English Isn’t My Enemy

Stephen Rule, Doctor Cymraeg

Every now and then, someone sends me a video and asks, “What do you think?”

This week, it was a speech by New Zealand MP Tamatha Paul.

If you haven’t seen it, Paul was arguing passionately against making English an official language in New Zealand. During the speech, she described English as a “bastard language” and spoke passionately about protecting indigenous and community languages. She even mentioned Wales as an example of a country that values them.

And I’ve got to be honest… I’ve spent the last couple of days thinking about it.

Because I found myself agreeing with, well, most of it! And yet, I still came away feeling uncomfortable.

Not because I don’t admire what she’s trying to achieve. Quite the opposite. I suspect we both want to see indigenous and community languages flourish. And she’s just incredible!

It’s simply that, if I were making the same case, I think I’d have chosen a different route. The destination feels much the same. It’s the road that differs.

English isn’t my enemy.

People sometimes assume that, because I’m so passionate about Welsh, I must therefore dislike English.

Not at all!

English is my first language. In fact, it was my only language until I was about nineteen. I’m very proud to speak it.

And honestly… can you imagine trying to learn the bloody thing from scratch? “Go” becomes “went”. “WENT”? How the hell is the past tense of go… went?

Its spelling makes no sense. Its pronunciation makes even less. Half its vocabulary appears to have wandered in from somewhere else entirely.

It’s gloriously chaotic.

It’s also extraordinarily magnificent.

And that’s precisely the point. English is an extraordinary language. Welsh is an extraordinary language. Te reo Māori is an extraordinary language. Irish is an extraordinary language. EVERY language is extraordinary.

I’ve never understood why celebrating one should require insulting another.

Languages don’t do things. People do.

Now, from a purely linguistic perspective, I understand exactly what Paul meant by a “bastard language”.

English has borrowed words from Old English (obviously!), Old Norse, Norman French, Hindi, Latin and Greek. Even from Welsh, Irish, Scottish Gaelic, Manx, Cornish and Breton.

Like every language on Earth, it’s the product of centuries of contact, migration, trade, conquest, and borrowing. That’s not a flaw. It’s one of its greatest strengths.

But I still hesitate. Because English isn’t responsible for what happened to Welsh.

English isn’t sentient. It doesn’t wake up in the morning and decide to suppress another language. Governments do. Institutions do. Policies do. People do… sometimes even our own people!

And yes, sometimes a minority of people who just so happened to be speaking English did terrible things. That’s who history should hold accountable. Not the language they happened to speak.

Blaming English itself feels rather like blaming a violin because somebody played the wrong tune, don’t ya’ think?

There are a million and one reasons to embrace Cymraeg; family, friends, community, curiosity, history, music, culture, identity, belonging, work, simple enjoyment (if melting your brain around languages is your bag!)…

I genuinely think there’s only one wrong one. And, awkwardly, it’s the path I took!

When I first started learning Welsh, I was angry. Angry at what had been done to Welsh. At the stories I’d discovered. At the attitudes I’d encountered. The feeling that something precious had been pushed aside. That anger drove my naïvety.

In many ways, it got me exactly where I wanted to be. It helped make me fluent.

But if someone asked me whether I’d recommend that route… Absolutely not. Because somewhere along the way I realised something.

How can you hate a language? It’s just… a language. It doesn’t have intentions. It doesn’t have motives. It doesn’t choose.

The enforcement carried out by some of its speakers? That absolutely deserves scrutiny. But the language itself? That always felt like I was blaming the wrong thing.

Eventually I realised I wasn’t learning Welsh because I hated English. I was learning Welsh because I loved what Welsh had become to me.

Those are two very different motivations.

One thing I think people are perhaps overlooking is context.

Paul’s speech came in the final moments of defending a position. Her back was against the wall. That’s an intensely human place to be.

When people feel cornered, we don’t usually produce our most measured words. We defend. We push back. Sometimes we come out fighting.

And if that moment is layered on top of generations of linguistic trauma, it’s hardly surprising that the words used become even stronger.

I don’t think that’s unique to New Zealand. I think Wales knows exactly what that feels like.

For generations, Welsh speakers have defended their language. Sometimes against governments, against institutions, against neighbours. Sometimes against members of their own families.

When you’ve spent centuries defending something you love, eventually defending becomes your instinct. I understand that. Truly I do.

History matters. It should be taught. It should be remembered. It should never be hidden. But history can’t be the only thing we talk about.

At some point, Wales has to take responsibility too. Not responsibility for what happened… Responsibility for what happens next.

It’s very easy to point backwards. It’s much harder to ask: What are we doing today to make Welsh irresistible? Are we welcoming learners? Are we supporting parents who want to raise bilingual children? Are we creating communities where people actually want to use Welsh? Are we making the language feel joyful?

Or are we asking people to inherit our grievances before they’re allowed to inherit our language?

Because if we spend all our time explaining why Welsh was, until recently, in decline… we might forget to show people why Welsh is extraordinary, and how it’s definitely coming with us!

That’s the Welsh I want people to meet.

When I make videos, I don’t want people leaving thinking, “English is awful.” I’d much rather they leave thinking, “I had no idea Welsh was that interesting.”

Humour. History. Music. Stories. Curiosity. Joy. Those are the things that make people stay. Not guilt, shame, and/or hostility.

 

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Ironically, my favourite part of Paul’s speech wasn’t about English at all. It was hearing Wales mentioned. It was hearing Cymraeg celebrated. That wasn’t an attack. That was a celebration.

And I caught myself smiling. Because that’s the bit I want more of. Celebration is contagious. Curiosity and hope are contagious, too.

Those are the things that make someone download a language app. They’re the things that persuade parents to raise bilingual children. They’re the things that slowly change a culture.

I fully understand why people become fierce defenders of their language. History explains a great deal. But I don’t think it has to dictate how we advocate today.

I don’t want people to feel they have to reject one language before they can embrace another. I want them to discover why Welsh is extraordinary.

Because every language is somebody’s home. Every language carries stories and songs and humour. Ways of seeing the world that exist nowhere else. THAT is worth celebrating.

I’ve never wanted people to learn Welsh because they resent another language. I’ve always wanted them to learn it because they fall in love with this one.

Because, in many ways, that’s the road I accidentally started on. It got me where I wanted to go. But if I could choose again… I’d rather people arrived through love. Through hope. Through celebration.

I don’t think that’s just a kinder way to advocate for Welsh. I think, in the long run, it’s a far more effective one.

Find out more about Doctor Cymraeg’s books and lessons via his website, or follow him on X and Instagram.

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