PicoBlog

As the British Empire ebbed away, it left a few droplets — a handful of islands here, a smattering of oddities there (such as Jamaica having a king who bears a striking resemblance to the former Prince Charles) or military bases in Cyprus. Close by, we find one of these remnants: Gibraltar, a British city basking in the Andalusian sun, a colony in Europe, a slice of territory that Spain covets and that the English (I suspect) wouldn't mind handing over if it weren't for the inhabitants' desire to retain the same king as the Jamaicans.

This piece of the Iberian Peninsula has been a colony since the early 18th century, ceded in perpetuity by Spain at the conclusion of the War of Succession. The cession was perpetual, but Spain hasn't relinquished its hope of reclaiming the gift.

At one point, the small border between Gibraltar and Spain was entirely closed. By isolating Gibraltar, Spaniards hoped to persuade the inhabitants of the Rock to switch their allegiance to Spain. Somehow, it didn’t work.

A city governed by Great Britain and adjacent to Spain, and having had to endure prolonged isolation, Gibraltar unsurprisingly gained something close to independence. The Spanish are unable to govern it, and the British, provided they retain space for sailors and the like, aren't overly concerned about the activities of the inhabitants of the world's most renowned Rock.

Consequently, the territory has evolved into a miniature country, exuding a certain charm (if one disregards some tax-related machinations). It brings to mind ships in bottles or cities encased within snow globes. These objects seemingly diminish the world's complexity into something we can grasp in our hands. Gibraltar, too, appears to encompass everything in a condensed form, resembling a fictional country designed as the backdrop for a detective novel — or perhaps a model nation for children to study in school. There's the Governor's House, the Post Office, Parliament, the Cable Car, the Airport, the Beach...

We ascend the cable car and, upon reaching the summit of the Rock, gaze southward.

We behold two continents, a sea, and an ocean. We stand atop one of the Pillars of Hercules; on the opposite side, we glimpse the other pillar, Ceuta, a fragment of Spain that Morocco covets (both sides of the strait present geopolitical challenges). These two cities have an history of changing hands. Gibraltar – the Mount of Tariq – marked the onset of the Muslim conquest of the Peninsula; Ceuta marked the commencement of the Portuguese endeavor to conquer North Africa (it later became Spanish). History's whirlwind has swept through those pillars: if we visited them randomly throughout history we would find Romans, Americans, Phoenicians, Arabs, Russians, Greeks, Portuguese – and now, numerous Chinese cargo ships.

Let's shift our gaze to the north. Observing the city from this elevated vantage point, we can compare it to the map. The city sprawls on the left. To the right, we can glimpse several beaches alongside the water reservoir – a Gibraltarian Riviera –, with the Andalusian coast extending to the horizon.

We looked southward, we looked northward, and now, when we glance at our feet, we discover a monkey attempting to steal our mobile phone. The monkeys of Gibraltar bewilder us: we are so accustomed to observing their counterparts in zoos or from the safe distance of television that we assume these monkeys will be just as docile. However, these are wild animals, unafraid to snatch what they can, and then perching on the ledge to watch their human relatives construct cities, countries, and borders below.

Monkeys and humans share many traits, including a fondness for the sense of sight. We delight in observing! Yet, it is our sense of hearing that we have harnessed to create what truly sets us apart as humans: languages.

So, which languages do we encounter in Gibraltar?

On the signs, nearly everything is in English, the sole official language. As we stroll through the streets, we overhear a lot of Spanish, featuring various Andalusian accents. We also discern English – and people who speak standard English alongside Andalusian Spanish, in a fascinating blend that demonstrates whether one speaks the standard language is not a matter of greater or lesser linguistic ability.

If we listen attentively, we might still catch someone speaking Llanito, the distinct language of Gibraltar, born from the contact between English and Spanish, with traces of Maltese, Genoese, Portuguese, and even a word or two of Hebrew. Under the dominance of English and Spanish, Llanito is now fading, but it remains a defining aspect of Gibraltar's identity. Llanito is not a simple amalgamation of words from the two languages – it possesses its own structure and systematic usage. It is a genuine language created by contact. It is not inferior to any other language. While unlikely, it is possible to imagine a world where Llanito becomes a standardized language, spoken by millions. After all, when examined closely, English itself is a language forged through contact between Old English, the Norse of the Vikings, and later, Norman French (and this account is already a simplification).

There have been attempts to create a Llanito orthography. On this page, we find texts like this:

Er Llanito ê un Iberou Ròumants làngwij ke tiene’r Westen Andalûh komo lingwìstik beis. Ouva lô s’anyô ête lingwìstik beis s’a vîto ìnfluentst polô làngwijez ke històrikli s’an avlàu n’Hivertà (Henovêh, Haketìa, etc). Nlô s’ùrtimô 70/80 anyô er Llanito s’a vîto strongli ìnfluentst pol’Inglêh Vritàniko tanto à un lèksikol komo à un gramàtikol lèvol.

The text begins: "Llanito is an Ibero-Romance language that has Western Andalusian as its linguistic base." I'll leave the rest as a translation exercise for those who are interested...

It is a way of speaking of a particular town, but Llanito also exemplifies a universal phenomenon. In every corner of the world, the use of languages is distinct. Gibraltar is exceptional for uniting two well-known languages and for being a territory separated from its neighbors by a border; here, languages intermingle as in a test tube. However, all cities blend words in their own manner, even if there are fewer borders involved. Indeed, each family, neighborhood, class, or group of friends possesses its own unique way of speaking... We can use zoom of our linguistic lens to recognize that each individual has a singular mix of vocabulary, pronunciation, and syntax – linguists employ the term idiolect: the language as used by a single person.

From the effervescence of language on the streets, standards, artificial constructs for general use, emerge. They have gained such momentum that they now overshadow many regional nuances. Yet, even in a world where standards are paramount, all languages maintain variation – especially visible (or audible) in lands like Gibraltar, due to the amplifying effect of contact between different languages.

Human language constantly experiences centripetal forces, such as standards, the education system, and the social prestige of specific words or constructs, as well as centrifugal forces, like individual creativity, contact between languages, and the hidden prestige of words we use exclusively in a particular group.

Llanito borrows words from various sources. This language ultimately shatters the illusion with which we started. Lands like Gibraltar are far from being cities within snow globes: regardless of the number of borders established, people and words from diverse origins have converged there, resulting in a blend that makes the city particularly captivating.

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