transphobia exist among Māori today. As Zimman observes, ‘it is important to remember that transphobia is a cultural force, not something that (only) belongs to or lives within individuals’. When non-Māori criticise Māori for being transphobic, they are really criticising the effects of colonisation on Māori. Addressing transphobia requires addressing its structural causes, including the gendered history of colonisation.</p><p>Similar issues arise among Pacific people, who constitute 8% of the population and have experienced colonisation in the Islands and racism in Aotearoa. Pacific societies also have histories of gender and sexual fluidity that were suppressed through colonisation and a range of traditional terms referring to gender and sexuality. Pacific advocate Phylesha Brown-Acton developed a Pacific version of the LGBTQ+ a
{"title":"Decolonising trans-affirming language in Aotearoa","authors":"Julia de Bres","doi":"10.1111/josl.12657","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12657","url":null,"abstract":"<p>I thank Lal Zimman for his thought-provoking piece on trans language activism (TLA) and sociolinguistic justice. Heeding his call for intersectional coalitions, I focus my comments on colonisation and decolonisation in trans-affirming language in Aotearoa (New Zealand).</p><p>Aotearoa is a settler colonial society, where Māori, the Indigenous people, have continuously resisted non-Māori dominance. Pākehā (non-Māori of European origin) are the largest population group at 70%, compared to Māori at 17% (2018 Census). Pākehā have imposed their social and cultural norms, resulting in the devastating loss of Māori language and culture. Although language revitalisation is occurring, most Māori mainly speak English. Issues relating to gender and language mirror those in other colonised countries, with Western gender discourses supplanting Indigenous ones (Clark, <span>2016</span>). Each cultural context remains specific, and I will focus on what I see as the most pressing issues in Aotearoa. I am Pākehā, cisgender and queer. I offer my perspective as a sociolinguist and activist working in trans-affirming spaces, but my views do not hold the same weight as those of Indigenous trans people.</p><p>I will address three issues: problems associated with the use of Western-origin terms to refer to groups with experiences of colonisation, the challenge of de-centring whiteness in trans-affirming spaces and the rise of Indigenous efforts to decolonise language and gender.</p><p>The use of Māori gender terms in English contrasts with the low linguistic prominence of gender in the Māori language, which has no grammatical gender and uses the non-gendered pronoun ia for he/she/they. When Māori gender terms are used in English, binary or non-binary pronouns appear around them and speakers operate in a colonised linguistic context. This reflects the colonisation of Māori gender norms more generally. Christian ideas were imposed on Māori, including restrictive Victorian norms of gender and sexuality. These were internalised, so that, despite a tradition of openness to gender and sexual fluidity (Kerekere, <span>2017</span>), homophobia and transphobia exist among Māori today. As Zimman observes, ‘it is important to remember that transphobia is a cultural force, not something that (only) belongs to or lives within individuals’. When non-Māori criticise Māori for being transphobic, they are really criticising the effects of colonisation on Māori. Addressing transphobia requires addressing its structural causes, including the gendered history of colonisation.</p><p>Similar issues arise among Pacific people, who constitute 8% of the population and have experienced colonisation in the Islands and racism in Aotearoa. Pacific societies also have histories of gender and sexual fluidity that were suppressed through colonisation and a range of traditional terms referring to gender and sexuality. Pacific advocate Phylesha Brown-Acton developed a Pacific version of the LGBTQ+ a","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"30-34"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/josl.12657","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146865","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>In his piece, Lal Zimman tells us that while discourse is changing about trans communities, they are still killing us, so trans language activism (TLA) needs to focus on sociolinguistic justice. Sociolinguistic justice is defined as self-determination about our language and redistribution of resources (Bucholtz et al., <span>2014</span>). Zimman argues that sociolinguistic justice for trans people should be more aligned with coalitional social justice for all marginalized people who suffer from interlocking systems of oppression. How does TLA play a role in the liberation for all people? Historically, TLA challenges oppressive power dynamics that are misogynistic (Cameron, <span>1998</span>; Lakoff, <span>1973</span>), heteronormative (Livia, <span>2000</span>; Queen, <span>1997</span>), and transphobic (Zimman, <span>2017</span>). As Zimman suggests in this issue, we want TLA to not only challenge misogyny, heteronormativity, and transphobia. We are looking for liberation from all systems of oppression, including ableism, capitalism, colonialism, fatphobia, HIV status, (English language) imperialism, incarceration, Islamophobia, poverty, racism, sexism, Survivorship, transphobia, and xenophobia. In this paper, we argue that euphoric transmutation is a strategy for liberating us through language. Euphoric transmutation refers to practices of language play where the play/juxtaposition/inversion/innovation/resignification of lexicon functions to call attention to hegemonic power and destroy it.</p><p>TLA is dependent on a community supportive of change and willing to hold people accountable for their use of politically correct forms (Ehrlich & King, <span>1992</span>). Because of this, it is necessary to work collectively within and across safe(r) communities of practice (Eckert & McConnell-Ginet <span>1992</span>) in dialogic intersubjectivity (Bucholtz & Hall, <span>2005</span>) to identify how language relates to our political conditions and to set up shared language that challenges this. We do this through political education. Political education involves connecting forms of oppression across geographies, identities, and identifications. For example, we connect how oppressors use stereotypes and controlling images (Collins, <span>1986</span>) like “swarms of animals,” both to xenophobically dehumanize people crossing the border between Mexico and United States and also to Islamophobically dehumanize Palestinians who are waiting for food aid from trucks and planes in the midst of Israel's genocide. TLA requires communities of practice to engage in discussion of these topics to collectively process systems of oppression and our reactions to them.</p><p>Collective discussion requires shared community spaces in which people can produce language play. But in order to produce more language play in our everyday lives, we need safe(r) spaces.</p><p>Spaces to hold conversations to understand each other and how we (people in powerless posi
拉尔-齐曼（Lal Zimman）在他的文章中告诉我们，虽然关于跨性别群体的话语正在发生变化，但他们仍在杀害我们，因此跨语言行动主义（TLA）需要关注社会语言正义。社会语言正义被定义为我们语言的自决权和资源的再分配（Bucholtz et al.）Zimman 认为，变性人的社会语言公正应与所有遭受连锁压迫系统的边缘化人群的联合社会公正更加一致。跨语言语言学如何在全民解放中发挥作用？从历史上看，TLA 挑战的是厌恶女性（Cameron，1998 年；Lakoff，1973 年）、异性恋（Livia，2000 年；Queen，1997 年）和跨性别恐惧（Zimman，2017 年）的压迫性权力动态。正如齐曼在本期中提出的，我们希望 TLA 不仅挑战厌女症、异性恋和变性恐惧症。我们正在寻求从所有压迫体系中解放出来，包括能力主义、资本主义、殖民主义、肥胖恐惧症、艾滋病毒感染状况、（英语）帝国主义、监禁、伊斯兰恐惧症、贫困、种族主义、性别歧视、幸存者、变性人恐惧症和仇外心理。在本文中，我们认为极乐嬗变是一种通过语言解放我们的策略。极乐嬗变指的是语言游戏的实践，在这种实践中，词汇的游戏/并置/反转/创新/重新定义起到了唤起人们对霸权的关注并摧毁霸权的作用。TLA依赖于一个支持变革并愿意让人们为其使用政治正确的形式负责的社区（Ehrlich & King, 1992）。因此，有必要在安全（r）实践社区（Eckert & McConnell-Ginet 1992 年）内和社区间开展主体间对话（Bucholtz & Hall, 2005 年），以确定语言如何与我们的政治条件相关联，并建立挑战这种情况的共同语言。我们通过政治教育来实现这一目标。政治教育涉及将不同地域、身份和认同的压迫形式联系起来。例如，我们将压迫者如何利用 "成群的动物 "等刻板印象和控制形象（Collins，1986 年）联系起来，既将跨越墨西哥和美国边境的人非人化，又将在以色列种族灭绝中等待卡车和飞机提供粮食援助的巴勒斯坦人非人化。集体讨论需要共享的社区空间，在这些空间里，人们可以进行语言游戏。但是，为了在日常生活中创造更多的语言游戏，我们需要安全（r）的空间。在这些空间中，我们可以进行对话，以了解彼此以及我们（处于无权地位的人）之间的关系。在这样的空间里，我们可以自由、合作地参与语言的自我决定，而不必担心或受到压迫的影响。因此，安全（r）空间需要优先考虑变革实践，以纠正代表性和物质方面的差异。这些空间可以是实体的、面对面的，也可以是数字的或虚拟的。芝加哥的石英皇家国际学校（ISHoQR）就是这样一个例子，它的物理空间和数字项目为联合、变革和社会语言正义项目创造了条件。在 ISHoQR，我们有以下做法：在像 ISHoQR 这样的空间教授这些名称和流程是我们的主要目标。我们共同的优先事项首先是命名白人至上主义等制度，这些制度使我们失去人性--以暴力为目标，正如齐曼所说，抹杀、误认和商品化我们。我们共同的优先事项包括通过承认我们在压迫性权力方面自我决定的名称和立场来实现人性化--这是变革问责制的第一步。我们通过"[挑战外部定义的控制形象内容的][自我定义和]自我评价"（柯林斯，1986 年）使彼此人性化。换句话说，我们处理并定义我们是谁以及我们共同受压迫的状况。我们将这一转变过程称为 "极乐嬗变"（euphoric transmutation）--通过使用幸存者证词、仪式语言、语言游戏和反霸权叙事来实现自我决定的过程--其目标是通过自我实现来解放所有人，然后通过政治教育来共同实现。同样，这必须由内而外地发生--首先使我们自己人性化。我们可以做到这一点的方法之一是记录我们使用语言来命名和成为我们自己的方式，即在种族灭绝等压迫条件下构建我们的身份。
{"title":"Theorizing trans language activism for euphoric transmutation and our collective liberation*","authors":"Tulio Bermudez Mejía, Anyel Marquinez Montaño","doi":"10.1111/josl.12662","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12662","url":null,"abstract":"<p>In his piece, Lal Zimman tells us that while discourse is changing about trans communities, they are still killing us, so trans language activism (TLA) needs to focus on sociolinguistic justice. Sociolinguistic justice is defined as self-determination about our language and redistribution of resources (Bucholtz et al., <span>2014</span>). Zimman argues that sociolinguistic justice for trans people should be more aligned with coalitional social justice for all marginalized people who suffer from interlocking systems of oppression. How does TLA play a role in the liberation for all people? Historically, TLA challenges oppressive power dynamics that are misogynistic (Cameron, <span>1998</span>; Lakoff, <span>1973</span>), heteronormative (Livia, <span>2000</span>; Queen, <span>1997</span>), and transphobic (Zimman, <span>2017</span>). As Zimman suggests in this issue, we want TLA to not only challenge misogyny, heteronormativity, and transphobia. We are looking for liberation from all systems of oppression, including ableism, capitalism, colonialism, fatphobia, HIV status, (English language) imperialism, incarceration, Islamophobia, poverty, racism, sexism, Survivorship, transphobia, and xenophobia. In this paper, we argue that euphoric transmutation is a strategy for liberating us through language. Euphoric transmutation refers to practices of language play where the play/juxtaposition/inversion/innovation/resignification of lexicon functions to call attention to hegemonic power and destroy it.</p><p>TLA is dependent on a community supportive of change and willing to hold people accountable for their use of politically correct forms (Ehrlich & King, <span>1992</span>). Because of this, it is necessary to work collectively within and across safe(r) communities of practice (Eckert & McConnell-Ginet <span>1992</span>) in dialogic intersubjectivity (Bucholtz & Hall, <span>2005</span>) to identify how language relates to our political conditions and to set up shared language that challenges this. We do this through political education. Political education involves connecting forms of oppression across geographies, identities, and identifications. For example, we connect how oppressors use stereotypes and controlling images (Collins, <span>1986</span>) like “swarms of animals,” both to xenophobically dehumanize people crossing the border between Mexico and United States and also to Islamophobically dehumanize Palestinians who are waiting for food aid from trucks and planes in the midst of Israel's genocide. TLA requires communities of practice to engage in discussion of these topics to collectively process systems of oppression and our reactions to them.</p><p>Collective discussion requires shared community spaces in which people can produce language play. But in order to produce more language play in our everyday lives, we need safe(r) spaces.</p><p>Spaces to hold conversations to understand each other and how we (people in powerless posi","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"25-29"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/josl.12662","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146896","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>While browsing my Facebook feed on an early summer day in May 2017, a post with the trigger warning “inconsistent use of pronouns” grabbed my attention. The post, shared within a private Facebook group for (foreign) LGBTQIA+ individuals and allies living in Japan, featured an article recently published in <i>The New York Times</i>. Titled “Japanese Transgender Politician is Showing ‘I Exist Here’,” the article focuses on Hosoda Tomoya, a Japanese trans man who recently won a seat in the local city council in a suburb just outside of Tokyo (Rich, <span>2017</span>). Hosoda made history as the first trans man in the world to be voted to public office, and the near-full-page article delved into Hosoda's life history, his journey into politics, and the challenges that he faced as a trans person living in Japan. What the author and the subsequent commenters of the Facebook post found “baffling” about the article was the use of the pronoun “she” when referring to Hosoda's childhood years as a girl named Mika, whereas throughout the remainder of the article, “he” was used to refer to Hosoda. This inconsistency was deemed by some as “poor etiquette,” particularly from a reputable outlet like <i>The New York Times</i>. What the readers were not aware of, however, was that Hosoda himself had approved the use of the pronoun “she” in that specific section of the report. The reason he provided was that it is an undeniable fact that he had “publicly lived as a woman before <i>chiryo</i>” (transition, literally medical treatment) and therefore did not see anything wrong with using the feminine third-person pronoun (private communication). If Hosoda himself did not find the pronouns “inconsistent” or offensive, should the general readers take issue with them?</p><p>In the middle of 2020, I received an email from a graduate student based in the United States who had recently read one of my articles. The student took issue with my use of the term “FTM,” pointing out that by using it to refer to my research informants, I am perpetuating the “linguistic violence” associated with the term. In that article, I drew on my fieldwork in what I term the Japanese FTM community in Tokyo to show how seemingly mundane social events, such as drinking parties that are organized by and for trans men, can function as a site for my informants to negotiate inclusion and belonging as trans without undermining their male public selves. Within this community, “FTM” (the English acronym for female-to-male transgender) is the preferred term of self-reference, both in written form and in speech (transliterated as <i>efu-tii-emu</i> in Japanese). Although I was aware of the debates surrounding this term in English-speaking contexts, where it is considered outdated and criticized for emphasizing a notion of change that contradicts the experiences of many trans individuals who have always identified as such, I chose to use it to refer to my informants because they have consistently used i
{"title":"Beyond “correctness”","authors":"Shu Min Yuen","doi":"10.1111/josl.12656","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12656","url":null,"abstract":"<p>While browsing my Facebook feed on an early summer day in May 2017, a post with the trigger warning “inconsistent use of pronouns” grabbed my attention. The post, shared within a private Facebook group for (foreign) LGBTQIA+ individuals and allies living in Japan, featured an article recently published in <i>The New York Times</i>. Titled “Japanese Transgender Politician is Showing ‘I Exist Here’,” the article focuses on Hosoda Tomoya, a Japanese trans man who recently won a seat in the local city council in a suburb just outside of Tokyo (Rich, <span>2017</span>). Hosoda made history as the first trans man in the world to be voted to public office, and the near-full-page article delved into Hosoda's life history, his journey into politics, and the challenges that he faced as a trans person living in Japan. What the author and the subsequent commenters of the Facebook post found “baffling” about the article was the use of the pronoun “she” when referring to Hosoda's childhood years as a girl named Mika, whereas throughout the remainder of the article, “he” was used to refer to Hosoda. This inconsistency was deemed by some as “poor etiquette,” particularly from a reputable outlet like <i>The New York Times</i>. What the readers were not aware of, however, was that Hosoda himself had approved the use of the pronoun “she” in that specific section of the report. The reason he provided was that it is an undeniable fact that he had “publicly lived as a woman before <i>chiryo</i>” (transition, literally medical treatment) and therefore did not see anything wrong with using the feminine third-person pronoun (private communication). If Hosoda himself did not find the pronouns “inconsistent” or offensive, should the general readers take issue with them?</p><p>In the middle of 2020, I received an email from a graduate student based in the United States who had recently read one of my articles. The student took issue with my use of the term “FTM,” pointing out that by using it to refer to my research informants, I am perpetuating the “linguistic violence” associated with the term. In that article, I drew on my fieldwork in what I term the Japanese FTM community in Tokyo to show how seemingly mundane social events, such as drinking parties that are organized by and for trans men, can function as a site for my informants to negotiate inclusion and belonging as trans without undermining their male public selves. Within this community, “FTM” (the English acronym for female-to-male transgender) is the preferred term of self-reference, both in written form and in speech (transliterated as <i>efu-tii-emu</i> in Japanese). Although I was aware of the debates surrounding this term in English-speaking contexts, where it is considered outdated and criticized for emphasizing a notion of change that contradicts the experiences of many trans individuals who have always identified as such, I chose to use it to refer to my informants because they have consistently used i","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"35-39"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/josl.12656","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141166246","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Tongues of abstraction – Intentionality in trans language activism","authors":"Katlego K Kolanyane-Kesupile","doi":"10.1111/josl.12663","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12663","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"15-19"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146922","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Trans language activism and intersectional coalitions","authors":"Lal Zimman","doi":"10.1111/josl.12661","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12661","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"3-8"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141166584","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Practical steps toward making trans language activism better","authors":"Kirby Conrod","doi":"10.1111/josl.12660","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12660","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"40-44"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146919","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
{"title":"Trans language activism from the Global South*","authors":"Rodrigo Borba, Mariah Rafaela Silva","doi":"10.1111/josl.12658","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12658","url":null,"abstract":"","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"9-14"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146918","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
<p>In “Trans Language Activism and Intersectional Coalitions,” Lal Zimman offered a compelling account of the complexities and challenges of trans language activism in the current political moment. Zimman urged that “trans people's linguistic issues are best addressed as part of coalitions built on intersectional models of sociolinguistic justice” because “transphobia's impacts are felt most intensely when coarticulated with other axes of oppression.” However, Zimman importantly demonstrated that “the most visible and well-resourced types of trans (language) activism tend to represent the perspectives of relatively privileged trans people, in which racism, colonialism, ableism, classism, and other kinds of subjugation can easily manifest.” Indeed, we find ourselves in the middle of many binds, and the stakes are high. How do we carefully critique dominant trans language activism when all trans people are under attack? How do we contest invisibilization without falling into the many traps of visibility? How do we advance activist efforts without prioritizing the most privileged activists? How can we center the most marginalized without objectifying and exploiting them?</p><p>Although I alone cannot answer all of these questions (here or elsewhere), I offer something that I believe Zimman sets the foundation for and gestures to in this piece: the possibility that in the pitfalls and failures of dominant trans language activism lie queer, radical, and liberatory possibilities. In a conversation between Green and Bey about the relationship between Black feminist thought and trans* feminism, Green (<span>2017</span>, p. 447) stated, “The fear of losing categories isn't the trap. The trap is believing that these categories have the capacity to deliver us to ourselves fully and wholly.” Green continued: “Identities like language help to bring us closer to a thing or a being, but we never fully arrive at the materiality, the flesh of the matter, and I don't know if we should try to remedy that.”</p><p>The youngest interlocutor in my ethnographic research with sex working transgender Latinas in Chicago exemplifies Green's wise words. Mercury is 18 years old and disabled. To describe her gender identity, she uses the words “transgender,” “transgender woman,” “trans femme,” “demi-girl,” “non-binary,” and “woman” interchangeably. To describe her racial identity, she uses the words “Black,” “Black Latina,” “Afro-Latina,” “Afro-Puerto Rican,” and “Puerto Rican” interchangeably. How she articulates her race and gender changes depending on how she feels and who she is speaking to. Yet, she explains that “no one word fits me perfectly.”</p><p>Mercury lives in a homeless shelter that is lauded as a model of queer progressiveness, inclusivity, and “intersectionality” in Chicago. The staff, however, construct Mercury as “difficult” and “complicated.” She expresses rage, slips between race and gender categories, and pushes the boundaries around taken-for-granted unde
在 "跨语言行动主义与跨部门联盟 "一文中，拉尔-齐曼（Lal Zimman）对当前政治形势下跨语言行动主义的复杂性和挑战进行了令人信服的阐述。齐曼呼吁，"变性人的语言问题最好作为建立在社会语言正义交叉模式基础上的联盟的一部分来解决"，因为 "当变性仇视与其他压迫轴心共同作用时，变性仇视的影响最为强烈"。然而，齐默曼重要地表明，"最引人注目、资源最充足的跨性别（语言）行动主义往往代表了相对享有特权的跨性别者的观点，其中种族主义、殖民主义、能力主义、阶级主义和其他类型的压迫很容易表现出来"。的确，我们发现自己处于诸多束缚之中，而且利害关系重大。当所有跨性别者都受到攻击时，我们如何仔细批判占主导地位的跨性别语言行动主义？我们如何在反对隐蔽化的同时又不陷入能见度的诸多陷阱？我们如何在不优先考虑最有特权的积极分子的情况下推动积极分子的努力？虽然我一个人无法回答所有这些问题（在这里或其他地方），但我认为齐默曼在这篇文章中为我们奠定了基础并做出了姿态：在占主导地位的跨性别语言行动主义的陷阱和失败中蕴藏着同性恋、激进和解放的可能性。在格林与贝伊关于黑人女权主义思想与跨性别女权主义之间关系的对话中，格林（2017 年，第 447 页）说："害怕失去类别并不是陷阱。陷阱在于相信这些范畴有能力让我们完全彻底地回归自我。"格林继续说道："像语言这样的身份有助于拉近我们与某一事物或存在的距离，但我们从未完全到达物质性，即事物的肉体，我不知道我们是否应该试图弥补这一点。"在我与芝加哥从事性工作的变性拉丁裔女性的人种学研究中，最年轻的对话者充分体现了格林的睿智之言。水星今年 18 岁，是一名残疾人。在描述自己的性别身份时，她交替使用 "变性人"、"变性女人"、"变性女性"、"半女孩"、"非二元 "和 "女人 "等词。为了描述自己的种族身份，她交替使用了 "黑人"、"拉丁裔黑人"、"拉丁裔黑人"、"波多黎各裔黑人 "和 "波多黎各人 "等词。她如何表述自己的种族和性别，取决于她的感受和说话的对象。然而，她解释说，"没有一个词完全适合我。"水星住在一个无家可归者收容所，该收容所被称赞为芝加哥同性恋进步、包容和 "交叉性 "的典范。然而，工作人员却认为水星 "难缠"、"复杂"。她表达愤怒，在种族和性别分类之间游走，并突破了人们对 "变性"、"拉丁裔"、"黑人 "和 "残疾人 "的固有理解。她不仅挑战了一般意义上的性别和种族规范性概念，还挑战了那些试图实现交叉性但实际上是对黑人进行管理的概念，以及那些无法解释在身份类别内部和之间发生的移动和断裂的概念。说白了，不符合规范的，甚至是跨规范的种族和性别类别的惩罚是很严厉的。当无家可归者收容所的工作人员认为水星有 "敌意 "或 "暴力倾向 "时，他们经常威胁要报警。前一天，她可能会向工作人员表明自己是波多黎各人，但第二天，她又会责备同一位工作人员称她为波多黎各人，并要求称她为非洲裔波多黎各人；再过一天，她又会澄清自己只认定自己是黑人，并借此机会 "教育工作人员不要错误地认定他人"。说起这些，她笑了。在讨论对非洲裔拉丁人/黑人拉丁人的抹杀时，我问 Mercury，没有一种种族类别能让她感觉正确，这是否令人沮丧。她回答说："我是说，拉美黑人不适合。我不适合。我甚至不适合那些不适合的拉美黑人。这并不容易，但我不认为融入其中会让我感觉良好"。正是从本体论的不可能性出发，水星展示了不同身份类别内部和之间可能发生的运动和断裂，并经常抨击芝加哥社会服务部门中的反黑人种族主义、肤色歧视和顺式性别歧视。基于这些原因，她是拉丁裔跨性别黑人潜能的典范。我想起了艾伦-佩莱斯-洛佩兹（Alan Pelaez Lopez）所写的《拉丁裔的 X 是伤口，不是趋势》（The X in Latinx Is a Wound, Not a Trend）一文。 我与其他学者、活动家以及既非学者也非活动家的人一道，呼吁开展更多有关有色人种变性人的生活、爱情和快乐的工作。有色人种变性人如何创造性地使用语言和开展语言活动是响应这一呼吁的一个特别富有成效的途径。这项工作已经奠定了丰富的学术基础（Bey，2022；Green & Ellison，2014；Glover & Glover，2019；Mendoza，2023；Santana，2019；Steele，2022）。然而，当我们提升有色人种变性人的生活、爱情和快乐以对抗过度伤害时，我提醒大家不要强化第二种相关的刻板印象，即变性女性是超级活动家或吉尔-彼得森（Gill-Peterson，2023 年，第 94 页）所说的 "革命演员，她们的每一次呼吸都是对自由的现成乌托邦式渴望"。批判性地关注 BIPOC 跨性别者的语言使用和日常经历也有助于我们摆脱这种二元论的束缚。例如，在我自己的研究中，我的对话者对种族化和性别化术语（如 "pussy"）的使用和玩弄，并不容易被定性为对种族主义-顺性别主义和其他相互交织的压迫系统的直接拒绝，而可能更容易被理解为穆尼奥斯（Muñoz，2009 年，第 12 页）理论中的 "不认同"，或 "既不试图认同也不拒绝"，而是一种第三策略，"策略性地同时作用于一种文化形式，与之合作，并与之对抗"。此外，尽管我的许多对话者的语言、行动和幻想都在向一个没有种族主义-顺性别主义的世界迈进，但有时也会落空，例如强化了反黑人的审美标准。而且，它们往往介于两者之间。认识到这一现实固然令人烦恼，但却能让从事性工作的拉丁裔变性人在整个人类的范围内开展工作，让人们注意到建立联盟这一混乱而又往往痛苦的工作，当然，在所有争取解放的工作中，解决反黑人问题也是核心所在。齐默尔曼提醒我们，"联盟政治本身并不具有解放性，它可能会因为成员无法就共同的优先事项达成一致、不愿承认与他人的压迫同流合污，或依赖于'吸收'和'掩盖'差异的白人/定居者联盟模式而遭到破坏"。关注有色人种变性妇女的语言问题，对于建立跨部门联盟所需的艰难、丑陋但又必要的工作也具有启发意义。"在强调齐曼对主流语言激进主义的敏锐关注，以及吉尔-彼得森对有色人种变性妇女激进主义者形象的洞察力的同时，我还想更广泛地质疑 "激进主义者 "这一标签，并承认那些不自我认同为激进主义者的人在语言和政治上的创造力。在我自己的研究中，这包括那些生活最岌岌可危的人，通常是那些与毒瘾作斗争、流落街头，从而将全部精力用于生存的人。尽管许多最有影响力的活动家过去和现在都处于类似的境况，但我还是想提请大家注意那些没有被认定为活动家或已经被认定为活动家的人。最后，当我们提升最边缘化群体--有色人种的跨性别女性、性工作者、无家可归者和那些与毒瘾抗争的人--的语言和政治时，我也要警惕无处不在的侵占威胁（与持续的治安管理同时存在）及其可能产生的绝望情绪。戈塞特等人（2017 年）解释说，在种族资本主义中，有色人种变性人的能见度、代表性和挪用往往被视为 "门"，但实际上是 "陷阱"。然而，他们写道："除了总是已经是陷阱的门之外，还有陷阱门，那些巧妙的装置不是入口，也不存在，而是秘密通道，会把你带到别的地方，往往是一个还未知的地方"（第 xxiii 页）。因此，按照戈塞特等人（2017 年，第 xx 页）的说法，我邀请我们
{"title":"Trans* of color im/possibilities in trans language activism","authors":"Andrea Bolivar","doi":"10.1111/josl.12659","DOIUrl":"10.1111/josl.12659","url":null,"abstract":"<p>In “Trans Language Activism and Intersectional Coalitions,” Lal Zimman offered a compelling account of the complexities and challenges of trans language activism in the current political moment. Zimman urged that “trans people's linguistic issues are best addressed as part of coalitions built on intersectional models of sociolinguistic justice” because “transphobia's impacts are felt most intensely when coarticulated with other axes of oppression.” However, Zimman importantly demonstrated that “the most visible and well-resourced types of trans (language) activism tend to represent the perspectives of relatively privileged trans people, in which racism, colonialism, ableism, classism, and other kinds of subjugation can easily manifest.” Indeed, we find ourselves in the middle of many binds, and the stakes are high. How do we carefully critique dominant trans language activism when all trans people are under attack? How do we contest invisibilization without falling into the many traps of visibility? How do we advance activist efforts without prioritizing the most privileged activists? How can we center the most marginalized without objectifying and exploiting them?</p><p>Although I alone cannot answer all of these questions (here or elsewhere), I offer something that I believe Zimman sets the foundation for and gestures to in this piece: the possibility that in the pitfalls and failures of dominant trans language activism lie queer, radical, and liberatory possibilities. In a conversation between Green and Bey about the relationship between Black feminist thought and trans* feminism, Green (<span>2017</span>, p. 447) stated, “The fear of losing categories isn't the trap. The trap is believing that these categories have the capacity to deliver us to ourselves fully and wholly.” Green continued: “Identities like language help to bring us closer to a thing or a being, but we never fully arrive at the materiality, the flesh of the matter, and I don't know if we should try to remedy that.”</p><p>The youngest interlocutor in my ethnographic research with sex working transgender Latinas in Chicago exemplifies Green's wise words. Mercury is 18 years old and disabled. To describe her gender identity, she uses the words “transgender,” “transgender woman,” “trans femme,” “demi-girl,” “non-binary,” and “woman” interchangeably. To describe her racial identity, she uses the words “Black,” “Black Latina,” “Afro-Latina,” “Afro-Puerto Rican,” and “Puerto Rican” interchangeably. How she articulates her race and gender changes depending on how she feels and who she is speaking to. Yet, she explains that “no one word fits me perfectly.”</p><p>Mercury lives in a homeless shelter that is lauded as a model of queer progressiveness, inclusivity, and “intersectionality” in Chicago. The staff, however, construct Mercury as “difficult” and “complicated.” She expresses rage, slips between race and gender categories, and pushes the boundaries around taken-for-granted unde","PeriodicalId":51486,"journal":{"name":"Journal of Sociolinguistics","volume":"28 3","pages":"20-24"},"PeriodicalIF":1.9,"publicationDate":"2024-05-26","publicationTypes":"Journal Article","fieldsOfStudy":null,"isOpenAccess":false,"openAccessPdf":"https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/epdf/10.1111/josl.12659","citationCount":null,"resultStr":null,"platform":"Semanticscholar","paperid":"141146920","PeriodicalName":null,"FirstCategoryId":null,"ListUrlMain":null,"RegionNum":1,"RegionCategory":"文学","ArticlePicture":[],"TitleCN":null,"AbstractTextCN":null,"PMCID":"OA","EPubDate":null,"PubModel":null,"JCR":null,"JCRName":null,"Score":null,"Total":0}
Mary Elizabeth Beaton, Whitney Chappell, Ashlee Dauphinais Civitello
In this article, we explore how raciolinguistic parody functions in a society that hegemonically denies racial divisions. Through an analysis of Puerto Rican comedian Natalia Lugo's YouTube portrayals of her character, Francheska the Yal ‘welfare queen,’ we argue that covert racialization operates through a semiotics of respectability, whereby disreputable forms of femininity, class expression, and nonstandard language are co-indexical with the yal’s failure to normatively “whiten” herself. We contend that US colonial narratives that scapegoat poor women of color for the island's poverty are reconstructed in Lugo's parodies by depicting the yal as provincial and excessive. Lugo's performative choices underscore the interplay of linguistic, material, and discursive elements that marginalize the yal, enabling parody without challenging structural inequalities. Our analysis sheds light on the ways in which semiotic practices reify such social hierarchies where they are systemically denied.
在本文中，我们将探讨种族语言模仿如何在一个霸权主义否认种族分化的社会中发挥作用。通过分析波多黎各喜剧演员纳塔利娅-卢戈（Natalia Lugo）在 YouTube 上塑造的人物形象--"福利女王 "弗朗切斯卡（Francheska the Yal），我们认为，隐蔽的种族化是通过 "体面 "符号学（semiotics of respectability）运作的，在这种符号学中，不光彩的女性形象、阶级表达和非标准语言与 "福利女王 "未能规范地 "美白 "自己是同义词。我们认为，美国的殖民主义叙事将岛国的贫困归咎于有色人种的贫困女性，而卢戈的戏仿作品则将雅尔描绘成外省的、过分的女性，从而重构了美国的殖民主义叙事。卢戈的表演选择强调了语言、物质和话语元素的相互作用，这些元素使雅尔被边缘化，从而使模仿成为可能，但却没有挑战结构性的不平等。我们的分析揭示了符号学实践是如何在被系统否定的地方重塑这种社会等级制度的。
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