Opinion / Columnist
Zimbabwe Parliament must tackle language chauvinism
4 hrs ago | Views
One of Zimbabwe's most corrosive societal ills, language chauvinism, is rearing its head in the very institution tasked with representing unity and national interests: Parliament. What should be a dignified chamber of democratic discourse is now a battleground of linguistic supremacy, exposing deep-seated prejudices that mirror our broader social divisions.
Recently, Parliament descended into chaos after a Member of Parliament posed a question in Ndebele. A Shona-speaking colleague responded by demanding that the question be translated into English - a request that failed in execution, sparking confusion, frustration, and ultimately, emotional outbursts and shouting. The incident may appear petty on the surface, but at its core lies a dangerous and persistent form of linguistic nationalism: language chauvinism.
Language chauvinism, the belief in the superiority of one's own language over others, is distinct from - but closely tied to - tribalism. Both are deeply entrenched in Zimbabwe's socio-political fabric, and both are obstacles to national unity. When legislators, who are supposed to lead by example, succumb to such attitudes, it not only undermines the integrity of Parliament but sends a troubling message to the public: that some languages - and by extension, the people who speak them - are more important than others.
This is not just about communication. It is about identity, inclusion, and respect.
Zimbabwe is home to 16 constitutionally recognised languages, a testament to its rich cultural tapestry. Yet, the historical rivalry between the two dominant indigenous languages - Shona and Ndebele - continues to cast a long shadow over our aspirations for nationhood. This linguistic competition, often carried out through subtle marginalisation or overt disdain, erodes the very spirit of unity and shared identity that the nation claims to uphold.
What unfolded in Parliament is not just a failure of translation; it is a failure of empathy, of leadership, and of the constitutional principle that all languages - and by extension, all Zimbabweans - matter.
Language chauvinism does not just disrupt debate; it feeds exclusion. It silences voices. It breeds resentment. It undermines education when learners are forced to operate in a language that is neither their own nor adequately supported. It damages social cohesion, pushing communities further apart when we desperately need to come together to solve national crises.
And this problem is not unique to Zimbabwe. Across Africa - and even further afield - language has become both a tool of unity and a weapon of division. In India, for instance, the push to elevate Hindi as a national lingua franca has sparked fierce resistance from speakers of other languages, reigniting debates over identity, cultural dominance, and marginalisation.
In South Africa, language politics still linger in post-apartheid discourse. Nigeria, with over 500 languages, grapples with similar tensions. The challenge is not unique - but Zimbabwe's Parliament had an opportunity to be better, and it failed.
The way forward requires more than translation services. It demands political will to institutionalise multilingualism - not as a token gesture, but as a lived, operational reality. It requires education systems that foster cross-cultural and cross-linguistic understanding. It requires leadership that does not merely tolerate diversity, but actively promotes and protects it.
Parliament must urgently adopt robust language policies, ensuring that all members can participate fully in the language of their choice, with immediate, competent interpretation available. Just as importantly, it must enforce a code of conduct that stamps out linguistic bigotry and affirms the dignity of every language and every speaker.
In the end, language should be a bridge - not a barrier. Parliament must choose whether to reflect Zimbabwe's divisions or help heal them. For the sake of our democracy, identity, and unity, let us hope it chooses the latter.
Recently, Parliament descended into chaos after a Member of Parliament posed a question in Ndebele. A Shona-speaking colleague responded by demanding that the question be translated into English - a request that failed in execution, sparking confusion, frustration, and ultimately, emotional outbursts and shouting. The incident may appear petty on the surface, but at its core lies a dangerous and persistent form of linguistic nationalism: language chauvinism.
Language chauvinism, the belief in the superiority of one's own language over others, is distinct from - but closely tied to - tribalism. Both are deeply entrenched in Zimbabwe's socio-political fabric, and both are obstacles to national unity. When legislators, who are supposed to lead by example, succumb to such attitudes, it not only undermines the integrity of Parliament but sends a troubling message to the public: that some languages - and by extension, the people who speak them - are more important than others.
This is not just about communication. It is about identity, inclusion, and respect.
Zimbabwe is home to 16 constitutionally recognised languages, a testament to its rich cultural tapestry. Yet, the historical rivalry between the two dominant indigenous languages - Shona and Ndebele - continues to cast a long shadow over our aspirations for nationhood. This linguistic competition, often carried out through subtle marginalisation or overt disdain, erodes the very spirit of unity and shared identity that the nation claims to uphold.
What unfolded in Parliament is not just a failure of translation; it is a failure of empathy, of leadership, and of the constitutional principle that all languages - and by extension, all Zimbabweans - matter.
Language chauvinism does not just disrupt debate; it feeds exclusion. It silences voices. It breeds resentment. It undermines education when learners are forced to operate in a language that is neither their own nor adequately supported. It damages social cohesion, pushing communities further apart when we desperately need to come together to solve national crises.
And this problem is not unique to Zimbabwe. Across Africa - and even further afield - language has become both a tool of unity and a weapon of division. In India, for instance, the push to elevate Hindi as a national lingua franca has sparked fierce resistance from speakers of other languages, reigniting debates over identity, cultural dominance, and marginalisation.
In South Africa, language politics still linger in post-apartheid discourse. Nigeria, with over 500 languages, grapples with similar tensions. The challenge is not unique - but Zimbabwe's Parliament had an opportunity to be better, and it failed.
The way forward requires more than translation services. It demands political will to institutionalise multilingualism - not as a token gesture, but as a lived, operational reality. It requires education systems that foster cross-cultural and cross-linguistic understanding. It requires leadership that does not merely tolerate diversity, but actively promotes and protects it.
Parliament must urgently adopt robust language policies, ensuring that all members can participate fully in the language of their choice, with immediate, competent interpretation available. Just as importantly, it must enforce a code of conduct that stamps out linguistic bigotry and affirms the dignity of every language and every speaker.
In the end, language should be a bridge - not a barrier. Parliament must choose whether to reflect Zimbabwe's divisions or help heal them. For the sake of our democracy, identity, and unity, let us hope it chooses the latter.
Source - online
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