Doing Justice to Court Interpreting [1 ed.] 9789027287625, 9789027222565

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Doing Justice to Court Interpreting

Benjamins Current Topics Special issues of established journals tend to circulate within the orbit of the subscribers of those journals. For the Benjamins Current Topics series a number of special issues have been selected containing salient topics of research with the aim to widen the readership and to give this interesting material an additional lease of life in book format.

Volume 26 Doing Justice to Court Interpreting Edited by Miriam Shlesinger and Franz Pöchhacker These materials were previously published in Interpreting 10:1 (2008) and 12:2 (2010).

Doing Justice to Court Interpreting Edited by

Miriam Shlesinger Bar-Ilan University

Franz Pöchhacker University of Vienna

John Benjamins Publishing Company Amsterdam / Philadelphia

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The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences – Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ansi z39.48-1984.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Doing justice to court interpreting / edited by Miriam Shlesinger and Franz Pöchhacker. p. cm. (Benjamins Current Topics, issn 1874-0081 ; v. 26) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Court interpreting and translating. 2. Conduct of court proceedings. 3. Law--Translating. 4. Translating and interpreting. I. Shlesinger, Miriam, 1947- II. Pöchhacker, Franz. K2155.D65 2010 418’.02--dc22 2010030446 isbn 978 90 272 2256 5 (Hb ; alk. paper) isbn 978 90 272 8762 5 (Eb)

© 2010 – John Benjamins B.V. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, by print, photoprint, microfilm, or any other means, without written permission from the publisher. John Benjamins Publishing Co. · P.O. Box 36224 · 1020 me Amsterdam · The Netherlands John Benjamins North America · P.O. Box 27519 · Philadelphia pa 19118-0519 · usa

Table of contents About the authors Introduction: Doing justice to court interpreting Miriam Shlesinger and Franz Pöchhacker

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Articles Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal Kayoko Takeda

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Judicial systems in contact: Access to justice and the right to interpreting/ translating services among the Quichua of Ecuador Susan Berk-Seligson

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Missing stitches: An overview of judicial attitudes to interlingual interpreting in the criminal justice systems of Canada and Israel Ruth Morris

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Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters: The unique case of the Yehuda Court Shira L. Lipkin

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Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence Jieun Lee

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The cooperative courtroom: A case study of interpreting gone wrong Bodil Martinsen and Friedel Dubslaff

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Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court Tina Paulsen Christensen

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Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting: An analysis of face Bente Jacobsen

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Book Reviews Martina Behr and Maike Corpataux. Die Nürnberger Prozesse — Zur Bedeutung der Dolmetscher für die Prozesse und der Prozesse für die Dolmetscher. Hartwig Kalverkämper and Larisa Schippel (Eds.). Simultandolmetschen in Erstbewährung: Der Nürnberger Prozess 1945. Reviewed by Christiane J. Driesen

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Erik Hertog and Bart van der Veer (Eds.). Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting. Reviewed by Cecilia Wadensjö

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Cecilia Wadensjö, Birgitta Englund Dimitrova and Anna-Lena Nilsson (Eds.). The Critical Link 4: Professionalisation of interpreting in the community. Selected papers from the 4th International Conference on Interpreting in Legal, Health and Social Service Settings, Stockholm, Sweden, 20–23 May 2004. Reviewed by Holly Mikkelson Index

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About the Authors

Kayoko Takeda teaches English-Japanese interpreting and translation in the Graduate School of Translation and Interpretation at the Monterey Institute of International Studies (MIIS) in California. She holds an MA from MIIS, and a PhD from the Translation and Intercultural Studies program at the Universitat Rovira i Virgili in Tarragona, Spain. Susan Berk-Seligson is Associate Director of the Center for Latin American Studies and Associate Professor of Spanish in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese of Vanderbilt University. Specializing in forensic linguistics, discourse analysis, and sociolinguistics, she currently has been studying bilingually conducted police interrogations, particularly those involving Hispanics in the USA. Her interest in the language rights of minorities has led her to study access to justice among the Quichua of Ecuador and discriminatory English-Only policies in the American workplace. Ruth Morris is a freelance conference interpreter, university lecturer and academic. She gives a research seminar as part of Bar-Ilan University’s MA programme in translation and interpreting studies. She has an MA in communications from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem and a PhD from Lancaster University. Her primary research area is the field of court interpreting, but her interests include community interpreting and language policy. A selection of her work can be found at: http://RuthMorris13.googlepages.com. She is co-author with Joan Colin of Interpreters and the Legal Process (Waterside Press, Winchester, 1996). Shira Lipkin is a certified English-Hebrew translator and interpreter. She currently works in localization at a Jerusalem-based company and as a freelance translator and interpreter in a variety of fields. She studied International Relations and Middle Eastern Studies at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem and received an M.A. degree in Translation and Interpreting Studies from Bar-Ilan University in 2006. Jieun Lee earned her Master’s degree at the Graduate School of Interpretation and Translation of Hankuk University in Seoul, Korea in 1995 and received her second Master’s degree in Applied Linguistics at Macquarie University in 2005. She has written a PhD thesis Issues and Challenges in Interpreter-Mediated Courtroom Examination: A discourse-analytic study. She has extensive experience in interpreting and translation and teaches in the Program of Master of Translation and Interpreting of Macquarie University. Bodil Martinsen is an Associate Professor in the Department of Language and Business Communication at the Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus, Denmark, where she teaches court and police interpreting, conference interpreting and French civilisation. She holds an MA (LSP) in French (Interpreting and Translation) from the Aarhus School of Business. She is a

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About the Authors

State-authorised Interpreter and Translator and works as a freelance court and police interpreter. Her special interest is research on community interpreting as well as the professionalisation of this field in migrant languages in Denmark. Friedel Dubslaff has recently retired from a position as Associate Professor at the Department of Language and Business Communication at the Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus, Denmark, where she taught conference interpreting, translation, text linguistics and pragmatics. She graduated in languages from the University of Hamburg, Germany, and holds an MA in German from the University of Aarhus. In 1996 she received her PhD with a dissertation on simultaneous interpreting at the Aarhus School of Business. Her special interest is research on community interpreting as well as the professionalisation of this field in migrant languages in Denmark. E-mail: [email protected] Tina Paulsen Christensen is Assistant Professor at the Department of Languages and Business Communication at the Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus, Denmark, where she teaches legal translation and court interpreting. She works as a freelance court interpreter, and has conducted research on court interpreting as well as legal translation. In 2003 she was awarded a PhD following a dissertation investigating the applicability of translation memory systems for legal translation purposes. She also holds an MA (LSP) in German from the Aarhus School of Business. Bente Jacobsen is Associate Professor in the Department of Language and Business Communication at the Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus, where she teaches court and conference interpreting to MA students of English. She is a member of the Research Group for Translating and Interpreting at the Aarhus School of Business. Her doctoral thesis (Pragmatic meaning in court Interpreting: An empirical study of additions in consecutively interpreted question-answer dialogues, 2003) and subsequent research has been devoted to interactional pragmatics and court interpreting. She is also a state-authorized translator and interpreter of English and works as a freelance court and conference interpreter.

Introduction Doing justice to court interpreting

In any courtroom, understanding is a charged term; even without the problem of language barriers and the mediating role of translators, there is always the question of whether the various parties are communicating and comprehending accurately in exchanges often fraught by explicitly contradictory and competing interests.  (Hajjar 2005: 146–147)

Safeguarding understanding among all participants in legal proceedings involving speakers of other languages is the raison d’être of court interpreting, a professional domain which has been gaining recognition as an integral component of the judicial system. Court interpreters in various countries are no longer prepared to see the profession marginalized, and have joined forces to ensure access to justice across languages and cultures, as epitomized in Europe by the founding in 2009 of EULITA, the European Legal Interpreters and Translators Association (http://www.eulita.eu). Likewise, legislative authorities have taken action to ensure access to justice despite barriers of language and culture, as laid down in the Directive of the European Parliament and of the Council on the rights to interpretation and to translation in criminal proceedings, which aims to substantially enhance the rights of suspected and accused persons and provide for the quality of interpretation and translation as well as the training of judges, prosecutors and judicial staff. These concerns are also reflected in scholarship. Academic interest in court interpreting is on the rise, though lamentably less so among jurists and policy makers than among scholars in the field of interpreting studies, in which court interpreting has come to occupy an increasingly prominent position. The growing body of research in this domain is exemplified by the eight papers in this volume, six of which were published as a Special Issue of Interpreting (10:1, 2008) and two in Interpreting 12:1 (2010). The increasingly rich literature addresses several major themes. To begin with, the problem of definitions and categorizations – the relationship of court interpreting to community interpreting and other forms of mediation – is touched upon by almost every author concerned with classifying the different forms of interpreting

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Introduction

beyond international conferences and organizations (e.g. Benmaman 1997; Roberts 1997; Rudvin 2003; Pöchhacker 2004). Moreover, as Sandra Hale (2006) points out in her comprehensive overview of contemporary scholarship: “[…] most of the research carried out in the field to date has concentrated on the discourse of the courtroom [or on] non-linguistic aspects of the practice, such as role perceptions and expectations, using social science methods […]” (2006: 205). The latter, arguably the most widely discussed topic and the most controversial one, is inextricably linked to deliberations over the interpreter’s “transparency”, “neutrality” and “invisibility”, on the one hand, and over the need for interpreter “latitude” and “obtrusiveness”, on the other (e.g. Shlesinger 1991; Morris 1993, 1995, 1999, 2007, 2008; Roy 1993/2002; Laster & Taylor 1994; Niska 1995; Fenton 1997; Mikkelson 1998; Wadensjö 1998; Hakkala 2003; Rudvin 2003). Many of these discussions – including the paper by Ruth Morris in this volume – relate to the position of judges, and to their longstanding reluctance to acknowledge the pivotal role of the interpreter. Another salient theme is that of access to justice and to the prospects of putting the interpreting-dependent individual on an equal footing with those who speak the language of the court; i.e. recognizing the potential violation of human rights in cases of inadequate interpreting, and the need for legal systems in different countries to respond to demographic changes, along with a heightened awareness of the ethical, political and legal implications of failure to provide this service or to maintain adequate standards (e.g. Morris 1993, 1999; Gibbons & Grabau 1996; Brennan 1999; Kadric 2000; Reed et al. 2001; Hakkala 2003; Hertog 2003; Ibrahim-Bell 2008; Pollitt & Little 2003; Tsuda 2003; Hale 2004; Dunnigan & Downing 2005; Hajjar 2005). These issues link up with discussions of quality, and its wide range of sub-themes – the need to monitor the interpreter’s performance, the call for training and professionalization, the inherent fallibility of the interpreting process and the need for greater cooperation among the various participants (e.g. Dunnigan & Downing 1995; Colin & Morris 1996; Mikkelson 1998; Eades et al. 1999; Pym 1999; Turner & Brown 2001; Hof 2003; Stern 2003); the importance of selecting the most reliable mode of interpreting (e.g. Russell 2002; Stern 2003); the benchmarking of high-profile international trials and of broad-scale cooperation among institutions and countries (e.g. Shlesinger 1990; Gaiba 1999; Niska 1995; Hertog 2003; Hof 2003; Stern 2003); attention to different forms of monitoring and rejection of judges as sole arbiters of both need and quality (e.g. Shlesinger 1989, 1990; Fenton 1997; Morris 1995, 1999, 2007); the role of appellate courts in exposing the shortcomings (or absence) of the interpreting in the lower instance (e.g. Morris 1999, 2007); the idealization of (a naïve notion of) accuracy in disregard of the communicative dimensions of language and the strategic use



Introduction

of language in the adversarial courtroom as well as the implications of pragmatic shifts for the power relations in court (e.g. Shlesinger 1990; Berk-Seligson 1999, 2002; Pym 1999; Rigney 1999; Hale 1999, 2004; Jacobsen 2008 and in this volume). The eight papers in this volume touch upon all of these themes, and range from systemic overviews to fine-grained analyses of discourse patterns. The first one, by Kayoko Takeda, reminds us of the historical importance of interpreting in the courts with reference to the post-World War II war crimes tribunal in Tokyo. The following two papers, by two of the foremost scholars of court interpreting – provide the reader with a broad socially contextualized view: Susan Berk-Seligson examines the realization of language rights by the indigenous leaders of Ecuador, and Ruth Morris reviews judicial attitudes to interpreting in two countries – Canada and Israel. In the latter socio-political context, though in a hitherto underresearched setting, Shira Lipkin observes and interviews the interpreters in an Israeli military court on the West Bank. Focusing on the subtle shifts in discourse patterns effected by court interpreters, Jieun Lee draws attention to the common practice of resorting to reported speech in interpreting witnesses’ evidence from Korean into English in Australian courts. The impact and ethical implications of discoursal shifts are further analyzed by Bodil Martinsen and Friedel Dubslaff in the context of a single interpreting event, where the interpreter’s non-normative behavior is found to have a far-reaching influence on participants’ perception of her cooperativeness. Finally, in a more micro-level, discourse-based analysis of courtroom interactions, Tina Christensen and Bente Jacobsen present case studies – one focusing on judges and the other on interpreters – from the criminal courts in Denmark, providing two counterexamples to the prevailing concern over the dearth of authentic data and of hands-on empirical studies. Three book reviews complement the eight papers in various ways. Christiane Driesen presents two German volumes on the Nuremberg trials, the more famous Western counterpart of the Tokyo trial featured in the paper by Takeda. The other two reviews serve to position the topic of court interpreting in the wider landscape. Cecilia Wadensjö provides an overview of the most comprehensive collection, to date, of what she unhesitatingly calls Community Interpreting Studies, from the theoretical and methodological perspective. Of the many valuable papers in that volume, the one by Hale (pp. 205-228) is particularly noteworthy for its painstaking presentation of the relevant research – past, present and future – into the workings of court interpreting. By the same token, Holly Mikkelson reviews the volume of selected papers from the 4th Critical Link Conference in Stockholm, which features several contributions on legal interpreting, aside from many that bear on the field of community interpreting in general.

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Introduction

Whatever their differences, a common thread runs through the eight papers and the volumes under review: the search for a link between theory and practice, between the letter of the law and its implementation. A call for action – for concrete implementation of research findings – is the rule rather than the exception here, reminiscent of the final paragraph of Colin & Morris (1996: 176): “All members of the ‘court team’ (judges, magistrates, advisors, lawyers, administrators, interpreters, etc.) need to move forward together in order to develop a mutual understanding of the role and responsibilities that each member has in striving for higher standards in interpreting.” Which gives us pause to wonder: Is it the role of academics to change the world? Is it the role of scholarship published in journals and books to transmit implicitly political messages? On the one hand, we accept that “[…] it is no concern of a scientific discipline, not even in the so-called ‘sciences of man’, to effect changes in the world of our experience” (Toury 1995: 17), but on the other, we join Hale (2006: 225) in hoping “that the results of research will serve not only to obtain further knowledge, but also to inform and improve the practice and to effect social change.” Toury himself goes on to resolve the dilemma by suggesting that while the scientist may shy away from linking research with activism, this “does not preclude the possibility of drawing conclusions from theoretical reasoning or scientific findings to actual behavior” as long as the conclusions are drawn by the practitioners, not the scholars. Since most of the authors in this volume (as well as the editors) are both scholars and practitioners, we may be on safe grounds after all, as we attempt to reconcile these two approaches to the workings of academic investigation. We too subscribe to the premise that “No democratic country can afford to sustain a legal framework that does not support full and meaningful access to it across languages and cultures by all those who may become, or wish to become, involved in it” (Hertog 2003: 550). Let us then allow the papers in this volume to speak for themselves, in the hope that those who read them will find the way to explore their practical implications as well.



Miriam Shlesinger and Franz Pöchhacker

References Benmaman, Virginia (1997). Legal interpreting by any other name is still legal interpreting. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 179-190. Berk-Seligson, Susan (1999). The impact of court interpreting on the coerciveness of leading questions. Forensic Linguistics: The International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law (Special issue on legal interpreting) 6 (1), 30-56.



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Berk-Seligson, Susan (2002). The bilingual courtroom: Court interpreters in the judicial process. 2nd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Brennan, Mary (1999). Signs of injustice. The Translator 5 (2), 221-246. Colin, Joan & Morris, Ruth (1996). Interpreters and the legal process. Winchester: Waterside Press. Dunnigan, Timothy & Downing, Bruce T. (1995). Legal interpreting on trial: A case study. In M. Morris (Ed.), Translation and the law Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 93-113. Eades, Diana, Hale, Sandra & Cooke, Michael (1999). Introduction. Forensic Linguistics: The International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law (Special issue on legal interpreting) 6 (1), 1-5. Fenton, Sabine (1997). The role of the interpreter in the adversarial courtroom. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 29-34. Gaiba, Francesca (1999). Interpretation at the Nuremberg Trial. Interpreting 4 (1), 9-22. Gibbons, Llewellyn Joseph & Grabau, Charles M. (1996). Protecting the rights of linguistic minorities: Challenges to court interpretation. New England Law Review 30 (227). Available at SSRN: http://ssrn.com/abstract=870481 (accessed 22 December 2007). Hajjar, Lisa (2005). Courting conflict: The Israeli military court system in the West Bank and Gaza. Berkeley: University of California Press. Hakkala, Henrikka (2003). Interpreted police interrogations: Linguistic, cultural and sociological framework. In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 173-177. Hale, Sandra (1999). Interpreters’ treatment of discourse markers in courtroom questions. Forensic Linguistics: The International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law (Special issue on legal interpreting) 6 (1), 57-82. Hale, Sandra (2004). The discourse of court interpreting: Discourse practices of the law, the witness and the interpreter. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Hale, Sandra (2006). Themes and methodological issues in court Interpreting research. In E. Hertog & B. van der Veer (Eds.), Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting (Linguistica Antverpiensia, New Series, 5). Antwerp: Hoger Instituut voor Vertalers & Tolken, Hogeschool Antwerpen, 205-228. Hertog, Erik (2003). Aequitas: Equal access to justice across language and culture (Grotius projects 98/gr/131 and 2001/grp/015). In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 543-562. Hof, Michelle (2003). A survey of practices influencing interpreting quality at the international courts. In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 457-464. Ibrahim-Bell, Zubaidah (2008). Legal interpreting and the deaf community in Malaysia. In D. Russell & S. Hale (Eds.), Interpreting in legal settings. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 148-169. Ilg, Gerard (1989). Introduction. Parallèles 11, 1-4.

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Jacobsen, Bente (2008 Court interpreting and face: An analysis of a court interpreter’s strategies for conveying threats to own face. In D. Russell & S. Hale (Eds.), Interpreting in legal settings. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 51-71. Kadric, Mira (2000). Interpreting in the Austrian courtroom. In R. P. Roberts, S. E. Carr, D. Abraham & A. Dufour (Eds.), The Critical Link 2: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 153-164. Laster, Kathy & Veronica Taylor (1994). Interpreters & the legal system. Riverwood, NSW: Federation Press. Mikkelson, Holly (1998). Towards a redefinition of the role of the court interpreter. Interpreting 3 (1), 21-45. Morris, Ruth (1993). Nobs and yobs – the provision of interpreters for legal proceedings involving high-status foreigners and others. In C. Picken (Ed.), Translation – the vital link, Proceedings, 13th World Congress of FIT. London: Institute of Translation and Interpreting, 356-366. Morris, Ruth (1995). The moral dilemmas of court interpreting. The Translator 1 (1), 25-46. Morris, Ruth (1999). The gum syndrome: Predicaments in court interpreting. Forensic Linguistics: The International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law (Special issue on legal interpreting) 6 (1), 6-29. Morris, Ruth (2007). Dies, Attard or Lockerbie? Enlightened and unenlightened judicial views of interpreters in English-speaking legal systems. In F. Pöchhacker, A. L. Jakobsen & I. M. Mees (Eds.), Interpreting studies and beyond: A tribute to Miriam Shlesinger. Copenhagen: Samfundslitteratur, 103-119. Morris, Ruth (2008). Taking liberties? Duplicity or the dynamics of court interpreting. In D. Russell & S. Hale (Eds.), Interpreting in legal settings. Washington, DC: Gallaudet University Press, 1-25. Niska, H. (1995). Just interpreting: Role conflicts and discourse types in court interpreting. In M. Morris (Ed.), Translation and the law. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 293-316. Pöchhacker, Franz (2004). Introducing interpreting studies. London/New York: Routledge. Pollitt, Kyra & Little, Tina (2003). Beyond the courtroom: Legal interpreting in child protection. In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 61-78. Pym, Anthony (1999). “Nicole slapped Michelle”: Interpreters and theories of interpreting at the O. J. Simpson trial. The Translator 5 (2), 265-283. Reed, Maureen, Turner, Graham H. & Taylor, Caroline (2001). Working paper on access to justice for Deaf people. In F. J. Harrington & G. H. Turner (Eds.), Interpreting interpreting: Studies and reflections on sign language interpreting. Coleford: Douglas McLean, 168-216. Rigney, Azucana C. (1999). Questioning in interpreted testimony. Forensic Linguistics: The International Journal of Speech Language and the Law (Special issue on legal interpreting). 6 (1), 83-108. Roberts, Roda (1997). Community interpreting today and tomorrow. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 7-25.



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Roy, Cynthia (1993/2002). The problem with definitions, descriptions and the role metaphors of interpreters. In F. Pöchhacker & M. Shlesinger (Eds.), The interpreting studies reader. London/New York: Routledge. Rudvin, Mette (2003). The role of the interpreter and cross-cultural issues in legal interpreting - the Italian situation: Some training implications. In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 183-196. Russell, Debra (2002). Interpreting in legal contexts: Consecutive and simultaneous interpretation. Burtonsville, MD: Linstok Press. Shlesinger, Miriam (1989). Monitoring the courtroom interpreter. Parallèles 11, 29-36. Shlesinger, Miriam (1990). The next step: Quality control for courtroom interpreting. In Proceedings of the Twelfth World Congress of the International Federation of Translators. Belgrade: Prevodilac, 737-741. Shlesinger, Miriam (1991). Interpreter latitude vs. due process: Simultaneous and consecutive interpretation in multilingual trials. In S. Tirkkonen-Condit (Ed.), Empirical research in translation and intercultural studies. Tübingen: Narr, 147-155. Stern, Ludmila (2003). Ensuring interpreting quality at the international criminal tribunal for the former Yugoslavia – a blueprint for successful practices in national courts? In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 497-515. Toury, Gideon (1995). Descriptive translation studies and beyond. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Tsuda, Mamoru (2003). The right to interpretation and Japan’s criminal justice system: a critical evaluation. In E. de la Fuente (Ed.), Traducteurs et interprètes certifiés et judiciaries: droits, devoirs et besoins. Actes du sixième forum international sur la traduction certifiée et l’interprétation judiciaire – 12, 13 et 14 juin 2002 – Unesco, Paris, France. Paris: Société Française des Traducteurs, 79-83. Turner, Graham H. & Brown, Richard K. (2001). Interaction and the role of the interpreter in court. In F. J. Harrington & G. H. Turner (Eds.), Interpreting interpreting: Studies and reflections on sign language interpreting. Coleford: Douglas McLean, 152-167. Wadensjö, Cecilia (1998). Interpreting as interaction. London/New York: Longman.

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Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal Kayoko Takeda Monterey Institute of International Studies

This paper gives an overview of the interpreting arrangements at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal (1946–1948), focusing on some sociopolitical aspects of the interpreting phenomena, and discusses the behavior of the interpreters and monitors during the testimony of Hideki Tojo, Japan’s wartime Prime Minister. It provides a contextualized examination of court interpreting rather than a microlinguistic analysis of interpreted texts. The study demonstrates how political and social aspects of the trial and wartime world affairs affected the interpreting arrangements, especially the hierarchical set-up in which three ethnically and socially different groups of “linguists” (language specialists) performed three different functions in the interpreting process. An examination of the linguists’ behavior during Tojo’s testimony points to a link between their relative positions in the power constellation of the trial and their choices, strategies and behavior in interpreting and monitoring. These findings reinforce the view that interpreting is a social practice conditioned by the social, political and cultural contexts of the setting in which interpreters operate.

Introduction Over the past two decades, the scope and focus of Interpreting Studies has expanded to encompass more diverse interpreting settings and theoretical approaches. In earlier times, interpreting researchers mainly focused on conference interpreting, especially the cognitive processing aspect of interpreting, by drawing on such disciplines as psycholinguistics, cognitive psychology and neurolinguistics. With the increased visibility of court and community interpreting, however, research on dialogue interpreting has proliferated since the 1990s, focusing on interactional aspects of communicative activity and the functions of interpreters as communication mediators. Such studies are often influenced by sociolinguistics, discourse analysis and pragmatics. There is also an increasing awareness of

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Kayoko Takeda

interpreting as a socially situated activity. Consideration is now given to the social, political, historical and cultural contexts of the settings in which interpreters operate. Cronin, for example, calls for a “cultural turn” in Interpreting Studies to pay more attention to “questions of power and issues such as class, gender, race in interpreting situations” (2002: 46). Pöchhacker (2006) observes this overall evolution as Interpreting Studies “going social”, embracing diverse forms of interpreting and broader contextualization. The present study also views interpreting as a social practice and pays close attention to various factors such as politics, race and power relations to describe and explain interpreting phenomena at the International Military Tribunal for the Far East (IMTFE). The IMTFE, more commonly known as the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal, took place from May 3, 1946 to November 12, 1948 to try 28 Japanese war criminals. The most salient aspect of interpreting at the IMTFE was the hierarchical structure in which three ethnically and socially different groups of linguists1 engaged in three separate functions: Japanese nationals interpreted the proceedings, Japanese Americans monitored the interpreters’ performance, and Caucasian U.S. military officers, as language arbiters, ruled over interpreting and translation disputes. Notwithstanding this distinct feature and the historical significance of the trial itself as the Japanese counterpart of the Nuremberg Trial, very little research has been done on the interpreters who worked at the IMTFE. This paper, therefore, first provides a summary of the interpreting arrangements at the IMTFE and briefly introduces three important features found in the interpreting phenomena at the trial. The main part of the paper is an examination of the behavior of the linguists during Hideki Tojo’s testimony, focusing on a link between the linguists’ relative positions in the power constellation of the trial and their choices, strategies and behavior in interpreting and monitoring.

Interpreting arrangements at the IMTFE Languages In accordance with the IMTFE charter, interpretation between English and Japanese (“the language of the accused”) was offered throughout the trial. In addition, as a stand-alone arrangement, Russian simultaneous interpretation was provided for the Soviet judge, who did not understand English or Japanese. The use of a language other than English and Japanese and the practice of relay interpreting were controversial issues because of the shortage of competent interpreters and the concern about the onerous procedure and accuracy of relay interpreting. Discussions over the use of “non-official” languages took much of the time inside and



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

outside the courtroom during the initial stage of the trial. As a result, French and Russian interpreters were hired when prosecutors spoke in those languages, and Chinese, Dutch, German and Mongolian interpreters were also provided for witnesses who testified in those languages. Relay interpreting was used for Chinese and Dutch, with English as the pivot language, and Mongolian, with Russian as the pivot language.

Recruitment of linguists The IMTFE was essentially prepared for and operated by the U.S. military under the direction of U.S. Army General Douglas MacArthur as the Superior Commander of the Allied Powers. The Language Section of the Tribunal Secretariat had a U.S. military officer as its chief and arranged for interpreters and monitors to meet the language needs of the trial. The interpreters were recruited mainly from the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. In addition, several Japanese nationals with bilingual family and/or educational background worked as interpreters. Although some orientation on court procedures was given to those who had passed the screening test (in which candidates had to interpret in a simulated trial), they received virtually no training for interpreting before being sent to the courtroom. The transcripts record a total of 27 Japanese-English interpreters, but only a handful worked regularly throughout the trial (Watanabe 1998: 10–11). The core members of the interpreter team were Toshiro Henry Shimanouchi (a Foreign Ministry official who had lived in the United States for 19 years), Kazumasa Eric Shimada (a former soldier who had studied French and English as a student), and Takashi Oka (a university student with a bilingual family and educational background). Shimada and Oka are the only known surviving linguists who were involved in the interpreting process during the IMTFE. The monitors and language arbiters were recruited from those who had engaged in U.S. military intelligence as translators and interrogators and in other language-related functions during the war. Four Nisei (second-generation Japanese Americans) were selected as monitors, and two Caucasian military officers were appointed as language arbiter at different times.

Interpreting system The IMTFE was held in the auditorium of the former Japanese Military Cadet School (presently on the premises of the Defense Ministry of Japan) in Tokyo. After working from a table next to those for the prosecution and the defense for the first month of the trial, the interpreters and monitors moved to a booth which was set up on the platform behind the seats for officers of the occupation forces.

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Although IBM equipment, identical to that used at Nuremberg, was installed, consecutive was the predominant mode of interpreting at the IMTFE because the tribunal had concluded that simultaneous interpretation between English and Japanese was impossible. Simultaneous interpreting was used only when the speaker read out a document and its translation was available. It was the monitors, not the interpreters, who were assigned the task of rendering the prepared translations such as the closing arguments and the judgment (verdict). Use of the consecutive mode enabled the monitor, sitting next to the interpreter in the booth, to interject corrections when he found any problem with the interpreter’s rendition. Two to four interpreters were assigned to each morning or evening session, and they took turns interpreting every thirty minutes (Oka 2005). One monitor was usually assigned to each session. The language arbiter, situated in the prosecution team’s seating area, announced in court any rulings of the Language Arbitration Board on disputed translations and interpretations during its out-of-court deliberations.

Effect of interpreting on the proceedings There have been some comments by historians and actual trial participants on the effect that the interpreting had on the IMTFE proceedings. They generally refer to the excessive length of the proceedings (2.5 years as opposed to a little over ten months for the Nuremberg Trial) caused, in part, by the consecutive mode of interpreting and the language disputes (e.g. Dower 1999; Bradsher n.d.); the impact of interpreting on the manner in which lawyers examined the witnesses (e.g. “short sentences in elementary language”; Smith 1996); and the possible effect of inadequate interpretations on the outcome of the trial (e.g. Dower 1999; Maga 2001). None of them, however, argue that there were intentional misinterpretations or seriously flawed interpretations during the IMTFE. There has been virtually no argument that the trial would have had a different outcome if the interpreting had been handled differently or if the interpreters had been more competent.2

Sociopolitical aspects of interpreting at the IMTFE There are compelling interpreting phenomena at the IMTFE that direct researchers to go beyond a microlinguistic analysis of interpreting and consider the contextual factors of the setting in which the interpreted event took place. Below is a brief discussion of three such features, with reference to the political background of the trial and the sociological dimensions of the setting in which the linguists worked.



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

Trust and control in the hierarchical structure When a party in power has to rely on interpreters who do not have shared interests or affiliations, the party may set up a system to regulate and control the interpreters out of concern over their trustworthiness. This scenario was evident in the interpreting arrangements at the IMTFE. Prior to the IMTFE, there had been U.S. military trials against Japanese generals in the Philippines, during which serious problems with the military interpreters were uncovered. For example, the three Caucasian military officers who had been appointed as court interpreters refused to take the interpreter’s oath at the trial of General Tomoyuki Yamashita, citing their own lack of qualification in spoken Japanese.3 Nisei linguists who took over the task did not perform well either, due to their limited training in the Japanese language (Reel 1971; Ito 2006). Because of their slow renditions and a number of disputes over interpretations, the tribunal had to resort to Yamashita’s personal interpreter, who was also a prisoner of war, to do whisper-interpreting for Yamashita just for the English-to-Japanese portions in order to save time (Reel 1971). With these problems communicated to Tokyo, the IMTFE must have recognized the need for competent interpreters, regardless of nationality, for the smooth operation of the trial that was attracting close attention from the international community. This can explain why the tribunal opened its interpreter search to Japanese nationals. Many of the Japanese interpreters, however, were officials of the Japanese Ministry of Foreign Affairs. There was also a former soldier with the Japanese Imperial Army. They were, in effect, interpreting in a trial in which their former superiors’ lives were at stake. It is conceivable that the tribunal was concerned about its interpreters’ “impartiality” and was loath to appear dependent on citizens of the defeated nation; hence the IMTFE established a system to regulate and control the interpreters’ work. Since the head of the Language Section did not understand Japanese, four Nisei were selected to monitor the interpreters’ performance (Shimada 2000). The IMTFE turned to the Language Arbitration Board as a “referee” to settle disputes over translations and interpretations. The Board probably did serve to minimize the time spent discussing language disputes in court. In addition, the language arbiter most likely kept an eye on the monitors as well. All the Nisei monitors were Kibei (Nisei who returned to the United States after receiving education in Japan), who had been suspected of being “pro-Japanese” because of their background. The language arbiter, a Caucasian military officer, may have functioned to deter the Nisei monitors from being too accommodating of the defendants’ needs, and to give the appearance that the U.S. military was in charge of the trial procedures.

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This hierarchical structure functioned as a display of authority and a check against any “bad faith” the Japanese interpreters and Kibei monitors were perceived to harbor. Asked if he believed that the monitors were needed for achieving a higher level of accuracy as some suggest (e.g. Watanabe 1998), Oka (2006) answered, “Whether or not the monitoring was needed has nothing to do with interpreting. It was a political matter. [The tribunal] didn’t fully trust the Japanese interpreters, and that’s why the monitor and language board were established.”

Negotiated norms in the interpreting procedures During the initial stage of the IMTFE, there was a great deal of “trial and error” in the interpreting procedures, since interpreters were untrained “chance” or “natural” interpreters and the court participants were equally inexperienced in using the services of interpreters. At the beginning of the trial, the tribunal tried to enforce its expectancy norms (Chesterman 1993) as to how interpreting should be done. Those norms included allowing the speaker to complete his remarks, however long they might be, before the interpreter started his rendition in the consecutive mode; and allowing the speaker to read a prepared document aloud and to have it interpreted without submitting the translation beforehand. The interpreters, however, could not interpret long passages in the consecutive mode or a speech that was read aloud from a document without access to the translation. Such cognitive limitations of the interpreters were communicated to the tribunal through the head of the Language Section and the language arbiter on behalf of the interpreters. To actually function and proceed with the trial, the tribunal’s expectancy norms had to be negotiated and changed to accommodate the needs of the interpreters as expressed in their feedback. The new norms that developed through this negotiation during the first year of the trial included having speakers break their remarks into short segments; and providing the translation to the interpreter beforehand when the speaker was about to read aloud from a document. This indicates that, unlike Toury’s model (1995: 241–258) of natural/native translators (interpreters), in which bilingual speakers without formal training become interpreters by conforming to feedback from their users and commissioners, the interpreters at the IMTFE were among the parties who negotiated and agreed on how the interpreting should be done. Here, norm-building was an interactive process which required “socialization” both on the interpreter’s part and the interpreter user’s part. Further, the nature of the interpreters’ feedback points to the fact that norms in interpreting at the IMTFE were partly developed to address the cognitive limitations of the interpreters.



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

Nisei linguists as “in-between” interpreters The four Nisei monitors came to the IMTFE under difficult and complex circumstances. They were all Kibei, who had suffered even greater prejudice and discrimination than other Japanese Americans because of their prior education and experience in Japan. The monitors, excluding one who taught at the U.S. Navy’s Japanese school, were among the nearly 120,000 Japanese and Japanese Americans who were forcibly relocated to internment camps after Japan’s attack on Pearl Harbor in December 1941. They were also among the Nisei who were recruited by the U.S. Army to teach or train at its Japanese school for military intelligence. During the war, these Nisei linguists translated captured documents, broke codes and interrogated Japanese prisoners of war, while their families and friends were still detained in the camps. They constantly had to confront the language and people of their own heritage in hostile settings, while fighting against the suspicion of disloyalty within the U.S. Army. They also feared being caught, tortured and killed as traitors by Japanese soldiers. This complexity of the position of the Nisei linguists during the war can be explained by drawing on Cronin’s notion (2002: 54–59) of “autonomous and heteronomous interpreters”. On the one hand, they were “autonomous” (insiders) in the sense that they were Americans who were recruited and trained for military intelligence by the U.S. military during the war. On the other hand, they were “heteronomous” (outsiders) as reflected in some “native” characteristics: i.e. having been raised by “native” parents who in some cases sent them to the “native” land to acquire its language and culture as their own and later recruited by the U.S. military “through inducements” (to escape or avoid the internment camps and prove their loyalty to the country of their birth). In the context of the IMTFE, the Nisei monitors were hired by the government that had treated them and their families as “enemy aliens”, in a trial against leaders of their ancestral homeland. And in their function as monitors, they used skills deeply rooted in their own heritage. There is no way to actually know what kind of emotional and psychological states the Nisei monitors were in during the IMTFE and how they viewed the trial itself, the defendants and their own role. Revisiting this “doubleness” or “in-between” nature of the position of the Nisei monitors, however, may shed light on issues involving interpreters who work in the world’s current conflicts.

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Linguists’ behavior during Tojo’s testimony Following a contextualized examination of some interpreting phenomena at the IMTFE, the present paper now discusses the linguists’ behavior during Hideki Tojo’s testimony, focusing on whether the linguists’ behavior in interpreting and monitoring was consistent with their relative positions in the power constellation of the trial. Hideki Tojo was an army general who served as War Minister and Prime Minister during much of World War II. Of all the defendants, he was considered most responsible for Japanese war crimes, and was accused and found guilty on most counts of the war crimes at the IMTFE. After the reading of his affidavit, the examinations of Hideki Tojo took place from December 30, 1947 to January 7, 1948. Tojo’s testimony was selected based on the assumption that by the time he took the witness stand in the twentieth month of the courtroom proceedings only the competent, knowledgeable and experienced interpreters were working at the trial and that the interpreting procedures had been well-established. This is in an attempt to minimize the possible effect of the issues of interpreter competency and procedural glitches so that the present study can point to contextual factors as possible drivers for the behavior of the linguists. Given the specific political nature of the IMTFE as a trial operated by the U.S. military as part of its overall strategy in the occupation of Japan (Dower 1999; Maga 2001) and the limited availability of audio records of the trial and potential problems of relying solely on transcripts (Gile 1999), this paper does not engage in the generalization or quantification of interpreters’ behavior in courtroom settings. Rather, it presents a qualitative study of choices, strategies and behavior of interpreters, with reference to the social and political contexts of the setting in which they operate.

Linguists who worked during Tojo’s testimony The following are the interpreters and monitors who worked during those six days of testimony by Tojo. U.S. Army Captain Edward Kraft worked as language arbiter throughout these sessions. The monitors — David Akira Itami, Sho Onodera and Lanny Miyamoto — were all Kibei who had been interned in camps and recruited for military intelligence during the war. The length of their schooling in Japan was fifteen, seven and five years, respectively. They were 36, 30 and 26 years old at the time they worked as monitors during Tojo’s testimony. Being the oldest person with the highest level of proficiency in the Japanese language, Itami was considered the leader of the



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

Table 1.  Interpreters and monitors during Hideki Tojo’s testimony Date December 30, 1947 (PM) December 31, 1947 (AM) January 2, 1948 (AM) January 2, 1948 (PM) January 5, 1948 (AM) January 5, 1948 (PM) January 6, 1948 (AM) January 6, 1948 (PM) January 7, 1948 (AM)

Monitor Onodera Onodera Miyamoto Itami Itami Onodera Itami Onodera Miyamoto

Interpreters4 Masaki, Oka, Shimanouchi Iwamoto, Taji, Shimanouchi Shimanouchi, Oka, Taji, Yamanaka Shimanouchi, Shimada, Mori Shimanouchi, Oka, Taji, Mori Shimanouchi, Oka, Mori Shimanouchi, Mori, Taji, Oka Oka, Shimanouchi, Mori, Shimada Shimanouchi, Iwamoto, Mori, Taji

monitor team. Itami’s life, which ended with his suicide two years after the IMTFE, has been a frequent subject for authors and researchers in Japan (e.g. Yamasaki 1983; Kinashi 1985; Kono 2003; Otake 2005). A total of eight interpreters worked during Tojo’s testimony. Shimanouchi, Tomio Mori, Hideki Masaki and Masao Yamanaka were officials of the Foreign Ministry; and the remaining four had bilingual family and/or educational backgrounds. Most of the interpreters were older than the two junior monitors, Onodera and Miyamoto. It should be noted that the interpreters had relatively privileged backgrounds and were among the elite in Japanese society as evidenced by prominent family members, education at private international schools and overseas posts as government representatives (Takeda 2007). This is in stark contrast to the backgrounds of the monitors who, as sons of immigrants, had to fight prejudice and discrimination in American society. As to the background of Language Arbiter Kraft, the records of the U.S. Army’s Japanese language school for military intelligence show that he studied elementary-level Japanese for one year.5

The interpreters’ behavior According to Watanabe (1998: 19), during Tojo’s testimony the interpreters interpreted a total of 1,178 English utterances (turns) into Japanese and 845 Japanese utterances into English. Although there is no written rule found in the archival records that prohibited the interpreters from speaking on their own behalf during the proceedings, the interviews with Oka (2005) and Shimada (2000) confirm that in principle they were not supposed to overstep the hierarchical boundaries to provide any input other than the actual interpretation. Occasionally, however, the interpreters did interact directly with Tojo and the other participants in response to their questions and to help them understand

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interpreting and procedural issues. Those exchanges were quick and concise, and probably within the scope of what was tolerated by their supervisors. The interpreters must have learned on the job over the course of the proceedings, through the interactions with the other court participants, to what extent they were allowed to engage in such activity. There is no indication in the transcripts or the audio records that the tribunal disapproved of such actions by the interpreters. In addition, although the number of instances is small, the interpreters interjected to offer the witness quick explanations on procedural matters, mainly concerning the exhibits and their translations. The interpreters also tried to ensure that Tojo’s statements were fully interpreted. Whenever the interpreter was interrupted and missed an opportunity to interpret Tojo’s answer in its entirety, the interpreter inserted the missed interpretation in his next rendition. Further, on a few occasions, they interrupted the speaker to let Tojo complete his remarks. This type of action was probably driven by their eagerness to make sure that Tojo had fair opportunity to speak for himself, but this may have been perceived as inappropriate by certain court participants. On one occasion Chief Prosecutor Joseph Keenan questioned the interpreter’s comments that Tojo had more to say. Example 1 Tojo: Sore wa sono tori. Tadashi… (That’s right, but…)6 Interpreter:7 Yes, as you say, but– Keenan: You finally, in your affidavit, have referred to it as a war, have you not? Interpreter: Before Mr. Prosecutor’s question was put, the witness was just about to state his next answer. Keenan: I question that, Language Section, or whoever is making that statement, but if the witness wishes to make some other statement I do not wish to cut him off. I am looking at him.

This challenge by Keenan may have deterred the interpreters from interrupting the speaker again. There were no more instances of interpreters stopping the speaker for the remainder of Tojo’s testimony. During Tojo’s testimony there were a number of cases in which the monitors rephrased seemingly error-free renditions of the interpreters or corrected interpretations erroneously. The transcripts and the available audio recordings indicate that the interpreters never objected to those interjections, with one exception that occurred when one of the monitors made the same mistake for the second time in offering his version and the interpreter corrected it.



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

In brief, the interpreters kept the instances of speaking on their own behalf to a minimum (a few times a session) and did not object to the monitors’ seemingly unnecessary rephrasing or erroneous attempts of correction. This behavior can be explained by the interpreters’ position in the hierarchy of the linguists. Shimada (2000: 21, 23) claims that the interpreters were much more competent than the monitors, that the monitors, excluding Itami, were not competent enough to correct interpreting errors, and that the monitors actually depended on the interpreters. The interpreters, however, probably felt that they were not in a position to protest against or complain about the monitors’ undue interjections. Shimada compares the relation of the interpreter and the monitor to a race horse and a jockey, implying that the interpreter (the horse) could not stop the monitor (the jockey) to tell him that his direction was wrong.

The monitors’ behavior Although the functions of the monitors are not clearly defined in the IMTFE official documents, the transcripts and audio records of the trial indicate that their main activity was to monitor the interpreters’ performance and correct any errors. During Tojo’s testimony, the monitor corrected omissions, additions and meaning errors in the interpreters’ renditions five to six times per session on average, and more than 90% of those corrections concerned interpretations from English into Japanese. Many of the corrections were not of the nature that would have changed the discourse of the proceedings or the substance of Tojo’s testimony. The monitor’s interjection in the following example, however, may have been considered significant by the court participants. Example 2 Keenan: … You have told us that the Emperor on repeated occasions made known to you that he was a man of peace and did not want war, is that correct? Interpreter: … Anata wa sude ni hotei ni taishite, nihon tenno wa heiwa o aisuru hito de aru to iu koto o maemotte anata-gata ni shirashimete atta to iu koto o moshimashita. Kore wa tadashii desune. (… You told the court that the Japanese Emperor had made known to you that he was a man who loved peace. Is this correct?) Monitor (Onodera): Sore o kurikaeshite osshai mashita. ([He] said that repeatedly.)

The phrase “on repeated occasions” was an important modifier for the prosecutor who was directed by MacArthur to grant total immunity to the emperor and tried to depict the emperor as a pacifist who delegated authority to his militarist

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advisors (Dower 1999: 459–460; Bix 2000: 610–612). This examination took place amid the great endeavor by the prosecution and Tojo himself, in coordination with MacArthur’s office and the Japanese government, to offset the damaging slip Tojo made during his testimony of December 31, 1947. Responding to a defense lawyer’s question on that occasion, Tojo inadvertently implicated the emperor in Japan’s war activities by testifying, “there is no Japanese subject who would go against the will of His Majesty: more particularly, among high officials of the Japanese government”. According to Oka (2005), what made the most lasting impression of the entire trial for him was the laborious effort Keenan and Tojo made never to expose the emperor, and the exchanges between them and the frustrated Tribunal President, Sir William Webb, who had wanted to see the emperor indicted. Although it cannot be determined whether Onodera’s interjection took place as part of his ordinary course of activity or with his keen awareness of the significance of the missing information, it must have been appreciated by those who were involved in the efforts to protect the emperor. In addition to correcting patent errors found in the interpreters’ renditions, the monitors presented their versions of renditions by changing the wording or sentence structures after the interpreters’ seemingly error-free renditions (i.e. no omissions, additions, meaning or grammatical errors). During Tojo’s testimony, such rephrasing interjections occurred about nine times per session on average and more than 90% of them concerned interpretations from English into Japanese. It is presumed that the monitors’ intention was to provide more “clarity” in order to facilitate Tojo’s understanding of the questions by offering more explicit versions of renditions. Occasionally such interjections contained explanatory information added by the monitors. There was a case in which the monitor’s added explanation influenced the way Tojo responded and changed the discourse of the proceedings. It took place during the morning session of December 31, 1947. Example 3 Keenan: You advocated the process of peace terms being arranged between China and Japan in 1941 while there was a huge Japanese army occupying a large part of China, is that not correct? Interpreter: Shina no hijo ni hiroi chiiki o bakudai na kazu no nihon-gun ga senryo shitsutsu aru aida ni … (While an enormous number of Japanese troops were in the process of occupying a very large area in China …) Monitor (Onodera): … aida ni, anata wa 1941-nen nisshi-kan no wahei no joken o teiji shita no dewa arimasenka.



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

(During that time, didn’t you present peace terms between Japan and China in 1941?) Tojo: Motto hakkiri itte kudasai. (Please say it more clearly.) Interpreter: May I have that question repeated? It was not quite comprehensible. Keenan: Will you please answer that question directly without making a speech? [NO INTERPRETATION] Monitor (Onodera): We are trying to get an accurate translation on this last one. We have not done so yet. Tojo: Ima no ron, mo sukoshi hakkiri itte kudasai. (Please state the statement a little more clearly.) Monitor (Onodera): Shina no kodai na chiiki ni nihon no taigun ga chuzai shite oru toki ni oite, anata wa shina to nihon to no aida no heiwa joken, wahei kosho nado to iu koto o tsuzukete otta no dewa arimasenka. Soiu mujun shita jotai ni oite… (While a large Japanese army was stationed in a large area in China, weren’t you continuing to have peace terms between China and Japan, peace negotiations or something? In such contradicting situation …) Tojo: Hitotsu mo mujun shite orimasen ga, tozen tsuzukemashita. (It is not contradicting at all, but naturally [I] continued.) Interpreter: There is no inconsistency in the situation. I naturally continued such efforts for peace.

In an effort to help Tojo understand Keenan’s question, Onodera added the term “mujun shita” (contradicting), rather strong language in Japanese. Because of this term, which Onodera added of his own initiative, Tojo ended up responding directly to this added language instead of responding to the original interpretation of Keenan’s question. Besides seemingly unnecessary interjections to rephrase, there were instances in which the monitors missed interpreting errors or made erroneous corrections (Watanabe 1998; Takeda 2007). The tribunal, however, was probably not aware of those issues. As mentioned above, most of the interjections by the monitors were delivered in Japanese. Considering the fact that none of the people who supervised the monitors during Tojo’s testimony had a good command of Japanese, the tribunal may have had the impression that the monitors were busy correcting the interpreters’ errors, by satisfying its expectations, without actually understanding the appropriateness and effectiveness of those corrections.

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There are several possible reasons why most of the monitor’s interjections concerned English-to-Japanese interpretations. Watanabe (1998: 55) points to the difficulty the interpreters probably experienced in understanding the courtroom language in English and coming up with the Japanese equivalent. This is a plausible explanation. On the one hand, the Japanese interpreters may have had difficulty with legal terms and the language style specific to courtroom proceedings in English, but they presumably had a complete comprehension of utterances in Japanese. On the other hand, the Nisei monitors may have struggled to understand Japanese terms and language styles specific to the Japanese military and imperial court system, but they presumably had a full comprehension of utterances in English. The fact that the monitors probably had a better understanding of the source language when it was English may explain why most of their interjections were for English-to-Japanese interpretations. Without understanding the source language, there would be no way of “correcting interpreting errors”. There is another possible reason for the monitors’ self-restraint when it came to interpreting into English. When an interjection was uttered in English in response to Japanese-to-English interpretation, the tribunal could understand and compare the original interpretation by the interpreter and the monitor’s version. Concerned about the speed of the proceedings, as mentioned in the transcripts and a number of archival records, the tribunal probably did not have the patience to listen to two versions of interpretation unless they were materially different. Being sensitive to their employer’s needs, the monitors may have been more disciplined and selective when they interjected in English. Lastly, many of the monitors’ interjections directed at English-to-Japanese interpretations can be attributable to their eagerness to help Tojo and their awareness that none of their supervisors fully understood the nature of their interjections in Japanese. The monitors seem to have tried to make sure that Tojo fully understood the questions he was asked by rephrasing the interpreters’ renditions and adding explanatory remarks when they felt he might have trouble understanding. Being aware that neither the language arbiter nor the chief of the Language Section during Tojo’s testimony had a good command of Japanese, the monitors probably did not feel very inhibited about assisting Tojo in Japanese. This can be seen as an example of interpreters — monitors in this case — exerting their “power” as the party that monopolizes and controls the means of communication (Anderson 1976: 218–221). As for the possible reasons for seemingly unnecessary interjections, whether in Japanese or English, it could be that a given interpretation was delivered in such a way that it did not sound “quite right” to the monitor, who then jumped in to offer his own version. As Gile’s experiment (1999) suggests, the assessment of



Interpreting at the Tokyo War Crimes Tribunal

interpreting quality varies depending on whether the data is presented in audio form or in transcription. Even if an interpretation by the interpreter “looks” fine and error-free in transcription, it may have “sounded” problematic to the monitor. In addition, these seemingly unnecessary interjections may simply be attributed to the monitors’ insufficient capacity to quickly and accurately evaluate the interpreters’ performance. The average number of rephrasing interjections per session (mostly for English-to-Japanese interpretations) was 6, 8.5 and 15 for Itami, Onodera and Miyamoto, respectively (Takeda 2007). With his appreciation of the variety of lexical and semantic usage of the Japanese language based on his 15 years of education in Japan, Itami was probably better equipped than other monitors to accept the wide range of word choices and language styles rendered in Japanese by the interpreters. The fact that Miyamoto, who had the weakest command of Japanese (Shimada 2000; Oka 2005), rephrased the interpreters’ renditions far more frequently than other monitors, and that Itami did so the least, may support the argument that these seemingly unwarranted interjections were partly due to limitations in the monitors’ knowledge of Japanese usage and vocabulary. This aspect of the monitors’ competency also leads to another possible reason for the seemingly unnecessary interjections: the monitors’ eagerness to demonstrate their own active involvement in the interpreting process. This is especially applicable in the case of Miyamoto. The fact that Miyamoto seemed eager to present his own version of renditions could be explained by his desire to prove that he was a functioning monitor despite his youth and his weak Japanese. The Language Division and the tribunal were not capable of assessing his interjections in Japanese and they may have thought that he was busy correcting the poor renditions by the interpreters. Besides correcting interpreting errors and rephrasing interpreters’ renditions, the monitors directly interacted with Tojo and other court participants during his testimony. They directly responded to questions asked by Tojo, the president and the examining counsel and asked them for clarifications concerning their remarks and procedural matters, presumably for the interpreters who were not supposed to speak on their own behalf. The monitors also functioned as communication coordinators by interrupting the examining counsel to let Tojo complete his remarks, asking Tojo to break down his remarks into shorter segments, requesting the court reporters to read out the record in order to assist the interpreters when they missed the original remarks, directing Tojo and the court to appropriate pages and passages in translated exhibits, and providing explanations on interpreting issues to Tojo and the court. Among these direct interactions with Tojo and other court participants, the explanations the monitors provided to Tojo seem to have gone beyond the scope

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of their presumed role as checkers of the accuracy of interpretation. Some explanatory information added by the monitors sounded almost like advice to Tojo. Here is an example from the morning session of January 6, 1948. Example 4 Keenan: But you still insist that when the Foreign Minister of Japan at that critical moment was sending a message to his own ambassador that he was employing diplomatic language that had various meanings and not using a direct instruction? Interpreter: Sorede anata wa nao kono judai naru jiki ni oite Nihon no gaimu daijin ga sono taishi ni taishite tsushin o okuru toki ni, iroiro na imi ni toreru tokoro no gaikoteki jirei o mochiite ori, soshite chokusainaru kunrei o hasshite oranakatta to iu koto o shucho nasaru no desuka? (Then, do you still assert that at the critical time the foreign minister of Japan sent his ambassador a correspondence which used diplomatic language that could be interpreted in various ways and didn’t convey a direct instruction?) Monitor (Itami): Chotto sono ten o setsumei shimasu. Shonin, gokai no nai yoni. Kono kunrei no nakani tsukatte aru kotoba wa gaikojo no kotoba de aruka doka, soretomo sonotori no koto o imishite orunoka to iu imi no shitsumon de arimasu. (Let me explain a little on this point. Mr. Witness, please do not misunderstand. This question means to ask whether the language included in the instruction is diplomatic language or it means what it says.)

This type of behavior by the monitors was probably driven by their awareness that neither the chief of the Language Section nor the language arbiter had a full command of Japanese and by their eagerness to help Tojo understand the questions. An attempt to link the monitors’ behavior to their personal ethical views, sympathy toward the former leader of their parents’ country, and “respect for Tojo’s honorable attitude in court” (Kinashi 1985: 112) would go nowhere without supporting evidence. It would also fall in the realm of speculation to suggest that Caucasian military officers would never have behaved in the same way as the Nisei monitors in assisting Tojo.

The language arbiter Despite his top position in the hierarchy of the interpreting process as language arbiter, Captain Kraft does not seem to have had a significant impact on the court proceedings. The transcripts reflect that during Tojo’s testimony Kraft spoke on five language issues. Only one of them was addressed at the time the issue arose; the other four were addressed four to sixteen days after the issues had been referred to the Language Arbitration Board. Due to his limited Japanese capability,



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he was probably not aware of the nature of the interjections in Japanese made by the monitors and the interpreters and could not intervene spontaneously in any of their activities. He was a “figure head” (Kawamoto (an IMTFE translator) 2005) and was simply reporting the rulings of the Language Arbitration Board to the court. The physical presence of Kraft, a Caucasian military officer, near the prosecutors’ team, and his announcements of the rulings of the Language Arbitration Board in court, however, must have underscored the appearance that the U.S. military was in charge of the court proceedings of the IMTFE. Based on the interviews and archival documents, it appears that, during Tojo’s testimony, the higher a person was in the linguist hierarchy, the less competent that person was in his second language. The tribunal, however, still kept turning to the language arbiter for disputed translations and interpretations.

Conclusion The present paper has provided an overview of the interpreting arrangements at the IMTFE, focusing on some sociopolitical aspects of their features. The influence of issues such as power, race and class was apparent in the interpreting arrangements, especially in the hierarchical organization in which three ethnically and socially different groups of linguists engaged in three different functions in the interpreting process. This paper also analyzed the linguists’ behavior during Tojo’s testimony and suggested that some behavior of the linguists in interpreting and monitoring was consistent with their relative positions in the power constellation of the trial. All these findings reinforce the notion that interpreting does not occur in a vacuum, and that it is conditioned by the social, political and cultural contexts of the setting in which the interpreted event takes place. For a fuller understanding of interpreting phenomena, including interpreters’ choices, strategies and behavior, researchers should be encouraged to go beyond a microlinguistic analysis of interpreted texts and take a more holistic approach. As Pöchhacker (2005: 693) suggests in his “socio-cognitive perspective”, attention should be paid to various contextual factors such as institutional constraints and professional norms in addition to interpreters’ cognitive processes. This study did not engage in a linguistic analysis of interpreting because of the limited availability of audio records. Admittedly, the IMTFE is a unique case, given its historical and political significance. Nevertheless, the author hopes that some issues in interpreting addressed in this paper, such as trust, control, negotiated

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norms, “in-between”-ness and power relations, will be revisited for an enhanced understanding of language-related issues in today’s society.

Notes 1. The term “linguists” is used in this study to refer to the interpreters, monitors and language arbiters as a whole, not to persons who study linguistics, since personnel who engaged in language-related functions at the IMTFE were called “linguists” in relevant archival documents. 2. One exception is the following comment by Sir William Webb, the President of the IMTFE. According to Kojima (1971), Webb said in an interview after his retirement that “[i]f the Japanese lawyers had been more proficient in English, or the interpreters had been more competent, it might have affected the judgment of the trial.” (Kojima 1971: 258; my translation) 3. Correspondence from CINCAFPAC ADV. to CINCAFPAC Manila, October 28 and 29, 1945. Records of the Allied Operational and Occupation Headquarters, World War II (Record Group 331). The U.S. National Archives & Records Administration, College Park, MD. 4. The interpreters’ names are in the same order as they appear in the Japanese transcripts of the court proceedings. 5. Album and Roster of the Military Intelligence Service Language School. Provided by Grant Ichikawa of the Japanese American Veterans Association in December 2005. 6. The utterances in Japanese are presented in romanized text and their English translations are provided in italics in parentheses by the author. 7. The transcripts do not indicate which interpreter interpreted a given portion of the proceedings.

References Anderson, R. B. W. (1976). Perspectives on the role of interpreter. In R. W. Brislin (Ed.), Translation: Applications and research. New York: Gardner Press, 208–228. Bix, H. P. (2000). Hirohito and the making of modern Japan. New York: Perennial. Bradsher, G. (n.d.) Select findings aid to records at the National Archives at College Park, Maryland, relating to Japanese war crimes, war criminals and war crimes trials: Post-war restitution and reparations; and to the capture and exploitations of Japanese records and after WWII. College Park, MD: Textual Archives Services Division. The U.S. National Archives & Records Administration. Chesterman, A. (1993). From “is” to “ought”: Translation laws, norms and strategies. Target 5 (1), 1–20. Cronin, M. (2002). The Empire talks back: Orality, heteronomy, and the cultural turn in interpretation studies. In M. Tymoczko & E. Gentzler (Eds.), Translation and power. Amherst/ Boston, MA: University of Massachusetts Press, 45–62.



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Dower, J. (1999). Embracing defeat. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Gile, D. (1999). Variability in the perception of fidelity in simultaneous interpretation. Hermes 22, 51–79. Ito, S. (2006). Telephone interview by the author in January 2006. Kawamoto, Y. (2005). Interview by the author in Springfield, Virginia in March 2005. Kinashi, K. (1985). Dave Itami Akira no shogai: Kyokuto kokusai gunji saiban hishi. Tokyo: Paru Shuppan. Kojima, N. (1971). Tokyo saiban. Tokyo: Chuko Shinsho. Kono, R. (2003). The identity of a Kibei-Nisei: The life of Akira Itami. Ferris Wheel 6, 82–102. Maga, T. P. (2001). Judgment at Tokyo: The Japanese War Crimes Trials. Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky. Oka, T. (2005). Interview by the author in Washington, DC in December 2005. Oka, T. (2006). Email communications with the author, April-May 2006. Otake, T. (2005). Between two worlds: Tried to the limit and beyond. The Japan Times, August 14, 2005 Pöchhacker, F. (2005). From operation to action: Process-orientation in interpreting studies. Meta 50 (2), 682–695. Pöchhacker, F. (2006). “Going social?” On pathways and paradigms in interpreting studies. In A. Pym, M. Shlesinger & Z. Jettmarová (Eds.), Sociocultural aspects of translating and interpreting. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 223–232. Reel, A. F. (1949/1971). The case of General Yamashita. New York: Octagon Books. Shimada, M. (2000). Booth no naka no Itami Akira. Interview by M. Kondo and T. Watanabe. Daito Forum 13, 16–35. Smith, R. B. (1996). Japanese war crime trials: The International Military Tribunal for the Far East meted out justice to Japanese war criminals at locations throughout Asia. The History Net. http://www.historynet.com/magazines/world_war_2/3035796.html (accessed 25 September 2006). Takeda, K. (2007). Sociopolitical aspects of interpreting at the International Military Tribunal for the Far East (1946–1948). Doctoral thesis, Universitat Rovira i Virgili. Toury, G. (1995). Descriptive Translation Studies and beyond. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Watanabe, T. (1998). Tokyo saiban no tsuyaku kenkyu: Tojo Hideki shogen o tsujite. MA thesis, Daito Bunka University. Yamasaki, T. (1983). Futatsu no sokoku. Tokyo: Shincho Bunko.

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Judicial systems in contact Access to justice and the right to interpreting/ translating services among the Quichua of Ecuador Susan Berk-Seligson Vanderbilt University

The Quichua of Ecuador, along with other indigenous peoples of Latin America, have been struggling to attain the right to use their ancestral language and their traditional ways of administering justice in an effort to gain greater autonomy in a variety of sociopolitical spheres of life. Based on interviews with 93 Ecuadorians — judges, magistrates, lawyers, justices of the peace, interpreters, translators, and local and national political leaders — the study finds an ideological splintering of views on this subject. Among the disparate Quichua communities and among State justice providers (largely comprising the hegemonic mestizo/blanco sector of society) there is a lack of agreement on how justice is to be carried out and what role the Quichua language should play in it. Despite the heterogeneity of views, however, there is tacit agreement on one de facto language policy, namely, the use of untrained, ad hoc interpreters in judicial settings.

Introduction With the worldwide spread of democracy, accompanied by the rapid expansion of minority legal rights, there are growing numbers of instances of multiple judicial systems existing within a single national territory. This paper examines the case of Ecuador, where overlapping systems are raising numerous challenges for those who have limited proficiency in the language of the state courts. It focuses on the challenge of providing interpreting/translating services to these linguistic minorities. The central challenge is the paucity of qualified interpreters/translators together with the absence of state funds to pay for such interpreting services. The Ecuadorian case is particularly problematic because of a lack of agreement among judicial operators over fundamental issues concerning the jurisdictional limits of

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state versus indigenous justice systems, and over the very need for interpreting/ translating services in the first place. This paper presents a complex mosaic of conflicting views, all of which greatly weaken the ability of a country to provide quality interpreting services to its indigenous population. The result is a limitation of the rights of linguistic minorities to full access to justice. The paper will: (1) review the significant attempts of Ecuador’s indigenous political leaders to obtain linguistic rights in judicial settings; (2) present the reaction of indigenous people to these efforts; (3) elucidate the perspectives of state justice providers on the one hand and indigenous leaders, on the other hand, on the proposal to give indigenous communities greater judicial autonomy; (4) review the status of bilingualism and monolingualism among the indigenous peoples in the light of claims that existing legal interpreting/translating services are adequate; and (5) analyze the status of legal interpreters/translators in Ecuador. From a theoretical standpoint, the research reported on here is rooted in the scholarship on language ideologies in a sociolinguistic context of long-term language contact. The thesis of this paper is that opposing ideological perspectives on indigenous autonomy versus national unity drive de facto language policies regarding the use of interpreters/translators in judicial contexts.

Background: The Quichua of Ecuador Research on judicial interpreting issues has dealt mainly with situations involving people who do not speak the language of the justice system by dint of being immigrants, temporary workers, or visitors in a country that is not their native land.1 Less commonly researched is the situation of native ethnic groups who do not speak or understand the official language of the law, or who have limited proficiency in it. Latin America is a region where many indigenous people have limited proficiency in the majoritarian language, Spanish, or in the case of Brazil, Portuguese. The present study focuses on one such indigenous group: the Quichua of Ecuador. The word ‘Quichua’ is also the designation for the language spoken by the Quichua. A variant of Quechua — a language spoken by approximately ten million people throughout the South American Andes, primarily in Bolivia, Ecuador and Peru, but also in Argentina, Colombia, and Chile — Quichua, is by far the predominant indigenous language of Ecuador. Handed down from the pre-Columbian Inca empire, it is spoken today by indigenous groups which themselves are ethnically and culturally heterogeneous. In Ecuador alone there are fifteen ethnic groups who consider themselves to be Quichua and who speak Quichua, but who have their own self-designations (Tibán & Ilaquiche 2004: 20). Quechua/Quichua



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in this respect serve a unifying function for these peoples, and distinguish them from other ethnolinguistically differentiated South American groups. At the same time, Quechua is considered by sociolinguists to be a lingua franca among the numerous indigenous peoples of South America (King & Hornberger 2006). The Quichua of Ecuador, along with the various other indigenous groups of that country, of late have been struggling to preserve their linguistic and cultural patrimony, including the right to administer justice within their communities (Andrade 2002; Almeida et al. 2005; Chavez V. & García 2004; García S. 2002; Serrano Pérez 2002; Serrano et al. 2005; Tibán Guala 2001; Tibán & Ilaquiche 2004; Tocagón & Bautista 1999). As part of an international movement that has been sweeping across Latin America, the Quichua have formed political organizations to represent their interests. A direct result of such organizational efforts has been the election of Quichua deputies, or representatives to the national legislature. The combined impact of this political activism has been a modification of the Ecuadorian constitution of 1998, granting indigenous peoples a series of rights that they had not previously held (Cruz 1993; Salgado 2002).

The effort to gain linguistic rights in the judicial arena The efforts on the part of Ecuadorian indigenous peoples to improve their access to the justice system have been multifaceted and multi-pronged: from Constitutional reforms to attempts to pass new legislation in Congress, to the creation of national indigenous political parties (e.g., PACHAKUTIK), national political organizations (e.g., Confederación de Nacionalidades Indígenas de Ecuador, or CONAIE), and regional political groups (e.g., Confederación de Pueblos de la Nacionalidad Kichwa del Ecuador, or ECUARUNARI). What these initiatives share is the effort of indigenous peoples to establish an autonomous justice system, one in which conflict resolution and crime are handled independently of the state (Almeida et al. 2005; Tibán & Ilaquiche 2004). Underlying these efforts is the desire to maintain traditional cultural ways of behaving, including the use of indigenous languages in the types of contexts in which these languages have historically been utilized. The judicial arena is one case in point. Interviews were conducted for this research in 2006 with 93 Ecuadorians who routinely deal with the justice system through their work roles.2 These interviews reveal that there is little consensus on the extent to which such autonomy can or should be achieved, nor is there agreement on what role language should play in the various facets of Ecuadorian administration of justice, particularly with respect to linguistic minorities. The interviewees for this study included judges,

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public defenders, private attorneys, prosecutors, interpreters/translators, justices of the peace, police officers, commissioners specializing in domestic violence, elected officials, and heads of non-governmental organizations and human rights groups. The interviews reveal an almost universal lip-service support for the right of indigenous peoples to use their ancestral languages in judicial contexts, but great variation in attitudes regarding how such a right can be put in place and at what cost. There is a lack of agreement between indigenous leaders and ordinary indigenous community members, and a similar lack of consensus among state judicial authorities with respect to these issues. At the heart of this diversity of opinion and practice are deep ideological divisions. The interviews demonstrate that the persons who most strongly advocate a separate justice system for indigenous peoples are leaders of indigenous communities and of indigenous political organizations. Many members of the local communities would choose the state system if they had the financial resources necessary for accessing it and if community pressures against using the state system were not in play. Other ideological issues hotly debated involve the limits of jurisdictional authority, namely, whose system of justice has the right to hear a case when one party is indigenous and the other is not? Similarly, which system of justice takes precedence when an indigenous person is either accused of a crime or is a victim of a crime on territory that is not considered to fall within the borders of an indigenous community? Administering justice within the jurisdiction of the indigenous community has certain linguistic repercussions for those involved, whereas using the state system of justice brings with it other linguistic effects. Each will be shown to be complex and, for the time being, problematic, in terms of ensuring the rights of indigenous minorities. The theoretical construct that most fundamentally informs this study is that of language ideologies. As the work of Blommaert (1999, 2005), Hill (1998), Schieffelin (1998), Silverstein (1998) and Woolard (1998) shows, language ideologies play a crucial role in accounting for linguistic behavior. The field of Critical Discourse Analysis, as exemplified by the work of Fairclough (1989, 1995), Reisigl and Wodak (2001), van Dijk (1998, 2001), Wodak and van Dijk (2000) and others, hinges on this notion. Within the field of language and the law, the research of Conley and O’Barr (1990, 1998), Eades (2000) and Philips (1998), which examines the relationship between language use and judges’ decision-making, demonstrates the importance of judges’ ideologies in this context. This study of minority language rights in one Latin American judicial setting aims to demonstrate the existence of two opposing ideologies: that of the state and that of the indigenous peoples. From the perspective of most state-justice providers, all is well — there is essentially no



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problem with regard to the ability of the Quichua to communicate adequately in court. For these representatives of the state, the ideology is one of ‘national unity’: there is only one system of justice for all the people of Ecuador, and if the indigenous peoples have been given a measure of self-rule in the realm of administration of justice, it must be severely circumscribed. For the majority of the indigenous, on the other hand, the dominant ideological theme is ‘autonomy’: self-governance from various standpoints, particularly in the administration of justice. For nearly all of the Quichua interviewed, language is considered to be a barrier only in the realm of state justice. Within the sphere of indigenous justice, the Quichua see language choice as an ancestral right, and find no incompatibility between the use of Quichua in indigenous judicial proceedings and the co-presence of members of different ethnolinguistic groups at such events. It will be demonstrated in the sections below that Quichua judicial events often are ethnolinguistically heterogeneous. To say that there is an ideology of national unity and another of indigenous autonomy is not to say that all state justice providers adhere to the former and that all the Quichua are proponents of the latter. There is some degree of heterogeneity among advocates of each of the ideologies. There are some mestizo3 judges and lawyers, for example, who agree that indigenous peoples should be given the authority to administer justice within the boundaries of their communities. Conversely, one Quichua lawyer who was interviewed staunchly opposed this. He was, however, an exception to the norm. Having grown up as a monolingual Spanish speaker, he nonetheless identified culturally as a Quichua, wearing his hair in traditional shoulder-length fashion, tied in a pony-tail. This is to say that proponents of one ideological position versus the other are themselves heterogeneous, and they diverge along several dimensions: ethnicity, gender, social power within the indigenous community, and position in the state judicial system. In short, both nation-state and indigenous ideologies are multi-faceted and complex, rather than being monolithic. This finding is consistent with those of Briggs (1992, 1998), in his study of the Warao, an indigenous group of Venezuela, and Gal (1995, 1998), who stresses the presence of multiplicity in the analysis of linguistic ideologies, even within the ideologies of socially dominant groups. The multiplicity and contention among ideologies is evidenced, for example, in the discursive battles about kreyòl orthography among Haitian elites (Gal 1998: 320; Schieffelin & Doucet 1998). Briggs (1998: 232) gives evidence for his belief that linguistic ideologies should be thought of “not as a homogeneous cultural substratum but as dimensions of practices that are deployed in constructing and naturalizing discursive authority.” Underlying these studies and the present one is a notion of linguistic ideologies as “complex systems of ideas and systems through which people interpret linguistic

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behaviors,” suggesting “a connection with those power relations and interests that are central in a social order” (Irvine 1985, 1989, 1998: 52).

Formal attempts to obtain linguistic rights for indigenous peoples Probably the most significant recent advance in giving linguistic rights to ethnic minorities in Ecuador, including the right to be tried by the justice system in one’s indigenous language, comes from modifications in the country’s Constitution. The 1998 Constitution contains the following provisions: Article 84. The state will recognize and guarantee the indigenous peoples, in accordance with this Constitution and the Law, the following collective rights with respect to public order and human rights: I. Maintain, develop and strengthen their spiritual, cultural, linguistic, social, political and economic identity and traditions. II. Consent to quality education. Count on a system of bilingual intercultural education. Article 85. Subparagraph 3. The state respects and stimulates the development of all of the languages of Ecuadorians. Spanish is the official language. Quichua, Shuar, and the other ancestral languages are for official use by the indigenous peoples, under the terms set by law. Article 24. Numeral 12. Every person will have the right to be duly informed in a timely manner in their maternal language of the actions initiated against them. Article 69. The state will guarantee the system of intercultural education: in it the language of each respective [indigenous] culture will be used as the principal language, and Spanish [will be used] as the language of intercultural relations. (Constitución Política 1998; my translation)

Table 1 presents a list of the indigenous languages spoken in Ecuador. The data show that Quichua (spelled alternatively as ‘Kichwa’), spoken by 85.7% of Ecuadorian indigenous people, is by far the most important ancestral language of the country. So important is Quichua in Ecuador that its use has been a “symbol of indigenous permanence. Indeed, the language has been used during national and local uprisings” (Ibarra Illanez 1992, as cited in Haboud & King 2007).



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Table 1.  Indigenous languages spoken in Ecuador (INEC 2001) Category Achuar Awapit A’ingae Cha’palaa Siapedie Huao / Terero Quichua Secoya Shuar / Chicha Paicoca Tsa’fiqui Zaparo Shiwiar Kichwa Unknown

Count 3,641 2,350 989 7,131 112 1,678 287,411 135 48,989 265 2,021 192 720 211,881 15,027

%   0.63   0.40   0.17   1.22   0.02   0.29 49.34   0.02   8.41   0.05   0.35   0.03   0.12 36.37   2.58

The Ancestral Languages bill Perhaps the most ambitious attempt at winning linguistic rights for Ecuador’s indigenous groups, and at the same time a symbol of the most glaring failure in this regard, is a bill that has been proposed three times, by different deputies during three congressional periods, and is currently in its third reincarnation in the Ecuadorian Congress. The second version, bearing the name of Deputy H. Oswaldo Gavilán Chimbo, but proposed ten years earlier by Deputy Nina Pacari — both indigenous elected officials — is a highly elaborated statement of indigenous linguistic rights, one that had never received the support of Pacari’s congressional committee and had died there. The second version of the bill, called the “Law of the Official Use of Ancestral Languages,” prefaces its clauses with the following list of “considerations”:4 That language is the basis upon which culture is maintained, the primordial nexus for the acquisition and transmission of the cosmo vision of the indigenous peoples, and the fundamental element in the pluriculturality and multiethnicity of the Ecuadorian State. That it is a collective right of the indigenous peoples to maintain, develop and strengthen their linguistic identity and linguistic traditions. That Article 1, subparagraph 3 of the Political Constitution establishes the obligation of the state to respect and stimulate the development of all of the languages of the Ecuadorians. It recognizes Spanish as an official language, and Quichua, Shuar and the other ancestral languages for the official use of the indigenous peoples.

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That strengthening the ancestral languages constitutes an important contribution to the cultural wealth and identity of the Ecuadorian people. Through use of the authority considered in paragraph 144 of the Political Constitution of Ecuador, the following is drafted: LAW OF THE OFFICIAL USE OF ANCESTRAL LANGUAGES Article 1. Ancestral languages are those that the nationalities and peoples of Ecuador have maintained and developed over time and that remain in force up to the present. The state recognizes within the national territory the existence of the following ancestral languages: of the Awa Nationality, Awapit; of the Chachi Nationality, Cha’palla; of the Epera Nationality, Epera; of the Tsàchila Nationality, Tsafiqui; of the Shiwiar Nationality,….; of the Andoas Nationality, …; of the Zàpara Nationality, Zàpara; of the Siona Nationality, Pai; of the Secoya Nationality, Paicoca; of the Waorani Nationality, Wao Terero; of the Ai’ Nationality (Cofan), A Ingae; of the Kichwa Nationality, Kichwa; of the wankawilka Nationality…. Article 2. The indigenous peoples and nationalities have the right to use their ancestral language in oral and written form to express points of view or petitions in official public acts and in the diverse activities that they develop, for which the state will provide the corresponding means to guarantee the comprehension of the parties. Article 3. Every public process that involves members of indigenous nationalities and peoples will guarantee its bilingual treatment, at the request of the interested party. Article 5. The laws and other juridical norms, ordinances and the remaining official documents considered to be key for the strengthening of interculturality, and which involve the indigenous nationalities and peoples, will be published both in Spanish and in the official language of the indigenous nationality or people corresponding to them. Article 6. All of the public institutions will regulate the progressive use of the ancestral languages and at the same time will count on translators for the purpose of guaranteeing that the rights established in the present law are exercised (Gavilán Chimbo n.d.; emphasis added; my translation).

Reaction to the Bill The interviews revealed that some support the provisions of this bill and others do not. This bill represents the wishes of indigenous political leaders at the national level, as well as a number of indigenous intellectuals and academics. However, it clearly does not reflect the views of the majority mestizo/blanco political leadership,



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given the poor reception it received from the congressional committee that was given it for consideration, and it does not even reflect the views of all indigenous leaders. For example, with respect to the desire that all laws and other official documents that involve the indigenous nations and communities should be published both in Spanish and in the language of the corresponding indigenous nationalities or communities (Art. 5), there is evidence indicating that there is no agreement on this point within the indigenous leadership itself. A case in point is the failed effort on the part of one government agency dedicated to promoting public policy on women’s human rights and gender equality to have Ecuador’s domestic violence law translated into Quichua. According to the director of this agency, the law was translated into Quichua by a team of five linguists, comprising men and women, who worked for the National Office of Bilingual Bicultural Education. The translating process was coordinated by someone employed in the national headquarters of the prosecutor’s office. When the translation was completed, and presented to members of various Quichua nationalities for their approval, it caused a furor. The person who coordinated the translating process reports that the Quichua evaluators could not reach a consensus on the translation, for two reasons. First, there was no agreement on the writing system that had been used: some of the evaluators did not want a “universalization of Quichua,” that is, a form of Quichua that could be read internationally by other Quichua/Quechua-speaking groups. Instead, they wanted a writing system that reflected the local Ecuadorian Quichua system. This type of discussion over orthographic conventions and other writing practices has been replicated in other Quechua speaking countries, according to King and Hornberger (2006). Secondly, and more importantly, the evaluators were opposed to the law per se, because they felt that it would destroy the indigenous family. They feared that the law would result in the breakup of marriages.

The right to interpreters in Ecuador Articles 2, 3 and 5 of the Official Use of the Ancestral Languages bill all imply, although they do not explicitly state, that indigenous persons have the right to publicly provided interpreting/translating services. The bill does not specify that these services should be provided free of charge to the defendant or plaintiff, nor does it say anything about the quality of those services (i.e., that they should be of professional quality). Neither of these expectations is being seriously considered at the level of the courts, nor are they being lobbied for by indigenous communities. Nevertheless, several NGOs, such as CIDES (Centro sobre Derecho y Sociedad) and PROJUSTICIA (Programa Nacional de Apoyo a la Reforma de la

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Administración de Justicia), together with a national indigenous organization, CODENPE (Consejo de Nacionalidades y Pueblos del Ecuador), are making a concerted effort to raise the consciousness of indigenous peoples of their linguistic rights within the realm of conflict resolution. In their jointly published booklet, Conozcamos nuestros derechos: Justicia indígena y formas de solución de conflictos, under the section titled “On Access to Justice,” Article 12 says: The interested peoples should have protection against the violation of their rights, and should be able to initiate legal proceedings — be it personally or through the actions of the organizations that represent them — to ensure true respect for their rights. Measures should be taken to guarantee that the members of said peoples can understand and make them themselves understood in legal proceedings, facilitating to them, if need be, interpreters or other effective means [for achieving this so]. (CIDES et al. 2004, No. 2: 2; emphasis added)

In another booklet from this series (Let’s Know Our Rights: Human Rights), a number of basic human rights together with legal rights are enumerated. Among the legal rights listed are the right not to be detained unless there is an order signed by a judge ordering the detention, the right not to incriminate oneself, the right to be considered innocent until proven guilty, the right to due process, the right to a defense, and the right to an interpreter (Section 23): If a detainee does not speak or understand Spanish, an interpreter who is close to him should be appointed to him. Likewise, when witnesses are interrogated or when the defendant is questioned, it should be in a simple, clear fashion, such that he can understand the meaning of the questions and not be surprised by them or make a mistake. Every person who does not speak Spanish should be informed in his own language of everything that he is accused of. Our Constitution establishes that Kichwa, Shuar, and the rest of the ancestral languages are of official use for the indigenous peoples. (CIDES et al. 2004, No. 2: 11, emphasis added; my translation)

Another publication, written under the joint auspices of several other NGOs (Fondo Justicia y Sociedad et al., Fundación ESQUEL-USAID, Coalición Nacional por la Justicia, and Red de Justicia, Indicadores de Justicia en el Ecuador, points out: … it would be inexplicable and a violation of the right to equality under the law for the state to provide an interpreter to a foreigner who does not speak the official language (Spanish in this case), while an indigenous person who does not understand that same language would not be appointed an interpreter. (Fondo Justicia y Sociedad et al. [2004]: 27; my translation)



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This publication lists among the rights of the indigenous and Afro-Ecuadorian peoples the following: “They have the right to a defense, to be heard in their own language, to have an interpreter, in criminal cases to have a special social rehabilitation treatment.” (p. 29; emphasis added)

The perspective of state justice providers The right to interpreters/translators is the one element of administration of justice that state justice providers are clear about. Judges and lawyers are keenly aware of this need. One former Supreme Court justice was very familiar with the laws related to provision of court interpreters. He said: The state has to pay for an interpreter. The court appearances are in Spanish. Therefore, the trial of a person who does not know Spanish — all of the expenses of a criminal trial — belong to the State.

If the witnesses in a trial do not speak Spanish, an interpreter must be appointed for them. Expert witnesses, however, are paid for by the individual. In reality, though, there are little or no funds to cover the cost of interpreting services. One judge in a provincial capital called it “a serious problem,” that the prosecutor’s office has no funds for providing interpreting services. In one highprofile case that was tried in his courthouse, at the moment of sentencing the Quichua defendant, the judge noticed that there was no one to interpret for him. The judge had to hire someone from the National Office of Bilingual Bicultural Education to do the interpreting. He bemoaned the fact that neither the Supreme Court nor the prosecutor’s office provides the trial courts with interpreting services. His opinion of the prosecutors was quite negative in this regard: The prosecutor puts it the way he interprets it, in his own fashion, which is not necessarily the meaning of what the indigenous person is saying. 99.9 per cent [of the court proceedings] have been carried out in Spanish when it involves indigenous people, precisely because of a lack of interpreters. Here they are required to testify in Spanish. The indigenous people are bilingual, we mestizos are not bilingual. But their language should be respected. Yet they are required to speak Spanish. When they can’t speak [Spanish] there, an interpreter is hired by the judges themselves. We don’t have a department of translation. They require all of us to speak in Spanish.

This is so despite the fact that the legal codes say that there should be interpreters, adds the judge. The judge quoted above was extremely sympathetic to the needs of the indigenous population within his jurisdiction. Other judges in the very same courthouse were not. One judge whose discourse reflected a particularly hostile attitude

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toward indigenous peoples considers language not to be a barrier to accessing the state justice system. On being asked about the right to a court-appointed interpreter, he said that trial judges are under obligation to appoint an interpreter, so that the defendant can understand what he is being accused of, “and if this is not done, the proceedings have no juridical value. Providing an interpreter is a guarantee regulated by the law,” according to this judge. Nevertheless, on being asked if there had been cases of indigenous persons being assigned interpreters in his courthouse, he answered: “In concrete cases, there have not been any, because all of the indigenous people have understood [Spanish]. There is no need [for interpreters].” But if someone were to need interpreting services, at least in civil court, the person must pay for them: “It is the party who pays — one of the parties requests it. The party who asks for an interpreter pays the interpreter’s fees.” There have been cases, however, says this judge, in which the person does not have funds to hire an interpreter, in which case professional interpreters do the interpreting and do not charge the party. This judge confirmed the much repeated statement that the government has no budget for court interpreters. Another judge, when asked about the need for interpreters in his court, said that about 70 per cent of the people who come before him “do not speak Spanish clearly. When they don’t know Spanish, an interpreter is appointed to them.” When asked what sort of interpreter he utilizes, the answer was: We call in a person who understands the Quichua language and who translates it into Spanish. There are two or three people who live nearby. They are called. They collaborate. They aren’t paid. They are collaborators.

The judge pointed out that even though, in his estimation, about 50 per cent of the population of the county is indigenous, and he processes about 300 to 400 cases per year, as far as the need for interpreters for witnesses is concerned, he has needed to find interpreting services for only one or two witnesses per year. This may have to do with the fact that all of his cases are civil ones and, as one indigenous lawyer explained, since most of civil work involves written evidence rather than oral testimony and the writings are prepared by lawyers, interpreters are not needed. This explanation, however, does not account for how a lawyer gathers the information from his or her client in the first place, if the client is not sufficiently proficient in Spanish and the lawyer and does not understand Quichua. One judge who is both chief judge of his province and a published scholar, said that in his court they do make use of interpreters (“Here we appoint an interpreter”). The interpreters used in his court are obtained through recommendations from the local university. Until now, he said, interpreters have not been paid. It is the obligation of the prosecutor’s office to make sure that interpreters are provided



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when needed, and in fact, in this judge’s courthouse, it is the prosecutor who brings in the interpreters. However, these interpreters are not ones who have been vetted through the local university: “It may be some member of the family or someone who happens to be around here.” Nearly all of the lawyers interviewed minimized the need for interpreters/translators, with the explanation that there were few Quichua who were not bilingual. One lawyer who identified himself as a Quichua, but was a monolingual Spanish-speaker, said that, “The number of persons who do not speak Spanish is very small. Only two or three percent.” This is an exaggeration of the reality, as census statistics show, and the section on bilingualism below will provide evidence of this misconception. Another lawyer, one who is not indigenous himself but who has a very high percentage of indigenous clients, says that when his clients go to trial, “In reality, an interpreter is designated. Yes, the law establishes that an interpreter be appointed.” However, the interpreter is paid for by the party. So the party takes along with him or her “an acquaintance who will do the interpreting for him, people who speak both languages, people from the same commune.” Or else, the interpreter will be “an indigenous person who happens to be around.” In short, the interpreters used in court are not ones who have training in this field, they are merely bilingual persons. The courts do not even ask them about their qualifications to perform the job, according to this attorney. This attorney concurs with the prevalent judicial view that very few people need interpreting services. According to him and others, only the elderly need such services, whereas all young people speak Spanish in their particular region of the highland.

The perspective of the indigenous community: Language and the ideology of autonomy The views expressed by judges and lawyers derive from their experiences with one justice system, namely that of the state. The indigenous perspective on language rights and its relation to access to justice is quite different. As one Quichua attorney who holds a PhD in the administration of justice explained it: both Spanish and Quichua are used in proceedings led by the cabildo (‘community council’), but the translation from Spanish to Quichua is very complicated, and while the actas (‘minutes’) are written in Spanish, the older people tend to speak in Quichua at the public assemblies where the cabildo holds its trials, so this creates a linguistic problem. In effect, she was saying, it creates the need for translation. Local indigenous leaders (officials elected by the indigenous community to be the heads of their judicial council) do not see language issues at the cabildo

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assemblies as problematic. Nevertheless, the sociolinguistic portrait of Quichua communities, based on interviews with community leaders and census data, is one that reflects great ethnolinguistic diversity. Ethnically, Quichua differentiate themselves according to fifteen subgroups located in eleven provinces (in the province of Imbabura: Otavalos, Karankis, Natabuelas, Kyampis; in Pichincha: Kitu-Caras and Kayampis; in Cotopaxi: Panzaleos; in Tungurahua: Cibuleos, Salasacas, and Kisapinchas; in Bolívar: Warankas; in Chimborazo: Puruháes; in Azuay and Cañar: Cañaris; in Zamora and Loja: Sarakuros; in Amazonia: the Quichua of Pastaza, Napo, Sucumbíos and Orellana) (Tibán & Ilaquiche 2004: 20). All of them speak Quichua as their primary indigenous language. The perception of the state justice providers interviewed is that nearly all of the indigenous people in their regions can understand Spanish and speak it. Data from the most recent Ecuadorian census, presented below, contradict this notion.

Bilingualism in Ecuador’s highlands Table 2.  Language(s) spoken by sex among indigenous people across all five provinces (INEC 2001) Sex Male Female Total

Only Spanish 141,090 142,295 283,385

Indigenous language   50,214   68,642 118,856

Foreign language   595   581 1,176

Spanish & indigenous 202,091 203,189 405,280

Other

Total

  791   719 1,510

394,781 415,426 810,207

The data in Table 2 provide the responses of persons who have identified themselves as ‘indigenous’ in the five provinces where the interviews took place. What the table shows is that at most, this population is 58.5 per cent bilingual (‘Spanish & indigenous’, representing the combination of Spanish and a native indigenous language), and this is found in Chimborazo. Imbabura comes close to this level, with a bilingualism reported at 57.4 per cent. Third highest in self-reported bilingualism is Cotapaxi, at 48.6 per cent. Lower down are Tungurahua (41 per cent) and Pichincha (32.3 per cent), which has the most urban population in the highlands, being the site of the nation’s capital, Quito. These self-reports of bilingualism must be treated with great caution, however, because they do not distinguish between persons who are dominant in one of the two languages and convey the mistaken impression that any one who claims to speak both languages has equally high proficiency in them. In short, the census gives the illusion that people claiming to speak both an indigenous language and Spanish speak them equally as well, that is, that they are ‘balanced bilinguals’.



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The census is not modeled on the notion that bilingualism is a continuum, and that people are bilingual to varying degrees. Thus, from the census data we cannot know what percentage of those claiming to speak both languages have a relatively limited proficiency in Spanish, and who therefore in fact would be in need of interpreting services in state institutional settings. According to the census, not only is more than half the indigenous population in these heavily Quichua-populated regions of the Sierra not bilingual, but substantial numbers of self-identifying indigenous persons report being monolingual in their native language. Chimborazo, with a 26.7 per cent of ‘native language’ claiming, is highest in monolingualism, followed by Imbabura, at 17.5 per cent, then Cotopaxi, at 14.1 per cent, Tungurahua, with a 9 per cent self-report figure, and last but not unexpectedly so, Pichincha, with its 4.1 per cent self-report. The data in Table 2 demonstrate that there are even small numbers of persons in these five provinces who say that they are ethnically indigenous but that they speak only Spanish. This fact confirms the fears of many of the Quichua persons interviewed, who said that the Quichua language is being lost among the youngest generation, and that bilingual/bicultural education is the antidote to this incipient trend in the direction of Spanish monolingualism. Given the link that most interviewees made between indigenous language and indigenous culture, the slight trend toward Spanish monolingualism is justifiably perceived as one indication of acculturation to the dominant mestizo/blanco culture. Whereas Table 2 displays data reported by persons who claim indigenous ethnicity, census data for all persons in these five provinces show that substantial chunks of the populations of Chimborazo (22.8 per cent), Imbabura (14.9 per cent), and Cotopaxi (12.5 per cent), claim to speak both Spanish and an indigenous language. Tungurahua (6.3 per cent) and Pichincha (1.7 per cent) have much smaller numbers of such speakers. Among Chimborazo’s population, 10.2 per cent report that they are monolingual speakers of an indigenous language. Imbabura and Cotopaxi fall behind with figures of 4.6 and 3.5 per cent, respectively. Tungurahua and Pichincha come last, with 1.4 and 0.31 per cent monolingual indigenous language speakers (INEC 2001). If we look at the rural areas of these provinces, however, we find substantially higher percentages of persons who are either bilingual or monolingual indigenous language speakers. The highest numbers are found in Chimborazo, where 35.7 per cent of the population report speaking Spanish and a native indigenous language, and Imbabura comes second, with its 26.9 per cent figure for bilingualism. Cotopaxi has a 16.6 per cent bilingual population in its rural areas, and Tungurahua 10.2. Pichincha’s bilingual population in its rural areas amounts to only 2.8 per cent.

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As for monolingualism in an indigenous language in the rural areas of these provinces, the census data show that in Chimborazo’s rural regions, 16.6 per cent of the population reports speaking only an indigenous language. In Imbabura 8.6 per cent does so. The figures for Cotopaxi (4.6), Tungurahua (2.3) and Pichincha (0.45) are far lower. The factor of age plays an important role in determining the language competence of indigenous Ecuadorians. Most of the people interviewed told me that ‘older’ people tended to be the ones who did not speak Spanish. The notion of ‘older person’ was defined differently by different people, but for some it started in the forties, while for others it meant persons in their fifties or older.

Monolingualism among indigenous women One of the more interesting findings that can be calculated from the census data is that women have higher levels of indigenous language monolingualism than do men, across all five provinces (see Table 2). The sex differential is highest in Chimborazo, where 60.7 per cent of those who claim indigenous self-identity and native-language monolingualism are women. The figures for Imbabura (59 per cent), Cotopaxi (58 per cent), and Tungurahua (57.6 per cent) are almost as high. In Pichincha women are only slightly ahead of men (53 per cent) in reporting being indigenous and speaking only an indigenous language. These findings are consistent with the scholarly literature, which shows that indigenous women have higher rates of ancestral language monolingualism than do men, and at the same time have lower educational attainment, two factors that appear to be related to each other. The higher rates of indigenous-language monolingualism among women have important consequences for access to the state justice system: women who do not speak Spanish can be expected to be more reluctant to approach state justice providers. The inability to speak Spanish should be seen as an obstacle to using state services, including the services provided by the domestic violence clinics. It is no wonder that, as several domestic violence magistrates pointed out, when indigenous women appear at the clinic with their reports of abuse, they arrive accompanied by a group of supporters from their communities. Sometimes they come with a contingent of as many as thirty people in their entourage. Some of the people who accompany them serve as their interpreters.



Judicial systems in contact

Linguistic heterogeneity at indigenous judicial proceedings The sociolinguistic configuration revealed by the census partly accounts for an interesting finding: the person elected to secretary of the cabildo is often an adolescent. The reason why adolescents often are elected to this position is that they tend to have the highest levels of literacy in Spanish in their communities, and at the same time are often bilingual. The minutes of the assemblies are written in Spanish, an important reason for this being that the outcome of the assembly may have to be reported to a state court, particularly if the case involves a serious crime such as murder or rape. According to state law, serious crimes fall within the jurisdiction of the state courts. In reality, however, they are often dealt with within the indigenous community, according to the indigenous leaders who were interviewed for this research project and according to the reports of indigenous people to Ecuadorian anthropologists (Serrano Pérez et al. 2005). The need for interpreting at assemblies of the cabildo arises also when one of the parties (the accused, a victim, a witness) is not a Quichua, and does not speak or understand the Quichua language. Indigenous communities in Ecuador are not ethnically homogeneous: mestizos live side-by-side with their indigenous neighbors. At the same time, indigenous persons sometimes are involved in crimes or disputes in a territory that is not the commune (e.g., in the large cities to which they migrate to find work). When this happens, the indigenous person often petitions his cabildo to have the case tried by its members. The jurisdiction of such cases is ambiguous — that is, there is no agreement on the part of state justice providers and indigenous leaders on who should be the one to try such cases. As former congressional deputy Nina Pacari (2002: 88) points out, “What would happen if an indigenous person from one community commits a crime in the community of a different indigenous group? Under whose authority would his/her case be heard?” Furthermore, what if a person who does not belong to any indigenous group perpetrates a crime on indigenous territory? “Where, and by whom, would such a person be tried?” Pacari asks. Ayala Mora (2002) raises similar questions, asking “How does the commune exercise its jurisdiction when the person (the accused) is from the outside?” Equally as problematic is the case of the “indigenous person who continues to be a member of a commune, but goes to live in a city or some other place where there is no organized indigenous community, what happens to such a person?” (Ayala Mora 2002: 114). There is no consensus as yet on the answers to these questions. What is clear is that whenever a mestizo and a Quichua are involved in a conflict, and the case is dealt with by the cabildo, there is a need for interpreting services, especially since some of those present are monolingual Quichua speakers. When the cabildo meets, the entire community is present to witness the event, and

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anyone there may speak, if he or she has knowledge of the events in question and wishes to be heard. The cabildo leadership typically tries to deal with all manner of transgression at the level of the community, and makes every effort to keep community members from making use of the state court system. There are several reasons for this. For one thing, the Quichua, as do the other Ecuadorian indigenous ethnic groups, do not believe in incarceration as a form of punishment. Instead, their system of justice relies on corporal punishment, fines, contribution of labor to communal projects, and in extreme cases, banishment from the community together with the loss of one’s land. To lose a breadwinner to a state prison is to leave that person’s family in dire financial straits. Thus the strong preference of the Quichua to use traditional forms of justice, and the struggle for this right at the national level. Other reasons for why the Quichua and other Ecuadorian indigenous groups wish to avoid the state justice system are that it is correctly perceived as being slow, costly, and plagued by corruption. As one indigenous law enforcement officer and community leader put it, “Ninety-five per cent of the lawyers are corrupt. Even the judges sell themselves — they don’t have credibility with the [indigenous] authorities.” As one Quichua elected official of a provincial government put it: “Ordinary justice is not justice, it’s an injustice, isn’t it true?”5 In those cases where the Quichua do resort to the state system of justice, community leaders often accompany the parties to the state courts, and serve as their interpreters. This is routine in the case of domestic violence hearings, for example, where a woman seeking a temporary restraining order will arrive with an entourage of up to thirty people, many of them members of her side of the family and the rest from her husband’s. In sum, the perceived need for interpreting services among the Quichua of Ecuador very much depends upon the ideological position that is taken by those who work within the justice system, and this in turn depends upon whether one is associated with the state system or the indigenous one, and within the state system whether as a judge or lawyer one is sympathetic to the plight of a long-mistreated and despised ethnic minority or not, and whether within the indigenous system one is a leader who is sensitive to the needs of those who do not speak or understand Quichua, or alternatively, Spanish. Since cabildo assemblies by definition involve the entire community, these judicial events are linguistically heterogeneous, and therefore are in need of interpreting specialists.



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Dearth of professional interpreters/translators Despite the awareness of the need for interpreters/translators, particularly in criminal cases, where testimony is presented orally, at the time of the fieldwork (2006) there was only one ‘official’ legal interpreter in all of Ecuador. The term ‘official’ refers to a perito (i.e., an approved expert in his or her field), someone accredited by the national Ministry of the Prosecutor and listed under its categories of expertise. This professional interpreter was both a law student and a teacher in a Quichua/ Spanish bilingual school. He had been accredited in interpreting/translating by the National Office of Bilingual Intercultural Education ten years earlier. Surprisingly, he had been called to interpret in court only twice, both times by defense attorneys, and on both occasions before becoming accredited. The cases involved a traffic accident and a physical altercation. It is striking that despite his unique credentials, he was not actually called on to work as an expert in court. An interview with an official in Quito’s main prosecutor’s office (Fiscalía) provided much information on the status of peritos in the judicial system. According to him, every courthouse in the country has the list of peritos. In the case of interpreters, they are to be used for witnesses, defendants and victims alike. The accreditation system in the case of interpreters requires a series of documents, such as proof of a particular educational degree and evidence of good moral character. However, the accredited interpreter is not given any exam to prove his/her expertise. When no such interpreting expert is locally available, the prosecutor has the right to designate anyone s/he sees competent for the job to serve as interpreter, including a member of the community from which the defendant comes. When asked if family members of the accused should be permitted to serve as interpreters, his answer was “No,” because the interpreter should not be subjective in the role. As this official put it: If I am accused, what sense does it make to use my wife as an interpreter? The authorities have to proceed with a clarification of the facts. It might not be advisable … to assign an interpreter with a very subjective point of view on the facts.

As for the domains in which interpreters should be employed, this official believes that while they crucially need to be used in criminal cases, they should be used in civil, administrative and mercantile matters as well, since no one should be judged in any of these domains if they do not understand the proceedings. Despite the lack of accredited interpreters/translators in Ecuador, there is interpreting and translating work being done in the arena of law, and by clearly competent persons. For example, a linguist working in the National Office of Bilingual Bicultural Education explained that he had served as both a translator and interpreter in legal contexts (e.g., he had been chosen to translate the Ecuadorian

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Constitution into Quichua; he had also been asked to interpret in three court cases in one three-month period during the year of the fieldwork). In each case he was to be paid by the defendant. Interestingly, judges gave him instructions to be neutral. This demonstrates both a judicial awareness of the standard position on the role of court interpreters and the possibility that these judges are not completely sure that an indigenous interpreter would aim at impartiality in his/her renditions if not instructed to do so. When official translating work goes on, it does not go unnoticed. One of the leaders of an indigenous community interviewed for this project provided an unsolicited commentary on the translation of the Constitution: he objected vehemently to the orthographic conventions chosen by the translator. His objections seem to be consistent with the reaction of the group that evaluated the translation of the Law against Violence to Women and the Family. Another criticism of the translation comes from a professor of law who is trained in anthropology. He feels that the translation was done in a highly formal register, or style, and that it should have been rendered in a lower register, so that Quichua readers could understand it better.6 The search for data on the quality of legal interpreting/translating services resulted in the disappointing finding that with the exception of the one accredited interpreter, nearly all of the other persons who were referred to as routinely serving as interpreters/translators in judicial contexts have had no professional training in this field. Persons who have been called into service as interpreters include: (1) a janitor at a domestic violence clinic, whose duties include file clerk work; (2) bilingual people who live in the neighborhood near the office of a civil judge and who are regularly called on by him to interpret in cases; (3) family members of defendants, plaintiffs and persons seeking restraining orders; (4) cabildo members and other community leaders; (5) a judge; (6) a church sacristán (sexton); (7) defense attorneys; (8) a linguist who works for the National Office of Bilingual Intercultural Education and who does translating of official documents on a regular basis, and court interpreting on occasion; (9) a certified court interpreter. According to one law professor who specializes in indigenous law, most of the court interpreting that he has witnessed has involved Spanish/English. This is a striking observation, given the small number of native English speakers compared to the number of speakers of indigenous languages living in Ecuador. On the other hand, it is encouraging to know that one domestic violence clinic employs two bilingual Quichua women who do the intake for Quichua women seeking protection. Apparently their level of proficiency in the two languages is sufficiently high for them to interview the persons applying for restraining orders in Quichua, and to fill out the requisite intake sheets in Spanish. According to an attorney who works in the clinic, these employees interview the women in Quichua even when the women speak Spanish, to make them feel more comfortable psychologically.



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The possibility of conducting trials in Quichua in the state courts has been raised by some Quichua provincial elected officials. One official said: At times the notion of [conducting] trials in Quichua has been proposed. Yes, but they’ve ended up at a standstill, as the judges distrust the idea of appointing a translator, because the translators in this case would have to be from the same indigenous community, because they are the ones who are fluent in the indigenous language. It could be Quichua, Shuar, Sequoya. Since it [the idea of trials in Quichua] has not had much of an impact, it hasn’t come about.

There is an incipient movement toward professionalizing legal interpreters/translators, and it comes from indigenous professionals: educators and lawyers. The head of a government agency specializing in human rights has been talking to law school faculty about the need for university curricular reform in the direction of court interpreting degrees, or at least classes in this field. The director of the graduate program in indigenous studies at the Universidad Andina in Quito, has proposed that such a major field be created at his university, be it as a specialization or a degree, or even merely isolated courses.

Conclusions At present, there is no prospect in sight for resolving the tension between the state and the Quichua peoples with regard to the administration of justice. When the Ecuadorian Constitution was modified in 1998, it mentioned (in Article 141, number 1) the need for a ‘secondary law,’ which would make indigenous law compatible with state law (Tibán Guala 2001: 135). This has not happened to date, and appears not to be on the horizon.7 The fundamental cleavages between state and indigenous forms of administration of justice are too numerous to review here, but they are analyzed in depth in Berk-Seligson (2006). In order to cope with this status quo, in recent years there has been a proliferation of alternative methods of conflict resolution in the highlands, such as ‘community mediation’ (CIDES et al. 2004; Vintimilla S. & Andrade U. 2003). In the long run, these alternatives might open the door to resolving the current impasse. This paper has tried to demonstrate that despite the breakthrough in judicial rights for minorities symbolized by Ecuador’s Constitution of 1998, the effectuation of those rights has been stymied, and at the root of this logjam are fundamentally incompatible differences in worldview between the ruling mestizo/blanco majority and the heterogeneous indigenous minority. The persons interviewed for this study reflect this ideological splintering: on the one hand, state justice providers, who are divided on the issues surrounding indigenous justice (some being

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willing to allow for an indigenous justice system and others who would deny the indigenous peoples this right) and on the other hand, the Quichua peoples, who themselves are not in agreement (some demanding complete autonomy in the administration of justice arena, while others see the role of the state justice system as useful to their lives). Furthermore, within any given Quichua ethnic subgroup, there is divergence in point of view on whether to make use of the state justice system or avoid it. One manifestation of this ideological fractionalization is the lack of agreement on the need for interpreting/translating services, specifically the issue of when such services are needed and who is responsible for providing them. One issue on which the state and Quichua judicial authorities appear to be largely in agreement, however, is on the need for the professionalization of interpreters or translators: neither group considers it to be a priority. Both groups find the status quo acceptable, namely, using ad hoc interpreters/translators to meet the judicial needs of Ecuador’s indigenous population.

Notes 1.  For a review of research in the area of legal interpreting see Berk-Seligson (2002), Chapter 10, “Recent Developments in the Field of Legal Interpreting.” 2.  The research was funded by the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID), through a grant to Vanderbilt University. As Principal Investigator on the larger project, working with two co-investigators from the Vanderbilt faculty — William Partridge and Yolanda Redero — I have based the findings of the present paper on one component of the larger study. I wish to thank USAID for its support, and Maria Clara Bertini for her assistance during the fieldwork. Any errors of commission or omission, however, are entirely my own. 3.  The term mestizo refers to a person of mixed indigenous/European heritage. 4.  A third attempt to pass essentially the same bill was made in July 2007 by Deputy Raúl Ilaquiche, a lawyer who had been an influential indigenous leader at the national level, before being elected to the Ecuadorian Congress. 5.  Many indigenous people refer to the state justice system as ‘ordinary justice’ as opposed to ‘indigenous justice’. 6.  Judicial interpreting associations in the USA, however, would differ with this law professor: according to the guidelines of most such associations, the job of the interpreter/translator is not to improve on the original text, but simply to render it as faithfully as possibe in the target language (in this case, Quichua). This point is stressed on the federal and state court interpreter certification exams used in the USA, and is a norm that applies both to documents and to oral forms of language. The theory behind this norm is that the role of the legal interpreter/translator is not that of advocate for the party, but rather that of a conduit, through which one language enters and another language exits.



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7.  Just as the indigenous languages bill has failed to be enacted as law, so too have congressional bills attempting to make state law compatible with indigenous law.

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Fairclough, Norman L. (1995). Critical discourse analysis: The critical study of language. Harlow, UK: Longman. Fondo Justicia y Sociedad, Fundación Esquel-USAID, Coalición Nacional por la Justicia, Red de Justicia [2004]. Indicadores de justicia. Quito. Gal, Susan (1995). Language and the “arts of resistance.” Cultural Anthropology 10 (3), 407–424. Gal, Susan (1998). Multiplicity and contention among language ideologies. In B. B. Schieffelin, K. A. Woolard & P. V. Kroskrity (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 317–331. García S., Fernando (2002). Formas indígenas de administrar justicia: Estudios de caso de la Nacionalidad Quichua Ecuatoriana. Quito: FLACSO. Gavilán Chimbo, H. Oswaldo (n. d.). Ley de aplicabilidad de las lenguas ancestrales del Ecuador (Law of the official use of ancestral languages). Draft. República del Ecuador, Congreso Nacional. King, Kendall & Haboud, Marleen (2007). Language planning and policy in Ecuador. In R. B. Baldauf, Jr. & R. B. Kaplan (Eds.), Language planning and policy in Latin America. Vol. 1: Ecuador, Mexico and Paraguay. Clevedon/Buffalo/Toronto: Multilingual Matters Ltd., 39–104. Hill, Jane H. (1998). “Today there is no respect”: Nostalgia, “respect,” and oppositional discourse in Mexicano (Nahuatl) language ideology. In B. B. Schieffelin, K. A. Woolard & P. V. Kroskrity (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 68–86. Ibarra Illanez, A. (1992). Los indígenas y el estado en el Ecuador. Quito: Abya-Yala. INEC (2001). Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos. VI Censo de Población y V de Vivienda. http://www.inec.gov.ec/interna.asp?idMenu=1 (11 December 2007). Irvine, Judith T. (1985). Status and style in language. Annual Review of Anthropology 14, 557–581. Irvine, Judith T. (1989). When talk isn’t cheap: Language and political economy. American Ethnologist 16, 248–267. Irvine, Judith T. (1998). Ideologies of honorific language. In B. B. Schieffelin, K. A. Woolard & P. V. Kroskrity (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 51–67. Pacari, Nina (2002). Pluralidad jurídica: Una realidad constitucionalmente reconocida. In J. Salgado (Ed.), Justicia indígena: Aportes para un debate. Quito: Abya-Yala, 83–90. Philips, Susan U. (1998). Ideologies in the language of judges: How judges practice law, politics, and courtroom control. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Reisigl, Martin & Wodak, Ruth (2001). Discourse and discrimination: Rhetorics of racism and antisemitism. London/New York: Routledge. Salgado, Judith (Ed.) (2002). Justicia indígena: Aportes para un debate. Quito: Universidad Andina Simón Bolivar/Abya-Yala, 83–90. Schieffelin, Bambi B. & Doucet, Rachelle Charlier (1998). The “real” Haitian Creole: Ideology, metalinguistics, and orthographic choice. In B. B. Schieffelin, K. A. Woolard & P. V. Kroskrity (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press, 285–316. Serrano Pérez, Vladimir (2002). El derecho indígena. Quito: Abya-Yala. Serrano Pérez, Vladimir, Rabinovich B., Ricardo & Sarzosa J., Pablo (2005). Panorámica del derecho indígena Ecuatoriana. Quito: Projusticia/Banco Mundial/CEDECO.



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Silverstein, Michael (1998). The uses and utility of ideology: A commentary. In B. B. Schieffelin, K. A. Woolard & P. V. Kroskrity (Eds.), Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York/ Oxford: Oxford University Press, 123–148. Tibán Guala, Lourdes (2001). Derechos colectivos de los pueblos indígenas del Ecuador: Aplicabilidad, alcances y limitaciones. Quito: Instituto para el Desarrollo Social y de las Investigaciones Científicas/Fundación Hanns Seidel. Tibán, Lourdes & Ilaquiche, Raúl (2004). Manual de administración de justicia indígena en el Ecuador. Quito: Fundación Defensoría Kichwa de Cotopaxi “FUDEKI”, IWGIA. Tocagón, Luis Fernando & Bautista, Luis Alberto (1999). Tenientes políticos, jueces y tinterillos frente al cabildo y a la comunidad: Experiencias de Pijal en torno a la administración de justicia. In T. Carrasco, D. Iturralde & J. Uquillas (Eds.), Doce expresiones de desarrollo indígena en América Latina. Fondo para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas de América Latina y el Caribe. Quito: Abya-Yala. van Dijk, Teun A. (1998). Ideology: A multidisciplinary study. London: Sage. van Dijk, Teun A. (2001). Critical discourse analysis. In D. Schiffrin, D. Tannen & H. E. Hamilton (Eds.), The handbook of discourse analysis. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers, 352–371. Vintimilla Saldaña, Jaime & Andrade Ubidia, Santiago (2003). Los métodos alternativos de manejo de conflictos y la justicia comunitaria. CIDES-Unión Europea, Programa Regional de Justicia de Paz, Programa Andina de Derechos Humanos y Democracia.

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Missing stitches* An overview of judicial attitudes to interlingual interpreting in the criminal justice systems of Canada and Israel Ruth Morris Bar-Ilan University

Along a continuum of interlingual interpreting which begins with police investigations and may end in a supreme court, consistent quality must be assured in order to comply with the standards of justice to which enlightened countries aspire and lay claim. With the advent of the global village, the quantity of cases requiring language mediation has exploded exponentially. The issues involved are not new, and simply put involve arranging for the provision of competent interpreters throughout the criminal justice system. However, the actual provision of quality interlingual interpreting in a criminal justice system is not a straightforward enterprise. The mere existence of legislation requiring the provision of interpreters in courts is not the key element. Nor are insightful comments made by appellate judges in cases brought because of an absence of satisfactory language arrangements. The article shows the problematic nature of interpreting arrangements in the criminal justice system for which the government and its players — even judges — assume no responsibility. The resultant “missing stitches” are likely to deprive those who do not speak the language of the proceedings of their fundamental rights.

Introduction A party or witness in any proceedings who does not understand or speak the language in which the proceedings are conducted or who is deaf has the right to the assistance of an interpreter. (Section 14, Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, 1982) Where it becomes apparent to the Court that the Accused does not know Hebrew, it shall appoint a translator for him or itself act as translator. (Section 140, Israel Criminal Procedure Law [Consolidated Version] 5742–1982)

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On the face of it, there is considerable similarity between the provisions of the 1982 Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms (Section 14) and Israel’s 1982 Criminal Procedure Law (Section 140) in respect of individuals who cannot understand or speak the language used in judicial proceedings. Both documents appear to meet the requirements of international conventions in the matter.1 However, in specifically mentioning “a party or witness”, as well as including the deaf, referring to the right to the assistance of an interpreter, and covering both aspects (understand/ speak) of the communication process, the Canadian text is considerably more comprehensive than its Israeli counterpart. The question arising is the extent to which the two countries’ criminal justice systems actually expect to comply in practice with not only the spirit, but also the letter and substance of these provisions and the attitudes of their highest legal institutions. Based on a number of case reports from England, Australia, East Africa, Canada and Israel, the present paper will discuss judicial attitudes to interlingual interpretation, with special reference to Canada and Israel.

Ideal situations or practical and fair dispositions? It is a truism that venerable historical traditions are not always applied in modern practice. Hence, unlike their biblical counterparts (Deuteronomy 24:5), today’s newly married Israeli men are not exempt from army duty or reserve call up. The historical parallel for the subject matter of the present article dates to a somewhat later period in Jewish history. Numerous Jewish legal traditions have been recorded in the Talmud, the storehouse of Jewish history, customs and lore which developed between the early third and late fifth centuries CE. Talmudic discussions about interpreting practice indicate that at least 1750 years ago, Jewish jurists were aware of important differences in linguistic ability which had to be taken into account when hearing cases involving interlingual interpretation. For example, it was accepted that although it is permissible to use an interpreter in order to convey the judge’s words to the witnesses, in contrast the judge must be able to understand testimony directly, without the mediation of an interpreter.2 It is almost as if the Talmudic text is quoting Bentham on the importance of evidence.3 Can such an “ideal” situation really be achieved in today’s world, however? The seminal 1984 Canadian case of Robin v. College de St-Boniface discussed nineteenth-century legislation guaranteeing the use of either French or English in Manitoba courts, and considered whether the trial of a French-speaking individual by an English-speaking judge “assisted by an interpreter” violated this guarantee. In its discussion, the Manitoba Court of Appeal addressed such questions as the



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right to speak French in court; bilingual judges; fairness; the help of a translator; consecutive (“back-to-back”) translation vs. simultaneous interpretation; ideal vs. practical and fair dispositions; nuances of language and language competence.4 In a dissenting opinion in Robin, Monnin C.J.M. argues, like his Jewish counterpart nearly eighteen hundred years earlier, that the trier of fact must have the ability to understand witnesses — as well as any documents submitted — directly, unencumbered by the mediation of an interpreter or translator.5 Going further, he also makes the point that the ideal situation would be to deliver reasons in the language of the litigants, but “courts are not committed to ideal situations but rather to practical and fair dispositions.”6 Notably, Robin (again, through Monnin’s insightful comments) addresses the specific means by which interlingual renderings are to be provided and a transcript produced. Monnin suggests that, pending the recruitment of more Manitoba judges capable of using French without assistance, arrangements should be made for simultaneously provided interpretation (i.e. the arrangement used in conference interpreting situations today, using electronic equipment) as well as audio-taping arrangements. He argues that such measures would both preserve the original-language testimony, needed for subsequent review, and also enable proceedings to flow smoothly, particularly on the vital level of cross-examination.7 In Robin, O’Sullivan J.A. makes an important distinction regarding the constitutional status of evidence given in languages other than French and English in Canadian courts. Concomitantly he assigns a different status to the interpreter working between French and English as opposed to the individual dealing with other languages: There is a clear difference between the constitutional position of French and English in Manitoba and the constitutional position of other languages. What is said by a witness in court in another language is not evidence. It is testimony given in English or French through an interpreter that is to be considered by the court. What is said in another language is not considered by the court; it is not transcribed. When a witness speaks French in court, what he says in French is evidence. What he says in French must be recorded so that on an appeal this court can consider his evidence in French. […] There may be a significant practical difference as between, for example, a German-speaking and a French-speaking witness. The interpreter of the German speaker is the interpreter of the witness; the interpreter of a French speaker is the interpreter of the court.8

In practical terms, this distinction is arguably somewhat curious: ultimately, the court acts according to the evidence submitted to it, irrespective of whether it receives the evidence directly or through the mediation of the interpreter. It is true that in Canada, for constitutional reasons, it should be possible to review the “best

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evidence” in the case of original-language evidence given in French or English in the relevant original language — the ipsissima verba. In contrast, in the case of evidence in other languages, unavoidably the original evidence will be displaced by the version given by the interpreter. Importantly, O’Sullivan allocates responsibility to the court — i.e. the judge — for overseeing the quality of the interpretation provided by the “court’s translator”, in other words the person who provides the English interpretation of French material, whose duties he defines as follows: When French is spoken in court the judge must satisfy himself that the court’s translator is translating accurately. The court’s translator is there to assist the judge in fulfilling the court’s duty to consider fairly all the legal evidence presented to the court including evidence given in the French language.9

With its ruling that trials where the judge is assisted by an interpreter are perfectly constitutional, it might be argued that the dismissal (by a 4:1 majority) of the Robin appeal in fact represented a victory for the provision of interpretation in the bilingual Canadian situation. At the same time, the writer of the majority opinion, O’Sullivan, goes on to make a vital point about the quality of interpreting services — one which should be observed in all common-law jurisdictions’ arrangements relating to the provision of court interpreting services, as well as relevant international instruments: The practical recognition of constitutional rights requires a spirit on all sides of wanting to make the Constitution work; it also requires a willingness on the part of governments not merely to pay lip service to constitutional rights but also the provision of services, such as competent translators responsible to the judiciary. The present proceedings represent, in my mind, a sterile attempt to bring into discredit a system which can be a model for other countries which face divergent language problems.10

In contrast, the minority Robin opinion was based on recognition of the desirability in legal proceedings of gaining a direct impression of a speaker, unmediated by an interpreter, along the same lines as the Talmudic approach referred to earlier. This attitude coincides with the findings of modern scholars such as Loftus and O’Barr examining the impact of testimony and the importance of presentational style. Research studies derived from such findings (e.g. Berk-Seligson 1990; Hale 2002; Morris 1989) have shown that the dynamics of legal proceedings are affected in many ways in which the court interpreter impinges on proceedings, albeit often inadvertently and unavoidably. Although still accepted by some members of the legal profession, the concept of the interpreter as nothing but a neutral conduit is gradually being discredited.



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Judaism’s linguistic heritage clearly underpinned the sophisticated insights documented in the Talmud. These contrast markedly with demands by many present-day British and American legal figures that court interpreters provide “verbatim translation”. A very public example of this view was given as recently as the 2000 Lockerbie trial (the bombing of Pan Am flight 103) in the Netherlands by Professor Black, Professor of Scots Law at the University of Edinburgh, who said: A fair trial demands that the accused persons should be able to understand the proceedings in the courtroom and the evidence led in it. This means that if the accused do not speak or understand the language of the court, accurate translation facilities must be provided for them by the prosecution. So important is this right that it is specifically enshrined in article 6.3 of the European Convention on Human Rights.11 It appears that the facilities provided at the Lockerbie trial for translation from English into Arabic have been defective, in that what has seemingly been provided is not a verbatim translation but a “paraphrase” or “interpretation”, the accuracy of which is open to question. If this is so, then the right of the accused to a fair trial has been infringed.12

Such calls by lawyers for “verbatim” or “literal” renderings are indicative of a lack of background in the field, but fortunately there are exceptions to the rule.13 Aryeh Kaplan, a noted Hebrew-English translator, has cogently presented the issue in his own field of expertise: It is obvious that the Torah contains much idiomatic usage, and translating it literally (as do most translations) distorts the meaning of the text. To a large degree, the “Oral Torah” consists of a tradition as to how to render the idiomatic language of the Torah. Thus, the Oral Tradition teaches that the expression literally translated “between the eyes”14 is actually an idiom denoting the center of the head just above the hairline. To translate it literally would not only go against tradition, but would be incorrect. The Talmud itself warns of this. In one of the most important teachings regarding translation, the Talmud states, “One who translates a verse literally is misrepresenting the text. But one who adds anything of his own is a blasphemer.” (Kaplan 1981: v)15

The problem was recognized by no less a figure than the great mediaeval Jewish scholar Maimonides, whose advice Kaplan (1981: vi) suggests should be engraved in every translator’s mind. In Maimonides’ own words:16 One who wishes to translate from one language to another, and tries to translate word by word, maintaining the order of both the subject and the words, will find his work very difficult, and will ultimately end up with a translation that is highly questionable and confusing. Rather, one who translates from one language

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to another must first understand the concept. Then he should relate and explain the subject according to his understanding, providing a clear exposition in the language [into which he is translating]. This is impossible without transposing the order of words. Moreover, the translator will sometimes have to use many words to translate a single word, while at other times he will have to use a single word to translate many. He will have to add and delete words so that the concept may be clearly expressed in the language into which he is translating.

The modern court interpreter is often in a similar quandary, but by definition never has the luxury described by Maimonides of being able to take the time to gain an in-depth understanding of the concepts inherent in the material in question, nor the flexibility to transpose word order and use other devices. Indeed, many codes of practice expressly forbid the court interpreter to add, omit, summarize or explicitate. González et al. (1991: 314) describe the specific dilemmas facing the court interpreter as follows: The dilemmas posed by the translation process are difficult under any circumstances, but court interpreters face a greater challenge because of their legal and ethical responsibility to provide a verbatim rendition (meaning that no item of meaning is omitted, including non-verbal messages) or a legal equivalent of the utterance for the record. They are not allowed to make inferences or assumptions about the source’s intentions, yet the very nature of interlingual communication requires that some intuitive leaps be made.

Ultimately, court interpreters try to square the circle. Even the best ones are doomed to failure from time to time. But when the system fails to acknowledge the need to train, qualify, certify and recruit according to the principle of excellence, it is condemning itself to low-calibre interlingual performance which will seriously impair the “tissue of justice”, by building in systematic “missed stitches”.

Attitudes to translation activities in the legal sphere Even in a bilingual country, it is not always practical to expect the ideal situation — where testimony can be understood by all participants in the original language — to prevail. In these cases, the interpreter may then be a “necessary evil”. Case reports in many common law jurisdictions clearly reflect such an approach. If asked their honest opinion about having to work through an interpreter, many — doubtless including numerous lawyers and judges — would probably agree unreservedly with the following statement by Jean Herbert, one of the world’s first conference interpreters:17



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The interpreter is an evil, because as a rule two persons understand each other better when they possess and speak the same native tongue and do not require any go-between. But he is a necessary evil, because the need is often felt of bringing together people of various linguistic origins who were not able to devote a large proportion of their student days to the mastering of one or more foreign language. (Herbert 1952: 4)

In the case of translations of documents within the legal system, Stable J. in the 1939 case of Dies v. British and International Mining and Finance Corporation Ltd presented the issue as follows: Where the words used signify not a concrete object but a conception of the mind, the process of the translator seems to be to ascertain the conception or thought which the words used in the language to be translated conjure up in his own mind, and then, having got that conception or thought clear, to re-symbolize it in words selected from the language into which it is to be translated. A possible danger, when the document to be translated is one on which legal rights depend, is apparent, inasmuch as the witness who is in theory a mere translator in practice may construe the document in the original language and then impose on the Court the construction at which he has arrived by the medium of the translation which he has selected.18

The philosophical reason for jurists’ distrust of interpreters in the courtroom is now manifest: interpretation is the exclusive province of legal figures, not to be trespassed on by the interlingual translator or mere court “interpreter”. The duties of these individuals, irrespective of whether they are rendering written documents or oral material, are to provide a “translation” only. As Baker (1968: Preface, no p. no.) has pointed out, when the State of Israel was founded in 1948, its heterogeneous body of law derived from various systems of law written originally in four languages (Turkish, Arabic, French and English). Since then, Israel’s legislature has over the years repealed and replaced a certain amount of earlier legislation, and supplemented it as appropriate. Some of the modern legislation is influenced by Jewish law. In this process of updating and expanding Israel’s legal corpus, language issues have sometimes played an important role. For example, among the features of the Ottoman legal system that the British left untouched in Palestine was a cavalier approach to written legal translations. Athulathmudall (1962: 228) notes that much of the Ottoman legislation applied in Palestine was a version of French, German or Italian texts, “translated carelessly; simply by a system of word-substitution”. To offset the possible drawbacks of this historical state of affairs, when at all possible Israeli judges have examined the original-language (non-Turkish) text in considering Ottoman legislation and its modern ramifications.

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However, the Turks should not be considered an exception to the rule in their approach to written translation. Traditionally, the translation standards applied in English law — another of the major influences on Israeli jurisprudence — have not been renowned for their rigorousness. In earlier days, ‘literal translation’ led to stylistic monstrosities in English, which, as Mellinkoff (1963: 146) points out, “failed to take into account the fact that, unlike inflected Latin, intelligible English depends primarily on word order”. Clearly, linguistic quality control has not historically been a sine qua non of legal translation activities (see Morris 1998). The question is whether nowadays, attitudes in the field of court interpreting are noticeably different. The first appellate case considered by Canada’s Supreme Court following the 1982 Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms was the seminal case of R. v. Tran (1994). Here, as indicated by Lamer C.J., the reasons for judgment were somewhat longer than would normally be warranted because this was the first time that the Court had considered Section 14 of the Charter, guaranteeing the right to the assistance of an interpreter. In Tran, Canada’s Supreme Court noted that Section 14 of the Charter confers upon all accused, irrespective of the gravity of the offence charged and its classification, a constitutionally guaranteed right to the assistance of an interpreter where the accused does not understand or speak the language of the court. It commented further: The elevation of the right to interpreter assistance to the level of a constitutional norm is a significant step requiring, at a minimum, that the rules and principles governing interpreters which have been developed under the common law and under various statutes be reconsidered and, where necessary, adapted to fit with the dictates of the new Charter era.19

It also noted that “the rich body of jurisprudence which already exists with respect to interpreters”, including that developed under Section 650 of Canada’s Criminal Code, would undoubtedly play an important role in determining the scope of the right guaranteed by Section 14 of the Charter. What Tran does specifically and saliently, is to address the issue of adequacy of interpretation, i.e. the area of quality, rather than the field of entitlement which was the focus of appellate discussion throughout much of the twentieth century. Where an interpreter was appointed and it is the quality of the interpretation provided that is being challenged, it is necessary to determine whether there has been a departure or deviation from what is considered adequate interpretation. While the interpretation provided need not be perfect, it must be continuous, precise, impartial, competent and contemporaneous.20



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With Tran, Canada has definitely moved into a different era. In specifically laying down both quantitative and qualitative standards to be met by interlingual interpretation in court proceedings, the case signals a major departure from the kind of attitudes expressed in Britain’s 1991 House of Lords debate in the following terms: It is the law, which has been settled for over 75 years, that where a defendant does not understand English the evidence must be translated, and there are already regulations for the payment of interpreters out of public funds for that. I think therefore this is a matter for organisation and not for legislation.21

The problem with such nominally reassuring statements is that the system’s willingness (or ability) to “organise” interpretation is predicated on the assumption that it is sufficient simply to provide and pay persons engaged as interpreters. However, it may be argued that while provision (together with the concomitant standard acceptance of entitlement) is important, it is not sufficient unless underpinned by an affirmative approach based on a resolve to achieve adequate, i.e. competent standards of performance. Above all, the system should be free of the kind of innate suspicion of both the person claiming to need interpretation and the interpreter recruited to work in the courtroom reflected in such classic cases as R. v. Burke (Ireland, 1858) and Filios v. Morland, heard by the Supreme Court of New South Wales over a hundred years later in 1963. As was typical for the period, the discussion in the Australian case focused on whether or not an individual was entitled “as of right” to give evidence in his or her “native tongue”, and the disadvantages to the cross-examiner of having to conduct a cross-examination through the mediation of an interpreter.22 The primary consideration, especially where the witness in question is a party, is that what the witness has to say should be put before the court as fully and accurately, and as fairly and effectively, as all the circumstances permit. It may be that a witness with an imperfect understanding of English cannot achieve this by using English. It is not always the case that it will be better achieved by the use of an interpreter. For evidence given through an interpreter loses much of its impact, and this is so in spite of the expert interpretation now readily available. The jury does not really hear the witness, nor are they fully able to appreciate, for instance, the degree of conviction or uncertainty with which his evidence is given; they cannot wholly follow the nuances, inflections, quickness or hesitancy of the witness; all they have is the dispassionate and unexpressive tone of the interpreter. Moreover, even today it is all too common an experience to hear the interpreter giving the effect instead of giving a literal translation of questions and answers, and of his own accord interpolating questions and eliciting explanations. These matters may operate unfairly either to the advantage or to the disadvantage of the witness involved. Moreover, and especially where the witness has some knowledge of English, the cross-examiner is placed at a grave disadvantage.”23

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The “expert interpretation” referred to above was clearly expert in name only, and from his description the learned judge had evidently suffered at the hands of unqualified individuals acting unprofessionally. Yet at the same time, the statement conveys a judicial resentment and suspicion of witnesses who wish to give evidence through an interpreter.

Changed times? Brereton J.’s approach in Filios v. Morland may be considered characteristic of 1960s judicial attitudes in many common law jurisdictions. As has been acknowledged, it is notoriously hard to change attitudes. The English-speaking legal profession is no exception to this rule, and overall its members’ attitudes to interpreters tend to be mistrusting, to say the least, as reflected in the above quotation. It is a moot point whether they have been caused by painful experiences with bad interpreters, or alternatively are the upshot of the basic philosophical difficulty experienced by such figures as Prof. Black, as quoted earlier.24 However, in Australia, a mere quarter of a century separates the narrow-minded comments made by the judge in Filios v. Morland from the far more enlightened Gradidge v. Grace Bros. Pty. Ltd., where Kirby P. comments: In an earlier time, when there was less awareness of the scope and impact of physical disabilities, we were less sensitive to the difficulties of persons appearing in courts without an ability to hear or speak the English language. Times have changed. Change has been reflected in legislation. It has also been reflected in decisions of the courts. […] The changes are in my opinion beneficial. They translate fine aspirations about rights to due process, natural justice and reasoned decision-making into practical utility for persons with linguistic or physical disadvantages when compared to the ordinary litigant. In recent years, courts have begun to reflect a growing appreciation of the importance of allowing persons to communicate to the court in their own language.25

In addition to changes in Australian legislation and court decisions, the awareness of a “multicultural Australia” led to many other important developments in the Australian legal and administrative sphere which culminated in the Multicultural Australia Project. Space constraints preclude any detailed discussion of this field in this paper. One of its outcomes was the April 1991 report entitled Access to Interpreters in the Legal System, issued by the Commonwealth Attorney-General’s Department under the auspices of the National Agenda for a Multicultural Australia. This covered such issues as the availability of competent interpreters in the legal



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system; the adequacy of existing and proposed arrangements for the provision of interpreters; the level of awareness by the public, service providers and the legal profession of the role and use of interpreters; the means by which professional standards of interpreters in the legal system can be maintained or improved; how interpreter services could be provided in the most cost-effective manner; who should be responsible for the cost of interpreters; and the need for legislation concerning the use of interpreters in court. It is in this selfsame spirit of “access to justice” that the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms views issues relating to the provision of court interpreting services. As Tran puts it, “This right is also intimately related to our basic notions of justice, including the appearance of fairness.” Tran and other cases considered by Canada’s appellate courts have gone a long way towards literally moving on from merely paying “lip service” to a defendant’s right to be linguistically as well as physically present in the courtroom, as the Tran court concluded: The level of understanding protected by Section 14 will, therefore, necessarily be high. Indeed, it has been suggested that a party must have the same basic opportunity to understand and be understood as if he or she were conversant in the language of the court.26

The court defines the three-fold purpose of the rights to be met under Section 14 of the Charter as follows: The right of an accused person who does not understand or speak the language of the proceedings to obtain the assistance of an interpreter serves several important purposes. First and foremost, the right ensures that a person charged with a criminal offence hears the case against him or her and is given a full opportunity to answer it. Second, the right is one which is intimately related to our basic notions of justice, including the appearance of fairness. As such, the right to interpreter assistance touches on the very integrity of the administration of criminal justice in this country. Third, the right is one which is intimately related to our society’s claim to be multicultural, expressed in part through Section 27 of the Charter. The magnitude of these interests which are protected by the right to interpreter assistance favours a purposive and liberal interpretation of the right under Section 14 of the Charter, and a principled application of the right.27

An important proviso, however, was made: Ultimately, the purpose of the right to interpreter assistance is to create a level and fair playing field, not to provide some individuals with more rights than others.28 Importantly, the underlying principle behind all of the interests protected by the right to interpreter assistance under Section 14 is that of linguistic understanding. The centrality of this principle is evident not only from the general

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jurisprudence dealing with interpreters, but also more directly from the language of Section 14 itself, which refers to ‘not understand[ing] or speak[ing] the language in which the proceedings are conducted’.29

As exemplified by Tran, the approach to the provision of court interpreting services in Canadian courts which requires both an appearance of fairness and compliance with the principle of understanding constitutes a considerable advance in judicial thinking compared with earlier attitudes in Canada, as well as most other common law jurisdictions. A 1912 Nova Scotia Supreme Court case, R. v. Sylvester, largely typifies the kind of attitude found throughout most of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries in many common law jurisdictions: case law is scrutinized for guidance at to how to deal with the issues at stake, and not infrequently astonishment is expressed at the fact that “there is surprisingly little discussion in the case law of the right to a translator or interpreter at criminal trials”.30 As in the 1916 English case of Lee Kun, so too in Sylvester ultimately practical considerations are viewed as taking priority: We can easily conceive of cases where no means exists of procuring an interpreter, and it would be unreasonable that crime should go unpunished where clear evidence is brought forward of guilt.31

At the time, the underlying belief of the majority of justices hearing such appeal cases was that no prejudice was suffered by individuals who did not speak or understand the language of the criminal proceedings against them if they either had legal representation without interpretation being provided, or alternatively if they were “made acquainted” with the substance of the evidence against them through the medium of an interpreter, irrespective of the quantity or quality of the linguistic performance: in other words if they were only given a summary of the proceedings, or if interpretation quality was bad.32 Such views were not, however, shared uniformly, as Drysdale J. makes clear in his dissenting opinion in Sylvester: To say that the deaf man or the foreigner who does not understand the language of the proceedings has not the inherent right to have them made intelligible to him is to say that the privilege of being present during his trial and the privilege of hearing and cross-examining the witnesses against him was a mere form and that the common law was satisfied to have the letter of its requirement complied with while its spirit and substance went unfulfilled.33

The essence of Drysdale J’s forthright comments would be echoed over 60 years later in the 1973 American case of United States v. Carrion in which the Supreme Court observed:



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The right to an interpreter rests most fundamentally…on the notion that no defendant should face the Kafkaesque specter of an incomprehensible ritual which may terminate in punishment. Yet how high must the language barrier rise before a defendant has a right to an interpreter?34

Perhaps the answer to the latter question is to be found in Wigmore’s (1940: 145) insightful and somewhat scathing note when commenting on Graham E.J’s dissenting opinion in Sylvester: the dissent deserves support, for a common official abuse is to supply inadequate interpretation; if the judges could be sent to a foreign country and there haled into court for crime, and made to feel the plight of an alien accused, some improvement might take place.

In other words, it is in order to prevent a defendant’s feeling of being caught up in a “babble of voices”35 that the decision should be taken by any enlightened justice system to provide competent interpretation services at all stages in the criminal justice process. In the 1980s, judicial training in Australia, as if responding to Wigmore’s suggestion, actually included role-playing sessions for judges designed to achieve this very aim. Reportedly, the sessions were extremely successful (Gobbo 1991). Based on the above overview of judicial attitudes, let us now examine the judicial interpreting situation in Israel.

Israel — “practically convenient” or a changed face? Under the British Mandate, English, Arabic and Hebrew were recognized as the official languages of Palestine. According to an undated document (possibly 1920) entitled “Government of Palestine: Use of Official Languages”, signed by the High Commissioner, Herbert Samuel, all government ordinances, official notices and forms were to be published in these three languages; correspondence could be addressed to government departments in any of these languages; and correspondence was to be issued from government departments “in whichever of the languages” was “practically convenient”. Municipal and rural areas with a considerable (no less than 20%) Jewish population were called “Tri-Lingual Areas”. In the courts of law and land registries of a tri-lingual area, every process, every official copy of a judgment, and every official document was to be issued in the language of the person to whom it was addressed: and written and oral pleadings could be conducted in any of the three languages.

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Hebrew and Arabic are the official languages of the State of Israel. English ceased to be an official language on the day that Israel’s Declaration of Independence was issued (14 May 1948). In the early period of the State’s existence, when its population swelled immensely in just a few years, the court system had to find workable ways of dealing with the innumerable individuals who spoke little or no Hebrew and were largely unfamiliar with the local formalities of the administration of justice. Inevitably, as related by Cheshin (1959: 171f), the court system applied a rough and ready approach to this problem, often involving what is known as “relay” interpretation provided by relatives or bystanders: “The charge was read first in Hebrew, then translated into Arabic, from Arabic into Ladino and finally into Bukharian. The accused made her replies in Bukharian; these were translated in Ladino, then into Arabic and finally back to Hebrew. By this tortuous method the judge learned that the accused denied the charge.” The fact that, to this day, Israel’s Criminal Procedure Law allows judges themselves to provide interpretation between different languages used in court36 reflects a persisting ad hoc approach to the use of different languages in the judicial system as well as in the country’s administration. More than fifty years on, the “confusion of tongues” to which Cheshin refers has considerably abated, but the attitude of “making do” rather than applying an orderly approach continues to rule. Sometimes such officially sanctioned flexibility can, of course, prove useful. An example arose in the 1986 Demjanjuk trial in Jerusalem, when one of the judges provided Yiddish-Hebrew interpretation for the examination of an elderly survivor who was having difficulties understanding the official court interpreter’s accent. Israel’s judges are aware of the unsatisfactory state of affairs in respect of the provision of interlingual interpretation in the judicial system. In 1990, Vardimus Zailer, recently appointed president of the Jerusalem District Court, was quoted in an interview as saying that he was disturbed by the problem of interpretation, not just in his official capacity but also as a citizen of the State whose rules had been imposed on 160,000 Arabic speakers in Jerusalem alone: I think that the State should have provided an interpreting service for those people who appear before the authorities, and in particular in court where the whole art is that of speaking and understanding what is said. These people must also be able to express themselves as well as to hear what is being said in real time and at the speed at which things are said. To my very great regret, this is not how things are. Since my appointment, I have been trying to act in order to improve the situation. I have been assured that it will be improved and I hope that this will be the case. But my position is extremely clear-cut: it will not be fair if there is a situation in which such a large population comes to court and there is a problem with their ability to cope with the language. (Zailer 1990: 8–9; my translation)



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Contacted a few years later for an update, Judge Zailer had no glad tidings to report. In Israel, administrative inertia would appear to be stronger than judicial will. Perhaps it was to this experience that Judge Zailer was referring when he was reported by the media in 2002 to have said publicly that “due to past experience”, he was not optimistic that the government would ever implement the findings of a State Commission of Inquiry headed by him.37 Nothing daunted, some Israeli judges still aspire to improve the situation. A notable example is Dr. Michal Agmon-Gonen, who is particularly outspoken in her criticism of the police for flouting their own standing orders requiring statements to be taken down in their original language. In a 2001 case (State of Israel v. Andrei Sevrezein), she roundly condemns the absence before her in the Jerusalem Magistrates’ Court of a Russian interpreter on a Saturday evening. Quoting the provisions of the Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty (5752–1992),38 she asserts that this Basic Law has “changed the face of criminal procedure in Israel”. Judge Agmon-Gonen goes on to quote from Supreme Court Justice Aharon Barak’s book, Judicial Interpretation (1994), to the effect that it is possible to deduce from the Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty the right to a lawyer and to a fair trial, and the requirement to prevent the delay of justice. In the case in question, Judge Agmon-Gonen observes forthrightly: The respondent’s right to a fair trial is infringed in the absence of an interpreter. Were the language in question a rare one in our country, this would also be an infringement of his right, but this infringement might then be dictated by circumstances. This is not the case for a Russian-speaking respondent, and when the police have been specifically told that there is no problem whatsoever because an interpreter into the Russian language will be present in the courtroom if the person responsible for interpreters is notified accordingly, even during the afternoon. However, the police chose not to provide such notice, which is why there is no Russianspeaking interpreter. Any administrative discretion must be applied in the spirit of the Basic Law. A person’s right to understand the criminal process to which he is a party derives both from the Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty and from the Criminal Procedure Law (Powers of Enforcement — Arrests) 5756–1996 (hereafter: Arrests Law), which stipulates in Section 29 that a detained person must be brought before a judge, and what is the point of us bringing the suspect to the court if he cannot understand the proceeding which is taking place?! The Arrests Law stipulates further that if the proceedings take place in the presence of the suspect, the suspect is entitled to question the police officer. This right on the part of the suspect is also rendered an empty one if the suspect does not understand what is happening in the courtroom. The suspect’s right to a fair hearing is impaired, since he is unable to direct his legal representative’s attention to inaccuracies in what the policeman says, if he thinks that these exist (were he able to understand what is said), or to ask her to put additional questions to the police officer.39

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Addressing the issue of cost, Judge Agmon-Gonen makes the point that previous court practice had been not to arrange for the presence of an interpreter on Saturday evenings (the end of the Israeli weekend) on monetary grounds. However, she states that in the wake of judicial decisions, an Arabic interpreter is permanently available as standard, and an interpreter for Russian (and other languages) can be obtained at short notice. If (on the basis of the authorities cited by her40) “reasons of administrative convenience or financial savings cannot constitute grounds for infringing a basic right, then this certainly applies in the present case, where the police have not explained why they did not provide timely notification that a Russian-speaking suspect had been arrested and did not make it possible for the respondent to enjoy a fair hearing.”41 As a result, Judge Agmon-Gonen ruled that the absence of an interpreter constituted grounds for ordering the respondent’s release from custody. However, at this point Judge Agmon-Gonen continues with her analysis of the case, turning next to the statement made by the respondent to the police in Russian. Despite the fact that the statement was made during a police interview at which a Russian-speaking policeman was present, no record was made of the original Russian-language statement. She notes that Israeli case law requires statements made by suspects or persons questioned to be recorded in the language in which they are made, and she quotes Supreme Court Justice Sussmann’s observations in the 1969 case of Shalvi vs. State of Israel: When a statement is made to the police in Arabic or another language and not in Hebrew, it is desirable and sometimes even necessary for it to be recorded in the very words of the person making the confession and as it came out of his mouth. No one is suggesting that the police officer who took the confession [did not] perform his duties faithfully, but anyone who is familiar with linguistic and translation issues knows that the accuracy of the translation depends not only on the translator’s proficiency in the language but also on a special skill, and the court should not be required subsequently to rely on the translated version of the document, on the basis of which it is unable to determine what exactly was said by the person who made the confession.42

In Bor vs. State of Israel (1976), Shamgar J. observed that despite the Israel Supreme Court’s repeated observations about the issue of recording statements in their original language, the Israel Police seemed not to be complying with this requirement. He made the point that failure to follow this instruction was likely to lead to subsequent problems in court, insofar as the practice leads to complaints and arguments which could be avoided were the police to comply with the instruction, by then already of long standing.43 Later in Bader, Shamgar J. reiterated the point that this rule must be observed by police investigators since the utmost



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accuracy was required “in order to avoid queries, doubts and discussions in court, and therefore the statement must be written down faithfully in the form in which it was given, and this of course requires the statement to be recorded in the words in which it was given.”44 The issue of statements made to the police and subsequently submitted in court proceedings regularly arose in countries which formed part of the British Empire. An example of common practice at the time is provided by the 1953 Tanganyika case of Seif v. R., heard by the Court of Appeal for Eastern Africa. A statement was made by the appellant in Kiswahili. The police officer to whom the statement was made and who understood both Kiswahili and English recorded the statement in English. It was not read back, nor signed nor acknowledged by the appellant. The appeal court held: A statement made in Kiswahili in answer to a charge is admissible if taken down in English by a police officer proficient in both these languages. If such statement is not read back to the accused or signed or acknowledged by him to be correct it is nevertheless admissible if its admission does not occasion prejudice.45

This approach conveniently enabled courts in English colonies to try non-Englishspeaking defendants whose statements to the police were taken down in English. However, in some countries legal figures were more aware of the ramifications of such practice. Thus for India, the 1935 case of Harilal v. Emperor makes exactly the same point as Sussmann J. in Shalvi vs. State of Israel: Furthermore, the fact is not sufficiently brought home to the juries and not sufficiently remembered by Judges, that the words of the witnesses are recorded by the Magistrate and the Police in a language which they do not in fact speak and therefore accurate recording is often a matter of accurate translation as well as of the rendering of sentences and the meaning of the statements of the witnesses.46

It might be argued that in the absence of clear-cut guidelines or rules, the attitude of any particular judicial figure to this issue is ultimately determined by that person’s innate linguistic awareness. Once such guidelines have been laid down, it might have been expected that the situation would resolve itself. However, as illustrated by the repeated observations emanating from Israeli judicial figures, practice at the all-important earlier stage of police questioning has for the past 30 years and more failed to comply with the relevant judicial requirements for the recording of statements and confessions by non-Hebrew-speaking individuals. As Judge Agmon-Gonen observed, where the police submit a Hebrew statement allegedly made by a non-Hebrew speaker, any challenges to it will go only to its weight, not its admissibility. To date, no statement has been ruled inadmissible because it was not taken down in the original language. Cases are potentially

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weakened, therefore, but certainly not dismissed on this ground. In State of Israel v. Sevrezein, Judge Agmon-Gonen noted that a Russian-speaking policeman was present at the questioning of the respondent. Indeed, according to the statement it was he who translated the questions and answers: “It is entirely unclear why the police did not make a point of complying with the rule. The police representative could give no explanation.” Her dry comment reflects judicial bafflement with this state of affairs. A further example comes from Beit Shemesh, where Judge Yoel Tsur ruled unequivocally in Israel Police (Petitioner) vs. Alhajajale that “although there is no explicit provision [in the Criminal Procedure Law (Powers of Enforcement — Arrests) (5746–1986)] concerning a suspect’s right to understand in his own language a proceeding involving an application for his arrest, such a right is a natural right insofar as a person is entitled to understand a legal proceeding held concerning him and to receive a translation into a language which he speaks. […] While I understand the police force’s logistical difficulties, it is unacceptable that a person’s basic right to understand the legal process concerning him be violated.”47 The local police had tried to short-circuit the process in order to avoid having to take the suspect to Jerusalem; instead, they wasted both their and the court’s time, since the Beit Shemesh judge required them to appear the same day before the Jerusalem duty judge in the presence of a defence lawyer and an Arabic interpreter, before the deadline for holding the suspect in detention. What happens when an interpreter is not available in court during remand hearings? Sometimes, as the record may show, defence lawyers interpret for the court (in other words, for the suspect), if they share a common language with their clients. A case heard in the Tel Aviv-Jaffa Magistrates Court in 1999 hints at another alternative: that no interpretation whatsoever is provided. The police had picked up a Chinese man, who was suspected of illegal residence in Israel and involvement in an aggravated assault. The lawyer for the police stated that they had failed to obtain a Chinese interpreter, but asked for the remand hearing to be held at that time. Referring to Section 24 of the Arrests Law, which requires suspects to be informed of the reason for their arrest,48 the defence lawyer argued that no one should suffer as a result of police failures and omissions. The judge commented on the police failure to obtain — or “to make reasonable efforts to obtain” — a Chinese interpreter since 10.30 on the previous morning, and hence their failure to obtain the suspect’s version of events. He further noted the absence of a Chinese interpreter in court, as well as the unsuccessful efforts to obtain one on the part of the court’s registry, the court registrar, and other bodies. It would appear that neither the Israel Police nor the courts had available to them a comprehensive database of interpreters. Consequently, the judge ordered the suspect’s immediate



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and unconditional release, on the grounds that his human rights took precedence over all other considerations.49 In 1999 Chinese was a rare language in Israel. The same cannot be said for Amharic in August 2001, when a Jerusalem judge dealt with an application to extend the remand in custody of an Ethiopian man suspected of spousal abuse. The person responsible for court interpreters informed the court that no Amharic interpreter could be obtained for a full two days. The implication was that no prior request had been received for an interpreter. The judge, Yehezkel Barkali, noted the collision of two rights: the suspect’s right to a fair hearing, and protecting public order and the safety of the complainant. Concurring with his fellow magistrates’ rulings in the two cases referred to above, as submitted by defence counsel and appended to the case file,50 he ordered the suspect’s release on bail. Israel’s 2001 State Comptroller’s Report similarly found that the police responsible for Judea (southern West Bank), Samaria (northern West Bank) and the Gaza Strip regularly infringed Israel Police standing orders concerning the recording of defendants’ confessions and witness statements in the language in which they are given.51 The review was carried out between October 2000 and February 2001. In June 2001 the police informed the State Comptroller’s Office that they had a problem in respect of the availability of police personnel capable of taking down a statement in Arabic. They reported that they were continuing their efforts to recruit foreign-language speakers. At the same time they claimed that “instructions to all investigating units will be clarified in order to improve the situation.” The report noted that an improvement had taken place in the Samaria prosecuting unit, while “witness statements continue not to be recorded in the defendant’s language in the Judea area, because of a shortage of investigators able to write Arabic.”52 To tape-record and then arrange for the transcription and subsequent translation of such statements appeared to similarly exceed the logistical and/or financial capabilities of the Israel Police. Apparently, what was “practically convenient” for them was to produce a Hebrew version of statements.

Conclusion: Missing stitches? As shown by the cases reviewed above, Israeli judges draw the attention of the police to relevant case law and legal provisions regarding the taking down of statements in their original language. Sometimes, defence lawyers do so in their submissions to the court. The country’s Supreme Court has been commenting critically on unsatisfactory police practice for nearly three decades. The non-compliance of police in the Judea district with the rule on taking down statements in their

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original language is not an isolated example. Pinto and Avriel (2001), reviewing the current situation, report that from conversations with lawyers who appear in Israel’s courts on behalf of the Public Defender’s Office, it would appear that the instruction issued in 1969 by the Attorney General in the wake of Sussmann J.’s ruling in Shalvi53 is almost never observed except in serious cases.54 Whether or not the police officer and the person being questioned share a common language seems to be irrelevant to the language in which the statement is taken down, which will almost inevitably be Hebrew. Similarly, irrespective of whether linguistic mediation is provided by an “interpreter” (normally a police officer) or a “third person” (often a family member or “even a passer-by”), the statement will be taken down in Hebrew. At the time that Pinto and Avriel were writing their article, an Israeli parliamentary committee was considering proposed legislation requiring certain police interviews to be video-recorded. The authors advocate the urgent rectification (even before the bill becomes law), of what they call a “serious defect” in the evidentiary chain, in other words the standard but aberrant police practice reviewed above. In the event, on June 26, 2002 the Knesset passed a bill amending the Criminal Code in respect of the questioning of individuals suspected of criminal offences punishable by a minimum prison sentence of 10 years.55 The fact is that Israel’s Supreme Court has identified a linguistic and procedural issue which is of great relevance to the administration of justice in the country. Because of its ramifications, to remedy the situation the country’s Attorney General issued instructions to the police concerning its implications. This was in 1969, nearly 40 years ago. To this day, except in exceptionally “serious” cases, the Israel Police reportedly routinely fail to observe this instruction. In England, considerable academic and legal attention has been focused on the record of police interviews, with both native English speakers and foreigners, with and without interpreters (see Baldwin 1993; Baldwin & Bedward 1991; Browne 1989; Zander 1993). Since 1958, in the wake of the ruling in R. v. Attard, the person who acted as interpreter at a police interview (and who in England is normally not a member of the police force) has been considered the only competent witness to what was said during that interview. Since 1984, the Police and Criminal Evidence Act (PACE) has required the routine tape-recording of all police interviews in England and Wales. Because of practical considerations, the English courts normally work with summaries rather than the actual tape-recording. Despite this state of affairs, indications are that serious problems exist on the level of summaries of tape-recorded police interviews, even those conducted in English with native speakers. In the United States, anecdotal evidence would seem to indicate that defence lawyers are more insistent than their English counterparts on the



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proper preparation of bilingual transcripts in the case of disputes about the record of interpreted material at the pre-trial stage. Under-financed, over-worked and with their resources constantly at breaking point, the Israel Police struggle to keep their heads above water. It must be said, however, that the kind of defective practice identified by the State Comptroller in the West Bank, reported by public defenders elsewhere in Israel and criticized by judges is symptomatic of a casual, not to say cavalier, attitude to linguistic issues which exists throughout Israeli society and culture. As a “melting pot”, Israel in its early days had no choice other than to adopt the kind of ad hoc approach to court interpreting situations described by Cheshin (1959). Indeed, the whole country probably survived and flourished because of this very culture of improvisation. However, on the threshold of its sixtieth anniversary, it is more than high time for Israel to come closer to a semblance of “best practice” in the area of language arrangements for non-Hebrew speakers caught up in the justice system. In Canada, the situation is also not ideal, as indeed Tran proves. Writing before Tran was published, Steele (1992: 242) paints a dismal picture of quality standards regarding the provision of interlingual interpretation in his country’s legal system: “…quality control of interpreters is in a chaotic state. There are no national standards and no standard judicial test for competence.” A personal communication to the author indicates that despite a good start in the 1990s, subsequent government cuts and other priorities led to the abandonment of a training programme for court interpreters in one part of Canada at least. The judicial insights of Canada’s appellate courts do not appear to have been followed up by government action to remedy the situation. As this article stated at the outset, it is notoriously hard to bring about changes in attitude. When it comes to the administration of criminal justice in Israel today, case law reveals that the linguistic sensitivity which typified Jewish law nearly two millennia ago is certainly present to some extent in the modern Israeli judiciary. Regrettably, however, the criminal justice system’s judicial members have failed to convince — or to compel — its other arm, the police, to change their habit of recording suspect and witness statements in Hebrew only, other than in “serious” cases, irrespective of the language spoken by the person giving the statement. Moreover, anecdotal evidence indicates that the administrative arm of the courts is stronger than judicial will over the need to provide high-calibre interpretation on their level, favouring what are presented as convenience and ostensible savings over quality and linguistic access. In Israel, the arrangements for the provision of court interpreters in both the magistrates’ and district courts are exclusively of the outsourcing variety. They rest to a considerable extent in the hands of private agencies, to whom the Courts’

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Directorate routinely delegates the engagement of interpreters.56 Individual judges may well be fully and painfully aware of defects in the quality of interpretation provided in their courts. Remedying them is altogether another matter. In the 1990s, a very aware Jerusalem District Court presiding judge found that he was powerless to bring about a change in the unsatisfactory situation prevailing in his court in respect of this issue. One can but speculate as to whether Israeli judges are truly powerless, or merely indifferent: after all, they can reject specific interpreters or refuse to hear cases in the case of unsatisfactory linguistic arrangements. Reportedly, however, they very rarely complain about linguistic issues to the Courts Directorate. Australia constitutes a telling example of how, in the wake of an overt political will to change, both judicial attitudes and, concomitantly, arrangements for coping with multiple languages in the judicial system can be transformed relatively efficiently in a matter of years. Discussing the provision of interpreters in the Australian legal system, Laster and Taylor note the Australian legal system’s preference for bureaucratic measures over legislative approaches, in contrast to the approach adopted in other common law jurisdictions, such as the United States and Canada, where the emphasis is on “articulating broad statements of philosophy within legislation” (1994: 9). In this respect, Israel would appear to be somewhat closer to Australia than North America. Both Israel and Canada have two official languages. But just as Section 14 of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms is qualitatively different from the cursory and ad hoc scope of Section 140 of Israel’s Criminal Procedure Law, so too Israel’s Supreme Court justices as well as lower court judges seem to be operating in a different time frame. It may well be that in referring to the protection of human dignity and liberty, Israel’s Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty (5752–1992) has “changed the face of criminal procedure in Israel”. Logically, its ramifications for the provision of interlingual interpretation in the country’s administration of justice should be permeated with the same linguistic sensitivity which informs Jewish tradition. But in respect of the issues discussed in this paper, there are undoubtedly critical “missing stitches” which seriously undermine the extent to which non-Hebrew speakers actually see this “changed face” in practice. In a different context, the Prophet Isaiah once asked in the Hebrew Bible, “Lord, how long?”57 Those looking at Israel’s criminal justice system may well ask the same question, but here it would specifically relate to remedying the taking down of statements made in languages other than in Hebrew. The present paper considers this to be one of the crucial “missing stitches” in Israel’s current administration of justice. Hopefully, the response to this question, whether in Canada or in Israel, will not be in the same spirit as the Lord’s reply to Isaiah.58 A reworking



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of the situation on the ground concerning interlingual issues would considerably strengthen the fabric of justice in both countries.

Notes *  “Through thousands of decisions, the Supreme Court of Canada has woven the tissue of Canadian justice. If one searches one can find missed stitches. But usually one finds that they have been taken up and reworked to make a fabric that is strong, serviceable and satisfying to our sense of how things should be in this, our part of the world.” Chief Justice Beverley McLachlin, address given January 17, 2000, at the ceremony for her swearing in as Chief Justice of Canada, published as Preface to The Supreme Court of Canada and Its Justices 1875–2000 (SCC 2000; emphasis added). 1.  See European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, Articles 5 (2) and 6 (3) (a) and (e), and International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR), Article 14 (3), (a)–(f). 2.  The following Talmudic text explicitly recognises the difference between active and passive knowledge of a language and the impact that using interpreters can have on evaluating evidence: “The Sanhedrin [the tribunal] should not listen (to witnesses) through an interpreter.” This somewhat bald statement is elaborated on as follows: “There were these people speaking only a foreign language who came before Rava [the president of the tribunal, who died in 352 C.E.] in a court proceeding and Rava appointed an interpreter to serve between them. How could he do this? Did we not learn…that the Sanhedrin should not hear through an interpreter? Rava was able to understand what they were saying but he was unable to reply” (Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Makkot 6b). 3.  S. J. Bentham. “Evidence is the basis of justice. Exclude evidence and you exclude justice.” Rationale of Judicial Evidence 1 (1827). 4.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198. 5.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 207, per Monnin C.J.M.: “For the purpose of a trial in French, it is not essential that the person presiding at it be able to express himself or herself either orally or in writing in that language. It is preferable but not necessary. But in my view it is essential that he or she be able to understand fully and freely — without the help of an interpreter — the various documents offered as exhibits and the testimony of the witnesses. Without that ability, there will always exist the legitimate fear that the witnesses and the parties will not be thoroughly understood and that the nuances of language, intonations, accents, local expressions or colloquialisms will overshoot the ears of the trier of facts.” 6.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 208, per Monnin C.J.M. Emphasis added. 7.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 208–209, per Monnin C.J.M.: “As a stopgap and for a limited period of time, simultaneous translation could be used. Although a little costlier, it is easier of operation and less tiresome for those who have to listen or to

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transcribe notes than back-to-back translation. By back-to-back translation I mean when one or two sentences are spoken by the witness in his language, the translator immediately cuts in, translates what has been said and the witness then goes on with his testimony and the process is continuously repeated. This back-to-back translation is slow, tedious, tiresome and does not allow for an uninterrupted cross-examination which is so vital to the proper conduct of a trial.” What is here called “back-to-back” translation is known in the interpreting profession as consecutive interpretation. 8.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 217, per O’Sullivan J.A. Emphasis added. 9.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 217, per O’Sullivan J.A. Emphasis added. 10.  Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 218, per O’Sullivan J.A. Emphasis added. 11.  Regrettably, despite Professor Black’s assertion, the text of Article 6.3 of the European Convention on Human Rights does not refer to the provision of accurate translation facilities. The two relevant sub-paragraphs read as follows: “a. to be informed promptly, in a language which he understands and in detail, of the nature and cause of the accusation against him; […] e. to have the free assistance of an interpreter if he cannot understand or speak the language used in court.” 12.  Robert Black QC FRSE, TheLockerbieTrial.com website. Emphasis added. 13.  In the Manitoba case of Robin, Monnin makes a terminological point which all Englishspeaking lawyers would be well advised to note: “At the appellate level, simultaneous translation — or interpretation as it is more properly called — is adequate. […] The record is available to all members of the panel and the nuances of language are in the written text.” Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198 at 209, per Monnin C.J.M. Emphasis added. 14.  Exodus 13:9. 15.  The Talmudic references are to Kiddushin 49a and Tosefta, Megillah 3:21. 16.  Maimonides, letter to Sh’muel ibn Tibbon in 1199, as translated by Aryeh Kaplan (1981: vi). 17.  The professional term “conference interpreter” here designates the activities of those interlingual interpreters who work in an international conference or similar setting where participants present papers or engage in negotiations and related activities. 18.  Dies v. British and International Mining and Finance Corporation Ltd. [1939] 1 K.B. 724, at 733–734, per Stable J., quoted in Sussman (1969) Note 44, p. 20. 19.  R. v. Tran (1994) 2 S.C.R. at 961. 20.  R. v. Tran (1994) at 952. Emphasis added. 21.  Earl Ferrers for the Government, debate on the Criminal Justice Bill, Hansard, House of Lords, 26 March, 1991 at col. 1009. The legal reference is to the 1916 case of Lee Kun. 22.  Filios v. Morland [1963] S.R. (N.S.W.) 331, per Brereton J at 332: “The appeal is based on two grounds, one that the verdict was perverse and two ‘that the plaintiff was entitled to give his



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evidence in Greek, his native tongue, through the official Government Interpreter’… Mr. Evatt’s contention here is that a person who asks to give evidence in his native tongue is entitled, in our courts, as of right to do so. I know of no such rule. The matter does not appear to have been dealt with in English courts, but in Ireland it was clearly considered to lie in the discretion of the trial judge (see R. v. Burke)… In America it has been expressly held that it is a matter of discretion.” 23.  Filios v. Morland [1963] S.R. (N.S.W.) 331, per Brereton J at 332–333. Emphasis added. 24.  See text at notes 11 and 12 above. 25.  Gradidge v. Grace Bros. Pty. Ltd. (1988) 93 FLR 414 per Kirby P at 419–420. Emphasis added. 26.  R. v. Tran (1994) at 978. Emphasis added. 27.  R. v. Tran (1994) at 952. Emphasis added. 28.  R. v. Tran [1994] at 978. Emphasis added. 29.  R. v. Tran (1994) at 977. Emphasis added. 30.  United States ex rel. Negron v. the State of New York 434 F.2d 386 (1970) at 389, referring to United States v. Desist 36 ALR3d 255 (1967). 31.  R. v. Sylvester (1912) 1 D.L.R. 186 per Graham, E.J at 198: “I do not say that the proceedings are to be made wholly intelligible to a foreign prisoner if anything turns on that. They are not wholly intelligible to most English-speaking prisoners. That is simply because you cannot have perfection.” 32.  R. v. Sylvester (1912) 1 D.L.R. 186 per Drysdale, J at 203–204: “It seems to me that if a trial Judge takes care in such a case that prisoners have counsel that understand the language of a witness and that in addition to this course the substance or purport of the evidence of the witness to be furnished the prisoners he has done enough to safeguard the prisoners and to satisfy all reasonable requirements arising out of such a situation.” 33.  R. v. Sylvester (1912) 1 D.L.R. 186 per Drysdale, J at 203–204. Emphasis added. 34.  United States v. Carrion 488 F.2d 12 (1973) at 14. 35.  “To Negron, most of the trial must have been a babble of voices.” United States ex rel. Negron v. the State of New York 434 F.2d 386 (1970). 36.  Section 140, Israel Criminal Procedure Law [Consolidated Version] (5742–1982). 37.  State Commission of Inquiry into the Safety of Buildings and Public Facilities, which began work in January 2002, seven months after Israel’s biggest civil disaster, the collapse of the Versailles wedding hall in Jerusalem. Jerusalem Post, May 24, 2002. 38.  “Purpose: 1. The purpose of this Basic Law is to protect human dignity and liberty, in order to establish in a Basic Law the values of the State of Israel as a Jewish and democratic state. Preservation of life, body and dignity: 2. There shall be no violation of the life, body or dignity of any person as such.”

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39.  Judge Michal Agmon-Gonen in State of Israel v. Andrei Sevrezein, Remand Hearing 7383/01, pp. 6–7 (all translations from Judge Agmon-Gonen’s rulings: Ruth Morris). Emphasis added. 40.  Barak (1994: 527) and Israel H.C. 4541/94, Miller vs. Minister of Defence, ILR 49 (4) 94. 41.  Judge Michal Agmon-Gonen in State of Israel v. Andrei Sevrezein, Jerusalem Magistrates Court 7383/01, p. 7. 42.  Shalvi vs. State of Israel Criminal Appeal 224/69, ILR 23(2) 763, per Sussmann J. Based on Sussmann J.’s comments, the Attorney-General issued instructions (50.029, dated 1 December 1969) for the taking of confessions, to the effect that a statement made after a caution and taken down from a suspect or accused must be recorded in the words in which it is made by the suspect or accused, and quoting from Sussmann J.’s comments in Shalvi. 43.  Bor vs. State of Israel (1976) Criminal Appeal 875/76, ILR 31(2) 785 per Shamgar J. at 794. See also Kedmi (1983: 99). 44.  Bader v. State of Israel, Criminal Appeal 788/77, ILR 34(2) 818 per Shamgar J. at 828. See also Kedmi (1983: 44). 45.  Seif v. R. (1953) 20 E.A.C.A. 235. 46.  Harilal v. Emperor AIR 1935 (CrC 749). From Rao & Rao (1973: 479). 47.  Israel Police (Petitioner) vs. Alhajajale, Remand Hearing Case No. 6050/00 (16 March 2000), Decision by Magistrate Yoel Tsur, p. 2. Beit Shemesh Magistrates’ Court. Emphasis added. 48.  As required by the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms, where Article 5 (2) states: “Everyone who is arrested shall be informed promptly, in a language which he understands, of the reasons for his arrest and of any charge against him.” 49.  Judge M. Shenhav in Remand Hearing Case No. 13135/99 (2 April 1999), Tel Aviv-Jaffa Magistrates’ Court. 50.  Namely, Magistrates Court Judges Shenhav and Tsur, as referred to in notes 48 and 50 above. 51.  “RECORDING CONFESSIONS IN THE DEFENDANT’S LANGUAGE — The Israel Police Standing Order on ‘Defendants’ confessions, witness statements — recording and translating’ stipulates, inter alia, that a defendant’s confession will be recorded in its entirety and verbatim, as uttered by the defendant and in the language in which it was given; a defendant or suspect who does not know the Hebrew language will be questioned in his own language or in another language that he understands, and if the investigator does not know that language, the questioning will be carried out through an interpreter; a confession or statement will be recorded, as far as possible, in the interviewee’s language, by the investigator or by an interpreter; as a rule, preference should be given to a translator who is a member of the police force, but if no police personnel can be found who knows the defendant’s language, the investigator can use an interpreter who is not a member of the police force. The review revealed that for all cases in the area, with the exception of the Hostile Destructive Activity investigating team, statements were recorded in Hebrew and not in the language in which they were given.” State Comptroller’s Report 2001, Investigating Division in the Samaria and Judea District, Section 1 — Military Prosecutor’s Office, Paragraph (b), p. 217 (translation: Ruth Morris).



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52.  On the use of Druze interpreters in the Israeli military courts in the West Bank and Gaza, see Hajjar (2000). 53.  See note 42 above. 54.  On a related issue in the English court system, see Morris (1993). 55.  Criminal Procedure Law (Interrogation of Suspects) (5762–2002). Paragraph 2 of Part 1 stipulates: “The interrogation of a suspect shall be carried out in his language or in a language which the suspect understands and speaks, including sign language”. While the video-recording of a suspect’s entire interrogation is to be the norm, under certain circumstances it may be replaced by audio-recording or by a written record. The latter must cover the main points, as well as reactions or gestures where these replace speech, so as to provide a correct reflection of what took place during the interrogation (Part 1, 4(b)). Failure to comply with these requirements is an Israel Police disciplinary offence. In connection with the option of a written record, Paragraph 8(1) of Part 2 deals with the language of the record, stipulating that if the interrogation of a suspect has been recorded only in writing, then this record must be in the language in which the interrogation was carried out. Sub-paragraph 2 then states: “If no written record can be made of the interrogation of a suspect in a language in which it is conducted, the record of the interrogation shall be made by means of visual or audio documentation”. Paragraph 8(2) would therefore seem to imply that where an interrogation is carried out in a language other than Hebrew, the preference is for a written record rather than video- or audio-recording. Moreover, no mention is made of the use of an interpreter and of the need to document both questions and answers in two language versions — the original and as interpreted. Other options covered by Part 2 involve the interrogation of a suspect outside the police station, and here in Paragraph 10 (2) the first reference is made to “translation” — in this case, a written translation is to be prepared of a record of an interrogation which for practical reasons has not been documented in the language in which it was conducted. Part 4, Paragraph 12(c) specifies that regulations concerning the production of a transcript of a video- or audio-recordings, as well as a translation of such transcripts, are to be issued by the Ministers of Justice and Internal Security. 56.  These are not specialist language-personnel agencies. For example, the business name of one of the agencies in question includes references to “recording and cleaning”, implying that the recruitment and engagement of interpreters merits no mention, and is lumped together with a motley mix of low-status occupations. 57.  Isaiah 6:11. 58.  “Until cities be waste without inhabitant, And houses without man, And the land become utterly waste, And the Lord have removed men far away, And the forsaken places be many in the midst of the land.” Isaiah 6:11–12.

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References International treaties European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (1953), 213 U.N.T.S. 221, Articles 5 (2) and 6 (3) (a) and (e) International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) (1966), 999 U.N.T.S. 171, Article 14 (3), (a)–(f)

Legislation Canada

Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, 1982, Section 14

Israel

Criminal Procedure Law [Consolidated Version] (5742–1982) Sections 140–142 Criminal Procedure Law (Powers of Enforcement — Arrests) (5746–1986) Basic Law: Human Dignity and Liberty (5752–1992) Criminal Procedure Law (Powers of Enforcement — Arrests) (5756–1996) Criminal Procedure Law (Interrogation of Suspects) (5762–2002)

Cases Australia

Filios v. Morland [1963] S.R. (N.S.W.) 331 Gradidge v. Grace Bros. Pty. Ltd. (1988) 93 FLR 414

Canada

R. v. Sylvester (1912) 1 D.L.R. 186 R. v. Tran [1994] 2 S.C.R. 951 Robin v. College de St-Boniface (1984) 15 D.L.R. (4th) 198

East Africa

Seif v. R. (1953) 20 E.A.C.A. 235

England

Dies v. British and International Mining and Finance Corporation Ltd. [1939] 1 K.B. 724 R. v. Attard (1958) 43 Cr.App.R. 90 R. v. Lee Kun (1916) 11 Cr.App.R. 293 R. v. Burke (1858) 8 Cox, C.C. 44

India

Harilal v. Emperor AIR 1935 (CrC 749)



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Israel

Bader vs. State of Israel Criminal Appeal 788/77, ILR 34(2) 818 Bor vs. State of Israel Criminal Appeal 875/76, ILR 31(2) 785 Israel Police (Petitioner) v. Alhajajale Beit Shemesh Magistrates’ Court Remand Hearing Case No. 6050/00 Israel Police (Petitioner) Tel Aviv-Jaffa Magistrates’ Court Remand Hearing Case No. 13135/99 (2 April 1999) Miller vs. Minister of Defence Israel Supreme Court 4541/94, ILR 49 (4) 94 Shalvi vs. State of Israel Criminal Appeal 224/69, ILR 23(2) 763 State of Israel v. Andrei Sevrezein, Jerusalem Magistrates’ Court, Remand Hearing Case No. 7383/01

United States United States v. Carrion 488 F.2d 12 (1973) United States v. Desist 36 ALR3d 255 (1967) United States ex rel. Negron v. the State of New York 434 F.2d 386 (1970)

Authors cited Athulathmudall, L. W. (1962). The language of the courts. Malaya Law Review 4 (2), 221–232. Baker, Henry (1968). The legal system of Israel. Jerusalem: Israel Universities Press. Baldwin, John (1993). Getting the record straight. Law Society Gazette 90 (5), 28–32. Baldwin, John & Bedward, Julie (1991). Summarising tape recordings of police interviews. Crim. L.R. [1991] 671. Barak, Aharon (1994). Interpretation in law [in Hebrew], Vol. III: Constitutional interpretation. Jerusalem: Nevo Publishing. Bentham, J. (1827). Rationale of Judicial Evidence. London: Hunt. Berk-Seligson, Susan (1990). The bilingual courtroom: Court interpreters in the judicial process. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Browne, Godfree (1989). Tape recording interviews with foreigners. Crim.L.R., 643–644. Cheshin, Shneor Z. (1959). Tears and laughter in an Israel courtroom. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America. Commonwealth Attorney-General’s Department (1991). Access to interpreters in the legal system. Canberra: Australian Government Publishing Service. Gobbo, The Honourable Mr. Justice (1991). The Supreme Court. In G. Bird (Ed.), Law in a multicultural Australia. Melbourne: University of Melbourne and Monash University, 27–32. González, Roseann Dueñas, Vásquez, Victoria & Mikkelson, Holly (1991). Fundamentals of court interpretation. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Hajjar, Lisa (2000). Speaking the conflict, or how the Druze became bilingual: A study of Druze translators in the Israeli military courts in the West Bank and Gaza. Ethnic and Racial Studies 23 (2), 299–328. Hale, Sandra (2002). How faithfully do court interpreters render the style of non-English speaking witnesses’ testimonies? A data-based study of Spanish-English bilingual proceedings. Discourse Studies 4 (1), 25–47.

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Herbert, Jean (1952). The interpreter’s handbook: How to become a conference interpreter. Geneva: Georg. Israel State Comptroller’s Report (2001). Investigating Division in the Samaria and Judea District [in Hebrew], Section 1 — Military Prosecutor’s Office, Paragraph (b), p. 217. Kaplan, Aryeh (1981). Translator’s introduction to The Living Torah. New York/Jerusalem: Maznaim Publishing Corporation. Kedmi, Yaacov (1983). On Evidence [in Hebrew], Part 1: “On Evidence in Criminal Proceedings”, Lectures. Tel Aviv: Dyonon/Tel Aviv University. Law Reform Commission, The (1992). Multiculturalism and the law. Sydney: Australian Law Reform Commission Laster, Kathy & Taylor, Veronica (1994). Interpreters and the legal system. Sydney: Federation Press. Lofthouse, Stephen (1992). The trials of a UK juryman. New Law Journal 24.4.92, 561. Loftus, E. F. (1979). Eyewitness testimony. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Mellinkoff, David (1963). The language of the law. Boston/Toronto: Little, Brown & Company. Morris, Ruth (1989). The impact of court interpretation on legal proceedings. MA thesis, Smart Communications Institute, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Morris, Ruth (1990). Interpretation at the Demjanjuk trial. In D. Bowen & M. Bowen (Eds.), Interpreting — yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Binghamton, NY: State University of New York, 101–107. Morris, Ruth (1993). Nobs and Yobs — the provision of interpreters for legal proceedings involving high-status foreigners and others. In C. Picken (Ed.), Translation — the vital link: Proceedings of the XIIIth World Congress of FIT . London: Institute of Translation and Interpreting, 356–366. Morris, Ruth (1998). Great mischiefs — a historical look at language legislation in Great Britain. In D. Kibbee (Ed.), Language legislation and linguistic rights. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 32–54. O’Barr, William M. (1982). Linguistic evidence: Language, power, and strategy in the courtroom. New York/London/Paris: Academic Press. Pinto, Dori & Avriel, Gil (2001). The “missing link” in the investigative process: The taking of statements from non-Hebrew-speaking interrogatees without a record being made in the interrogatee’s language [in Hebrew]. Ha-Sanegor No. 53, 3–6. Rao, Y. R. & Rao, Y. H. (1973). Rao & Rao on criminal trial — Fundamentals and evidentiary aspects. 3rd ed. Bombay: Tripathi. SCC (2000). The Supreme Court of Canada and its justices 1875–2000: A commemorative book. Toronto: Dundurn Press. Steele, Graham J. (1992). Court interpreters in Canadian criminal law. Criminal Law Quarterly 34, 218–251. Sussmann, Frederick B. (1969). Bilingualism and the law in Canada. Proceedings of the Sixth International Symposium on Comparative Law (Ottawa, 28–30.8.68). Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 9–38. Wigmore, J. H. (1940). Code of the rules of evidence in trials at law (Vol. 3). Boston: Little, Brown. Zailer, Vardimus (1990). Interview [in Hebrew]. Halishka (Israel Bar Association Journal) No. 9, 8–9. Zander, Michael (1993). The Police & Criminal Evidence Act 1984. London: Sweet & Maxwell.

Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters The unique case of the Yehuda Court* Shira L. Lipkin Bar-Ilan University

This study examined the activities of military court interpreters at the Yehuda Military Court near Jerusalem over a period of one year. The aim of the study was to examine the norms and ethical rules that guide the interpreters’ work. In-depth interviews were carried out with eleven interpreters and officers, and court sessions were observed. The questions asked related to the interpreters’ powers and duties, the nature of their work, their personal preferences, the rules that guide their work, and the training they receive. The findings show that the interpreters’ powers and duties cover a range of areas over and above interpreting per se, and include translating documents, acting as ushers in the courtroom, and handling logistical matters. The study also pointed to the lack of a clear set of rules in relation to the interpreters’ work, and revealed that training is provided only after they have begun working. The study suggests the need for a code of ethics defining and providing a framework for the interpreters’ powers and duties, which should be limited to interpreting, and should not encompass administrative tasks, as the current situation causes confusion over the ethical boundaries of the interpreters’ work.

Interpreting in Israel In Jewish law, the need to provide interpretation services to an individual who does not speak the language in which the proceedings are conducted dates as far back as the Talmudic era (Morris 1998: 113). At that time, legal proceedings involved mainly the judge and the witnesses; the prosecutor and defendant played a minimal role. As a result, it was considered vital for the judge to independently understand the language in which the proceedings took place, although no active language skills on his part were required. In addition, there could be an interpreter

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who rendered the words of the judge for the witnesses, the defendant or the prosecutor (Babylonian Talmud, Makkot Tractate 6b: see Morris 1998: 113). During the British Mandate in Palestine (1918–1948), Israel’s official languages were English, Hebrew and Arabic and everyone was entitled to have recourse to legal proceedings in one of these three languages (Cheshin 1959: 243). With the influx of immigrants during the State of Israel’s early years, and with the sizable indigenouslanguage (Arabic-speaking) minority, proceedings often had to be linguistically mediated (Morris 1998:11). In many cases, this took the form of having the judge turn to the public in the courtroom and ask whether anyone spoke the particular language. In some instances, several “interpreters” were required, and a makeshift “relay” system was used. When no such person (or people) could be found, a member of the court personnel was asked to act as interpreter (Cheshin 1959: 169–172). In 1945 the British Mandate authorities introduced the Emergency Defence Regulations to improve the government’s ability to maintain order in Mandatory Palestine. Their avowed purpose was to maintain security and public order, and to prevent insurrection, as well as to safeguard the provision of vital services. They allowed the authorities to take such measures as administrative detention, restrictions on the use of roads, confiscations, outlawing of organizations, closing of newspapers, curfews, deportations, and banning assemblies. They also allowed the government to apply these restrictions without a trial and authorized army officers to oversee their implementation. When the State of Israel was established, it adopted the existing legal system and continued to implement the Emergency Defence Regulations. Since then, the validity of these regulations has been extended repeatedly, and while their enforcement is confined to times of emergency, the definition of times of emergency is somewhat vague. Many human rights organizations and political movements have argued that extending the validity of the regulations is a breach of democratic values and a violation of human rights. It was under the Emergency Defence Regulations that military courts were established beyond the Green Line1 on June 7, 1967, the third day of the Six Day War. On July 2 of the same year, the Knesset passed a law extending the jurisdiction of Israeli courts to the Occupied Territories. Under this law, Israeli citizens would not be subject to the Emergency Defence Regulations, nor would they be tried in the same fora as Palestinian inhabitants on the other side of the Green Line (Shoham 1996). Today, Palestinians charged with “regular” criminal offences are tried in the military courts. Over time, the status of military courts in Israel has changed. The turning point, as Hajjar (2005) explains, was in 1993 with the beginning of the negotiations leading up to the Oslo Accords, when it seemed as if the military courts would be abolished. Although this did not happen, their status changed and they were transferred from Palestinian cities to locations in area C, i.e. the areas under full Israeli



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

control.2 Until 1994 the military courts had been located in Ramallah, Hebron, Nablus, Jenin, Tulkarem and Gaza. After the signing of the Oslo accords, they were transferred to Beit El, Aduraim and Erez, where the case load was lighter (Hajjar 2005: 13). During this time, military courts dealt primarily with two different kinds of offences: permit violations and violence directed against Israeli targets. In 2000, with the demise of the Oslo accords, and the outbreak of the second intifada, the military courts became operational once again (Hajjar 2005).

Roles and ethics in court interpreting Many studies contend that the most difficult element in the interpreter’s task is that of serving as a bridge between people. Berk-Seligson (1990) discusses the extent to which s/he should be involved in the courtroom situation, and argues that the interpreter is an inseparable part of courtroom dynamics (cf. Morris 1993, Mikkelson 1998). The interpreter might, for example, wish to draw the attorney’s attention to a misunderstanding on the part of the witness, and provide an explanation or to clarify a culture-specific custom. However, judicial systems do not address the dilemmas confronted by interpreters, or the different perceptions of their role (Morris 1995). Often, the legal players themselves underestimate, not to say denigrate, the value and importance of the interpreter and of interpreting in general, on the simplistic assumption that the interpreter must not “interpret”, as this is the exclusive province of lawyers, but should rather “just translate” verbatim (1995: 2). All too often, lawyers overlook and disregard the fact that a verbatim (in the sense of “word for word”) rendering may be misleading. The existence of a code of ethics often goes a long way towards resolving the dilemmas that are an inevitable part of the interpreter’s job. In their book on court interpreting, González et al. (1991: 475) present an example of such a code, centering on seven principles: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

The interpreter shall render a complete and accurate interpretation. The interpreter shall remain impartial. The interpreter shall maintain confidentiality. The interpreter shall confine himself or herself to the role of interpreting. The interpreter shall be prepared for any type of proceeding or case. The interpreter shall ensure that the duties of his or her office are carried out under working conditions that are in the best interest of the court. 7. The interpreter shall be familiar with and adhere to all of these ethical standards, and shall maintain high standards of personal and professional conduct to promote public confidence in the administration of justice.

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Methodology The study reported here was designed to examine the way in which these ethical principles are reflected in the workings of the Yehuda Military Court, by applying a qualitative approach to a data set derived from fieldwork (primarily observations and interviews) conducted in this setting between February and December 2005. During this period I conducted eleven semi-structured interviews with the HebrewArabic interpreters. My questions related to their powers and duties, the nature of their work, their personal preferences, the rules that guided their work, and the training they received. In addition, on each of my five visits to the court, I conducted semi-structured interviews with the Chief Interpreters’ Officer3 and another high-ranking officer of the court. Observations comprised the other main method used in this study, as described below. The Yehuda Military Court is located in the Ofer army base off a highway on the West Bank connecting Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. It performs many different functions, including trying suspected terrorists and other offenders in the West Bank area. The base consists of large army tents. It has a number of gates, several of which serve the detainees’ families coming to visit their relatives or to attend legal proceedings. It includes a detention facility that can hold up to 750 detainees and many other facilities not relevant to this study. The court, located near one of the main gates to the base, comprises several rows of trailers, containing the offices, courtrooms and all other facilities. Although they vary in size, each trailer has the same internal structure, as shown in Figure 1.

Judges

Typist

Interpreter

Prosecution

Defence

Public and relatives

Figure 1.  Structure of the court

Defendant



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

The research population consisted of (1) eleven interpreters (all male) doing their regular army service at the Yehuda court and (2) two of the officers in charge. Nine of the eleven interpreters interviewed for this study were of Druze-Israeli origin,4 and two were Jewish (one Syrian-born and one native Israeli). The two officers were also Druze.

Findings Mode The interviews revealed certain difficulties in defining the mode of interpreting used at the Yehuda Military Court. The high-ranking officers call it “simultaneous translation” (tirgum simultani), a term often used in Hebrew to denote what is professionally known as simultaneous interpreting (meturgemanut) or “oral translation” (tirgum be’alpeh). However, observations revealed that what was provided during the proceedings was not simultaneous per se, but rather a combination of whispered simultaneous (chuchotage) and consecutive. In practice, the interpreters provided their renderings at the same time that the speaker was speaking, but would stop every so often and wait for the end of an entire section before interpreting — resorting to a form of consecutive interpreting. As one of the interpreters (I-1), observed: I try to put things in a very clear framework because if I start messing around with what is said in the courtroom all the time, nothing comes out of it, so I wait, I see what they are talking about, and then I interpret.

Officer-2, the interpreters’ officer, described another kind of interlingual activity that often took place in the courtroom. After the judge had written the judgment outside the courtroom, he would return and read it out. At that point, the interpreter would provide an Arabic rendering — a sight translation of the Hebrew text, which he had been given beforehand. In addition, the interpreters were often required to perform written translation of documents into Hebrew; e.g. of statements made by the detainees in Arabic. In most cases the defence counsels were Arabic-speaking Palestinians who would write their summations in Arabic, to be translated into Hebrew as well. The written translations were done outside of the courtroom, in offices where dictionaries were available to the soldiers.

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Role When asked about their role — their status, their duties and powers, and the nature of their work — some of the interviewees had very clearly defined opinions, others much less so. A particularly surprising finding was one related to the interviewees’ perception of their day-to-day duties: the role that they themselves considered most important was that of ushers. In fact, when asked about their standing in the court and their job definition, every single one of the interpreters referred first to the administrative aspects of their job, stating that the work they did was extremely important because they were in charge of maintaining order in the courtroom: I-2: We don’t only interpret, we are also in charge of the courtroom, for example this courtroom, I am in charge of it, I prepare it, I call the detainees, the escort, the cops, the defence counsel, the prosecutor, the families if they’re here, the military cops… I don’t just… we don’t just interpret, we also work, prepare, run around, in the winter it’s the hardest, you get all wet.

In his response to this question, then, I-2 portrayed a situation in which interpreting is only one of the interpreter’s many duties. I-3 too assigned it a lower priority than his other tasks: I feel as though I run the courtroom, because without an interpreter — I don’t know how they would run it, we do everything, we are the ones who let the detainees in, the families, we call the judge, and in the end we are also the ones who interpret, we are those who inform the detainee of the decisions, the escorting soldiers… This is a job for responsible people, it’s quite a responsibility.

When speaking of the effort they had to invest in their various duties, the interpreters referred first to the administrative aspects of their job, and not to the interpreting itself. Taking this to its logical conclusion, some of the interpreters reported that when they sat and interpreted they actually felt as though they were resting. A major difference was observed between “long-serving”, veteran interpreters and those who were new on the job. The longer the period of service, the more fully they were able to relate to questions related to their role and its ethical implications. In one of the interviews with the senior interpreters, once I explained that my questions were specifically related to interpreting and not to administrative duties, the interviewees, of their own accord, introduced such terms as “connector”, “conduit” and “mediator”, and expressed a variety of views regarding the boundaries and definition of the job. For example, when I-4 was asked to describe his status as an interpreter, he replied: “I connect the two sides”. I-5 used similar terms:



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

In my opinion the interpreter is a mediator, a connector, the spine of the courtroom… You see, the detainees don’t know Hebrew, and it is the right of a detainee, by law, to be tried in his own language.

It would appear that their own experience as courtroom interpreters had provided the senior interpreters with the insights they needed to provide more in-depth and incisive views of this issue, but even with these more experienced soldiers I needed to clarify that I was referring to the interpreting itself, and not to the administrative aspects of the legal proceedings.

Ethical implications In response to questions about the role of the interpreter and the importance of his rendering, I-6, one of the senior interpreters made the following observations about the fuzzy limits: The duty of the interpreter is, not just legally speaking, a very important job, the interpreter can mess everything up if he wants to, you can’t even imagine what he can cause, in my opinion the interpreter must also work on his own personality, an interpreter who steps into the courtroom must have a sense of his own worth, because there are lawyers who can put words into the interpreter’s mouth if they sense his weakness, this is really what happens sometimes when you are interpreting the lawyer tells you — no, he didn’t say this, he said that, and you have to tell him, no, I’m the interpreter.

In his response to this line of questioning, I-1 chose the metaphorical description: “[the interpreter] is like a drinking straw, like a tube…” In my interviews with the senior interpreters, more probing questions were asked about their status and the boundaries of their job. I-6, for example, was asked about the combination of interpreting and administrative duties: I-6: […] Listen, the interpreters’ work here, as I said, it’s very hard, it wears you out… Interviewer: And what is it that wears you out more — interpreting or administrative duties? I-6: Managing things is what tires me the most, this is such a complex place, everything is so complicated… Interviewer: So do you think that if, for example, there was one soldier in the courtroom who would do the interpreting and another who would do the administrative jobs, that would make it easier? Do you think it would also improve the quality of the translation? I-6: That would be great…

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The conversation with I-1 even went as far as discussing the need for a code of ethics to guide the interpreters. He mentioned that he did not think it necessary to have a code of ethics to guide the interpreters’ work in court because, he argued, these were things that could not be put into a framework. I-1: OK, so you don’t have a code of ethics here, and in the interpreting course they gave us an example, that the Russian president once fired his interpreter because he did not render his facial expressions — he didn’t render the tone — this is not something one is aware of, it’s just there, so my impression is that even though a code of ethics doesn’t exist, most interpreters maintain a certain standard. Interviewer: Do these evolve from the job itself? I-1: Yeah, from the job. Interviewer: Are these things you discuss or do they just come up and everyone complies? I-1: These are things that just come up. I think it’s some form of an unwritten agreement, I don’t know, for example if there is an argument, trying to set a date for the next hearing, and the judge gives his decision — no one interprets the part where everybody says “listen, this date is not good for me…”. We interpret only when the decision is made, your hearing was set for this and this date…”

Officer-1, the Chief Interpreters’ Officer, also referred to the need to define the interpreters’ duties and status, and argued that above all, interpreters must suppress their feelings. In addition, he explained that if one of the interpreters got out of line, he could be accused of contempt of court. This underscored the fact that the interpreter was seen as an integral part of the court, and was expected to perform his job in the best possible manner. Officer‑1 also maintained that the interpreters were neutral during the interpreting process, and stressed the importance of retaining the complete text. He said he did not allow them to shorten or alter anything that had been said in the courtroom. They were supposed to interpret everything that was said, as it was said. The interpreters themselves drew a slightly different picture, as many of them stated that they interpreted only what was said for the record. I-1 for example replied: There are things that are said for the record and these we must interpret since they’re formal, and there are also things that aren’t said for the record, but I do interpret them, because they indicate the direction the discussion is taking. For example, if the defence counsel requests a continuance for various reasons, and there are things said off the record, I don’t interpret them because they are said very quickly, not at dictation speed, and these are things that interest the court only […] sometimes I just say that the defence counsel, the prosecutor and the court are discussing something and that’s it…



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

I-1 also explained that the reason why interpreters are present in the courtroom is to make the proceedings clear to the defendant. Exchanges between judges, defence counsel and prosecution regarding administrative issues were not relevant, in his opinion, and the instructions were not to interpret them, unless something important was said. When it came to determining whether something was important enough to be interpreted, there were no formal criteria, and the interpreters simply used their own discretion, within the arrangement known as “standby interpreting”.

Discussion Monacelli (2001) notes that the very fact of working in a military court framework and receiving orders from above affects the way in which interpreters perceive ethical quandaries, and impels them to accept the rules as self-evident and do as they are told. The interpreters interviewed here did not initially understand or consciously relate to the ethical aspects of their work either. They are recruited as part of their compulsory army service, for a period of three years, and undergo a short course at some stage (not necessarily at the beginning), but one that does not include anything related to the boundaries of their role, nor the discussion of a code of ethics. At a later stage, a large proportion of the conscript interpreters continue serving in the standing army if they receive an offer to stay on, mainly because of the attractive salary. Most research in the court interpreting field indicates that when working in the courtroom, interpreters are in fact part of a very complex, triadic legal-linguistic situation which determines how they function and has an impact on their status. This triadic interaction (Wadensjö 1993) is a key factor determining the interpreter’s actions. Other factors include the respective languages and the possible tendency of the interpreter to identify with one language more than with the other; the fact that they are effectively mediating between two clients who need their services; and the conflicts surrounding the “intrusiveness” of their job (Anderson 1976; Berk-Seligson 1990; Wadenjsö 1993). The effect of these factors was examined in the interviews conducted with the interpreters at the Yehuda Military Court. Their replies pointed to a difficulty in distinguishing between the different parts of their job: the boundaries between interpreting and ushering were obscure, and the interpreters’ answers were accordingly rather vague. For example, when asked about their position in the courtroom, they invariably foregrounded their administrative duties and almost never related their status to their role as interpreters; rather, they reiterated that their work was

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very important because they are the people who run the courtroom and maintain order. Not a single one of the interviewees mentioned interpreting per se as one of his central duties. Notwithstanding, one can infer that the setting did have a significant impact both on the interpreters’ perception of their duties and on their actual performance. For one thing, the rules in a military legal system are strict and clear-cut, effectively defining the mode in which the interpreters work. Second, the interpersonal situation — alleged terrorists and IDF soldiers sitting side by side in the courtroom — was particularly sensitive and charged. In practice, the interpreters functioned as mediators between the army and the defendants, and it would have been reasonable to assume that the circumstances would have a profound effect upon them. Thus, when the interpreters were asked about their feelings, most of them replied that in a military framework, it would be inappropriate for them to express their feelings. Some of them, however, did mention that the deliberations frequently involved psychologically and emotionally stressful issues that evoked strong feelings, and made it difficult for them to remain completely neutral. Not surprisingly, the more experienced, longer-serving interpreters were better able to relate to questions regarding status, and demonstrated a broader and more insightful understanding of their job. I‑6, for example, was able to explain that the interpreter’s function was very important since he had the means to actually interrupt the proceedings (e.g. to request that a statement be repeated). He went on to say that due to the complexity of his role and status, the interpreter had to be sure of himself and to understand the essence of his job; otherwise, he could not be certain of providing a correct translation of what had been said Interestingly, when answering a question about their status, one of the interpreters used the phrase “like a drinking straw”, in support of his claim that interpreters must remain neutral while interpreting. After it was made clear that the question referred only to interpreting and not to administrative duties, other respondents used such terms as “mediator” and “connector”, displaying an intuitive understanding of the need to refrain from embellishment while interpreting. However, both the literature and the interpreters themselves expressed doubts over the validity of the conduit model (Roy 1993/2002), noting that neutrality — in the sense of having no effect whatsoever on the discourse — was not always practicable. Several researchers, including Laster & Taylor (1995), take issue with the very notion of interpreter neutrality, and argue that neutrality in the courtroom runs counter to the complexity of legal proceedings. In their opinion, the nature of the setting is inextricably linked to the intricate language of the law, so that holding interpreters to absolute neutrality results in what may amount to a disservice to



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

the job. While the conduit model would require the interpreter to reproduce the same tone and wording as the original, the ability to abide by this expectation varies from one individual to the next. Some speak quietly while others are louder, some are a little shy while others are more self-confident, and all of these factors affect the prospects of transparency. This situation, says Berk-Seligson (1990), causes the interpreter to impact the proceedings; the interpreter then is anything but transparent. González et al. (1991) raise another issue: the interpreter is often unable to render things exactly as they were said, and may therefore choose to provide a summary. They note that the judge may sometimes ask a witness to pause in order to allow the interpreter to interpret, but that this may actually make things more difficult, since such an artificial interruption is liable to disrupt syntactic continuity and to weaken the connection between utterances. When it comes to completeness, it became clear that many of the interpreters at the Yehuda Military Court, by their own admission, often provided only a summary of what had been said. Most of the interviewees related to this directly, explaining that at times they would provide a summary just so the defendant could get an idea of what was going on. This undoubtedly reduced the level of neutrality, by allowing the interpreter to exercise his own discretion in deciding what to translate and what not. The respondents also referred to occasional lapses of concentration as well as to difficulties in hearing or understanding what was being said. They stressed the fatigue caused by their long work days — from 9 to 5 with only one sixty-minute break for lunch — and by often having to interpret an entire session (sometimes lasting several hours) on their own. Many models have been proposed to describe the role of the interpreter, among them the conduit model, the helper model, the communication facilitator, the moderator model and the gatekeeper model. The findings of the present study indicate that there is no one model which covers all of the circumstances experienced by the interpreters at the Yehuda Military Court. Thus, when asked how they handled situations defined as not falling within their duties, their answers ran the gamut from full transparency to one of the more “interventional” models (helper, communicator, gatekeeper etc.). Although every one of the interpreters stated that they were not allowed to do anything that did not fall within the boundaries of their tasks as defined by their commanding officers, the explanations they provided for certain situations demonstrated that they did sometimes take the initiative in order to address an irregular situation. For example, when a defendant asked an interpreter — his sole contact with the court — to do something for him (e.g. to allow him to shake hands with his family, to give him a cigarette, to transmit a message to his defence counsel, and so on), they were not allowed to authorize such actions

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themselves, but my observation in the courtroom revealed cases in which they did in fact take an alternative course of action: transmitting the request to the judge or the police escort — which amounted to a compromise between the formal role definition (whether explicit or implicit) and their own personal approach to dealing with these situations. Such behaviour may be seen as a “gatekeeping” measure that goes beyond interpreting in the strictest sense, and inevitably involves issues where interpreters may exercise their discretion. Both the interpreters themselves and their officers often referred to the complexity and difficulty of their position. The interpreters emphasized the importance of their work to the administration of justice and the rules laid down for this purpose by the army. The higher-ranking officers repeatedly made the point that the principle underlying their work was that every person deserves due process, and hence is entitled to an interpreter. However, until it was brought to their attention in the interviews, the young interpreters (generally aged 18–21) were not aware of the importance of the ethical deliberations involved in their job. Not surprisingly, the older and more experienced among them had both more knowledge and a greater interest in this area, demonstrating the importance of experience and maturity to an understanding of the ethics of interpreting. In two separate studies, Niska (1995) and Morris (1999) relate to the psychological implications of interpreters’ deviations from their job. Niska makes the point that very often, individuals relying on oral translation are so dependent that they need the interpreter to explain things beyond the content of the actual hearing, such as the nature of the proceedings. Morris also contends that every so often the interpreter serves as a kind of psychological support because s/he is the only one able to understand the defendant, both linguistically and psychologically. The findings of the present study support these arguments. The fact that the interpreters were fluent Arabic speakers and constituted the sole link between the defendant and the Hebrew-speaking court caused the defendant to feel closer to them. Many of those interviewed indicated that defendants would turn to them for help since they were often the only ones in the courtroom who understood them (apart from occasions when the defence counsel was a Palestinian). It stands to reason that the defendants did not see the difference between a Druze interpreter and a Jewish one: from their point of view, the interpreter, even if he was an IDF soldier and affiliated with the court, was someone who could help. Many studies address the issue of how interpreters’ status is perceived by outsiders. Frishberg (1990) has argued that in most cases interpreters remain anonymous and unrecognized. In contrast, the observations and interviews undertaken at the Yehuda Military Court indicated that the interpreters were greatly appreciated by lawyers, judges and high-ranking officers. While their work goes



Norms, ethics and roles among military court interpreters

unrecognized outside of the military, inside the courtroom itself there is wide recognition of their importance, both for the administration of justice and for the day-to-day running of the court.

Conclusions The main conclusion from this study is that the Yehuda Military Court works mostly according to accepted but unwritten rules, performing its duties in keeping with norms that have been handed down through “generations” of interpreters. Such norms are in fact an alternative to a code of ethics which, as many have claimed, is necessary in order to ensure that court interpreters will act properly in performing their duties during legal proceedings. These norms provide the interpreters with some sort of framework within which to function, but since the norms are handed down by word of mouth, there are many grey areas. A further conclusion arising from this research is that the context in which the court functions has a great impact on the way the work is done. The findings indicate that it would be desirable to draw up a code of ethics suitable for the Yehuda Military Court — or perhaps for all military courts in Israel if they work along similar lines. Such a code (e.g. the one cited above, suggested by Gonzales et al. 1991, adapted to the present setting) would contain a clear definition of interpreters’ status and duties, as well as guidelines for dealing with exceptional situations that arise during interpreting; e.g. problematic terminology, failure to hear or to understand, excessive speed on the part of the speakers, acoustical problems etc. Although this code of ethics could not cover all potential difficulties, it could shed light on some of the issues raised in the course of the interviews by the interpreters themselves, and could suggest a set of clear-cut principles for dealing with various problems. As far as norms and ethical aspects of the interpreters’ job are concerned, the study found a significant correlation between duration of service (i.e. experience), and the interviewees’ grasp of ethical issues. Since by definition a military setting is characterized by a high turnover, long-term investment in the training of interpreters and incentives for longer terms of service may be advisable. The interpreters would be more mature, having gained experience and knowledge, as well as an ability to deepen their understanding of their job, and to improve their performance with time. Finally, when it comes to the multiple duties performed by interpreters at the Yehuda Military Court, most of them indicated that they did not mind these and in fact preferred the diversity and the responsibility. And yet, it seems to me that the interpreters should not be required to perform additional administrative

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duties in the courtroom setting, since they need to concentrate on interpreting in the courtroom in order to guarantee the best quality possible. (Of course, their duties may include other types of translations outside the courtroom.) In short, for optimal performance, the interpreter should focus on interpreting. The main conclusion is that the interpreters themselves considered their administrative duties no less important than the interpreting itself. Most respondents were unable to see how the existing situation could affect the professionalism or the quality of the interpretation they provided. In fact, they asserted that when it came to achieving the overarching goal of due process, the responsibility involved in ushering was as important as that involved in interpreting. The findings suggest that the formulation of an ethical code could be instrumental in delineating the different tasks assigned to the interpreters, and drawing clear distinctions between them.

Notes *  I wish to thank my advisor Dr. Ruth Morris, for her insightful comments, her devoted support and her persistent encouragement, which were instrumental in bringing this study to fruition. 1.  The Green Line is the name used by Israelis to refer to the 1949 Armistice lines established between Israel and its neighbours (Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon and Syria) after the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. This line also defines the separation between Israel and the West Bank, Gaza and the Golan Heights. 2.  Under the Oslo Accords, the West Bank and Gaza were divided into three types of jurisdiction: Area A — Palestinian towns under the control of the Palestinian Authority; Area B — areas under joint Israeli-Palestinian control; and Area C — under full Israeli control (Hajjar 2005: 13). 3.  Literal translation from Hebrew. The officer in charge of the interpreters, who assigns them to proceedings, trains them and handles all other administrative issues. 4.  The Druze community in Israel is an officially recognized cultural group. They maintain separate religious traditions (not Muslim), speak Arabic and belong to the Arab culture. They live mostly in northern Israel and usually serve in the Israel Defence Forces (IDF).

References Anderson, R. B. W. (1976/2002). Perspectives on the role of interpreter. In F. Pöchhacker & M. Shlesinger (Eds.), The interpreting studies reader. London/New York: Routledge, 208–217. Berk-Seligson, S. (1990). The bilingual courtroom: Court interpreters in the judicial process. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Cheshin, S. Z. (1953). Characters in the courtroom. Tel Aviv: Massada Publishing [in Hebrew].



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Cheshin, S. Z. (1959). Tears and laughter in the courtroom, translated from the Hebrew by Channah Kleinermann. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America. Frishberg, N. (1990). Interpreting: An introduction (rev. edn). Silver Spring, MD: RID Publications. Gonzalez, R. D., Vasquez V. F. & Mikkelson, H. (1991). Fundamentals of court interpretation: Theory, policy and practice. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press. Hajjar, L. (2005). Courting conflict: The Israeli military court system in the West Bank and Gaza. London: University of California Press. Laster, K. & Taylor, V. (1995). The compromised “conduit”: Conflicting perceptions of legal interpreters. Criminology Australia 6 (4), 9–14. Mikkelson, H. (1998). Towards a redefinition of the role of the court interpreter. Interpreting 3 (1), 21–46. Monacelli, C. (2001). Ethics in the fuzzy domain of interpreting — a military perspective. The Translator 7 (2), 265–282. Morris, R. (1995). The moral dilemmas of court interpreting. The Translator 1 (1), 25–46. Morris, R. (1998). Justice in Jerusalem: Interpreting in Israeli legal proceedings Meta 43 (1), 110–118. Morris, R. (1999a). The face of justice: Historical aspects of court interpreting. Interpreting 4 (1), 97–123. Morris, R. (1999b). The gum syndrome: Predicaments in court interpreting. Forensic Linguistics (Special issue on legal interpreting) 6 (1), 6–29. Niska, H. (1995). Just interpreting: Role conflicts and discourse types in court interpreting. In M. Morris (Ed.), Translation and the law. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 293–316. Roy, C. B. (1993/2002). The problem with definitions, descriptions and the role metaphors of interpreters”. In F. Pöchhacker & M. Shlesinger (Eds.), The interpreting studies reader. London/ New York: Routledge, 344–353. Shoham, U. (1996). The principle of legality and the Israeli Military Government in the Territories. Military Law Review 153. http://www.loc.gov/rr/frd/Military_Law/Military_Law_Review/pdf-files/276C7D~1.pdf (accessed 29 August 2007). Wadensjö, C. (1993/2002). The double role of a dialogue interpreter. In F. Pöchhacker & M. Shlesinger (Eds.), The interpreting studies reader. London/New York: Routledge, 354–370.

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Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence Jieun Lee Macquarie University

Drawing on the discourse of interpreter-mediated examinations of Koreanspeaking witnesses in an Australian courtroom, this paper explores court interpreters’ renditions of reported speech contained in witnesses’ evidence. Direct reported speech is generally preferred in the courtroom because of the evidentiary rule against the admission of hearsay. However, Korean-speaking witnesses who are not familiar with this rule and with the discursive practices of the court tend to use indirect reported speech. This paper examines how Koreans’ general preference for indirect reported speech is handled by court interpreters. The findings suggest that the tendency among Korean interpreters to convert indirect into direct reported speech in English renditions may have implications for the accuracy of interpreted evidence.

Introduction Framing information as reported speech is very common in courtroom interactions, as it is of course in everyday conversation (Philips 1986; Matoesian 2000; Galatolo 2007). Witnesses often use reported speech to present facts as well as viewpoints, and lawyers or judges use it as well, whether as quotation, clarification or reformulation of witnesses’ evidence in interacting with witnesses (e.g. Philips 1986, 1988; Galatolo & Mizzau 2005; Matoesian 1993, 2000, 2005; Perrin et al. 2003). Narratives produced in legal settings are multi-perspectival and multivoiced (Cotterill 2002: 147) and trial discourse itself is often marked by a high degree of intertextuality (Matoesian 2000: 879), with witnesses’ version of the event reported in the courtroom being presented in the form of reported speech (see Figure 1). The reporting contexts and reported context in courtroom discourse may be divided simply, as follows:

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Secondary reporting context

Primary reporting context

Reported event

Figure 1.  Intertextuality in reported speech in courtroom evidence

– ‘Reported event’ refers to the reported context in the primary reporting context. A matter or an event that led to the criminal charge (e.g. the offence or the original utterance). – ‘Primary reporting context’ refers to the primary context in which the ‘reported event’ is reported. A witness may report words or actions in relation to the event sometime after the event. A witness may talk to a third person, including the police. Alternatively parties directly involved in the ‘reported event’ may talk to other people (e.g. as found in police records of witnesses’ statements). – ‘Secondary reporting context’ refers to the context in which the ‘reported event’ is reported. Lawyers may question witnesses about the event and also about the oral evidence provided in the courtroom as well as in the primary reporting context (e.g. during the unfolding and ongoing courtroom examination). In interpreted courtroom examination, what the witness presents in reported speech, namely what was allegedly uttered in the ‘reported event’, is interpreted by the interpreter into the language the court understands, and the interpreted evidence is the evidence the court hears, with a layer of complexity added to the already heteroglossic discourse in the courtroom. The requirement of a verbatim rendering is a legal stipulation designed to minimise ‘interference’ by the interpreter, whose institutional role is apt to influence and determine their discursive practice. The court interpreter’s main role is that of ‘animator’ according to Goffman’s (1981) participation framework. First person interpreting, which is perhaps most strongly adhered to in court interpreting, derives from this notion (e.g. Hale 2004; Angermeyer 2005; Christensen 2008), and this practice is linked to the exclusion of hearsay in evidence law.1 Thus, for example, if the witness says ‘I’m not sure’, the interpreter is expected to render this



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

as ‘I’m not sure’ without adding a reporting clause such as ‘the witness says’. An interpreted rendition such as ‘He is not sure’ would be easily perceived as hearsay. Since evidence law, which is concerned with the reliability and fairness of evidence presented, requires precision and exactness in witnesses’ testimony, the interpreter is expected to strive to convey the original utterances as faithfully as possible. This paper intends to draw attention to the common practice of speech reporting in the context of courtroom evidence and of interpreting the reported speech contained in witnesses’ testimony. Different languages may have different rules or practices in speech reporting, but little research has been conducted so far in court interpreting studies to shed light on the cross-linguistic aspect of interpreting reported speech. Reported speech is particularly important in the court when a witness takes an oath to testify about what s/he has seen and heard. By examining Korean interpreters’ treatment of the reported speech contained in oral evidence during Australian courtroom proceedings, this paper aims to investigate cross-linguistic differences and discrepant discursive practices in terms of speech reporting (Korean vs. English and lay discourse vs. legal discourse in bilingual courtrooms), and the impact of these on court interpreting.

Reported speech As Coulmas (1986) suggests, although many languages do not provide a simple dichotomy between direct reported speech (henceforth DRS) and indirect reported speech (henceforth IRS), reported speech is distinguished by particularly syntactic structures. In English, DRS consists of a reporting clause containing a reporting verb, such as ‘ask’, ‘say’, and ‘tell’, and a reported clause containing reported speech expressed verbatim as an independent clause. It comprises a main clause and has fewer syntactic restrictions than IRS (Mayes 1990: 338). The original deixis (personal, spatial and temporal) and prosody are retained in DRS, whereas IRS takes the subordinate clause, with all the features of embedded clauses, such as tense and deictic shifts (Maynard 1986: 184–185). The reported clause in IRS may be a that-clause (reporting a statement), a wh-clause (reporting a wh-question or exclamation), a clause with ‘if ’ or ‘whether’ (reporting a polar question) or an infinitive clause (reporting a directive) (Carter & McCarthy 2006: 804). In Korean, because of its S-O-V order, the reporting verb comes at the end of the reporting sentence. The most common reporting verbs are ‘(mal)hata’ (say) and the pro-verb ‘hata’ (do) (Chang 1996; Lee, Y. O. 2006). DRS uses quotative particles, such as ‘lako’ or ‘hako’ following direct quotations, whereas IRS uses the quotative particle ‘ko’ following indirect quotations which entail alteration of the

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pronoun, deixis and mood to fit the perspective of the current speaker in the reported speech (Nam 1971; Lee, S. B. 1974; Lee, C. D. 1992; Chang 1996). However, IRS does not necessarily require deictic and temporal shifts in Korean (Lee, P. Y. 1993: 17–18, 23), but may include a mixture of IRS and DRS features. Some Korean grammarians therefore argue that quotative particles should not be the sole determiner in making a distinction between DRS and IRS (e.g. Lee, P. Y. 1993). Languages have diverse grammatical and lexical means of reporting speech. Just as there are cultural assumptions about effective story telling (Polanyi 1985), discursive practices in speech reporting may vary. Speech reporting can be a choice of one’s style in speaking, however, it may also be reflective of different rules or practices in various languages and cultures (e.g. Besnier 1993; Coulmas 1986; Lee, C. D. 1999; Lee, Y. O. 2002, 2006). Mayes (1990) suggests that English speakers may prefer DRS in conversation partly because direct quotes have a less restricted syntactic structure as a main clause and the deictic centre is the same as that of the original event, thus enabling the reporter to dramatise. In Korean, social relationship, age, power and other factors are considered in choosing the appropriate speech level, particularly as this concerns honorifics.2 Simply put, the more formal the register, the longer the sentence-ending form, and the more numerous the lexical items, denoting deference. Since DRS requires preservation of the form of original utterances, including honorifics, and is less economical linguistically, Korean speakers prefer IRS to DRS and rarely preserve the sentence-ending form of original utterances in spoken discourse (Lee, C. D. 1999; Lee, Y. O. 2002, 2006). Thus, IRS is much more common, inasmuch as verbatim quotation is rare in everyday conversation (Lee, C. D. 1999). (A scan of the literature reveals Mandarin speakers’ preference for IRS (Kuo 2001) and Japanese speakers’ as well (Coulmas 1986)). To illustrate how reported speech works in Korean, we compare two reporting situations involving a different register: plain speech level and formal speech level. In making a suggestion about going to a concert, my Korean student uses the formal speech level and my friend uses the plain speech level. If I were to report their suggestion to a third party, a friend of mine, what would distinguish the original speech levels in my report would be the sentence ending form and honorific lexical particle ‘si’ that is added to the verb. Table 1 shows the original utterance (in the plain speech level) and the different types of reported speech that I may choose to use. Table 2 shows the original utterance (in the formal speech level) and several examples of reported speech. IRS can be expressed in many different ways, only some of which are presented here. The reason ‘lako’ and ‘ko’ are put in parentheses is that it is possible to omit these quotative particles. Reported speech is presented in italics in the tables below for ease of comparison. The reporting verb ‘kulaysse’ is an abbreviated version of ‘kulehkey mal haysse’.



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

Table 1.  Reported speech in Korean (Plain speech level, proposative) Korean utterance

Translation

Original utterances

“Khonsethu kathi kaca.”

Let’s go to a concert together.

DRS

a. Chinkwuka khonsethu kathi kaca(lako) kulaysse.

My friend said “Let’s go to a concert together.”

IRS

b. Chinkwuka khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) kulaysse.

My friend suggested that we go to a concert together.

c. Chinkwuka khonsethu kathi kacay. d. Chinkwuka khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) kuletela. e. Chinkwuka khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) chenghatela.

My friend suggested/asked me to go to a concert together.

Table 2.  Reported speech in Korean (formal speech level, proposative) Korean utterance

Translation

Original utterance

“Khonsethu kathi kasipsida.”

Let’s go to a concert together.

DRS

g. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kasipsida(lako) kulaysse.

My student said “Let’s go to a concert together.”

IRS

h. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kasica(ko) kulaysse.

My student suggested that we go to a concert together.

i. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) kulaysse j. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kacay. k. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) kuletela. l. Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kaca(ko) chenghatela.

My student asked me to go to a concert together.

DRS retains the form of the original utterance whereas IRS conveys the propositional meaning, in a form arbitrarily selected by the speaker. The only difference between (a) and (b) in Table 1 above lies in the different quotative particles ‘lako’, indicating that the following reported speech is DRS, and ‘ko’, indicating that the subsequent reported speech is IRS. The reported speech form is exactly the same, except for ‘la’ and ‘lako’. When honorific speech (namely the formal register) is used in the original utterance, a DRS should preserve the original utterance in full, including the sentence-ending form. The following example is (g) taken from Table 2, which is DRS.

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Example 1 Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kasipsidalako kulaysse. student concert together let’s go-quot. particle said/did

Unless information on the social relationship between the speaker and the listener carries weight in reported speech, a typical Korean speaker would not choose DRS, such as (a) in Table 1 or (g) in Table 2 (Lee, Y. O. 2006). If s/he wishes to indicate that the original speaker, namely the student, has used the appropriate honorifics, s/he has only to add ‘si’ to the verb in the reported clause in IRS, e.g. (h) ‘Haksayngi khonsethu kathi kasicako kulaysseo’. There are other types of reported speech which do not fall into the traditional categories of IRS and DRS (e.g. Swan 2005; Carter & McCarthy 2006). Free direct speech, which occurs in informal spoken discourse, represents a blend of different types of speech representation. According to Carter and McCarthy (2006: 820), everyday informal conversation in English often mixes IRS and DRS, especially in extended informal spoken reports and narratives, and speakers often fail to change the deictic (temporal and place) of the original utterances in IRS, both in Korean and in English (Lee, C. D. 1999: 278; Garbutt 1996: 44). Example 2 …He said, “Well I cancelled things to play squash tonight.” I said, “Well I told you on Monday. I said, ‘Don’t book one. If I don’t get one I will ring you on the Wednesday and tell you if I’ve got one or not.”… (example from Carter & McCarthy 2006: 820). Note: The italics in the above example indicate IRS within DRS.

This type of reported speech is called ‘semi-DRS’ in this paper because it contains both IRS and DRS features. An identical form can be used to present both DRS and IRS since IRS does not require tense backshift. Coulmas (1986) and Maynard (1986) report such characteristics in Japanese as well, since tense, mood and order do not change in IRS either. In addition, both DRS and IRS are often characterised by ellipsis of personal pronouns, as a result of which the deictic shift is not indicated. Studies of authentic spoken discourse have shed light on the effect and discursive purposes of IRS and DRS (e.g. Tannen 1986; Garbutt 1996; Holt 1996, 1999; Carter & McCarthy 2006). DRS adds a tone of authenticity and animates the reported speech by preserving the original deixis from the reported speech event. With prosodic and paralinguistic features of the original utterances preserved in the reported speech, DRS serves as an effective ‘contextualisation cue’ (Gumperz 1982, 1992), making reported speech more vivid in narratives (Wierzbicka 1974; Li 1986; Mayes 1990; Holt 1996). DRS is often considered to be a faithful



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

reproduction of the content and form of original utterances, whereas IRS renders its content, namely its propositional meaning, thus involving interpretive work (e.g. Voloshinov 1978; Coulmas 1985; Baynham 1996). As such, DRS is considered to be a more effective means of making factual claims and presenting evidence (Li 1986; Clark & Gerrig 1990). However, following Bakhtin (1981), most discourse analysts see reported speech as an appropriation of another’s words and a transformation of the original utterance (e.g. Tannen 1986, 1989; Schiffrin 2002). Tannen (1986, 1989) uses the term ‘constructed dialogue’ instead of reported speech because speakers often do not report verbatim, and Mayes (1990: 354) points to the popular fallacy that DRS is more factual or reliable than IRS. Reporting speech reflects both voices — that of the original speaker and that of the reporter, in the sense that the reporter appropriates the reported speech for his or her own purposes in the reporting context (Bakhtin 1981; Buttny 1998: 48). Given the aforementioned popular belief about the accuracy of DRS, it is often assumed that witnesses should give evidence of a conversation in the first person, namely in direct speech (Bryson 1999: 171; Brereton 2006; Newton n.d.: 8). In New South Wales, Australia, DRS is preferred as a rule so as to avoid giving opinions or adding personal qualifications when reporting what others have said (Choi, personal communication). Witnesses are expected to give a plain account of their actual physical perception, devoid of inference, evaluation, interpretation, or opinion (Waight & Williams 2006: 539). Although there is no stipulation under the Evidence Act 1995 which would make evidence presented in indirect speech inadmissible, it is considered good practice to give evidence in direct speech (Newton n.d.: 8). Examination of this practice lies beyond the scope of this paper. Given the challenges posed by differences in discourse practices for speech reporting in Korean, it would seem worthwhile to examine the ways in which diverse types of reported speech are handled in court interpreting.

The Study Seventy-four hours of audio recordings of five Australian court proceedings (Cases 1–5) form the data for this study. The author accessed the audio recordings of these proceedings with the permission of the court and transcribed them using a method based loosely on a Jeffersonian transcription system. (See the conventions in the Appendix.) These court proceedings involved five Korean interpreters and twelve Korean-speaking witnesses (see Table 3). Some of the interpreters were engaged in more than one of the cases investigated in this study. All but Interpreters 1 and 5 possessed Professional Interpreter accreditation, and extensive court interpreting experience.

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Table 3.  Profile of the data Case Jurisdiction No.

Matter

No. of the CALD witnesses Interpreter in each case

1

Local court

Assault

Two (complainant and defendant)

1&2

2

Local court

Assault

Three (complainant, witness, and defendant)

1&2

3

District court

Aggravated robbery

One (victim)

1

4

District court

Aggravated robbery

Two (victim and witness)

3&4

5

District court

Aggravated sexual ­assault

Four (complainant, accused, 2, 4 & 5 and two other witnesses)

This paper focuses on interpreters’ English renditions of the reported speech used by Korean-speaking witnesses. Witnesses’ reporting of their thoughts and their use of reported speech in their responses are not included in the analysis. For example, when the cross-examining lawyer said ‘You said you wanted to sleep with her’ and the witness said ‘I did not say I wanted to sleep with her’, the witness may simply have adopted the reported speech form initiated by the lawyer, which would not provide accurate information about the form of reported speech preferred by Korean speakers. The analysis of the incidence of certain types of reported speech in Koreanspeaking witnesses’ testimony confirmed that IRS was indeed the prevalent mode, accounting for 78% of all instances of reported speech in the witnesses’ testimony (see Table 4), whereas DRS comprised only 6% of the reported speech in the data. The second most frequently used type of reported speech (16%) was semi-DRS, which combines the features of IRS and DRS. Korean speakers often maintained the deixis, personal and temporal, of the original utterances in the ‘reported event’ in the secondary reporting context. In some cases, they were prompted to use DRS by counsel or the judge (see Extract 1). DRS in Korean utterances was generally translated into DRS in English, occasionally into semi-DRS and rarely into IRS. IRS was translated into IRS, DRS or semi-DRS. Mixed reported speech was translated into semi-DRS, DRS, or IRS. The results of the analysis are presented in Table 5 below. Table 4.  Instances of reported speech contained in Korean witnesses’ testimony Total number of instances (frequency)

IRS

Semi-DRS

DRS

417 (78%)

86 (16%)

33 (6%)



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

Table 5.  Taxonomy of reported speech and interpreted renditions

(Note: Italics indicate the author’s translation of the original utterances whereas arrow marks indicate interpreted renditions in the courtroom discourse data. The round brackets indicate omitted but inferrable items in the original utterances. Quotative particles are underlined.)

Interpretation of DRS DRS → DRS

1)

DRS (present reporting verb and quotative particle ‘lako’) Ne naoko siphelako mwulepwasssupnita. (I) said do you want to come? → I said do you want to come and join me?

2)

DRS (omitted quotative particle and subject in the reporting clause) Cincca cwukko siphe kulaysseyo (he) said do you really want to die? → he told me do you really want to die?

DRS → IRS

3)

DRS (omitted reporting clause) converted into IRS Jimpoko emma teliko nakala. (I said) to Jim take your mom out. → I asked Jim to take mom outside my room.

Interpretation of IRS IRS → IRS 4)

Very indirect ways of speech reporting: Instead of typical reporting verb such as ‘malhata’ or ‘hata’, and such verbs as ‘add’, ‘admit’, ‘agree’, ‘argue’, ‘deny’, etc. are used as reporting verbs. Quotative particles may not be present. Ssithiey issnun hankwuk siktangeyse mannakilo yaksoki toyesssupnita. it was agreed/decided that we’d meet at a Korean restaurant in the city. → we decided we were going to meet at a Korean Restaurant in the city.

5)

Regular reporting verbs and/or ellipted reporting verb Ttali wulmyense icey kumanhalako. my daughter cried and (told us to) stop it. → my daughter started crying and told us to stop.

IRS → DRS

6)

IRS → IRS+DRS

7)

IRS converted into DRS Mannase iyaki haypontako haysscyo. (he) said he’d meet and talk. → he said I’ll meet him and talk. IRS rendered in Semi-DRS with the addition of ‘that’ to DRS Kulenikka cenhwalul wakaciko mannacako kulen nali icehnsamnyen samwel yukiliesscyo. the day (he) called to suggest that (we) meet was March 6 2003. → the day I got a call from him saying that let’s meet that was I believe it was March 6 of 2003.

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Table 5.  (continued) Interpretation of Semi- DRS IRS+DRS → IRS

8)

Semi-DRS rendered in IRS

IRS+DRS → DRS

9)

IRS+DRS → IRS+DRS

10) Ku salamto nehanthey kuleko ne anun salam cwungey han salamto nelul mitecwunun salam epsul kelako kulen sikulo malhaysseyo. (She) said something like this he also said so (about you) that none of those who know you would believe you. → he said, the accountant says that you’re wrong and all the people who I know um are saying you’re wrong

Ceyka nakaki ceney mister Kimi issekaciko ilehkey poyecwuko mianhatako nika wucheykwuk kala kulemyense kunyang chathako kapelyesssupnita. before I went out, Mr. Kim was there so I showed it to him and said that I was sorry and told him you go to post office and (I) drove off. → Before I went to police station, I showed that to Mr.Kim and I apologised for not being able to go to post office and I sent him on in my place. Semi-DRS rendered in (omission+) DRS Kukel cenun pon key anila wuli congepweni mithey incey suthayphuka ne yeki way phinke cakwuki mwenya. I didn’t see it but our employee, my assistant staff (asked) why what the finger mark was → only realised that when one of the employees pointed that out to me (continued) pwupwussawumhayssnya. if we had a domestic fight → also the employee was saying did you have fight with your wife?

Some instances of reported speech have features of both IRS and DRS, and these so-called semi-DRS showed a higher tendency to be transformed into DRS in interpreted renditions. In such cases, although the quotative particle ‘ko’ is a feature of IRS, the personal or temporal deixis of the original speech is maintained. Thus, the personal pronouns in examples 8 and 9 in Table 5 are an indication of IRS; the difference in social status between the speaker and the addressee in those instances rules out the use of the non-deferential second person pronoun ‘ni’ and ‘ne’ of the reported speech by the original speaker. Furthermore, the sentenceending form ‘nya’ (in Example 9) also indicates an interrogative in IRS without a reporting verb. Example 9 consists of two consecutive turns by the Korean witness, but the interpreter modifies the first utterance and renders the second utterance in DRS. Occasionally, the interpreters would render IRS into mixed reported speech linking DRS with a reporting verb followed by ‘that’, which may simply be regarded as a grammatical error (Example 7 in Table 5). In some cases, interpreters also mixed the personal deixis of IRS and DRS. A particularly complex case is Example



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

10 in Table 5, where the witness reported what his wife had said that other people had said about him. Of particular interest in this paper is the modification of original reported speech. The discussions will therefore focus on interpreters’ alteration of original reported speech from DRS to IRS or vice versa, or conversion of semi-DRS into either DRS or IRS. While the latter was rare, the modification of reported speech into DRS (see Example 6 in Table 5) was common — possibly due to the greater ease of using DRS in English as opposed to producing the tense and deictic shifts of IRS, and possibly because of interpreters’ awareness of the court’s preference for DRS, as shown in Extract 1 in the following section. Interpreters’ modification of reported speech into DRS may work to contextually frame the reported speech more vividly than original reported speech, and may alter the semantic and pragmatic meaning of the original utterances. On average, 60% of the IRS in this study was rendered into DRS in English. To point out the prevalence of this tendency, we present the percentage of reported speech conversions by individual interpreters (Table 6). Of the five interpreters, Interpreter 4 showed the strongest tendency (96%) to turn IRS into DRS, whereas Interpreter 5, the least experienced among them and arguably the least familiar with courtroom discourse, maintained the IRS of the witnesses’ testimony. (Note that Interpreter 5’s interpreting data was limited to approximately six hours.) Given the different effect associated with IRS and DRS, interpreters’ modification of reported speech may affect the semantic and pragmatic meaning of the original utterances, namely legal testimony. The following section presents an analysis of the data extracted from the court proceedings. Korean utterances have been transcribed according to the Yale Romanisation system. (Note: ‘C’ = Crown Prosecutor; ‘I’ = Interpreter; ‘W’ = Witness; Ø = somewhat ambiguous ellipted item; ( ) = easily inferrable ellipted item). To indicate types of reported speech, quotative particles are underlined. All names and places have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved in the proceedings. Table 6.  Frequency of modification of IRS into DRS in individual interpreters Interpreters

Frequency of rendering IRS in DRS Unit: reported speech

Frequency of rendering semi DRS in DRS Unit: reported speech

Interpreter 1

60/130 (46%)

23/39 (59%)

Interpreter 2

28/72 (39%)

9/17 (53%)

Interpreter 3

21/51 (40%)

8/13 (62%)

Interpreter 4

126/131 (96%)

13/14 (93%)

Interpreter 5

1/11 (10%)

3/3 (100%)

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Extract 1 was taken from the examination-in-chief of a victim of aggravated assault (Case 3). It reveals the extent to which the court prefers to hear DRS from witnesses, especially when testimony is related to an element of the charge. Reported speech is used to attribute legal blame for the offence (Philips 1986; Matoesian 2000, 2003). As this witness started giving evidence on the arrangements leading up to the alleged offence, defence counsel interrupted with objections to testimony given by the witness prior to this extract. Thus, the Crown Prosecutor is cautious and insists that his witness use DRS. Extract 1.  (from examination-in-chief of the Crown witness) Original utterances 1

W: (0.6) e:: kulenikka incey cimi cimul cwul theynikka mannacako (2.5) Ben Kimi cimul cwul theynikka mannase (0.9) chacakalako

2

I:

3

C: (1.4) well (.) now (.) I I’d like you to try a little harder than that if you wouldn’t mind

4

I:

5

C:              =doing your best (0.2) can you recall the exact words of that conversation?

6

I:

7

C: (.) and if you can’t recall exact words would you please at least recall their effect

8

I:

9

W: yey cenhwaka cwunpika twayssunikka onul com mannacako kulayse nayka (0.3) kulem etisse (0.2) kulemyen nayka wuli saepcasaepcang kacko wala. (0.7) cheumey (0.6) kulenikka (0.6) saepchangulo kacyekaki himtulko (0.3) eti talunteyse mannaca

Author’s translation of Korean ­utterances uh so luggage- (he) will give the luggage so (we should) meet Ben Kim (said) he would give (me) the luggage and (I) should meet him and get it

yes. Ben Kim told me that I will give you her belongings. (0.6) come and pick them up.

(0.9) te sayngkaklul com yelsimhi halakwuyo (he said or it is said) you should think (0.6) hal swu issumyen= hard if you can

(0.7) choytayhanulo cikum sayngkakhayposil ttay cenghwakhakey ceccokeyse han nayyongi mweyessnunci yaykilhayposipsio.

when you think hard now please say what the other party said exactly

(0.7) ku cenghwakhakey kiekul moshasimyen if you can’t recall exactly please try to amwuthun sasillo yaykihayssten kel hanpen speak what was said in fact to your choytayhanulo yayki hanpen hayposicyo. best yes a phone call- (he said) that we should meet today since Ø is ready so (I said) then where? first (I said) bring it to my busi-business then (he said) it’s difficult to bring to (your) business (he suggested) to meet somewhere else



10 I:

…

Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

(0.9) camkkannamyo um (2.1) he said it was ready and said let’s meet and I said (1.3) uh where no before then I told him can you bring them (0.3) over to my business place? and then he said it was difficult. (1.4) himtulta kutameyyo

wait a moment

difficult and then?

(several omitted turns)

11 C: (3.6) you have not given me the direct speech Mr. (0.8) Park. 12 I:

(0.9) kuntey i cikcep nan ilehkey yaykihayssko icey Beni ilehkey yaykihayssko kulen sikulo cikcep yaykilul haycwessumyen te cohkeysstakwuyo.

you know uh (he said or it is said that) it would be better if you could say I said this and Ben said this.

13 C: (1.3) I need you to try.

This witness has testified about a phone conversation that had taken place before he met with the accused, Ben Kim. The original utterance (turn 1) was in IRS, given the quotative particles indicating proposative (see ‘mannacako’ [that we meet]) and imperative (see ‘ko’ in ‘chacakalako’ [get it]). The interpreter (Interpreter 1) reported the original utterance in DRS (‘I will give you her belongings…’), but added the complementiser ‘that’, which may be considered a grammatical disfluency (turn 2). Nevertheless, the Crown Prosecutor urges the witness to try a bit harder to give the exact words of that conversation (turns 3, 5 and 7). In turn 9, the witness responds by expanding on his previous answer and provides more details of his conversation with the accused. He uses IRS mixed with features of DRS. Ben Kim’s proposal to meet (‘mannacako’) is expressed in IRS, but uses the original temporal deixis ‘onul’ (today), an indication of semi-DRS. The rest of his utterance in turn 9 shows that, while reporting his words and Ben Kim’s words, the witness does not use quotative particles or reporting verbs, and omits the quotatives. (See ‘saepchangulo kacyekaki himtulko eti talunteyse mannaca’ [it’s difficult to bring to (your) business let’s meet somewhere else].) ‘Mannaca’ (let’s meet) is a proposative in the informal register. Ben Kim must have used deferential register in the reported conversation, given their age difference and family relationship (the witness was an older cousin of his ex-wife). Strictly speaking, it was not a direct quotation, and the interpreter’s renditions (in turn 10) were partly DRS. The Crown nevertheless continued to request direct speech (in turns 11 and 13). Reporting verbs were often ellipted in Korean witnesses’ utterances, which may be an indication that they were engaged in informal rather than formal discourse. Speakers sometimes directly present what each participant says without introductory quotative frames; that is they use zero quotatives. While zero quotatives are found only in DRS in English (e.g. Tannen 1986; Mathis & Yule 1994; Garbutt

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1996), the data shows that in Korean they are also common in IRS. They enable speakers to construct attitude and to create dramatic effect (Mathis & Yule 1994; Garbutt 1996), but their use in Korean may often be attributable to the economy of language and ellipsis. Moreover, since they do not indicate the attributed speaker and contain no reporting verb, their use in an extended narrative may cause confusion. As we will see below, when interpreters’ contextual information on the ‘reported event’ is limited, zero quotatives, namely ellipted quotative particles and ellipted subjects in extended narratives, may create ambiguity and impede accurate interpretation. As shown in Extract  1, witnesses are often encouraged to report what they heard directly from another person. However, lay witnesses from non-English speaking backgrounds may not be familiar with the preferred discursive practice in the courtroom or may not understand clearly what direct speech is and how they should use it. Korean interpreters in this study often converted IRS or semiDRS into DRS. Such discursive practices of court interpreters may be due to their tendency to bridge the discursive gap between lay witnesses’ discourse and legal discourse in the courtroom (Hale 1997). The following three extracts indicate that interpreters’ modifications of reported speech into DRS may have implications for court proceedings. Both Extracts 2 and 3 were taken from the examination-inchief of a complainant in a rape trial (Case 5), which was interpreted by Interpreter 4, who had the strongest tendency among the five Korean interpreters in this study to convert IRS into DRS. Extract 2.  (from examination-in-chief of an complainant) Original utterances

Author’s translation of Korean ­utterances

1

C: and (2.3) what happened when Richard called you (0.2) what was said

2

I:

(0.8) i Richardka cenhwalul hayssul ttay mwusun mali oko kasssupnikka?

when Richard phoned you what words were exchanged?

3

W: (2.6) cakika thayksikapsilang (.) swul sacwul theynikka naolako haysssupnita

he said that he would pay for the taxi and drink and asked me to come out.

4

I:

5

C: (1.5) and what did you say

6

I:

7

W: (2.2) cikum cenun cikum nakapwassca nucu- now I- I said even if I went out now I nikka olay mosissnuntako yaykihaysssupnita couldn’t stay long.

8

I:

(.) he said I will pay for taxi fare, and I will buy you a drink, please come out (0.7) tangsinun mwelako malhayssnayo?

I said even if I go out now, it’s already late therefore I can’t stay long

what did you say?



9

Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

C: (2.4)[and]

10 W:

[°mos nakan]tako haysssupnita°=

11 I:

                =and I said (0.7) I can’t therefore (0.3) I won’t go

(I said that) I couldn’t go out.

12 C: (3.4) and what happened then 13 I:

(1.1) ku tamey mwusun ili sayskyesscyo?

then what happened?

14 W: (6.2) kuliko (1.9) cakika thaksikapsul nayky- and (he) said that he would pay for the esstako (1.2) hayse (0.5) cenun kutaylo cenun taxi so I went out (then) nakasssupnita 15 I:

(0.3) and he said I’ll pay for the taxi fare, (0.6) so I went out.

…

(many omitted turns)

16 W: (2.1) kuliko ceeykey (1) e cincca toni epsessk- then (he said) to me uh (you) didn’t wuna haysssupnita. have money 17 I:

.hh

18 W: olaysmanila haysssupnita 19 I:

said that (he) hadn’t seen (me) for long

(0.3) and then he said to me O:H YOU YOU really didn’t have money o:h I haven’t seen you for a long time.

The Crown witness, who was the complainant in a rape trial, gave evidence on what was said during a phone conversation which eventually led her to go out and meet the accused at a bar on the night of the alleged incident. The witness consistently used IRS (in turns 3, 7, 10, 14, and 18), but the interpreter rendered every reported utterance in DRS (in turns 4, 8, 11, 15, and 19). For example, in turn 3, the witness reported indirectly that the accused had said he would pay for the taxi and the drinks and that he had asked her to come. IRS does not contain information on the exact form of the original speech such as the sentence ending form. In other words, how exactly it was said by the defendant is not known. Nevertheless, Interpreter 4 interpreted IRS into DRS, suggesting that the witness was providing an accurate account of what he had said. Further, although the witness was calm and monotonous in reporting in IRS what the defendant had told her, the interpreter added prosodic effects in DRS. The witness reported what the defendant said to her after he paid her taxi fare (turns 16 and 18). The reported speech in turn 16 may be considered DRS with ellipted quotative particles, but the continued reported speech (in turn 18) may be seen as IRS. Both turn 16 and turn 18 were rendered in DRS (turn 19). It is noteworthy that the interpreter added dramatic effect by stressing the exclamation ‘O:H’ and repeatedly stressing ‘YOU’ (see turn 19) despite the witness’s monotonous tone. This is equivalent to a distortion or modification of the oral evidence and demonstrates

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that the interpreter has altered the meaning by failing to maintain the original reported speech and inadvertently exaggerating or distorting the semantic and pragmatic meaning. The following example extracted from the examination of the same witness indicates that court interpreters’ modifications of reported speech style may in fact affect the courtroom interaction. Extract 3 follows many turns after Extract 2 in the examination-in-chief of the same witness, during which she testifies that the defendant coerced her into having sex with him. Extract 3.  (from the examination-in-chief of the Crown witness) Original utterances 1

C: and do you remember he said anything else?

2

I:

3

W: (6.7) caki phinesuka seci anhunikka (0.3) cecehanthey cey-cepoko (0.8) caki phinesulul halthatallako kulayssupnita.

4

I:

Author’s translation of Korean ­utterances

(1) kuka tto talun malul han kesi isssupnikka? is there anything else he said? since his penis did not get up (he) asked m-me me to lick his penis

(0.7) he said it was said I cannot have erection no:w my penis is not getting up (0.9) uh would you please suck suck or lick my penis?

The witness used IRS in reporting what the defendant had said to her during the alleged offence (turn 3). The use of a reflexive pronoun ‘caki’ (self), referring to the defendant himself, and a type of dative verb ‘talla’ and the quotative particle in ‘halthatallako’ clearly indicate that the witness reported the imperative indirectly without indicating the form of the reported speech. Delicate nuances contained in diverse sentence-ending forms in original utterances are not preserved in IRS (Lee, C. D. 1999: 277–278). The choice of DRS for IRS was not the only factor that contributed to a distortion of the original utterance. Interpreter 4, while rendering IRS in DRS, added ‘please’ (turn 4), implying that the defendant was not coercive. This alteration caused a problem for this witness later in cross-examination, discussed in detail elsewhere (Lee, J. 2009b). The defence lawyer tries to get this witness to concede that the defendant’s speech act was not coercive, by referring to this particular interpreted testimony, but Interpreter 4 does not tell the court that ‘please’ was added in the interpreted rendition. It is not known whether this interpreter was aware of the problem. As a consequence, the witness appears to be inconsistent in her testimony and self-contradictory, which might have contributed to compromising her credibility as a complainant. While an interpreter’s modification of reported speech may be problematic in itself, inexplicitness in reported speech is particularly problematic in court



Interpreting reported speech in witnesses’ evidence

interpreting. In this study, it was largely due to the frequent ellipses of subjects and reporting verbs in witnesses’ testimony. The following extract shows that inexplicit reported speech, particularly in extended narratives, poses difficulties in court interpreting and often results in distortion or omission of original utterances. Extract 4 was taken from the examination-in-chief of the male victim of an aggravated assault (Case 3). The examination was still at its beginning stage when background information, such as the relationship between the witness and the accused, was sought by the lawyer. The accused, Ben Kim, had once been married to the witness’s cousin, Mary. Prior to this extract, the witness reported indirectly what he had heard from his relatives about what Ben Kim had done to them. This testimony was interrupted by a legal argument over hearsay. For this reason, the lawyer is careful in eliciting further evidence (turn 6) and specifically asks his witness to tell the court what he had heard from his relatives who had been directly involved in a violent incident involving Ben Kim, Mary, and her family. Extract 4.  (from examination-in-chief of the Crown witness) Original utterances

Author’s translation of Korean ­utterances

1

C: tell the court exactly what Mary told you.

2

I:

(.) uh Mary-ka mwela kulayssnunci cenghwakhakey yaykihaycwusipsio.

please say exactly what Mary said.

3

W: (1.7) e Mary-ka (2.0) ku Ben Kimi uh ku kiphun ku sacengul incey cal molucimanun tonul tonul talla (2.0) ku epsta kulenikka incey Beni e selo incey selo moksoli nophaciko, (0.9) e kulemyense incey nacwungeynun selo momssaumul hamyense khalul tulko mak (0.5) e cwuknunta kuleko, cwukinta kuleko (.) kuletaka (0.7) kyelkwukeynun selo (1.1) heyecyese tomangul naokey twayssko, (1.2) kulikon incey [talun cipulo]

uh Mary (said) Ben Kim, uh (I) don’t know the details well, but (he) asked for money money. uh Ø said no, Ben- uh both raised voices and later (they) struggled with each other, Ø held a knife and said uh Ø will die and Ø kill Ø, after a while finally, (they) got separated and Ø came to run away, and then to a different house

4

I:

[camkkan-manyo] just a minute just a minute. camkkanmanyo. (1.2) u::m (1.5) uh Mary Mary told me that Ben Kim (0.7) u:h ask her (1.0) some money, and she says she didn’t have it.(1.0) and then they started arguing (1.0) and then the voice was raised, (0.9) and then um they were fighting physically, they were wrestling physically. at some stage (0.3) Ben used a knife (0.8) and uh she ran away from the place (.) and of course I didn’t know the (0.5) uh (2.0) details of what happened and why it happened.

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This witness’s response using IRS (in turn 3) is inexplicit, with frequent ellipses of reporting verbs. The long narrative shows that ‘Mary’ was mentioned at the beginning of his utterance, possibly as the attributed speaker, but the reporting verb was not present in the Korean utterance. Nevertheless, Interpreter 1 is able to infer that Mary was the speaker based on the lawyer’s question (turn 1). The interpreted rendition (turn 4) suggests that the interpreter could infer the ellipted subjects in the original utterance. However, a series of inexplicit utterances by this witness in reported speech, marked by ellipted quotatives, posed a difficulty in maintaining accuracy in interpreting. It was not clear who said what and who did what. Since the witness had already mentioned that Ben Kim had threatened the witness’s relatives with a knife (testimony which was interrupted by defence counsel prior to this extract), the interpreter could infer that Ben Kim had used a knife even though the utterance ‘khalul tulko’ (holding knife) did not have an explicit subject. However, as the witness stated ‘cwuknunta kuleko cwukinta kulak’ (boxed in the extract), which can be translated into ‘Ø said uh Ø will die and Ø kill Ø’, neither the subject nor the object related to the verb, ‘cwukinta’ (will kill) were explicit. The broader context provided by earlier utterances was insufficient for drawing this inference, and the ambiguity caused by inexplicit subjects allowed multiple interpretations in this context, as follows: ‘You are going to die’ (which could have been said by Ben Kim) ‘I/we are going to be dead/die’ (which could have been said by either Mary or Ben Kim) ‘I’m going to die’ (which could have been said by Ben Kim as an indirect threat)

As seen in turn 4, these two verbs related to death were omitted in the interpreted rendition. Unfortunately, with these omissions of inexplicit IRS, a key piece of information was lost in translation. Mentioning death-related words might have been highly significant at this point, as they would have highlighted Kim’s violent and threatening behaviour. It is not known whether the omission was due to the interpreter’s difficulty in interpreting inexplicit utterances or to other factors, such as a lapse of memory. There were many instances of ellipsis in both DRS and IRS. The quotative particles ‘lako’ or ‘ko’, as well as reporting verbs, were sometimes ellipted in witnesses’ reported speech. Some instances of IRS with zero quotatives were lost in translation when the contextual information on the ‘reported event’ was not sufficient for the interpreter to draw inferences about the exact meaning. Such inexplicit utterances can be understood only when the interpreter has access to the broader context or clarifies ellipted subjects and reporting verbs. However, Korean interpreters tended to avoid clarification or disclosing problems arising from cross-linguistic



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communication. Instead, they often glossed over issues by omitting inexplicit utterances or by arbitrarily interpreting inexplicit reported speech (Lee, J. 2009a for issues related to interpreting inexplicit utterances). As shown above, this type of interpreting behaviour may result in inaccuracies and may have implications for interpreted legal proceedings.

Conclusion Drawing on the discourse of Korean-English court interpreting, this paper has explored cross-linguistic issues in interpreting the reported speech contained in witnesses’ testimony, particularly in relation to Korean witnesses’ dominant use of IRS and inexplicit reported speech. We have tried to demonstrate that Korean witnesses’ discursive practices which differ from the those of Australian courtrooms may pose a challenge to court interpreters. In fact, Korean interpreters have been found to frequently convert witnesses’ IRS into DRS, possibly due to their attempts to adapt to the discursive practices of the court, or to avoid grammatical problems arising from deictic shifts. Instead of interrupting the proceedings for clarification and disclosing difficulties in the interpretation of witnesses’ evidence, interpreters often provided arbitrary interpretation or omitted inexplicit utterances when subjects and reporting verbs were not immediately retrievable from previous utterances. The results indicate that court interpreters need to be aware of the consequences of modifying original reported speech in court interpreting. The inadvertent manipulation of grammatical and linguistic forms of speech reporting may lend more authenticity and veracity to the interpreted evidence than is warranted by the original testimony of the Korean-speaking witnesses. This paper was based on the data of Korean-English court interpreting in Australian courtrooms only, but indirect reported speech is also preferred over direct reported speech in languages such as Japanese (Coulmas 1986) and Chinese (Kuo 2001). Therefore, this research may also be relevant to other language combinations in other courtroom settings. Finally this paper calls for further research into the practice of reported speech in courtroom discourse. Legal professionals also need to be informed of cross-linguistic issues involved in obtaining evidence from witnesses from Culturally and Linguistically Diverse backgrounds through the medium of interpreters, and the fallacy about the authenticity of DRS. Considering the intertextuality and complex nature of multi-voiced narratives in interpreted evidence, one might also suggest that the court (and police), if they are truly concerned with determining the exact words that were spoken during a reported event, ought to consider admitting them into evidence in the language in which they were spoken.

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Acknowledgement I would like to thank Senior Research Professor Christopher N. Candlin, two anonymous reviewers and the editors of this journal for their helpful comments on an earlier version of this paper. I also thank the Linguistics Department of Macquarie University for funding this research project.

Notes 1.  Some studies have revealed that interpreters often deviate from first-person interpreting (e.g. Angelelli 2004; Bot 2005; Dubslaff & Martinsen 2005). Such deviation is associated with a lack of interpreter training. 2.  There are several different speech levels in Korean. Following Lee, I. S. & Yim (1983), we can distinguish six distinct styles such as hapsyo style, hayyo style, hao style, hakey style, panmal style, and hayla style, which can be categorised into the formal speech level and the plain or informal speech level.

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Christensen, T. P. (2008). Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court. Interpreting 10 (1), 99–127. Clark, H. H. & Gerrig, R. J. (1990). Quotations as demonstrations. Language 66 (4), 764–805. Cotterill, J. (2002). ‘Just one more time…’: Aspects of intertextuality in the trials of O. J. Simpson. In J. Cotterill (Ed.), Language in the legal process. Chippenham: Palgrave MacMillan, 147–161. Coulmas, F. (1985). Direct and indirect speech: General problems and problems of Japanese. Journal of Pragmatics 9, 41–63. Coulmas, F. (1986). Reported speech: Some general issues. In F. Coulmas (Ed.), Direct and indirect speech. Berlin/New York/Amsterdam: Mouton de Gruyter, 1–28. Dubslaff, F. & Martinsen, B. (2005). Exploring untrained interpreters’ use of direct versus indirect speech. Interpreting 7 (2), 211–236. Galatolo, R. (2007). Active voicing in court. In E. Holt & R. Clift (Eds.), Reporting talk. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 195–220. Galatolo, R. & Mizzau, V. (2005). Quoting dialogues and the construction of the narrative point of view in legal testimony: The role of prosody and gestures. Studies in Communication Sciences 5, 217–232. Garbutt, M. (1996). Figure talk: Reported speech and thought in the discourse of psychotherapy. Unpublished PhD dissertation, Department of Linguistics, Macquarie University. Goffman, E. (1981). Forms of talk. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Gumperz, J. J. (1982). Discourse strategies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gumperz, J. J. (1992). Contextualization and understanding. In A. Duranti & C. Goodwin (Eds.), Rethinking context: Language as an interactive phenomenon. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 229–252. Hale, S. (1997). Clash of world perspectives: The discursive practices of the law, the witness and the interpreter. Forensic Linguistics 4 (2), 197–209. Hale, S. B. (2004) The discourse of court interpreting. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Holt, E. (1996). Reporting talk: The use of direct reported speech in conversation. Research on Language and Social Interaction 29 (3), 219–245. Holt, E. (1999). Just gassing: An analysis of direct reported speech in a conversation between employees of a gas supply company. Text 19 (4), 505–537. Kuo, S. H. (2001). Reported speech in Chinese political discourse. Discourse Studies 3 (2), 181– 202. Lee, C. D. (1992). Kwukepalhwauy tamhwasang kinungkwa kancepinyongmwun (On the Korean indirect reported speech). Theyksuthuenehak (Textlinguistics) 1, 225–267. Lee, C. D. (1999). Hyentay kwukeinyongcheykyey yenkwu (Study of modern Korean quotations). Theyksuthuenehak (Textlinguistics) 6, 255–299. Lee, I. S. & Yim, H. P. (1983). Kwuke mwunpeplon (A study of Korean grammar). Seoul: Hakyeonsa. Lee, J. (2009a). Interpreting inexplicit language during courtroom examination. Applied Linguistics 30 (1), 93–114. Lee, J. (2009b). When linguistic and cultural differences are not disclosed in court interpreting. Multilingua 28 (4), 379–402. Lee. P. Y. (1993). Kukeouy inyongkwumwun yenkwu (Study of Korean reported speech Clause). Seoul: Top Publishing. Lee, S. B. (1974). Hankwukeuy inyongmwun yenkwu (Studies of Korean reported speech). Enemwunha (Language Culture) 1,131–154.

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Lee, Y. O. (2002). Translation problems between Korean and English reflecting their structural differences: with respect to the translation of reported speech. Translation Studies 3 (1), 59–81. Lee, Y. O. (2006). Hankwukewa yengekan palhwahayngwi phyohyenpangsikuy chai (Differences between Speech Act in Korean and English). Tamhwawainci (Discourse and Cognition) 13 (3), 91–111. Li, C. N. (1986). Direct speech and indirect speech: A functional study. In F. Coulmas (Ed.), Direct and indirect speech. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 29–45. Mathis, T. & Yule, G. (1994). Zero quotatives. Discourse Processes 18 (1), 63–76. Matoesian, G. (1993). Reproducing rape: Domination through talk in the courtroom. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Matoesian, G. (2000). Intertextuality authority in reported speech: Production media in the Kennedy Smith rape trial. Journal of Pragmatics 32, 879–914. Matoesian, G. (2005). Nailing down and answer: Participations of power in trial talk. Discourse Studies 7 (6), 733–759. Maynard, S. K. (1986). The particle -o and content-oriented indirect speech in Japanese written discourse. In F. Coulmas (Ed.), Direct and indirect speech. Berlin/New York/Amsterdam: Mouton de Gruyter, 179–200. Mayes, P. (1990). Quotation in spoken English. Studies in Languages 14 (2), 325–363. Nam, K. S. (1971). Inyongmwunuy kwucowa sengkek (The Structure and Nature of Quotation). Tongpanghakci (Eastern Studies) 12, 223–233. Newton, N. (n.d.). Affidavits and witness statements. http://www.13wentworthselbournechamb ers.com.au (accessed 12 March 2009). Perrin, L.T., Caldwell, H. M. & Chase, C. (2003). The art and science of trial advocacy. Cincinnati, OH: Anderson. Philips, S. U. (1986). Reported speech as evidence in an American trial. In D. Tannen & J. E. Alatis (Eds.), Language and linguistics: The interdependence of theory, data, and application. Georgetown University Round Table on Language and linguistics 1985. Washington, DC.: Georgetown University Press, 154–170. Philips, S. (1998). Language in the ideology of judges. New York: Oxford University Press. Polany, L. (1985). Telling the American story: A Structural and cultural analysis of conversational storytelling. Norwood: Ablex. Schiffrin, D. (2002). Mother and friends in a holocaust life story. Language in Society 31, 309–353. Swan, M. (2005). Practical English usage (3rd edition). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Tannen, D. (1986). Introducing constructed dialogue in Greek and American conversational and literary narrative. In F. Coulmas (Ed.), Direct and indirect speech. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 311–32. Tannen, D. (1989). Talking voices: Repetition, dialogue, and imagery in conversational discourse. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Voloshinov, V. N. (1926/1978). Reported speech. In L. Matejka & K. Pomorska (Eds.), Readings in Russian poetics. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 149–175. Waight, P. K. & Williams, C. R. (2006). Evidence: Commentary and materials (7th edition). Sydney: Lawbook Co. Wierzbicka, A. (1974). The semantics of direct and indirect discourse. Papers in Linguistics 7, 267–307.



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Appendix: Transcription conventions [ ] overlapping talk = latching utterances .hh: speaker in-breath : elongated vowel sounds. The more, the slower the enunciation is (e.g. :::). CAPITALS emphasis , continuing intonation . a stopping fall in tone. It does not necessarily indicate the end of a sentence. ? rising intonation ( ) the number in brackets indicates a time gap in seconds. (.) a pause of less than two tenths of a second ° ° soft voice (word) words in parenthesis indicates the part of the utterance was not explicitly expressed in the original utterance.

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The cooperative courtroom A case study of interpreting gone wrong Bodil Martinsen and Friedel Dubslaff Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus

This paper presents a case study of an interpreting event in a Danish courtroom setting. The study investigates the interpreter’s influence on the interaction as well as factors influencing the behaviour of all the participants involved. The study also investigates what happens when the interpreter’s performance is perceived by participants as inadequate in order to achieve the communicative goal of the event. The model of translation culture, in which cooperativeness, loyalty and transparency are key concepts, is used as an explanatory tool. Although the interaction under study, like all courtroom interaction, is determined by the inherent institutional power differential, it is appropriate to describe it in terms of cooperativeness. The conflict regarding the interpreter’s non-normative behaviour is negotiated and settled by way of consensus, and the trial is carried through with the same interpreter despite doubt about her competence. The paper concludes by discussing the effect of special contextual conditions, as well as ethical implications.

1. Introduction In research on court interpreting, various scholars have dealt with interpreters’ non-compliance with translational norms, especially in order to demonstrate the tension between the prescriptions of official guidelines on the one hand and interpreters’ behaviour in practice and/or their self-perception as more or less visible interactants on the other (e.g. Angelelli 2004; Berk-Seligson 2002; Jacobsen 2002; Jansen 1995; Mikkelson 1998, 2008; Morris 1993). Deviations from the norms, such as additions, omissions or register variations (e.g. Hale 1997, 2004; Jacobsen 2002), usually pass unnoticed by the primary participants involved because they cannot monitor the interpreters’ renderings of their own or other participants’ input. Other deviations which can be observed directly, also by monolingual participants, e.g. interpreters’ adoption of indirect speech or their engaging in short dialogues in the foreign language, seem to be tolerated by judges (cf. Jacobsen 2002 in the

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context of Danish district courts). In short, such deviations are commonplace and are not normally the subject of criticism. (For the relevant norms in Danish court interpreting, see Section 3 below.) By contrast, in the present study the interpreter’s non-normative behaviour gives rise to explicit disapproval during the trial. This casts doubt on her translation competence and results in a negative sanction, namely a comment about the incident in the court record. To our knowledge, non-normative behaviour resulting in negative sanctions has not yet been the subject of empirical research based on authentic data collected in a courtroom setting. Obviously, such data is not easily obtained. As mentioned above, one reason for this is that the primary participants are not usually able to perceive non-normative behaviour. As Salaets and Van Gucht (2008: 283) put it, “the other parties in the triad are dependent on the interpreter for translation purposes, hence they will probably only be aware of the most blatant misconduct.” Blatant misconduct, however, is not the rule. According to Toury, “non-normative behaviour tends to be the exception in actual practice” (Toury 1978/2000: 206), because, “under normal conditions, a translator would tend to avoid negative sanctions on ‘improper’ behaviour as much as obtain the rewards which go with a proper one” (Toury 1999: 19). Yet another reason for the lack of empirical research on this topic is that recordings are very often not allowed in courtroom settings. Hence there is not normally “any material basis on which to evaluate incompetent interpretation” (Morris 1993: 19). Jacobsen (2002: 51) states that within the Danish legal system, “utterances in a foreign language are not considered evidence and are therefore not entered into the court records in their original form. Incidentally, the records are not verbatim either. As a result, an interpreter’s performance is not documented (…).” Hence, as Toury (1999: 19) states, “it would make an interesting project to study the (…) sanctions that may be associated with translational behaviour and their (possible and actual) effects on instances of performance within defined socio-cultural settings.”

2. Aim of the study and theoretical framework The issue of explicit disapproval of the interpreter’s performance is central in the present study. However, our main interest is not to register all kinds of non-normative behaviour on the part of the interpreter and in this way focus almost exclusively on the interpreter’s behaviour. Rather, the aim is to investigate the influence the interpreter exerts on the interaction between all the participants involved in



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the interpreting event. More specifically, the study aims to identify factors influencing the participants’ behaviour and, if possible, identify regularities of behaviour. Our point of departure is the basic assumption that the interpreter wishes to obtain the rewards which go with “proper”, norm-conforming behaviour.

The courtroom setting The criminal case under study was conducted by a Danish district court sitting with a professional presiding judge and two lay judges. The other legal participants were the prosecutor and the defence counsel. In this kind of setting, Jacobsen (2002, 2008) discerns a clear power differential between the legal professionals, on the one hand, and the non-legal participants, i.e. defendants and witnesses, on the other. The existence of a power differential in courtroom settings is noncontroversial (e.g. Hale 2004; Mikkelson 2008). “Much has been written about the courtroom as the site of ultimate institutionalised hierarchy of power”, as Hale (2004: 160) states. However, Hale found that even “though the powerful participants have legitimised institutional power to control the discourse of the powerless participants (…), such power is not exercised consistently or continuously” (Hale 2004: 159). As to the setting in our case study, we will argue that institutional power is exercised in a cooperative way more or less throughout the trial. This has to do with the fact that the Danish legal system “is not an aggressive system” (Jacobsen 2002: 38). According to Jacobsen (2008: 129), “The Danish courtroom is less adversarial than many other courtrooms around the world.” Among other things, this is due to the accusatorial principle of “favor defensionis”, granting defendants in criminal trials certain rights and privileges. Thus, “defendants are not obliged to answer questions and cannot be punished for giving false evidence”. Furthermore, lawyers must only ask questions “that will elicit clear and truthful responses” (Jacobsen 2008: 129). Another fundamental principle is that of “in dubio pro reo”, which means that “a case must be proven beyond reasonable doubt” and also that “the prosecution must protect the interests of the accused” (Jacobsen 2002: 39). Interpreting events within this non-aggressive courtroom setting can be adequately described by applying a model of a translation culture which is based on democratic principles in accordance with the value systems of Western democratic societies. Therefore, we have chosen the model of translation culture proposed by Prunč (1997, 2000) as the framework to account for the interpreting event under study. As Prunč uses the terms translation, translational action etc. generically, i.e. including interpreting, it goes without saying that we shall adapt the terminology to the context of this study when appropriate. (For the use of Prunč’s model in the context of asylum hearings, see Pöllabauer 2006.)

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Translation culture Prunč (2000: 59) defines translation culture as “the historically developed subsystem of a culture relating to the field of translation” (our translation here and throughout unless indicated otherwise). It consists of “a socially established and variable set of norms, conventions, expectations and values underlying the behaviour of all the interactants who participate, actually or potentially, in translation processes conducted within this culture” (Prunč 2000: 59). Translation culture is, of course, in line with the other value systems present in a specific society. Thus, in a democratic Western society, a model of translation culture has to be derived from democratic principles (Prunč 2000: 60). One of these democratic principles is the maxim of cooperativeness. On the most basic level, cooperativeness implies the functional division of labour (Prunč 2000: 60). This means that the translator’s role in the translational interaction is that of linguistic and cultural expert. However, first and foremost, cooperativeness means “mutual respect for the legitimate interests of all participants in the production and reception of the translation” (Prunč 2000: 60) and “the willingness to negotiate viable conflict-settling conventions to ensure the balancing of competing interests” (Prunč, cited in Pöllabauer 2006: 153). The asymmetry of power between participants is explicitly included in the model. The second principle of the model is loyalty — an ethical maxim for translational interaction which can be derived from the principle of cooperativeness (Prunč 1997: 111). “Loyalty is constituted by the interactants’ mutual commitment not to act against the other partners’ interests and to resolve conflicting communicative goals by way of consensus” (Prunč 2000: 61). Unlike Nord (e.g. 1997/2001, 2004), who introduced the notion of the translator’s loyalty to initiators, target receivers and original authors, Prunč not only includes the translator’s loyalty to him/herself, but also redefines the concept as a reciprocal principle by including the other participants’ loyalty to the translator. Without this reciprocity, the integration of power asymmetry in a democratic model of translation culture would not make sense (Prunč 2000: 61). The third principle of the model, transparency, “is the psychological barrier against the partners’ fear of deception” (Prunč 2000: 61). As to the translation product, it is usually in line with the other participants’ expectations (cf. Chesterman’s (1997) expectancy norms). According to Prunč, “translators have to establish the relation between source and target texts which is expected by the other partners in a given translational situation” (Prunč 2000: 61). Prunč terms this relation “implicit skopos” (i.e. purpose) because it is standardised and does not require explicit negotiations (Prunč 1997: 116–117). Translators who establish this skopos relation carry out their loyalty obligation. However, “if any of



The cooperative courtroom

the participants (…) regards the implicit skopos as inadequate in order to achieve the communicative goal of the interaction, it follows from the principle of loyalty that deviations are negotiated by the partners involved” (Prunč 2000: 62). The result of the negotiation is of course dependent on the power hierarchy between the interactants, but whatever the result, “the principle of transparency requires that deviations from the expected skopos relation be declared” (Prunč 2000: 62), so all partners are free to decide whether or not they want to accept the deviations. In such cases, Prunč (ibid.) talks about an “explicit skopos”. The notion of translation culture as a “subsystem of a culture” has been criticised by Pym (2006: 23) for being unclear with regard to the definition of its scope. However, Prunč (2000) takes a pragmatic view of this issue: “The frame within which translational action is carried out in practice does not necessarily comprise the entire social and cultural context (…). A translation convention can also be established ad hoc (…) by the partners involved. This kind of convention merely implies that its validity is restricted to these partners only” (Prunč 2000: 14). In our data analysis, the focus is on the interactional micro-level dimension. In our opinion, this frame is adequate in order to describe the interaction under study, which, incidentally, comprises a conflict-settling convention established ad hoc with clearly delineated validity.

3. Methodology The study is based on only one event and one interpreter, which mandated a qualitative approach. While it does not claim to provide a picture of “interpreting practice”, it does attempt to shed light on something that occurs in practice on a not particularly infrequent basis. The data used for this study was collected as part of a larger research project. The long-term aim of the larger project is to investigate the role of the interpreter in a broad perspective, encompassing interpreters, institutional participants and non-Danish-speaking participants by way of triangulation, i.e. field observation, discourse analysis of transcribed audio-recordings, and a survey approach by means of case-based questionnaires (see Christensen 2008). The questionnaires were designed to find out what institutional and individual participants and interpreters, respectively, regard as good interpreting. To this end, the questions were elaborated drawing on the Guidelines for interpreting in Danish court proceedings, published by the Danish Court Administration (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003), which describe the performance requirements of court interpreters and “a code of ethics which includes regulations on accuracy/completeness, conflicts of interest, confidentiality and impartiality, and recommendations regarding work-

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ing conditions, forms of address and other issues” (Christensen 2008: 101). As Christensen argues, the Guidelines state what is “explicitly mandatory in Danish interpreter-mediated courtroom proceedings, and, therefore, (…) they represent (…) translational expectancy norms governing court interpreting” (Christensen 2008: 101). By allowing for triangulation, the multi-method approach adopted for the overall project can, at least to a certain degree, make up for the limitations of the present single-case study. One of the authors was a participant observer at the event under study, and made the recordings after having obtained the permission of the interpreter and all three legal professionals. She also distributed the questionnaires. These were filled in by all the institutional participants immediately after the trial, and by the interpreter a few days later. It was not possible, however, to obtain the foreign-language-speaking participants’ responses. It has been pointed out that the unavoidable subjectivity of the researcher when transcribing and analysing data may result in methodological pitfalls (e.g. Mason 2006). Therefore, when applying the model of translation culture as an explanatory tool, we shall strive to avoid these pitfalls by adopting an approach similar to the one suggested by Mason, i.e. investigating “real-time responses of the participants themselves to each other’s moves rather than (…) analysts’ imagined reconstruction of context, intentionality and acceptability” (Mason 2006: 103).

The trial The length of the proceedings was 90 minutes. The languages involved were Danish and French. In the questionnaires, all three legal professionals involved indicated that they “understand some French, but do not speak the language”. Thus, they may have been able, to a certain extent, to monitor the interpreter-mediated parts of the proceedings. However, as will emerge from the data analysis, this assumption was not justified, at least not as far as the judge is concerned. All three institutional participants have ample experience of interpreter-mediated hearings. The interpreter was a female state-authorised translator and interpreter with several years of experience. She has assignments as a court interpreter on a fairly regular basis. She was hired for the task in question on the basis of the official list of interpreters which is kept by the National Commission of the Danish Police and used by the police as well as the courts (see Schweda Nicholson & Martinsen 1997). State-authorised translators and interpreters have to be graduates from the two business schools in Denmark. They have taken a Master’s degree in translation and interpreting in one foreign language and, usually, also a Bachelor’s degree in another foreign language. The BA degree programme does not include interpreting



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courses, though. In the context of the present study, it has to be mentioned that the interpreter obtained the title of state-authorised translator and interpreter in a language other than French. As will appear from the analysis, she is a Bachelor of French, which means among other things that her training did not include Danish-French or French-Danish interpreting. The official list of interpreters does not distinguish between Masters and Bachelors. The interpreters’ level of education is registered under the common heading “translators and interpreters and other graduates”. Thus, users of the official list do not know whether the interpreter to be hired for a particular job has an MA degree or a BA degree — and the level of remuneration is the same, too. Finally, it is worth noting that court interpreters in Denmark are not employed on a permanent basis by the courts, but are always hired on a freelance basis to ensure impartiality. The defendant was a French-speaking UN Convention refugee from an African country. He is fluent in French, but French is not his mother tongue. At the time of the trial, he had been living in Denmark for a few years and had acquired some knowledge of Danish. Recently, his three teenage daughters had come to Denmark to live with their father, who had been granted family reunification. The eldest daughter, who does not know any Danish, was the injured party in the case and appeared as one of two witnesses. The defendant was charged with two counts: (1) having hit his eldest daughter twice in the face; and (2) in a phone conversation with the other witness, a Danish community interpreter of French, having made statements which were perceived by this witness as threats to kill his daughter. The Danish witness who had been appointed by the municipality as an interpreter to assist the French-speaking daughters was the person who had reported the defendant to the police. The defendant had already pleaded guilty to the violence charge, and not guilty to the threat charge.

4. Analysis The criteria for the choice of excerpts from the transcript were as follows: (1) only instances of participants’ responses to each others’ moves were included (cf. Section 3 above); and (2) the focus was on different participant constellations (cf. Section 2 above) so that the mutuality implied by the concepts of cooperativeness and loyalty was rendered visible. The excerpts will be presented according to the chronological order of the proceedings, i.e. examples from the questioning of the defendant first, followed by examples from the questioning of the French-speaking witness.

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Questioning of the defendant As will appear from the analysis, one of the special circumstances characterising the interaction is that the defendant understood some Danish. In the introductory phase when the judge announced the case, the defence counsel informed the judge about the defendant’s language skills. Based on two pre-trial meetings with his client, the counsel stated that “we can communicate excellently in Danish” and the interpreter had only been requested “for all eventualities in connection with the second count”. As to answering the court’s questions though, the defendant stated that he “would like to respond in French”. The defence counsel’s move enhanced the defendant’s public self-image or face (Brown & Levinson 1987: 61). (For the concept of face in a study on Danish court interpreting, see Jacobsen 2008). It also revealed that the defendant’s language abilities might enable him, at least to some degree, to follow the legal professionals’ questions and the interpreter’s renderings. Thus, the interpreted event was to a certain degree transparent for the defendant. It must be assumed that the interpreter was the only person for whom all mediated parts of the trial were totally transparent. However, the fact that the defendant had some Danish skills made the interpreter’s job somewhat less transparent. It seems to imply a deviation from the implicit skopos of the interpreting event, namely that the interpreter relays everything said and hence takes every second turn. The question of how much Danish the defendant could be assumed to understand appeared to be a source of uncertainty for the interpreter — which in turn sometimes resulted in irritation on the part of the defendant. Excerpt 1 below illustrates cooperativeness on the part of the defence counsel (DC) and the judge (J), demonstrating respect for the defendant’s (D) interests. The prosecutor (P) posed her second question to the defendant, who responded directly without waiting for the interpreter (I). (For a list of abbreviations and transcription conventions, see the Appendix.) Excerpt 1 1 P: Kom du alene til Danmark? Did you come to Denmark alone? 2 D: Je suis je suis arrivé seul? I arrived I arrived alone? 3 I: Ja, jeg kom Yes, I came 4 D: Non non je suis pas arrivé seul mais par le biais des Nations Unies, c’est le Haut Commissariat des Réfugiés c’est (.) qui m’a emmené au Danemark (..) par le Haut Commissariat FN. No no I did not arrive alone but via the United Nations, it’s the United Nations High Commissariat of Refugees it’s (.) who brought me to



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Denmark (..) via the UN High Commissariat. 5 I: FN? okay (..) ja ø:h (..) tiltalte hævder at vedkommende ikke er kommet til Danmark alene men er kommet hertil via FN. UN? okay (..) yes e:r (..) the defendant claims that the person concerned didn’t come to Denmark alone but came here via the UN. 6 P: Ja. Yes. 7 DC: Ja, kvoteordningen. Yes, the quota system. 8 J: Ja, som som flygtning, som FN-flygtning. Yes, as as a refugee, as a UN refugee. 9 I: Som FN-flygtning. As a UN refugee.

The defendant is not quite sure about the meaning of the prosecutor’s question. So in turn 2 (henceforth T2 etc.) he reiterates her question in French, which implies that he has understood the words. However, his questioning intonation is not conveyed by the interpreter. She starts her rendering in an affirmative manner: Ja, jeg kom- (Yes, I came-) and is immediately interrupted by the defendant’s protest. He has come to the conclusion that the prosecutor’s alene (alone) in this context means by himself or on his own initiative. As a Convention refugee, he probably wants to dissociate himself from asylum seekers who usually arrive in EU countries on their own initiative. In comparison with the low status of asylum seekers in Danish society, Convention refugees enjoy certain rights and higher status because they come to Denmark by agreement as part of the UN resettlement programme. The defendant’s emphatic repetitions of non (no) and of le Haut Commissariat (the High Commissariat) in T4 presumably reflect the importance he attaches to this circumstance. The mention of his status in society — like the mention of his language skills — serves to enhance his positive face. The exchange between all the participants in excerpt 1 is an example of manyfacetted cooperativeness. As to the functional division of labour, the exchange provides an atypical example of the interpreter’s role, i.e. according to the model of translation culture, the role of linguistic and cultural expert. Both defence counsel and the judge supply the information which the interpreter did not convey: Ja, kvoteordningen (Yes, the quota system) and Ja, som (…) FN-flygtning (Yes, as (…) a UN refugee) in T7 and T8 respectively. Counsel thus shows loyalty to the defendant. The judge’s contribution is likely to be perceived as cooperative by all other participants. At the same time, it probably also functions as a cue to the court secretary, who is typing the record. The interpreter’s final utterance (T9): Som FN flygtning (As a UN refugee) has no obvious purpose, as it is merely an echo of the piece of information supplied by

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the judge. It may be seen as the interpreter’s acknowledgement of the fact that this piece of information had been missing in her rendition, and may reflect her wish to comply with the norm of accuracy and completeness. Norm-compliance would in turn indicate loyalty to the court. However, the interpreter does not comply with the first-person norm stipulated in the Guidelines (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003: 3). She does use the first person in her first turn (T3) in excerpt 1; but in her second turn (T5) she uses third-person style, which she adopts more or less consistently throughout the trial. According to her answers in the questionnaire, she knows the Guidelines, but prefers indirect style all the same. She may enjoy the central role of intermediary in the interaction which is associated with the use of the third person. In addition, her speech style in T5 is markedly formal (her use of vedkommende (the person concerned) instead of han (he), and her filtering the defendant’s utterance by using hævder (claims) instead of siger (says)). This behaviour is in line with interpreters’ tendency to “raise the level of formality” when interpreting into the language of the court (e.g. Pöchhacker 2004: 146, Hale 2006: 219). Presumably, it reflects the interpreter’s wish to appear as a competent professional — but it is not in accordance with the principle of loyalty. Excerpt 2 below is the continuation of excerpt 1 (indicated by the continued numbering of the turns). It illustrates cooperativeness once again, this time on the part of the prosecutor as well, which emerges from her next question to the defendant (T10). Excerpt 2 10 P: Ja (..) og så har jeg forstået at du er blevet familiesammenført med dine tre døtre her i år. Er det korrekt? Yes (..) and then I understand that you have been reunited with your three daughters now this year. Is that correct? 11 D: Ou:i. Ye:s. 12 I: Tu comprends tout? You understand everything? 13 D: Oui oui oui, j’entends j’entends j’ai pas (besoin de?) (xxx)# Yes yes yes, I understand I understand I don’t (need?) (xxx)# 14 I: Ja, det er korrekt at tiltalte Yes, it’s correct that the defendant 15 J: familiesammenført reunited 16 I: familiesammenføres med med dem. is reunited with with them. 17 D: (xxx)



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18 J: i år. this year.

The prosecutor sums up by Ja (Yes), and links her next question to the prior discourse by using the discourse markers og så (and then) (see Jacobsen 2008 on, among other things, the pragmatics of discourse markers in a Danish courtroom setting). Her line of questioning indicates that she, presumably, had expected the defendant to answer her prior question (T1) in the affirmative, i.e. that he arrived alone in the sense of without his children or family. However, she does not dismiss his answer (not alone, but via UNHCR) as irrelevant, but reformulates her question in a more precise and, at the same time, cooperative manner. She indicates continuity with the prior context by using og så (and then), and signals that the new topic she is introducing is derived from her own understanding of prior information from the police report: og så har jeg forstået at (…) med dine tre døtre her i år (and then I understand that (…) with your three daughters now this year). She now asks the defendant to confirm this data: Er det korrekt? (Is that correct?). He does so, once again, by responding directly without waiting for the interpreter. As the skopos of the interpreter’s task concerning the turn-taking pattern is unclear, she asks the defendant — for the third time now — Tu comprends tout? (You understand everything?). His irritation in T13 may seem inappropriate and uncooperative considering that his monosyllabic answer to the prosecutor’s question (T11) does not show which fact or facts he actually confirms. However, it has to be mentioned that, a few seconds earlier, the interpreter had tried his patience when relaying his answer to the prosecutor’s first question about the length of time he had lived in Denmark. The interpreter did not take notes and asked for repetitions three times, so it took her 26 seconds to produce the complete answer in Danish. Contrary to the interpreter’s performance as a translator, her performance as a coordinator (Wadensjö 1998) and communicator may be observed by the primary participants, at least to a certain degree. Thus, they may have perceived her performance as less professional and, if so, they may have been aware of her need for their cooperativeness already at this early stage of the proceedings. In any case, the judge demonstrates cooperativeness again by supplying a suggestion for the interpreter’s rendition, familiesammenført (reunited), and the missing part i år (this year) in T15 and T18 respectively. As in excerpt 1, her contributions simultaneously serve institutional purposes in that they provide cues for a complete answer to the prosecutor’s question for the court record. In excerpt 3 below, it is the defendant who demonstrates cooperativeness and loyalty to the institutional participants. In the context prior to his explanation below, the defendant has confirmed that he hit his daughter as charged because she kept teasing and frightening her

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younger sisters when he was at work in a nearby town. So he wanted to confront her with this misconduct and make her take responsibility for the youngest members of the family. In excerpt 3, he explains that he ordered her to leave her own room upstairs and to come downstairs with him into the basement so the younger sisters would not be witnesses to the argument. He has already stated that he regrets having hit his daughter when she refused to obey. Excerpt 3 1 D: Et puis je l’ai appellée (..) comme dans notre culture (..) j’ai pas encore la culture danoise (..) dans notre culture on ne peut pas parler à l’enfant qui a plus d’ans devant les autres qui sont plus jeunes. And then I called for her (..) because in our culture (..) I do not yet have the Danish culture (..) in our culture you can’t talk to a child who is older in front of the others who are younger. 2 I: Ja, det forholder sig sådan at det her, det er jo så en anden kultur øh men tiltalte siger at at han ikke rigtig ville tale til den ældste i familien, altså det vil sige (NAVN), mens de to små hørte på. Yes, the fact is that this here, this is of course a different culture er but the defendant says that that he didn’t really want to talk to the eldest in the family, I mean that is to say (NAME), while the two young ones listened.

In his parenthetical j’ai pas encore la culture danoise (I do not yet have the Danish culture), the defendant refers explicitly to a cultural disparity of which he was probably unaware when he committed the offence. His use of pas encore (not yet) seems to indicate that he is willing to acquire Danish cultural values, the case in point being a democratic non-violent way of solving domestic conflicts. This interpretation is in line with the fact that he has repeatedly expressed his regret having used violence. Thus his utterance may be said to imply loyalty to the legal representatives of the Danish host country present in the courtroom. At the same time, this utterance serves his own interest in the outcome of the trial. The issue of cultural disparity has most likely been discussed in the pre-trial meetings with his defence counsel, so the defendant knows that collaborative behaviour will enhance his positive face and possibly affect the judgement in a favourable way. However, the interpreter misses the point by omitting the defendant’s parenthetical remark. Thus, she does not establish the skopos relation which the author of the original utterance would expect, i.e. she does not live up to her loyalty obligation. In excerpt 4 below, all the primary participants — apart from the counsel — cooperate in order to ensure that the interpreter can provide correct renditions. The questions concern the defendant’s alleged threat to kill his daughter, made in a telephone conversation with the Danish witness. The defendant pleads not guilty to the threat charge, so it is important for the prosecutor to establish whether or



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not he can confirm the relevant statements from the police report which she is going to read aloud. The judge asks the prosecutor to deliver the text in small segments. She is a legal professional who is used to working with interpreters, so it can be assumed that she knew that reading written documents aloud at high speed is likely to be a problem for interpreters, unless they have been given a copy beforehand. Excerpt 4 1 J: (til anklageren) og hvis du sådan vil tage det sætning for sætning? (to the prosecutor) and if you would read it aloud sentence by sentence ? 2 P: og der står (..) det er faktisk kun en lang sætning (..) > … and it says (..) it is in fact only one long sentence ( ..) > … 3 I: (4 sec.) Oui, tu as racontre que c’est correct que ce jour là tu as eu e:h contact téléphonique avec (NOM). (4 sec.)Yes, you have tell that it is correct that you on that day have had e:r telephone contact with (NAME). 4 P: < og det var også korrekt at han var meget ophidset da han snakkede med hende. > < and it was also correct that he was very angry when he talked with her. > 5 I: et c’est aussi correct que tu as été très eh eh … and it’s also correct that you were very er er… 6 D: J’étais très quoi (.) énervé? I was very what (.) irritated? 7 I: Ja … Yes … 8 D: fâché, oui. angry, yes. 9 I: un peu fâché oui (.) énervé (.) eh quand tu as parlé avec elle. a little angry yes (.) irritated.(.) er when you talked with her.

The prosecutor splits the long sentence into two parts and presents the first one (T2) extremely slowly and with an extremely distinct articulation. Apart from a long pause at the beginning of the interpreter’s rendition (T3), there is nothing to indicate that she might have had translation problems. Her non-standard use of French grammar — which the authors have tried to translate into ungrammatical English here and elsewhere — does not affect the intelligibility of this particular turn, and probably cannot be monitored by the legal professionals anyway. So in

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T4, the prosecutor delivers the second part of the statement in a slightly more natural manner. However, the interpreter gets stuck and now the defendant offers linguistic support. This is yet another instance of cooperation implying an atypical division of labour. The rest of excerpt 4 is a dialogue in French about the equivalent that would best match the Danish meget ophidset (very angry). In T6 the defendant, having understood the prosecutor’s second turn in Danish, recycles — in French — part of the prosecutor’s question: J’étais très quoi (I was very what) and suggests the term énervé? (irritated?) which he rejects immediately, however, and replaces by the more powerful fâché, oui (angry, yes) in T8. The interpreter finishes the dialogue in an evaluating manner including both terms suggested by the defendant, but with her own “improvement” of the last one: un peu fâché oui (a little angry yes), a mitigation which runs counter to the context. Although the interpreter saves face in this way, she may have perceived the defendant’s assistance not as cooperative, but as challenging her linguistic competence. Although his recycled question is not spoken in an ironic or sarcastic tone (there is no indication of this in the audio-recording), the interpreter may have perceived it that way. This might explain why she does not simply accept the term fâché (angry), which the defendant regards as the best match, but modifies it slightly. However, it is very likely that the interpreter really believes that her mitigated version is the best choice, considering that, in the data, there are several occurrences of the same mitigation phenomenon in her renditions of central utterances (excerpts 6 and 7). If the defendant is in fact challenging the interpreter’s linguistic competence he does so only after almost 30 minutes of interpreted proceedings containing ample evidence of less than proficient interpreting into French. In this subsection, we have presented various kinds of cooperative behaviour by all the primary participants in the interpreting event. A common feature is that they demonstrate respect for the other participants’ interests, while pursuing their own institutional and (as far as the defendant is concerned) individual interests at the same time. Concerning the interpreter, the mutuality of cooperativeness seems to be lopsided. The interpreter is the interactant who is shown most consideration by the other participants, whereas there may be some doubt about her loyalty to the other participants. As to the transparency of the proceedings, the defendant is, of course, at a disadvantage, but owing to his Danish skills and the pre-trial talks with his defence counsel, this is the case only to a limited degree. Hence he has no obvious reasons to fear deception. However, he may feel insecure with the interpreter’s performance, which he is able to monitor to some extent.



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Questioning of the witness Unlike the defendant, the non-Danish-speaking witness is not in a position to perceive the interpreter’s linguistic difficulties, so she cannot demonstrate cooperativeness by providing French synonyms or suggesting Danish equivalents. She is the only non-institutional participant who is totally dependent on the interpreter’s renditions. In addition, she has no knowledge of the Danish trial procedure and its socio-cultural context. So for her the proceedings lack transparency. Excerpt 5 below illustrates a lack of transparency for the witness, but to a certain degree also for the judge, owing, at least partly, to erroneous interpreting. The incident occurs at the beginning of the witness’s testimony, when the judge informs her of her right not to testify against her father. Excerpt 5 1 J: Ja (..) og øh du er kommet herind for at svare på nogle spørgsmål. Yes (..) and er you have come here in order to answer some questions. 2 I: Tu es ici pour repondre à des questions? (..) tu es ici pour repondre à des questions? You are here in order to answer questions? (..) you are here in order to answer questions? 3 W: répondre (..) à répondre … answer (..) to answer … 4 I: répondre (.) oui. answer ( .) yes. 5 J: og da det er din far øh det drejer sig om, and as it is your father er who is concerned, 6 I: En ce qui concerne ton père, Regarding your father, 7 J: så behøver du ikke svare på det vi spørger dig om. you need not answer the questions we put to you. 8 I: il n’est pas nécessaire que tu repondre des questions. it is not necessary that you to answer questions. 9 W: Oui. Yes. 10 J: Vil øh vil vil du svare på nogle spørgsmål? Are er are are you willing to answer some questions? 11 I: Tu veux repondre des questions oui ou non? Tu veux You are willing answer questions yes or no? You are willing 12 W: Quel genre de questions? What kind of questions? 13 I: Hvilken slags spørgsmål skal (xxx)? What kind of questions shall (xxx)?

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14 J: Jamen der er (..) du kan øh (..) det foregår på den måde at anklageren som sidder der vil spørge dig om noget. Yes but there is (..) you can e:r (..) what happens is that the prosecutor who is sitting there will ask you about something.

The witness is not sure how to react (T3) when the interpreter relays the judge’s introductory statement as a declarative with a slightly questioning intonation (T2): Tu es ici pour repondre à des questions? (You are here to answer questions?), and, after a pause, repeats the same utterance in exactly the same manner. Next, the interpreter tells the witness that she does not have to answer questions about her father (T6 and T8) — the interpreter has omitted the causal relationship contained in the information given by the judge in T5 and T7. The witness confirms the interpreter’s statement by Oui (Yes). Consequently, she wonders what kind of questions the court might want her to answer, when the judge asks the standard question whether she is willing to make a statement (T10). In addition, the interpreter renders the question as a menace (T11): Tu veux repondre des questions oui ou non? (You are willing answer questions yes or no?), so the witness seems to suspect unexpected and disagreeable questions and responds with the counter-question T12: Quel genre de questions? (What kind of questions?). The unexpected turn of the exchange causes embarrassment on the part of the judge, who obviously could not monitor the interpreting and has to improvise a more or less sensible answer (T14): Jamen (…) spørge dig om noget (Yes but (…) ask you about something). The exchange also illustrates another aspect of less than proficient interpreting into French, apart from wrong grammar (as in T8 and T11), namely incoherent rendition of content. The interpreter’s mistranslation concerns a routine sequence in criminal trials, which seems to indicate insufficient generic knowledge of Danish court proceedings quite independent of the interpreter’s working languages. So the incident questions the interpreter’s loyalty to the other interactants, who must assume that she lives up to default expectations. The remaining excerpts 6–9 below constitute continuous phases of a conflict. Excerpt 6 illustrates the interpreter’s rendition which triggers the conflict and results in extensive meta-talk in the following excerpts, which comprise various participant constellations. Excerpt 7 illustrates the criticism of the interpreter’s performance put forward by the audience; excerpt 8 contains the interpreter’s selfdefence; while excerpt 9 contains her explicit skopos declaration and the ensuing negotiation of the terms on which the proceedings are to continue. In the context of excerpt 6, the prosecutor is trying to elicit the witness’s version of the violent event. The immediate context is the same as in excerpt 3, i.e. the defendant had ordered his daughter to come down to his room, something which she had refused to do twice when he sent one of her younger sisters as a messenger.



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On the third occasion the defendant went up to her room himself, and the prosecutor has asked what he said then. Excerpt 6 1 W: Il a répondu je veux pas t’entendre parler, prends tes choses avant que je m’énerve. He answered I don’t want to listen to your talk, take your things before I lose my temper. 2 I: m’énerve? lose my temper? 3 W: Oui. Yes. 4 I: Okay (..) faren sagde at jeg vil gerne tale om det der går mig på eller det som irriterer mig. Okay (..) the father said that I would like to talk about what bothers me or what irritates me.

The interpreter is in doubt about the expression m’énerve (lose my temper), which she recycles with a questioning intonation (T2). It is not clear whether this question is an indirect request for confirmation or explanation. The witness is unaware of the interpreter’s linguistic problems, so she only answers Oui (Yes). It seems odd that the interpreter does not ask the witness to repeat or explain the entire utterance, as her rendition (T4) shows that she has either not heard or not understood the utterance as a whole. She constructs an arbitrary — though not meaningless — rendition consisting of selected verbs from the original utterance: veux, parler, m’énerve (want, talk, irritate), in different combinations. She may be gambling, but it seems more likely that she is not aware of her comprehension error, because this error is in line with her understanding of corresponding prior utterances by the defendant. The interpreter has consistently mitigated the pragmatic force of utterances in which the defendant stated that he was angry with his eldest daughter and that his younger children were angry with their sister (cf. the context of excerpt 3). In the same vein, the interpreter has mitigated the defendant’s characterisation of his state of mind during his telephone conversation with the Danish witness (excerpt 4). Presumably, the reason for the interpreter’s mitigation of such statements is that she is preoccupied with Danish cultural values, e.g. cooperative conflict settlement among members of a family. She does not take into account that the defendant has explicitly admitted and regretted that he used violence to enforce his daughter’s respect for her father. Consequently, the violence and threat charges appear less justified according to the interpreter’s renditions. In excerpt 7 the prosecutor poses her next question, but the judge interrupts the proceedings because she has observed some kind of trouble among the

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French-speaking audience. The interaction is mainly a dialogue between the judge, on the one hand, and the Danish witness (supported by several anonymous members of the audience), on the other. The audience objects to the interpreter’s last rendition, i.e. T4 in excerpt 6, as being incorrect. Excerpt 7 5 P: Gik du så med ham? Did you go with him then? 6 J: Altså (.) lige et øjeblik. Altså der bliver lavet sådan en masse grimasser nede fra fra det bagerste (.) fra den bagerste række. Hvad hvad dækker de over? Now (.) just a minute. I mean there’s such a lot of grimacing down there from from the last (.) from the last row. What what’s behind this? 7 W-DK: Må vi må vi godt sige noget? May we may we say something? 8 J: Ja. Yes. 9 W-DK: Hun oversætter helt forkert. She translates quite wrong. 10 AUDm: Det er fuldstændig forkert det hun siger. It’s completely wrong what she says. 11 W-DK: Det er slet ikke rigtigt (.) det er misforstået (.) det er misforstået. It’s not at all correct (.) it’s misunderstood (.) it’s misunderstood. 12 J: Er det misforstået? Is it misunderstood? 13 W-DK: Han siger kom med ned inden jeg bliver sur, ikke jeg vil ned og snakke om hvad jeg er sur over. He says come down with me before I get angry, not I want to go down and talk about what makes me angry. 14 I: Okay. Okay. 15 AUD (overlapping voices): (xxx) 16 J: Er det er det (..) nu har vi (.) vi har flere franskkyndige til stede. Hvad (.) øh (..) er det er det rigtigt at tolkningen ikke er korrekt? Is it is it (..) well we have (.) we have several French-speaking persons here. What (.) er (..) is it is it true that the interpretation is not correct? 17 AUDm: Ja det er meget sandt. Yes it’s very true. 18 I: Ø::h … E::r …



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19 J: Nå men nå men (..) så må vi lige have det igen. Faren faren kommer altså (.) altså tredje gang så kommer faren … Well then well then (..) we’ll just have to repeat it then. The father the father comes, that is (.) that is, the third time the father comes …

As the judge is responsible for what is going on in “her” court, she addresses the audience about the reason for the disturbance (T6). The Danish witness, who has joined the audience after having testified, acts as a spokeswoman. She asks politely for permission to speak (T7): Må vi (…) godt sige noget? (May we (…) say something?), although this is exactly what the judge herself has just asked the audience to do. In this way she mitigates the serious face-threatening act she is going to carry out, while at the same time maintaining her own face as a cooperative participant. She then criticises the interpreter’s rendition in T9 as being helt for­kert(quite wrong) and in T11 as slet ikke rigtigt (not at all correct) and misforstået (misunderstood), supported by a male member of the audience who adds T10: fuldstændig forkert (completely wrong). The judge is obviously not aware of any problems with the relaying part of the interpreter’s performance, and therefore asks for confirmation (T12): Er det misforstået? (Is it misunderstood?). The Danish witness illustrates the point (T13) by offering her version of what the defendant had said to his daughter as opposed to the interpreter’s rendition, thus demonstrating the gap between the expected translational relation and the one established by the interpreter: Han siger kom med ned (…), ikke (…) sur over. (He says come down with me (…), not (…) angry.). The interpreter takes note of the criticism (Okay) without any other comments (T14). The judge, however, finds it difficult to accept the criticism of the interpreter’s service. One reason may be loyalty to the interpreter, while another may be a wish to avoid the inconvenience which acceptance of the criticism might mean for the court. In any case, she decides to ask other members of the audience for their opinion (T16), perhaps hoping that some of them might disagree with the criticism (and/or hoping that one of the authors of this study, who was present as a researcher, might answer her question). She has to make a difficult decision in real time, which is reflected by several false starts, repetitions, pauses and voiced hesitations: Er det er det (…) ikke er korrekt? (Is it is it (…) is not correct?). When the criticism is confirmed again by a male member of the audience (T17): Ja det er meget sandt (Yes it’s very true) and the interpreter only produces a voiced hesitation in response (T18), the judge, eventually, resorts to resuming the proceedings and initiates a renewed discussion of the piece of evidence in question (T19): Nå men (…) så kommer faren (Well then (…) the father comes). However, this decision is unsatisfactory. The audience’s and especially the Danish witness’s objection to incorrect interpreting questions the reliability of the

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evidence elicited from the non-Danish-speaking witness — an issue which concerns the fundamentals of any interpreter-mediated trial and therefore cannot be ignored. According to Prunč (2000: 62), the principle of loyalty requires that deviations from the implicit skopos are negotiated by the partners involved, if any of the participants regard the implicit (i.e. the default) skopos as inadequate for achieving the communicative goal of the interaction. In the present context though, it is not the implicit skopos which the audience regards as inadequate, but rather the interpreter’s deviation from it, i.e. the fact that she does not “establish the relation between source and target texts which is expected by the other partners in a given translational situation” (Prunč 2000: 61). It may be discussed whether the Danish witness, the spokeswoman of the audience, is a “partner” in the translational situation. She is not a primary participant in the sense of being the author of original utterances to be interpreted as part of the proceedings; but she has a legitimate interest in the reception of the interpreter’s performance. She may be said to be an initiator of the trial (she reported the defendant to the police), and she is speaking on behalf of the French-speaking witness, who is in fact a primary participant in the interpreting event but is completely excluded from the ongoing meta-talk in Danish. However, most importantly, the Danish witness is a practising interpreter herself and is obviously better equipped with French language skills than the interpreter in charge. Contrary to the judge — and probably the other two legal professionals as well — she is able to monitor the quality of the interpreting and thus, backed up by the audience, takes on the role of a check interpreter. In short, there is very good reason for all the interactants to regard the Danish witness as a partner in the translational situation. However, at the point in time when the judge decides to resume the proceedings, the question of the adequacy or inadequacy of the interpreter’s skopos deviation has not been negotiated by all the partners involved, as required by the principle of loyalty. As long as the interpreter herself has not taken a position on this issue, the decision to continue is unsatisfactory. The interpreter is forced to respond to the challenge, as silence would be perceived as acceptance and would imply face loss. Presumably, she has used the exchange between the judge and the audience to prepare a strategy for her self-defence. This would explain why she was not ready to respond when the judge tried to elicit opinions on the issue from other French-speaking persons. In excerpt 8 below, the interpreter delivers her self-defence. The Danish witness objects to the interpreter’s argument and restates her criticism. This causes the judge to acknowledge the seriousness of the conflict. Excerpt 8 20 I: Må jeg godt svare på det her? May I answer to this?



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21 J: Ja. Yes. 22 I: Jeg vil faktisk utroligt gerne have lov til at oversætte så meget som jeg magter, jeg er jeg er blevet tilkaldt her efter tre års studier og jeg prøver at oversætte så godt som jeg nu overhovedet kan jeg er overhovedet ikke inde i sagen jeg tager det så godt som jeg forstår det. I har sandsynligvis meget mere viden om lige præcis hvad det er det her det angår I should indeed very much like to be allowed to translate as much as I can, I have I have been called for after three years of study and I am trying to translate as well as I possibly can I am not at all familiar with the case I take it as well as I understand it. You have probably much more knowledge of precisely what it is this is all about 23 W-DK: Det handler ikke om viden. Det handler om at vi virkelig skal oversætte nøjagtigt korrekt det hun siger, Knowledge is not the point. The point is that we really have to translate exactly correctly what she says, 24 J: Ja. Yes. 25 W-DK: og det bliver det ikke. and this is not what happens here. 26 J: Det bliver ikke oversat korrekt? It is not translated correctly? 27 W-DK: Nej det gør det altså ikke, No, it really is not, 28 AUDf: Det gør det ikke, overhovedet ikke. It is not, not at all. 29 W-DK: og det har ikke noget med dig personligt at gøre (..) men det skal være fuldstændigt korrekt, and this has nothing to do with you personally (..) but it has to be completely correct, 30 J: Hm. Hm. 31 W-DK: det du siger, det what you are saying, it 32 J: hm hm 33 W-DK: skal det altså. really has to be. 34 J: Ja, ja det er jo et problem hvis ikke hvis ikke det bliver bliver tolket korrekt. Yes, yes it is of course a problem if not if it is it is not interpreted correctly.

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Instead of interpreting the judge’s previous utterance (T19), the interpreter begins with a request to speak: Må jeg godt svare på det her? (May I answer to this?) in order to mitigate her interruption of the judge. She then delivers her self-defence (T22), speaking quickly with almost no pauses between the units of meaning, as if she has rehearsed her speech. This probably reflects the exertion connected with her attempt to maintain face. She does not reject the criticism, but tries instead to create goodwill by stressing her strong personal commitment to the task at hand, e.g. Jeg vil faktisk utroligt gerne have lov til at oversætte så meget som jeg magter (I should indeed very much like to be allowed to translate as much as I can). More importantly, her speech implies that the recipients of her performance cannot expect a full-fledged professional interpreting product. This emerges from the fact that she mentions two arguments which may explain her less than proficient performance, namely, her rather short education, jeg er blevet tilkaldt her efter tre års studier (I have been called for after three years of study) — for more on this issue, see excerpt 9 below — and her restricted knowledge of the case as compared to the audience: I har sandsynligvis meget mere viden om (…) hvad (…) det angår- (You have probably much more knowledge of (…) what this is all about-). However, the latter argument is rejected as irrelevant by the Danish witness (T23): Det handler ikke om viden (Knowledge is not the point). She clearly acts as a check interpreter again by explaining the most basic principle of professional interpreting ethics, the principle of accuracy, to her authorised colleague as well as the judge. When stating what the point is (T23 continued) she uses redressive devices, e.g. first person plural to indicate that she is reacting as a fellow interpreter: Det handler om at vi virkelig skal oversætte nøjagtigt korrekt (The point is that we really have to translate exactly correctly), and an impersonal construction instead of blaming the interpreter directly for not complying with this basic norm (T25): og det bliver det ikke (and this is not what happens here). In the same vein, she adds in T29: og det har ikke noget med dig personligt at gøre (and this has nothing to do with you personally). However, despite this face-work, she emphasises her point even more firmly than before and also uses direct address (T29, 31, 33): men det skal være fuldstændigt korrekt det du siger (but it has to be completely correct what you are saying) — clearly in order to convince the judge, who has just posed the same question for the third time (T26): Det bliver ikke oversat korrekt? (It is not translated correctly?). When this is confirmed once again by the Danish witness (T27), supported this time by a female member of the audience (T28), the judge is left with a dilemma. The judge’s repeated requests for confirmation suggest that she is aware of the fact that she cannot evaluate the interpreter’s performance and, thus, is confronted with a lack of transparency. However, she has to decide immediately how to proceed (one option would be to stop the proceedings and replace the interpreter). In



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her concluding turn, she recognises reluctantly (reflected by some repetitions) that there is doubt about the correctness of the interpreter’s performance, indicated by her use of hvis (if), and that this constitutes a problem (T34): Ja, ja det er jo et problem hvis ikke hvis ikke det bliver bliver tolket korrekt (Yes, yes it is of course a problem if not if it is it is not interpreted correctly). In excerpt 9, the interpreter responds to this statement. The exchange is a negotiation between the interpreter and the judge, concerning the interpreter’s deviation from the implicit skopos. The result is an agreement to continue the proceedings and pay special attention to improved listening and comprehension conditions for the interpreter. Excerpt 9 35 I: Jamen jeg har faktisk lidt svæ- både (.) altså jeg har faktisk lidt lidt svært ved at forstå præcist hvad det er der bliver sagt. Ikke faren, men ø:h datteren. Yes but I have in fact some difficul- both (.) I mean I have in fact some some difficulty understanding precisely what is being said. Not the father, but e:r the daughter. 36 J: Datteren her … The daughter here … 37 I: taler meget lavt og fordi det bliver talt meget … speaks very low and because it is spoken very… 38 J: Ja ja. Så må Yes yes. Then [I?]have to 39 I: og det kan så være som som sagt (..) and this may be as as mentioned (..) 40 J: Ja. Yes. 41 I: det kan være min inkompetence. Jeg har jo selv hævdet at jeg er ikke tolk og translatør i fransk. Jeg er Bachelor i fransk og når man er det så kan man få lov til at tolke men det er logisk man kan ikke forstå (..) altså du har ikke den den fulde (..) it may be due to my incompetence. I myself have stated you know that I am not an interpreter and translator in French. I am a Bachelor in French and when you are that then you may be allowed to interpret but it is logical you cannot understand (..) I mean you do not have the the full (..) 42 J: Nej. No. 43 I: og du kan møde du kan møde en hvilken som helst dialekt. and you can meet you can meet any dialect.

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44 J: Ja. Yes. 45 I: Altså jeg gør mit absolut yderste her. I mean I’m doing my absolute utmost here. 46 J: Ja ja. Jamen det det tvivl- det tvivler vi ikke på. Men jeg har forstået at at du siger at det kan være lidt svært at forstå (NAVN)? Yes yes. Yes but we have no no dou- no doubt about that. But I have understood that that you say that it can be a little difficult to understand (NAME)? 47 I: Ja det kan det, ja det kan det nemlig. Yes it can, yes it can precisely. 48 J: Ja, men men (NAVN) så må jeg (.) vil du prøve at tale højt, Yes, but but (NAME) then I have to (.) will you try to speak loudly, 49 I: og langsomt og tydeligt, and slowly and distinctly, 50 J: Ja, yes, 51 I: og og (.) ja. and and (.) yes. 52 J: Ja vi vi prøver vi prøver igen. Yes we we try we try again.

By starting her first turn with the discourse marker jamen (yes but), the interpreter indicates that she objects to something (Politikens Nudansk Ordbog 2001, a dictionary of contemporary Danish) — i.e. the judge’s statement of the problem in T34 — and that she is going to provide new information to counter it, i.e. that incorrect interpreting is due to her difficulty in understanding the defendant’s daughter (T35): Jamen jeg har faktisk (…) men ø:h datteren (Yes but I have in fact (…) but e:r the daughter). However, this new information is delivered with considerable hesitation. The interpreter abandons the first part of her utterance after the cut-off item svæ- (difficul-), the adverb både (both) and a short pause. Her selfrepair includes the false start (though without the item både (both) which implies that she was going to mention two difficulties, but preferred only to mention one) and is introduced by the filler altså (I mean), indicating “the need to maintain focus” (Jacobsen 2008: 141). The filler faktisk (in fact), which she uses twice, indicates that what the speaker is saying is correct but, at the same time, something different from what some people think (Politikens Nudansk Ordbog 2001). The interpreter thus underlines that she does have difficulties understanding the nonDanish-speaking participant, which is not what people expect from a professional interpreter. This also implies that there is a good reason for these difficulties. The judge signals interest in the new information, indicated by her repetition (T36):



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Datteren her … (The daughter here …). The interpreter cooperates by providing the missing part of the judge’s unfinished utterance, i.e. she provides the good reason for her difficulties (T37): taler meget lavt (…) (speaks very low (…)). This is a convincing argument because a speaker’s low voice is an external, non-discriminating factor which can impede even the most competent interpreter’s comprehension. This may explain why the judge seems immediately ready to draw a conclusion from the interpreter’s statement (T38): Ja ja. Så må- (Yes yes. Then [I?] have to-). According to Politikens Nudansk Ordbog (2001), the adverb så (then) marks that a condition has been fulfilled (in this case that the interpreter’s comprehension is impeded by the witness’s low voice), and the speaker’s discourse focuses on the consequence of this condition. However, we do not know what consequence the judge had in mind, because she relinquishes her turn to the interpreter, who wants to return to the issue of her education. It is worth noting, however, that the judge repeats almost the same wording based on the same condition (…) så må jeg (…) ((…) then I have to (…)) later in the exchange (see her utterance T48 and the comments below). Understanding the witness’s low-voice utterances is, however, not the main problem. If it was, one would expect the interpreter to have mentioned it as the first weighty argument in her self-defence. More importantly, one would expect her to have followed the Guidelines by addressing the problem and finding a solution at an early stage of the questioning of the witness (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003: 3). Besides, the audience heard what the witness said. The interpreter seems to be aware of the fact that her difficulty is related to a more fundamental problem. In any case, she decides to provide an explicit explanation of why she does not live up to the implicit skopos — in other words, she provides a skopos declaration. She links her difficulty in understanding the witness with her incompetence in French, though not without a certain reservation (T39 and T41): og det kan så være (…) det kan være min inkompetence (and this may be (…) it may be due to my incompetence). According to the interpreter, this incompetence follows from her relatively low level of education: Jeg (…) er ikke tolk og translator i fransk. Jeg er Bachelor i fransk (…) (I (…) am not an interpreter and translator in French. I am a Bachelor in French (…)). As mentioned previously, the title state-authorised translator and interpreter can only be obtained by graduates from one of the two Danish business schools who have completed a Master’s programme in translation and interpreting in one foreign language. Being a state-authorised translator and interpreter herself (although in a language other than French) the interpreter knows that court interpreters of major European languages in Denmark usually have this qualification, in accordance with the Danish norms in the field, i.e. Section 149(1) of the Danish Administration of Justice Act (Retsplejeloven 2006), stipulating that the courts shall be assisted by authorised interpreters whenever possible. Presumably in order to

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forestall the suspicion that she was lying about her qualifications, she points out that she herself has drawn attention to the fact that she only holds a BA degree in French (see her hint to three years of study in her initial speech T22 in excerpt 8 above): Jeg har jo selv hævdet at jeg er ikke tolk og translator i fransk (…) (I myself have stated you know that I am not an interpreter and translator in French (…)). It has to be remembered that language graduates with a BA degree from the Danish business schools have not received any interpreter training. Interpreting courses are not offered until the fourth year of study, i.e. as part of the Master’s programme in translation and interpreting. In T41 the interpreter continues her skopos declaration with an account of the limited proficiency a Bachelor in French possesses as compared to a Master in French. The sensitiveness of the topic is reflected by two abandoned utterances, pauses and the filler altså (I mean): (…) så kan man få lov til at tolke men det er logisk man kan ikke forstå (..) altså du har ikke den den fulde (..) ((…) then you may be allowed to interpret but it is logical you cannot understand (..) I mean you do not have the the full (..)). She does not say what it is precisely Bachelors lack, in her opinion. Presumably, her rather cryptic statement refers to the fact that all applicants to the official list of court interpreters, who can produce documentation for being language graduates, are included in the list on an equal footing without any further quality assurance procedures, regardless of their (lack of) interpreting qualifications. (For the ethical implications of the interpreter’s argumentation, see Section 5 below.) In any case, the interpreter lives up to the principle of transparency by delivering her skopos declaration. According to Prunč (2000: 62), this implies that the other (Danish-speaking) participants are informed about the risk that her renditions may be faulty, but they are free to decide whether or not they want to accept this risk. The interpreter obviously wishes to continue, which requires that, above all, the judge agrees with her non-canonical translational action (Prunc 2000: 14). So she appeals to the judge by once again expressing her commitment to the task (T45): Altså jeg gør mit absolut yderste her (I mean I’m doing my absolute utmost here). The judge demonstrates loyalty to the interpreter again, and even includes the other participants in her reassuring response, indicated by the first-person plural vi (we) in T46: Jamen det det tvivl- det tvivler vi ikke på (Yes but we have no no dou- no doubt about that). However, she obviously does not regard the interpreter’s line of argumentation as conducive to reaching a viable agreement. Thus, when continuing her turn T46, she uses men (but) to mark the contrast to the interpreter’s last contributions to the negotiation, but mitigates the contrast by a redressive device: Men jeg har forstået at at du siger at (…) (But I have understood that that you say that (…)). She then returns to the argument previously stated by the interpreter: (…) du siger at det kan være lidt svært at forstå (NAVN)? ((…) you say that it can be a little difficult to understand (NAME)?). The interpreter confirms



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this in an animated tone (T47): Ja det kan det, ja det kan det nemlig (Yes it can, yes it can precisely). She has obviously recognised that this is the breakthrough in the negotiation. The judge returns to the conclusion she was going to put forward already when the interpreter had mentioned her difficulty in understanding the witness for the first time. Because of the overlap, the judge did not finish her turn T38 then. She now repeats her så må jeg (then I have to) when she addresses the defendant’s daughter, asking her to make an effort to speak loudly (T48): Ja, men men (NAVN) så må jeg (.) vil du prøve at tale højt (Yes, but but (NAME) then I have to (.) will you try to speak loudly). She abandons her så må jeg (then I have to) once again, but the consequence for the witness appears clearly from the rest of her turn. Instead of relaying the judge’s request, the interpreter extends the negotiation by adding two more wishes to the witness (T49): og langsomt og tydeligt (and slowly and distinctly), but gives up her attempt to make even further requests (T51): og og (.) ja. (and and (.) yes.). The judge is satisfied with the agreement and concludes (T52): Ja vi vi prøver vi prøver igen (Yes we we try we try again). However, her repeated use of the term prøve (try) indicates that she may not be quite sure whether the conditions agreed upon will result in a more reliable interpreting performance. The judge could have been spared this uncertainty about the interpreting if the authority in charge of the official list of court interpreters was prepared to give the issue of interpreting quality assurance priority. One way of doing this would be to introduce the use of check interpreters to find out whether graduates with BA degrees are able to interpret into and from their foreign language (see Section 5). The agreement to continue is not only a great relief for the interpreter. It is also, in accordance with the power hierarchy between the participants, the solution preferred by the judge (cf. Prunč 2000: 62). This appears clearly from the negotiation above as well as from the judge’s previous decision to resume the proceedings in T19 at the end of excerpt 7. So the result of the two partners’ cooperation is in their mutual interest. The prosecutor responds with a supportive comment on the judge’s conclusion vi prøver igen (we try again), that is, Jeg har ikke mange spørgsmål igen (I don’t have many questions left), meaning that the remaining part of her questioning will not be unduly extended although the interpreting will take more time than expected. The defence counsel does not comment on the result of the negotiation. Nor does the Danish witness or any other member of the audience make any further comments. They have reason to believe that their objection to the interpreter’s performance will somehow be reflected in the judgement, because the problem has been explicitly acknowledged by the judge and has been confirmed by the interpreter in her skopos declaration. Thus, none of the interactants objects to the agreement. They all demonstrate mutual respect for the interests of the other participants involved (except the non-Danish-speaking witness, who is excluded from the meta-talk). .

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This subsection deals mainly with the conflict about the interpreting which occurs during the questioning of the witness. The competing interests in the conflict are represented by the Danish witness, who challenges the interpreter’s performance as being inadequate to achieve the communicative goal of the event, and the interpreter, who regards her performance as good enough. The meta-talk concerning this conflict reveals that the interpreted interaction is not at all transparent for the judge, who finds it hard to believe that the criticism of the interpreter’s performance is justified. However, the interpreter’s skopos declaration makes the problem transparent for her and all the other participants. The negotiation of the skopos deviation between the interpreter and the judge follows from the principle of loyalty and implies “mutual commitment not to act against the other partners’ interests” (Prunč 2000: 61). The judge demonstrates loyalty to the interpreter — rather than to the legal procedure — by paving the way for a conflict-settling convention including the continuation of the trial with the same interpreter. However, the interpreter’s loyalty to the judge, or indeed to all the other participants who are dependent on her performance, is not as obvious. This issue will be discussed in Section 5. The other participants choose to accept the result of the negotiation, thereby demonstrating cooperativeness.

5. Discussion In this section, we shall discuss the contextual conditions which have a bearing on the outcome of the trial, with special reference to the concepts of cooperativeness and transparency. Subsequently, we shall discuss the ethical implications of the interpreter’s performance. First, however, we shall briefly outline the outcome of the trial.

The outcome of the trial The defendant was found guilty of both counts and sentenced to a suspended term of imprisonment. When explaining the grounds to the defendant, the presiding judge pointed out that the sentence was based on what he himself had stated during the proceedings. According to a telephone interview with the judge almost one year after the event, this remark implied that the injured party’s testimony had not been taken into account. From this it can be deduced that in the judges’ opinion, the communicative goal of the questioning of the defendant had been achieved and there had been no reason for them to doubt the reliability of this part of the interpreting. However, as the presiding judge added during the interview, the case would “of course” have been adjourned and another sitting with another



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interpreter would have been held if the interpreted part of the evidence against the defendant had had any influence on the sentence. The defence counsel was not dissatisfied with the sentence and recommended that his client should accept it. Regarding possible consequences for the interpreter, the judge explained in the interview that she did not make a complaint about the interpreter to the National Commission of the Danish Police, which administers the list of court interpreters, because “in view of my knowledge of French, I can’t tell how poor or not poor the interpretation was”. However, she had written a note in the court records: “During the questioning of the witness the interpretation was criticised”. This note must be regarded as a mild form of sanction because it does not imply any consequences for the interpreter apart from alerting the court to the fact that another interpreter should be hired in case of an appeal. In this way the judge has again demonstrated respect for the interpreter’s interests, far more than she has attended to the interests of the judicature. The interpreter can continue to offer incompetent interpreting from and into French without feeling obliged to improve her service. This problem could be handled effectively if judges or other legal professionals were able to require an independent and qualified check interpreter, who could decide whether a particular interpreter’s performance was adequate or whether there was reason to exclude him/her from the official list. The present case reveals a vital need for check interpreters in Denmark because, as mentioned previously, the National Commission of the Danish Police accepts all language graduates regardless of interpreting qualifications, and there are no quality assurance arrangements once applicants have been included in the list. Incidentally, introducing check interpreters is of course not free of charge, but it should be taken into account that incompetent interpreting can prolong the proceedings considerably and thus require a great deal of the court’s costly time.

Contextual conditions In general, then, the criticism of the interpreter’s performance did not have any serious consequences. It raised doubt about the reliability of her outputs, but as mentioned above, this did not pertain to her interpreting of the questioning of the defendant. Several contextual conditions contributed to the fact that her interpretation of the questioning was regarded as adequate by the court: (1) the defendant’s admission of guilt concerning the first count already during the pre-trial meetings with his defence counsel, and his confirmation of this at the outset of the trial; (2) his admission of guilt, in the course of the questioning, concerning the second count; (3) the defendant’s knowledge of Danish; and (4) the absence of “an aware third party” (Morris 1993: 20), a person who is aware of faulty interpreting and monitors it during the trial; in other words, the absence of the Danish witness

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from the courtroom at this stage of the proceedings. The accumulation of these factors, combined with cooperative behaviour on the part of the defendant and the legal professionals, facilitated the questioning and contributed to its communicative goal. In our further discussion of the contextual conditions affecting the outcome of the trial, we will concentrate on the perception of the interpreted questionings by the judge, since she was the legal professional who provided the most information on this issue, through both the textual source (the transcript) and several extratextual sources (the interview and two questionnaires, one based on the present case and another based on a prior case that she conducted). The judge’s satisfaction with the first interpreted questioning clearly influenced her perception of the second one. This accounts, among other things, for her willingness to continue with the same interpreter even at an early stage of the conflict (excerpt 7) and her reluctance to believe that the criticism was justified (excerpts 7 and 8). However, after the interpreter’s skopos declaration she has to acknowledge the possibility of faulty interpreting as well as her own inability to evaluate the interpreter’s competence. It appears from Table 1 below that this critical view of her monitoring ability is a consequence of the awareness-raising incident during the proceedings of the present case. Table 1 presents information from the two case-based questionnaires filled in by the same judge. Both cases were criminal cases conducted by the same District Court within three months of each other, and the foreign language in both was “colonial French”. The judge’s perception of the interpreter’s performance in the case under review here (interpreter B), as compared to that of the untrained community interpreter whose mother tongue was French (interpreter A), illustrates a notable difference in her handling of two cases involving the same language. In the first case, with interpreter A, the judge quite confidently assessed the degree to which he had applied accuracy and completeness as an overall relaying strategy. Three months later, in the present case, the judge was better informed, and ticked the option can’t judge. She applied this rating pattern consistently to five of the remaining six questions concerning her satisfaction with more specific interpreting competencies. In the case with interpreter A she did not use the can’t judge option at all, while in the present case she demonstrated a high level of awareness. The only feature of interpreter B’s competence that she did assess was fluent/coherent delivery — a feature that can be monitored, at least to some extent, by monolingual participants. The unusual incident during the second interpreted questioning thus had a clear effect on the judge’s perception of her monitoring ability. She had become aware that the common practice of relying exclusively on the interpreter’s renditions into Danish did not enable her to form an adequate impression of the interpreter’s competence. It follows from her restricted monitoring ability that the



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Table 1.  The judge’s rating of interpreting competence: her perception of the two interpreters’ performance Features of competence

Interpreter A *

Interpreter B **

Accuracy/completeness

high degree

can’t judge

Knowledge of case-specific terminology

satisfactory

can’t judge

Knowledge of the judicial system

satisfactory

can’t judge

Neutral language

very satisfactory

can’t judge

Impartial behaviour

very satisfactory

can’t judge

Linguistic correctness/grammar

satisfactory

can’t judge

Fluent/coherent delivery

satisfactory

moderately satisfactory

Legend: * = untrained interpreter, native speaker of French; ** = interpreter in the present case (3 months later)

transparency of the proceedings, for which she is responsible, is severely restricted too. This means, in general, that the court must do without any effective barrier against deception. It may be argued that the point in the present case is incompetence rather than deliberate deception. It was hardly the interpreter’s intention to deceive the court. However, the effect is the same. The court may rightly feel deceived, because they had expected professional service by an expert in the field, but were given an incompetent performance — a fact which only came to their attention by chance. This places a heavy burden of responsibility on the interpreter (for this issue, see the subsection below). At the beginning of this subsection we argued that the interactants’ cooperativeness, combined with a number of special contextual conditions, was conducive to the elicitation of evidence during the first interpreted questioning. By contrast, during the second questioning, the interactants’ cooperativeness was not only conducive but necessary for pursuing the questioning with the same interpreter. This does not mean, however, that cooperativeness was the most important factor affecting the interpreting of the second questioning. Legal expedience must be assumed to have been the most important factor (see Morris 1993: 27) because, as mentioned previously, the judge was of the opinion that the evidence produced in the first questioning was decisive for the judgement, so that in her view, the option of interrupting the proceedings and replacing the interpreter would have been time-consuming, and the outcome of the trial would not have been substantially different.

Ethical implications The interpreter’s behaviour in the interaction analysed here calls for more than a descriptive analysis. In Section 4 we repeatedly referred to ethical problems

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concerning the interpreter’s loyalty, but the ethical implications of her behaviour clearly need to be addressed more thoroughly. In Prunč’s model interpreters are competent and autonomous individuals, who decide whether to conform to the norms and conventions prevailing in the given translational situation and the relevant translation culture (Prunč 2000: 61, 64–65). In the highly regulated context of court interpreting, we assume that interpreters will opt for norm-conforming behaviour. However, it emerged from the analysis that the interpreter in the case under review here did not comply with a number of norms stipulated in the Guidelines, first and foremost the accuracy/ completeness norm (in the sense of “faithful”, i.e. not “verbatim” rendering, as described by e.g. Hale 2008: 114–115). Non-compliance with this norm means that the interpreter did not live up to the most basic aspect of her obligation of loyalty towards the partners in the translational situation. What are the reasons for her non-normative behaviour? One obvious reason is that the interpreter overrated her own bilingual competence. This seems to be a safe assumption, because she would hardly have consented to recordings of her performance if it had occurred to her that she might not be competent enough to take on the assignment. Her confidence was apparently based on several years of satisfactory interpreting practice in her other language, i.e. her MA-level language — according to her questionnaire she had never had any negative experience when working as a court interpreter. However — again according to her questionnaire — she had only had a few sporadic assignments involving French interpreting, i.e. her BA-level language. She indicated in a comment that she had prepared for the present task by requesting the indictment and reading the relevant sections of the Danish Penal Code. So in all probability she believed that she had the necessary competence. Apparently she also believed in her professional commitment to the task, as she stressed explicitly and repeatedly when trying to counter the criticism of her performance at the beginning of her self-defence (excerpt 8) and again when concluding her skopos declaration (excerpt 9) by stating “I’m doing my absolute utmost here”. However, she was obviously unaware that her “absolute utmost” was not good enough. It is open to discussion whether the interpreter in our study would have accepted the assignment if she had sworn an official oath such as the “Hieronymic Oath for translators” proposed by Chesterman as the core of his model of an “ethics of professional commitment” (Chesterman 2001: 139). Would she, for example, have felt committed to paragraph 2 of the oath, which reads, among other things: “I will always translate to the best of my ability” (Chesterman 2001: 153) and would she have abstained from a court interpreting task involving French? This seems unlikely in view of the reasons noted so far. Apparently, Berk-Seligson (2002) was



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right in questioning the value of an oath: “Interpreters generally do the best they can, and are sincere in their effort to be precise and faithful to the foreign language testimony. Yet if they are not highly qualified to do their job, the product of their efforts is bound to be faulty. No amount of oath-swearing can guarantee high quality interpreting from an interpreter who does not have the necessary competency” (Berk-Seligson 2002: 204). In the same vein, it is doubtful whether the interpreter would have followed paragraph 7 of the Hieronymic Oath, which reads: “I will be honest about my own qualifications and limitations; I will not accept work that is outside my competence” (Chesterman 2001: 153). One thing is that she was unaware of the fact that the assignment was work outside her competence. Another thing is, however, that she had obtained authorisation herself and therefore was perfectly aware of the fact that she had set aside the preliminary norm (Toury 1978/2000) in Danish court interpreting, according to which the courts must be assisted by authorised interpreters whenever possible (see the comment on excerpt 9). As there is no shortage of authorised interpreters of French in Denmark, it was possible, in all probability, to hire a qualified professional. In accepting the task the interpreter was not quite honest about her qualifications. Her decision may have been due to her wish not to turn down assignments, because she earns her living by translating and interpreting. This might be another factor contributing to her non-normative behaviour. In any case, her acceptance of the task indicates that she acted according to her own personal interests, but not in accordance with the other partners’ interests. Thus, she showed “loyalty to herself ” — although not in the ethical sense of “preservation of translators’ identity and integrity” as defined in the model of translation culture (Prunč 1997: 112). It is important to keep in mind that, under “normal” conditions, i.e. in the absence of “an aware third party”, the other partners in the interpreted event would have been ignorant of any problems regarding the interpreter’s competence and loyalty. However, the criticism during the proceedings made it apparent to the court that they could not take the interpreter’s competence for granted. This, in turn, forced the interpreter to be honest about her qualifications and limitations. She opted for the skopos declaration analysed in Section 4 for her self-defence. In order to explain why she deviated from the implicit skopos she downgraded her competence, even talking about her “incompetence”, which she characterised as a natural consequence of having only a BA degree. Nevertheless, she argued that she was qualified to do the job because interpreters with BA degrees are “allowed to interpret” (implying that they are accepted on the official list of court interpreters — although they have not received interpreter training — because, as mentioned above, it is not always possible to hire authorised interpreters). However, according

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to her explanation, “it is logical” that BA graduates lack full understanding — of something which she did not say explicitly because she did not finish the turn in question (T41 in excerpt 9). What she had in mind was presumably everything said in the foreign language or something similarly compromising. Thus, the interpreter claimed to be qualified, not because she had the necessary competence, but because exceptions to the authorisation norm are allowed. Apart from discriminating against interpreter colleagues with BA degrees (who may or may not be more competent than herself), the interpreter’s line of argumentation reveals that she lacks what Chesterman calls “the most important virtue” an “ethical decision-making translator” must possess, that is, “the translator must want to be a good translator, must strive for excellence in the practice of translation” (Chesterman 2001: 146; emphasis in the original). First and foremost, however, the interpreter’s skopos declaration reveals that she disclaimed responsibility for her performance. She established transparency about her qualifications and limitations by admitting that she was not able to understand everything, but it was up to the other partners to decide whether they wanted to accept this condition. It appears from the above that the interpreter in our study is not the competent and autonomous professional presupposed in Prunč’s model. The term autonomous (or selbstverantwortlich in German) means that the translator is responsible for his/her own decision about how to translate in a given situation. One precondition for this responsible decision-making is the translator’s competence, and the other is the translator’s loyalty to himself/herself, in the sense of the concept mentioned above (Prunč 1997: 112). If the interpreter had been an autonomous professional — or one who was striving for excellence — she would not have accepted the task in the first place. She made an unethical decision. It is most unlikely that she intended to act against the other partners’ interests. So, corresponding to her lack of awareness of her insufficient bilingual competence, it must be assumed that she was not aware of her responsibility for her unreliable performance either. How can a trained interpreter be unaware of fundamental ethical cornerstones of the profession such as loyalty and responsibility? Professional ethics in general and the Guidelines for court interpreting in particular are of course included in the MA programme for translators and interpreters offered by the Danish business schools. Hence the interpreter in our study must have become acquainted with the Guidelines during her training to become an authorised interpreter in her MA-level language. However, as has been pointed out in the literature, mere acquaintance with a code of ethics does not guarantee that interpreters can apply the code to the practice (e.g. Hale 2007, 2008, Mikkelson 2008). The teaching and learning of a code of ethics requires reflection: “The code of ethics cannot be of much use without proper reflection and explanations of the



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very difficult concepts it presents in concise, and often simplistic ways, due to the very nature of a code. Adequate training is necessary to elaborate on the meaning and implementation of the code” (Hale 2008: 100). The interpreter in the present study has apparently failed to reflect upon concepts such as loyalty or responsibility. In the context of her training, she may perhaps never have been asked to do so and thus may never have received any help to understand the complexity of these concepts. This might explain why she was unaware of the actual and possible consequences of her behaviour for the other partners in the interpreting event under study.

6. Conclusion In this study we have analysed an interpreting event in a courtroom setting, focusing on the interactants’ cooperativeness. We found ample evidence of cooperative behaviour, which served the interactants’ own individual or institutional interests and the other partners’ interests at the same time. All the participants involved, including the defendant and the victim and even the spokeswoman of the audience, who criticised the interpreter’s performance, demonstrated cooperativeness. The only participant who did not live up to the mutuality inherent in the concept of cooperativeness was the interpreter. It emerged from the criticism of her performance as well as her own skopos declaration that she was not able to comply with the other partners’ default expectations, but she disclaimed the responsibility for faulty interpreting. Lack of self-awareness and reflection are the most likely reasons for the interpreter’s disloyalty to the other partners. However, due to a number of special contextual conditions combined with the participants’ cooperativeness, especially on the part of the judge, it was possible to settle the conflict by way of consensus and to continue the proceedings despite doubt about the interpreter’s competence. The judge chose a mild form of sanction, a short remark about the incident in the court records, which reflected her respect for the interests of the judicature, albeit only to a minimal degree, as well as loyalty to the interpreter, whose competence she was unable to evaluate. In the introduction to the present paper we pointed out that the interpreting event analysed in this study is an exceptional case, because criticism of an interpreter’s performance during the proceedings does not occur frequently and is rarely documented. However, the first of the two interpreted questionings, i.e. the questioning of the defendant, represents a rather normal interpreting situation without any spectacular occurrences. The eliciting of evidence was regarded as satisfactory by the court and formed the basis of the judgement. Hence the first

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interpreting situation seemed to justify the court’s “presumption of the interpreter’s competence and reliability” (Morris 1993: 24). This presumption was based on several factors: (a) the interpreter was a native speaker of the language of the court, (b) the foreign language involved was among the ones offered by the Danish MA degree programmes for translators and interpreters, and (c) all three legal professionals indicated in the questionnaires that they were able “to understand a little French” and therefore can be assumed to have felt able to monitor the interpreting performance, although only to a moderate degree. In addition, personal experience of problems with untrained interpreters of “exotic” minority languages who are not proficient in Danish — stated by both the judge and the prosecutor in the questionnaires — probably strengthened these two participants’ expectation that there would be no problems with the interpreting in the present case. It must be assumed that the legal professionals would have been ignorant of the interpreter’s non-normative performance had it not been for the criticism in the course of the second questioning, put forward from the audience by a trustworthy and aware third party, who had a motive and the courage to intervene. We have argued that this criticism and the ensuing negotiation of the conflict over faulty interpreting was an eye-opener for the judge, who only then recognised that she was unable to monitor and evaluate the interpreting, contrary to her normal assumptions. We do not know whether the other legal participants had a similar experience. In any case, the exceptional incident highlighted the problem present in the first questioning and, most likely, in many other “ordinary” court interpreting situations with competent or seemingly competent interpreters, i.e. that the interpreted proceedings are far less transparent for the legal participants than they normally assume. Cooperativeness can contribute a great deal to the workings of the interpreting, but it cannot guarantee that justice will be done if the interpreters are not aware of their responsibility and hence are not prepared to recuse themselves or ask to be recused if they discover they are unable to perform competently in a given case.

References Angelelli, C. V. (2004). Revisiting the interpreter’s role. A study of conference, court, and medical interpreters in Canada, Mexico and the United States. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Berk-Seligson, S. (2002). The bilingual courtroom: Court interpreters in the judicial process. Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press. Brown, P. & Levinson, S. C. (1987). Politeness. Some universals in language usage. Cambridge: University Press.



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Chesterman, A. (1997). Memes of translation. The spread of ideas in translation theory. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Chesterman, A. (2001). Proposal for a Hieronymic Oath. The Translator 7 (2), 139–154. Christensen, T. P. (2008). Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court. Interpreting 10 (1), 99–127. Domstolsstyrelsen (2003). Vejledning for tolkning i retten (Guidelines for interpreting in Danish court proceedings) http://www.domstol.dk/om/publikationer/HtmlPublikationer/ Vejledninger/Vejledning%20om%20tolkning%20i%20retten/978-87-92367-52-5.pdf (accessed 16 February 2009). Hale, S. B. (2004). The discourse of court interpreting. Discourse practices of the law, the witness and the interpreter. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Hale, S. B. (2006). Themes and methodological issues in court interpreting research. In E. Hertog & B. van der Veer (Eds.), Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting. Linguistica Antverpiensia 5, 205–228. Hale, S. B. (2007). Community Interpreting. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Hale, S. B. (2008). Controversies over the role of court interpreter. In C. Valero-Garcés & A. Martin (Eds.), Crossing borders in court interpreting: Definitions and dilemmas. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 99–121. Jacobsen, B. (2002). Pragmatic meaning in court interpreting. An empirical study of additions in consecutively interpreted question-answer dialogues. PhD dissertation, Aarhus School of Business. Jacobsen, B. (2008). Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting. An analysis of face. Interpreting 10 (1), 128–158. Jansen, P. (1995). The role of the interpreter in Dutch courtroom interaction: The impact of the situation on translational norms. In P. Jansen (Ed.), Translation and the manipulation of discourse. Selected papers of the CERA Research Seminars in Translation Studies 1992–1993. Leuven: CETRA, 133–155. Mason, I. (2006). Ostension, inference and response: analysing participant moves in Community Interpreting dialogues. In E. Hertog & B. van der Veer (Eds.), Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting. Linguistica Antverpiensia 5, 103–120. Mikkelson, H. (1998). Towards a redefinition of the role of the court interpreter. Interpreting 3 (1), 21–45. Mikkelson, H. (2008). Evolving views of the court interpreter’s role. Between Scylla and Charybdis. In C. Valero-Garcés & A. Martin (Eds.), Crossing borders in court interpreting: Definitions and dilemmas. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 81–97. Morris, R. (1993). Images of the interpreter: A study of language-switching in the legal process. PhD dissertation, Lancaster University. Nord, C. (1997/2001). Translating as a purposeful activity: Functionalist approaches explained. Manchester UK/Northampton MA: St. Jerome. Nord, C. (2004). Loyalität als ethisches Verhalten im Translationsprozess. In I. Müller (Ed.), Und sie bewegt sich doch… Translationswissenschaft in Ost und West. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 235–245. Pöchhacker, F. (2004). Introducing interpreting studies. London/New York: Routledge. Politikens Nudansk Ordbog med etymologi (2001). (Politiken’s Dictionary of Contemporary Danish). Copenhagen: Politikens Forlag.

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Pöllabauer, S. (2006). “Translation culture” in interpreted asylum hearings. In A. Pym, M. Shlesinger & Z. Jettmarová (Eds.), Sociocultural aspects of translating and interpreting. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 151–162. Prunč, E. (1997). Translationskultur (Versuch einer konstruktiven Kritik des translatorischen Handelns). TextConText Neue Folge 1, 99–127. Prunč, E. (2000). Vom Translationsbiedermeier zur Cyber-translation. TextConText Neue Folge 4, 3–74. Pym, A. (2006). On the social and the cultural in translation studies. In A. Pym, M. Shlesinger & Z. Jettmarová (Eds.), Sociocultural aspects of translating and interpreting. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1–25. Retsplejeloven (2006). (The Danish Administration of Justice Act). Salaets, H. & Van Gucht, J. (2008). Perceptions of a profession. In C. Valero-Garcés & A. Martin (Eds.), Crossing borders in court interpreting: Definitions and dilemmas. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 267–287. Schweda Nicholson, N. & Martinsen, B. (1997). Court interpretation in Denmark. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 259–270. Toury, G. (1978/2000). The nature and role of norms in translation. In L. Venuti (Ed.), The translation studies reader. London/New York: Routledge, 198–212. Toury, G. (1999). A handful of paragraphs on ‘translation’ and ‘norms’. In C. Schäffner (Ed.), Translation and norms. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 9–31. Wadensjö, C. (1998). Interpreting as interaction. London/New York: Longman.

Appendix: Transcription conventions J = judge, P = prosecutor, I = interpreter, DC = defence counsel, D = defendant, W = non-Danish speaking witness, W-DK = Danish-speaking witness, AUD = audience, f = female, m = male. . ? , … - : (.) (..) (4) ## < > > boldface underlining (xxx) (NAME) italics

terminating intonation questioning intonation continuing intonation open-ended (fading out) intonation sudden truncation of a sound lengthening of a vowel sound short pause pause of 1–2 seconds long pause frames an utterance spoken in a tone of irritation frames an utterance spoken slowly and distinctly frames (part of) an utterance spoken extremely slowly and distinctly emphasis simultaneous talk word or words which could not be identified anonymous information authors’ English gloss of utterances in Danish or French

Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court Tina Paulsen Christensen Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus

This article presents a small-scale empirical study of legal discourse which focuses on the use of direct and indirect speech in Danish interpreter-mediated court proceedings. The study analyses the practices of three Danish judges in three different interpreted proceedings. The primary objective of the paper is to study the potential correlation between the use of direct and indirect speech styles and certain stages of court proceedings. These stages are defined and classified in terms of explicit prescriptive legal norms ascribable to the participants in Danish court proceedings, acting in accordance with a predefined style of interaction (direct speech). In addition, the study investigates whether what the judges say about their speech style corresponds with their actual language use in court. The techniques combined in the study are survey research, participant observation and descriptive analysis based on transcriptions of authentic data from three audio-recorded criminal cases conducted by district courts in Denmark.

1. Introduction Most jurisdictions have adopted standards in one form or another to define the role of the court interpreter. In Denmark, guidelines on interpreter ethics were laid down for the first time in 1994 in a document entitled “Instructions for Interpreters”. Then, in 2003, the Danish Court Administration (Domstolsstyrelsen), which is responsible for the administration of the Danish judiciary, appointed a task force to examine legal and practical issues associated with interpreting in Danish court proceedings. This resulted in Guidelines for interpreting in Danish court proceedings (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003). Among other things, these guidelines describe the performance requirements of court interpreters and a code of ethics; i.e. they comprise a set of expectancy norms concerning courtroom interpreting, norms which are explicitly endorsed by the Danish legal system. Thus, the guide may be construed as an underlying normative model in terms of what constitutes good interpreting.

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As regards the selection of a form of address, the guidelines state that the Danish legal community equates good interpreting and interpreting quality with the use of the direct, first-person style, and that this applies to all the participants in a courtroom. However, even though direct speech is recommended by the Danish legal system, the primary participants often deviate from the direct style when interacting in the courtroom. Therefore, this discourse study will examine whether it is possible to draw any conclusions regarding the stages at which judges deviate from direct speech and instead resort to indirect forms of address that may exclude non-Danish-speaking defendants from the interaction in question. A study of the discourse of judges in court may help us to improve interpreting quality; and interpreting quality can only be improved if practising interpreters are aware of the parameters of the specific setting (Angelelli 2004: 13). By analysing the way in which primary participants accomplish their work through words, we can prepare students and practising interpreters for real-life interpretermediated events by giving them useful insights into the different facets of the job of court interpreting. We can only assume that court interpreters are able to detect the dilemmas of everyday practice and act professionally if they are also able to anticipate what is going to happen in a specific encounter and react accordingly.

2. Guidelines as translational norms The Guidelines for interpreting in Danish court proceedings “target both users, that is professional participants, and interpreters” (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003: 1; my translation), thereby implying that interpreters are not regarded as professionals. However, in general, professionals are defined as people with specialist knowledge within a specific domain, which means (all else being equal) that interpreters with specialist knowledge within the field of interpreting should be regarded as professionals. Specialist knowledge is normally achieved through training and education; and according to Wadensjö, arguably, those interpreters who have achieved specialist knowledge through education can claim professional authority (Wadensjö 2007: 7). Hence, the wording of the Danish guidelines can be regarded as revealing a lack of awareness about the fact that interpreters may be professionals within their specific domain. However, I consider it to be more likely that the implicitly bipolar distinction made by the Danish Court Administration is not primarily between professionals and non-professionals, but between “us” (legal experts) and “them” (lay persons within the legal domain). Alternatively, the distinction might relate to interactant roles, that is institutional representatives vs. individuals (cf. Pöchhacker 2007: 12).



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The Danish guidelines primarily describe the performance requirements which court interpreters have to meet, as well as stipulating a code of ethics which includes regulations on accuracy/completeness, conflicts of interest, confidentiality and impartiality, and recommendations regarding working conditions, forms of address and other issues.1 These recommendations can be perceived as institutionalised norm-based quality parameters for the act of interpreting in Danish courtrooms which court interpreters and all institutional participants in a Danish court setting should strive to observe. They state what is explicitly mandatory in Danish interpreter-mediated courtroom proceedings, and, therefore, as noted above, they represent so-called translational expectancy norms governing court interpreting. Various definitions of the concept of norm have been proposed, notably by Toury (1980) and Chesterman (1993). Translational norms are characterized as “regularities of translational behaviour, departure from which implies some form of social sanction, which in turn reflects the values shared by a social group” (Marzocchi 2005: 88). Angermeyer states that “[…] the legal domain is a field in which interpreting practices tend to be especially regulated, as court interpreters in many countries are legally bound to adhere to certain explicit translational norms that serve the goals of the institution” (Angermeyer 2005: 204), thereby equating guidelines with translational norms. Bearing in mind Chesterman’s (1993) definition of expectancy norms as norms pertaining to a translation product if it is to be recognised as a translation product (Chesterman 1993: 17), guidelines too may be said to represent expectancy norms. According to Shlesinger, expectancy norms implicitly or explicitly projected by the court may appear to potentially conflict with performance norms based on the interpreter’s own perception of the interpreter’s role and of what the interpreter ought to do to fulfil it (Shlesinger 1999: 66). Garzone believes that expectancy norms should be seen as internalised behavioural constraints governing the interpreters’ choices in relation to the different contexts in which they are called upon to operate in order to meet certain quality standards (Garzone 2002: 110). Thus, the Danish guidelines can be construed as an underlying normative model which is based on a concept of norms for good interpreting deriving from shared values practised by users. 2.1 Expectancy norms regarding form of address As regards the selection of a form of address, one of the expectancy norms in the guidelines states that the Danish legal community equates good interpreting with the use of the direct, first-person style, and that this applies to all participants in a Danish courtroom. The guidelines state: “The participants must communicate as if the interpreter was not present, which means that questions and answers should be

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addressed directly to the person referred to, and not to the interpreter. This means that the court interpreter is required to translate verbatim and use direct speech, i.e. first- and second-person singular” (Domstolsstyrelsen 2003: 2; emphasis added; my translation).2 Thus, participants in a Danish court setting are guided to use a certain form of address. Presumably, they will act on the basis of their assumptions about what constitutes an appropriate role and behaviour under the guidelines — and then make their own choices and expect the other participants to adopt the role and behaviour recommended by the legal system as well. The fact that in practice court interpreters perform according to the norms stipulated by the legal system is supported by the findings of Angermeyer (2005: 204 and 212), who points out that court interpreters produce target utterances and choose a speech style that is designed primarily to conform to the institutional norms of court interpreting rather than to the needs and expectations of the target recipients. Throughout this article I label the use of indirect forms of address by judges as “deviation”. This should be seen as a logical consequence of adopting a norm-based approach that relates to assumptions about what counts as correct or appropriate behaviour in a specific situation (Schäffner 1999: 6). Hence, labelling the judges’ use of indirect styles as “deviant” implies not that the use of indirect speech should in general be regarded in a negative light, but simply that judges using indirect speech when addressing a non-majority-language-speaking individual in interpreter-mediated court settings are failing to comply with the normative behaviour specified by the guidelines. Consequently, the underlying assumption of this study is that behaviour in line with the guidelines is a normal state of affairs with which other forms of behaviour should be compared. 2.2 The recommended form of address in court interpreting According to the rules and regulations of legal interpreting, the use of direct rather than reported speech is in fact an established standard in a range of countries (cf. Schweda Nicholson & Martinsen 1997: 267; Angermeyer 2005: 20; Hale 2004; Berk-Seligson 1990: 151), which means that the first-person style and direct speech can be regarded as a universal norm. Particularly in court interpreting, where accuracy is seen as a guarantee of the rule of law, the first- and therefore also the second-person style are the recommended forms of address. The idea is that if the primary participants in court address each other directly, the directness of the communication may be enhanced (Hale 2004: 191ff). Accuracy can only be achieved, however, if all the participants in the interaction without exception rely on the ability of the other participants to distinguish between the speaking self



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and the meaning others. So as far as Goffman’s (1981) participation framework is concerned, directness means that the primary participants who act as speakers always design their utterances in a way which guarantees that the person who is supposed to respond to an utterance will regard himself as the addressee of the utterance, and not only as a recipient simply listening to the other person speaking. Other advantages related to the use of direct speech are clarity, brevity, impartiality, mutual understanding between primary interlocutors, a common focus on interaction, and non-dominating and less-manipulating behaviour (for a summary see Dubslaff & Martinsen 2005: 212). The findings of Wadensjö’s significant study of police interviews support this by concluding that direct address is one of the most powerful means by which an interpreter can entertain and strengthen a common focus of interaction and the illusion of a direct exchange between monolingual parties (Wadensjö 1997: 48ff). All else being equal, this applies to the primary participants too. 2.3 Forms of address in court practice As mentioned above, using direct speech in court interpreting can be regarded as a universal expectancy norm. However, prescriptive direct speech is still not practised in court on a regular basis. This has been documented by Jacobsen (2002: 50), for instance, who points out that interpreters or primary participants “may choose for some reason to adopt the third-person, indirect style or address, either persistently throughout the proceedings […] or during parts of the proceedings”. The fact that primary speakers sometimes choose to use the third-person or another indirect form of address is confirmed by Berk-Seligson (1990: 61/151), who demonstrates that lawyers and judges may address the interpreter directly instead of directing their questions to the defendant or the witness, thus making the court interpreter an active verbal participant in the interaction, sometimes assuming a much more central and dominating role than was originally intended by the legal system. A case study by Jansen (1995) also confirms that institutional participants may address the defendant indirectly. In fact, in both court proceedings analysed by Jansen the judge never addressed questions to the defendant directly; instead, the interpreter was instructed to ask the question (Jansen 1995: 148), which might of course have been a consequence of the fact that the judge in question was inexperienced in speaking through interpreters. Wadensjö (1997: 47ff) also reports that the police officer in her study of interpreter-mediated police interviews unconsciously switched between the direct and the indirect mode in different parts of the encounter. A study by Hale (2007), who asked 21 Australian lawyers about various aspects of court interpreting such as how they addressed their

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clients, also shows that a significant minority (42.86%) addressed their clients indirectly, thereby surrendering their responsibility for effective communication to the interpreter. 2.3.1 Why deviate from the recommended form of address? If direct speech is recommended and stipulated by most legal systems, why do both court interpreters and primary participants deviate from it in court practice? In the context of this article, I shall not attempt to present a single explanation, but I shall offer some observations from existing studies of the behaviour of primary participants in legal settings which might help form the hypothesis which is to be tested in this study. According to Mason (2000: 220, referring to Pöchhacker & Kadric 1999), the primary participants may choose to use the indirect form of address if an initial loss of confidence in the direct mode of address via an interpreter acting as an animator leads the speaker to resort to what he or she might perceive as a more secure form of communication, addressing the interpreter as someone who shares his or her language. Wadensjö argues that the primary participants’ choice of indirect speech may be caused by the fact that they simply find it unnatural to address their counterparts directly, since they assume that this person is not at all capable of understanding them (Wadensjö 1998: 271). As a further motive for switching their footing,3 Wadensjö (1998) points out that primary participants who have not received training in these matters may feel uncertain in the unfamiliar situation and therefore switch their footing frequently. Schweda Nicholson and Martinsen (1997: 267), investigating the practice of court interpreting in Denmark on the basis of interview data, state that some institutional participants in Danish court proceedings use or seem to prefer the third person, even though they know the official position of the courts on this issue. When asked about his reason for preferring and using the third person, one interviewee answered that this speech style seemed more natural to him because he was not really talking to the individual accused, but rather to the interpreter, who would then transfer the message into the target language. Berk-Seligson observes that lawyers and judges sometimes lapse into addressing the interpreter instead of the primary participants during moments of confusion and frustration, for example after having asked the same question more than once without getting an appropriate reply, or if there is a breakdown of communication between the judge or the lawyer and the foreign-language-speaking individual. She argues that in such situations, the examiner will temporarily dispense with the norm of speaking directly to the defendant through the interpreter, and will instead talk directly to the interpreter, for example by giving him or her instructions to convey the question to the party undergoing examination



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

(Berk-Seligson 1990: 61ff). This view is also held by Hale (2004: 191), who points out that counsel may use the third person to address a foreign-language-speaking witness in situations of frustration, when they lose control of the flow of information. She points out that as a kind of face-saving mechanism the institutional professionals address the interpreter in such situations as if they wish to place the responsibility or the blame on the interpreter (for an introduction to the concept of face see Pöllabauer 2007: 41ff). Wadensjö (1997: 47) suggests that switches in the mode of address tend to coincide with switches in related physical activities, such as reading and writing the court records. The fact that such correlation may exist is supported by the findings of Kadric (2001: 166), who states that the judge, when dictating the record of the proceedings, sometimes asks clarifying questions and in this specific context makes use of the third person. A study by Dubslaff & Martinsen (2005: 226, 229) indicates that switches from direct to indirect address by primary parties are closely related to the form or content of the interpreter’s prior utterance (e.g. in response to an interpreter’s request for repetition or clarification, or in response to incorrect renditions), and that switches to indirect address may be necessary in order to clarify the authorship of particular utterances. Finally, according to Shackman (1984), the choice of direct or indirect speech in community interpreting is, quite simply, partly a matter of personal preference. I believe that for interpreters the choice is probably also related to their degree of training; and that for primary participants the choice is related to their experience in working with interpreters. The studies mentioned here have all shed light on the fact that switches in the form of address are commonplace in interpreter-mediated face-to-face events.

3. Aim of the study So far, “studies of court interpreting have focused primarily on the interpreter and less on the roles of the primary participants, the source speakers whose words are being translated and the target recipient for whom the translation is made” (Angermeyer 2005: 204). In my opinion, however, in order to deepen our understanding of the interaction process in court we should not only investigate all kinds of interpreter behaviour but also observe “regularities of behaviour of all other parties to these encounters” (Mason 2000: 220) in order to achieve data-rich descriptions of all aspects of such three-way exchanges. Findings such as those of Harris (1981) support this view by demonstrating that the behaviour of the primary participants exerts as great an influence on the unfolding of the exchange as does the behaviour of the interpreter.

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Thus, the primary objective of this article is to shed light on the discourse of judges in Danish courts by focusing on the potential correlation between their use of direct and indirect speech and certain stages of court proceedings. In this study, these stages are defined and classified according to the Danish law determining the stages of Danish court procedures, which are regarded as a predefined pattern of interaction. The study examines whether any conclusions can be drawn regarding the stages at which judges generally dispense with the recommended use of direct speech. One motive for investigating the use of the direct and indirect style has been presented by Wadensjö (1998: 271; 1997: 47), who documents the existence of significant differences between participants’ accounts of the style they use and the way they actually talk through interpreters, which according to Wadensjö is a phenomenon “that is quite obvious intuitively but should be further explored” (Wadensjö 1997: 47). We also sought to determine whether Wadensjö’s observations are supported by my data.

4. Research methodology The investigation was carried out in the form of a case study. According to Pöchhacker (2002: 105) case-study research combining various observational techniques has not been very common in interpreting research in the past. The techniques combined in this study are survey research, participant observation and descriptive analysis based on transcriptions of authentic data. The potential correlation between the judges’ use of direct and indirect speech and certain stages of court proceedings is explored on the basis of a corpus analysis of the transcripts of authentic court proceedings. The study investigates judges’ use of direct and indirect speech by focusing on personal pronouns, proper nouns and so-called ‘status words’, which I define as forms of address that emphasise the status or function of the addressee. Thus, my methodological point of departure is a grammatical model distinguishing between first-, second- and third-person singular and plural forms in order to describe documented relations between syntactic constituents (verb and subject pronoun). The study also employs a survey approach to discover whether there are any significant differences between what the institutional professionals say about the style they use, and the way they actually talk through interpreters. Given the fact that Danish judges, whose language use is the object of study in this investigation, are most probably aware of the existence of the guidelines recommending the use of the first-person style, it must be assumed that these judges will act on the basis of their assumptions about what constitutes the appropriate



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

style according to the guidelines. At the same time, it is likely that the judges participating in the encounters studied here, as Wadensjö (1998: 95) puts it, “ […] may feel as if they are in something like an examination situation. In that case, it should perhaps be expected that they are trying to do what they understand to be best”. In other words, it cannot be entirely ruled out that the judges find it difficult not to be influenced by the fact that they are under surveillance. Nevertheless, bearing in mind that authentic institutional encounters such as court proceedings are by definition controlled and agenda bound because of the level of formality of the setting (cf. Berk-Seligson 1990: 12), and that the language use of the judges acting as professionals doing their ordinary job can largely be expected to be ritualised and conventionalised (Christensen 2003: 169f), I shall argue that professionals in such institutional encounters will most probably act and talk in their normal fashion, regardless of whether a researcher is co-constructing the communicative event. 4.1 Authentic data The data used for the analyses in this article was drawn from a corpus generated as part of an ongoing research project on the role of the court interpreter carried out at the Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus. The long-term aim of this research project is to investigate the role of the interpreter in an all-encompassing perspective. Unlike most existing studies taking one particular perspective — that of interpreters, clients or users (see e.g. Kurz 1989; Moser 1996; Pöchhacker 2000; Kadric 2001; Chiaro & Nocella 2004; Hale 2004, 2007) — the aim of the empirical case-based survey is to investigate the extent to which different users (judges, defence counsel, prosecutors and non-Danish-speaking users) in specific courtroom settings share the same expectations about courtroom interpreting. Simultaneously, the aim is to measure the extent to which the expectations of both professional users (regarded as institutional representatives) and non-professional users (regarded as individuals) are actually met. For a full review of court interpreting research, see Hale (2006). For a review of survey-based research, see Pöchhacker (2001, 2002, 2005). 4.2 Collection of authentic discourse data As a first step, a number of Danish courts were contacted by telephone in order to secure permission to record court proceedings and to ensure their participation, which, among other things, involved their completing a questionnaire. According to Section 32 of The Danish Administration of Justice Act (Retsplejeloven), the recording of court proceedings is not permitted in Denmark as a rule. Nevertheless,

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an overwhelming majority of the courts which we contacted agreed to participate in the project on condition that all the other participants in the court cases concerned also agreed to participate. One general argument put forward by the courts for participating in the project was the well-defined need for research projects studying the role and function of the interpreter to a far larger extent than is the case today. At the moment, no consensus on interpreting practice exists. In particular, the importance of guaranteeing legal rights to non-Danish-speaking participants in court proceedings was put forward as a motive for participating in the project by several of the judges. Kalina (2005: 34f; cf. Mason 2000) points out that collecting authentic data for community and courtroom interpreting may be even more problematic than collecting data for conference interpreting encounters, owing to ethical considerations and privacy requirements. However, we found that very few participants were unwilling to participate and to disclose sensitive information. 4.3 The questionnaires Based on the typical communication situation for interpreter-mediated court hearings, questionnaires were prepared for (a) the institutional participants (judge, counsel and prosecutor), (b) the non-Danish-speaking individual (defendant or witness), (c) the Danish-speaking non-institutional participant (defendant or witness), and (d) the court interpreter. To obtain a certain degree of comparability, the questionnaires were generally identical in terms of content. However, the questionnaires for the institutional participants and the non-Danish-speaking users aimed to reveal their user expectations, whereas the interpreter’s questionnaire asked interpreters to express their own perception of the interpreter role, including the notion of interpreter expectations about end-user expectations in the legal encounter in question. All the questionnaires started with background questions, designed to determine and describe the situational framework of the actual court proceeding regarding aspects such as the user’s personal experience with interpreters, knowledge of the aforementioned guidelines, the judges’ accounts of the speech style they use, and their language skills in the foreign language used in the encounter in question. All the participants were asked to complete the questionnaire immediately after the conclusion of the trial. They either completed the questionnaire on the spot, or sent it by post within a couple of days.



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

4.4 Data used in this study For the purpose of the present study, only audio-recorded cases in which a nonDanish-speaking individual was the defendant were chosen, because these are the only cases in which the entire court proceedings are interpreted. So far, only three of the recorded cases fulfil this requirement. The language pairs in these three trials were Danish and German (a lorry driver charged with involuntary homicide), Danish and French (an immigrant charged with rape), and Danish and Arabic (an immigrant charged with handling stolen goods). In all three trials the interpreting was done in the consecutive mode throughout. All three cases were criminal cases, with or without the presence of lay judges, conducted in the year 2006 by a district court (in Kolding, Viborg and Skanderborg respectively) as the court of first instance. The trials involved three different interpreters. The interpreter participating in the Kolding trial was a native speaker of Danish with a BA in German and English. He had no full degree in Interpreting and Translation, but had taken the MA module in Interpreting at the Aarhus School of Business. The interpreter participating in the trial in Viborg was a native speaker of French who had no university qualifications and no formal interpreter training at all. The interpreter participating in the Skanderborg trial was a native speaker of Arabic who had no full university degree, but who had studied Arabic for two years at university level before becoming a refugee in Denmark, where he completed upper-secondary school and attended several courses in interpreting arranged by the Danish Refugee Council. In other words, the study involved more or less professional and even non-professional interpreters. It is worth repeating in this connection that interpreters with a specialist domain-specific knowledge achieved through education can be regarded as professionals, something which may have influenced the discourse of the judges. The communicative strategies adopted by the judges in the settings concerned may also have been influenced by the fact that the interpreters had varying levels of proficiency in Danish; the interpreter in the Kolding trial was the only native speaker of Danish, the language of the courtroom.

5. Functional stages of Danish court proceedings My approach to the investigation of the potential correlation between specific forms of address and the specific content of court proceedings was to organise the three court proceedings that constitute the authentic corpus of this study into functional stages, according to the norm-based contents of Danish court proceedings stipulated by law.

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In most continental European communities governed by law, rules and procedures have been laid down for many generations, and procedures have become very formal in order to ensure predictability in court actions (Fenton 1997: 31). In every court case, therefore, the court will follow a clearly established procedure. All the participants will act in a prescriptively norm-based correlation, and the proceedings will include certain prescriptive functional stages. For the purpose of this study, I define these stages as phases that can be delimited according to the aims of the legal and institutionalised actions performed by the participants (cf. Cotterill 2003: 93). In this context, a stage is called prescriptively norm-based if its inclusion is explicitly demanded by the law. The prescriptively norm-based framework of Danish court proceedings is provided in the Danish Administration of Justice Act, Section 928 and Sections 845–850, 852, and 869–882, which apply to criminal cases conducted by district courts involving the use of lay judges. According to this framework, the participants in Danish court proceedings will act in the following way: first the presiding judge announces the case, following which the prosecutor is ordered to read out the indictment. Next, the defendant is asked how s/he pleads. Subsequently, the judge orders the prosecutor to open and present the case. Then the evidence, consisting of several part actions, is produced. The presiding judge asks the defendant whether s/he is willing to make a statement. If the defendant declares that s/he is willing to make a statement, s/he is questioned by the prosecutor first. Next, s/he is questioned by the defence counsel. Further questions that may have arisen may necessitate more questions to the defendant from the presiding judge, lay judges, the prosecutor or the defence counsel. Eventually, this questioning is followed by witness testimonies, including those of expert witnesses, and the production of documents. When the production of evidence is finished, first the prosecutor and then the defence counsel present their closing arguments. If the defendant so wishes, s/he is then given the opportunity to comment upon the production of evidence and any legal issues in relation to the case. Finally, the case is set down for judgement. These prescriptively norm-based stages are shown in Table 1. In her study dealing among other things with participants’ interaction strategies at various stages of Austrian court proceedings, Kadric (2001: 37) operates with supplementary stages which I have integrated into Table 1 in order to obtain a model of classification which is as detailed as possible. These supplementary stages I have elected to term descriptively norm-based stages, which should be defined as stages or elements that are not statutory, but which according to legal usage have developed into conventional units. Since this investigation centres on the form of address that the judges used during the court proceedings when addressing non-



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

Danish-speaking defendants, I have expanded the model to include information on the communicative structure of each functional stage, showing whether the functional stages take the form of a monologue or a dialogue, and revealing the identity of the dialogue partners (cf. Jacobsen 2002: 44 ff; Cotterill 2003: 94). My specifications of the communicative structure of each stage are based on my participation observations in court and the transcripts of the three court proceedings. All these stages may involve several substages with various communicative structures. So the communicative structure referred to in Table 1 only reflects the primary communicative structure of each stage. Stages 1 and 5 are empty categories or headings, with only the subcategories being tantamount to stages with a communicative structure. Due to the fact that Stages 5a and 8 did not occur in any of the proceedings, the primary communicative structure of these stages has been derived from the labelling of their norm-based content, and therefore defined as the theoretical communicative structure.

6. Method of analysis 6.1 Units of analysis: Functional stages On the basis of the transcripts, the three proceedings were divided into the functional stages mentioned above. All the turns in the transcripts were assigned to the different stages by deciding that a stage should begin when its norm-based semantic content (see Table 1) has been achieved for the first time. Based on the communicative structure of each functional stage, the stages (marked in grey) at which the judge did not engage in a monologue or dialogue with the non-Danish-speaking defendant were excluded from further investigation. This applied to Stage 2 (the prosecutor reading out the indictment), Stage 4 (the prosecutor presenting the case), Stage 5e (witness testimonies), Stage 5f (questioning of expert witnesses), Stage 5g (production of documents), and Stages 6 and 7 (closing arguments of the defence counsel and the prosecutor). Stage 1 (announcement of the case) and Stage 5 (presentation of evidence) were empty categories, and were therefore not subjected to further investigation either. 6.2 Units of analysis: Utterances of the judge designed to address the defendant As a next step, on the basis of the transcripts, all the utterances of the judges at the remaining stages were examined in order to determine the original utterances in which the judge communicatively addresses either the defendant as an individual

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Table 1.  Functional stages of Danish court proceedings Prescriptive norm-based semantic content /Descriptive norm-based semantic content 1. Announcement of the case: 1a. Ascertainment of attendance 1b. Questioning of person 1c. Checking of identity + informing of rights and obligations 2. The prosecutor reads out the indictment 3. The defendant is asked how he pleads 4. The prosecutor is told to present the case 5. Presentation of evidence: 5a. The judge asks the defendant if he is willing to make a statement 5b. Questioning by the prosecutor 5c. Questioning by the defence counsel 5d. Further questions 5e. Witness testimonies 5f.

Questioning of expert witnesses 5g. Documents 6. Closing argument of the prosecutor 7. Closing argument of the defence counsel 8. The defendant’s opportunity to comment 9. The case is set down for judgement 10. Instructions on appeal possibilities 11. Participants’ statement regarding their intention to appeal

Communicative structure

Dialogue between the judge and all other participants Dialogue between the judge and the defendant Monologue by the judge or dialogue between the judge and the defendant Monologue by the prosecutor Theoretically a dialogue between the judge and the defendant, but in practice the counsel responds to the question Monologue by the prosecutor

Theoretically a dialogue between the judge and the defendant Dialogue between the prosecutor and the defendant, possibly including questioning of the defendant by the judge Dialogue between the counsel and the defendant, possibly including questioning of the defendant by the judge Dialogues between the institutional participants and the defendant Dialogues between the institutional participants and witnesses Dialogues between the institutional participants and expert witnesses Monologues by the prosecutor and the counsel Monologue by the prosecutor Monologue by the counsel Theoretically a dialogue between the judge and the defendant Monologue by the judge Dialogue between the judge and the participants for whom it is relevant Dialogue between the judge and the participants for whom it is relevant



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

or the court collectively, thereby including the defendant. The underlying rationale behind this was that judges are in charge of a multi-party activity in court, where what the judges say is public, and therefore addressed in principle to the court collectively. This means that they only occasionally appoint turns of talk to the individual participants in the proceedings. For example, when the judges read out the judgement at Stage 9 it seems impossible to tell whether they are addressing the defendant exclusively or the court as a whole. In consequence, I focus only on utterances by the judges in which they either provided the defendant with an individual opportunity to enter into a dialogue (questions and answers, for instance), or addressed the defendant in her or his capacity as a member of the courts (as one of several addressees). The concept of utterance is often used by linguists simply to refer to a unit of speech under study, but in this context each turn of a speaker will be regarded as one utterance. According to Wadensjö (1997: 48), the definition of a turn is “a sequence in which one person is speaking without interruption. It commences when this person starts talking and ends when speech stops. Hence, when two people speak at the same time, two turns occur simultaneously (or partly simultaneously)”. Thus, in the context of this study utterances are considered synonymous with turns and always relate to units of speech in which a judge communicatively addresses a defendant either as an individual or as a member of the court. Addressing communicatively means that the judge allocates the turn of talk to the defendant, thereby producing utterances to which the defendant or his counsel is supposed to react either explicitly or implicitly. The fact is that as a general legal principle, silence implies acceptance. In consequence, the defendant or his counsel is supposed to object if there is any difference of opinion on the subject. When a judge is reading out the court record, for instance, the silence of the defendant or the counsel will be seen as their implicit acceptance of the content of the court record. However, in the Kolding case the judge encouraged the defendant to react explicitly to the content of each utterance. Hence, the investigation only includes utterances by judges which were designed to function as a question or a proposition to which the defendant could react either explicitly or implicitly by answering, confirming, disclaiming etc. (cf. Wadensjö 1997: 37). Consequently, utterances that did not meet these requirements were excluded. Table 2 shows the total number of turns analysed in each proceeding, and the number of excluded turns.

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Table 2.  Number of turns for each stage analysed Turns of the judges in the analysed stages Metatext Turns addressed exclusively to the institutional participants or the interpreter Repetitions Responses Turns addressed to the defendant individually or the court collectively Total number of turns

Skanderborg trial  1  5

Kolding Viborg Total trial trial  8    3   12  5   22   32

 3  6 30

 0  4 81

  11    5   93

  14   15 204

45

98

134

277

The study, dealing only with turns designed to address the defendant, was carried out on the basis of 204 turns. The total number of turns in the analysed stages was 277. Turns in which the judge repeated either the full answer of a participant or parts of it, thereby talking to himself in order to write the court record, were excluded. For instance the judge in Viborg reacted by repeating only “not guilty”, when the defence counsel had said: “We plead not guilty”. Due to space restrictions, I will present excerpts in their English wording only. Utterances in which a judge responded to an explicit question from one of the primary participants/the interpreter were also excluded. For instance, the judge in Viborg answered simply “yes” to the interpreter’s question about whether he was supposed to translate a specific utterance or not. Metatextual statements to which the other participants were not supposed to react have also been excluded. At stage 1a of the Kolding trial, for instance, the judge informed the court that the presence of the interpreter would affect the progress of the trial: “What will happen is that the interpreter, who is an employee of the court, will translate the questions that are asked and other statements”. In addition, utterances in which the judge addressed his questions or comments exclusively to (one of) the institutional participants or the interpreter were excluded. For instance, in the Viborg trial the judge exclusively addressed the interpreter, who had made a comment on the fact that he had not received a copy of the indictment, by saying: “Yes, you should have had a copy. I’m sorry.” In other cases, the judge had what resembled an off-the-record conversation with the institutional representatives. In the Kolding case, for example, the judge informed the court that he had been informed the night before that two lay judges had to participate in the trial, leading to a discussion between the institutional participants which was not translated.



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

Table 3.  Subcategories of direct and indirect speech Subcategory Second-person Style (SPS) Unmarked Speech (US) Indirect Third-person Style speech (TPS) Direct speech

Example “Var du sammen med nogle venner?” “Were you spending time with some friends?”(Viborg trial) “Hvad sker der så?” “What happens next?”(Viborg trial) “Jeg skal spørge, om han vil svare på de spørgsmål, der bliver stillet?” “I must ask if he intends to answer the questions that are asked?”(Kolding trial) Status Word Style “Så skal jeg høre, hvorledes tiltalte stiller sig til tiltalen?” (SWS) “Then I must hear how the defendant pleads?” (Kolding trial) Proper Noun Style “Nu har [Name] jo fortalt, at hans datter havde den her computer (PNS) fremme; havde datteren også playstationen og DVD-filmene fremme?” “Well, [Name] has told us that his daughter was using this computer, but was the daughter also using the playstation and the DVD movies?”(Skanderborg trial)

6.3 Categories of direct and indirect speech For every functional stage at which the judge presented a monologue or had a dialogue with the defendant, the utterances that were addressed to the defendant in her or his status as an individual or member of the court have been categorised as either direct or indirect speech. The category of direct speech (see Table 3) has been divided into two subcategories. When the judge produced utterances in which the personal pronoun du/I (you — singular and plural) occurred, the judge used what is termed the secondperson style (SPS). Utterances in which no personal pronoun occurred have been termed unmarked speech. Utterances in which the judge referred to a person or object (e.g. the victim or the stolen goods) other than the defendant when using a third-person pronoun have also been categorised as unmarked speech. One example illustrating this is the judge in the Viborg trial asking: “Her [the victim’s] parents were not in Skive?” As indirect speech I categorise utterances in which the judge either used the third-person style (hun/she, han/he, de/they and man/one) or so-called status words, which in this context means a form of address emphasising the status or function of the addressee. Utterances in which the judges addressed the defendant adopting a proper noun style by addressing the defendant by name have also been categorised as a subcategory of indirect speech. It should also be mentioned that utterances including both direct and indirect speech occur only once in the table, reflecting the subcategory of the speech style that occurred first. Thus, the following

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utterance produced by the judge in Viborg is included in Table 3 under the “status word” style: “First… the first two times she [the victim] phoned she asked the defendant some questions. And the third time, … what is it that you are saying?”. Utterances including one or several occurrences of unmarked speech and an occurrence of marked speech (all subcategories apart from unmarked speech) have been categorised according to the type of marked speech style. For each subcategory an example extracted from the authentic data has been integrated into Table 3.

7. Findings In what follows I will present the results of the discourse analysis regarding the potential correlation between certain functional stages and the use of speech styles. In order to obtain a further understanding of the discourse of judges, I will account for the individual speech styles adopted by the judges and determine the extent to which they adopted the different forms of address. Furthermore, I will report on the potential differences between what the judges say about their speech style and the way they actually talk through interpreters. Finally, I will sum up and discuss the findings. 7.1 Forms of address related to functional stages For each of the stages at which the judge delivers a monologue or is in dialogue with the defendant (cf. Table 1), the number of occurrences of direct and indirect speech in what the judges say in the three authentic proceedings has been counted. Table 4 shows how the subcategories of indirect and direct speech are organised in the three proceedings. As an initial note on Table 4, I would like to remark that only the proceedings in Kolding completed the entire norm-based sequence of stages. In the Skanderborg proceedings regarding the handling of stolen goods, additional witnesses were summoned to give evidence, which meant that the proceedings were delayed after Stage 5d. In the rape case in Viborg, the recording was interrupted just prior to the victim giving evidence — that is after Stage 5c — as this was given in camera (behind closed doors). As a consequence, two of the three cases analysed do not include all the stages. Hence, the study is based on limited authentic data, and does not claim to be exhaustive. However, the results provide useful insights into the discourse of judges and may offer a methodological basis for further investigation in other settings. The total number of prescriptive and descriptive norm-based functional stages of Danish court proceedings, in which the judge either delivers a monologue or

–

0

 –

 2

12 0 5 17/30 = 56.7%

1

–

1

 2

 –

 9

0 13 13/30 = 43.3%

0

–

0

 0

 1  1  0

 0  1  2

0

0

0

0

0

0

0

50 11 0 61/81 = 75.3%

 3

 0

 0

 2

41

 1

 1

 0

0

0

 0

 0

 0

15

 0

 3

 0

 0

US  1  0

1 19 20/81 = 24.7%

0

0

0

0

0

1

0

0

 6

1

0

0

 1

 0

 1

 1

0

0

 4

1

Kolding District Court (Danish/German) TPS SWS PNS SPS  0  3 0 0  3  0 0 0

Skanderborg District Court (Danish/Arabic) TPS SWS PNS SPS US  – – – –  –  0 0 1 0  1

Note: – indicates that this stage did not occur in the case in question

1a. Ascertainment of attendance 1b. Questioning of person 1c. Checking of identity + informing of rights and obligations 3. The defendant is asked how he pleads 5b. Questioning by the prosecutor 5c. Questioning by the defence counsel 5d. Further questions 9. The case is set down for judgement 10. Instructions on appeal possibilities 11. Participants’ statement regarding their intention to appeal Turns in total As a percentage

Prescriptive norm-based stages /Descriptive norm-based stages

0

5

0

0

0

0

0

0

6 5 0 11/93 = 11.8%

0

6

0

0

 1

28

 1

 0

US  –  0

52 30 82/93 = 88.2%

 4

42

 1

 2

Viborg District Court (Danish/French) TPS SWS PNS SPS – – –  – 0 0 0  3

Table 4.  Occurrences of indirect and direct speech at functional stages of Danish court proceedings.

204 89/115 (43.6)

2/0 (100)

2/0 (100)

1/0 (100)

47/17 (73)

1/5 (17)

19/83 (19)

3/2 (60)

7/3 (70)

3/1 (75) 4/4 (50)

Indir./dir. (ind. in %)

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182 Tina Paulsen Christensen

has a dialogue with the defendant individually or in her or his capacity as a member of the court, is twelve (see Table 1). Of these stages, Stage 5a (judge asking the defendant whether he is willing to give a statement) and Stage 8 (defendant being offered an opportunity to make a final comment) did not occur in any of the trials, despite the fact that these stages are so-called prescriptive norm-based stages. Consequently, these stages have been excluded from Table 4. Looking at the three analysed trials as a whole, it is significant that the indirect forms of address occurred in all the remaining functional stages. In other words, the findings of this study indicate that judges might deviate from the direct style when addressing non-Danish-speaking defendants at all of these stages — a tendency which court interpreters need to be aware of. On the other hand, the judges always adopted the indirect forms of address at three stages only (Stages 9, 10 and 11), where the judgement is read out and the participants are informed of the possibility of appeal. However, since these stages only occurred in the Kolding case, this conclusion cannot necessarily be generalised. When it comes to the functional stages occurring in all the trials, it appears that the use of indirect speech is most frequent at the initial stages of the court proceedings, when the judges announce the case (Stages 1a to 1c) and ask the defendant how he pleads (Stage 3), and also at Stage 5d, when the judges may ask further questions and often write down statements and read out the court records. As regards Stages 1b, 1c and 3, the judge in the trial in Viborg did not deviate at all from direct speech, which suggests that the use of direct and indirect speech is a very individual choice. This is further underlined by the frequency with which indirect speech occurred in the individual cases. The judge in Skanderborg used the two forms of address almost indiscriminately. The judge in Kolding, on the other hand, used the indirect form in 75.3% of his utterances; while the judge in Viborg made almost consistent use of direct speech (indirect only 11.8%). The average frequency of indirect speech in all trials was 43.6%. 7.1.1 Individual speech styles of the participating judges As mentioned above, the judge in Viborg adopted direct speech almost consistently, and his preferred speech style seemed to be the second-person style, which he made use of at all stages. At the initial stages (1b and 1c), when the judge asks defendants about their personal details and informs them of their rights and obligations, this particular judge in fact only made use of the second-person style. At Stage 3 (defendant being asked how he pleads) and Stages 5b and 5c (defendant being questioned by the institutional representatives), however, the judge combined the second-person style with the unmarked speech style, although he still seemed to prefer the second-person style because here too this speech style was



Judges’ deviations from norm-based direct speech in court

more frequent than unmarked speech. The indirect forms of address were adopted by this judge only at Stage 5b, when the defendant was being questioned by the prosecutor, but still the judge seemed to prefer the direct way of addressing the defendant, given that 86.4% of his contributions at this stage were direct forms of address. As regards the 13.6% of indirect forms of address produced at this stage, the judge used the third-person style and the status word style almost equally, whereas he never made use of the proper noun style. In the Kolding trial the picture was a little more complex, even though this judge, as mentioned above, seemed to have a clear preference for indirect forms of address. Interestingly, at the stages when the Viborg judge used the second-person style exclusively (Stages 1b and 1c), the Kolding judge consistently adopted indirect speech styles. This also applied to Stages 3, 5c, 9, 10 and 11. In fact this judge did not make exclusive use of direct speech styles at any of the functional stages. However, at Stages 1a, 5b and 5d he combined indirect with direct forms of address, mainly the unmarked speech style. The direct speech style was his preferred speech style at Stage 5b only, if we presuppose that unmarked speech is to be regarded as a form of direct speech. If we consider the frequencies of direct speech forms, it is evident that the Kolding judge used the second-person style only once during the proceedings (at Stage 5b). As for his use of the indirect forms of address, he generally switched between the third-person style and the status word style, and never used the proper noun style. The judge in Skanderborg used the two forms of address almost indiscriminately at all stages, but never adopted either the second-person style or the status word style. The only speech style that he used at all stages in this trial was the proper noun style, which he combined with either the third-person style or the unmarked speech style. 7.1.2 Subcategories of direct and indirect speech With regard to subcategories of direct speech, which is the recommended way of addressing non-Danish-speaking individuals according to the Danish guidelines, it was found that only the judge in Viborg usually addressed the non-Danishspeaking defendant as a direct, explicitly mentioned addressee. This was in contrast to the judge in Skanderborg, who never adopted the second-person style, and the Kolding judge, who only used it once. This indicates that rather than talking to the defendant, these judges preferred to talk about the defendant. Unmarked speech occurred in all three proceedings, the highest frequency particularly at Stages 5b, 5c and 5d when the defendant was questioned. As regards the indirect forms of address, it is noteworthy that the proper noun style was only adopted by the judge in Skanderborg, whereas the other two used

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the status word style: the Kolding judge adopted this style at almost all stages, whereas the Viborg judge only adopted it at Stage 5b, when the defendant was being questioned by the prosecutor. As for the third-person style, the judge in Viborg also adopted this style at Stage 5b only, whereas the judges in Kolding and Skanderborg used it throughout the proceedings. In Kolding and Skanderborg, then, the third-person style occurred more often at the stages when the defendant was being questioned by the institutional representatives than at the initial stages, when the judges were providing the framework for the proceedings. 7.2 Potential differences between judges’ accounts of their speech style and actual speech style As initially stated, Wadensjö (1998: 271; 1997: 47) has documented that there are significant differences between participants’ accounts of the style they use and the way they actually talk through interpreters. To test this observation, we will now compare the judges’ own account of their preferred speech style, as reported in the questionnaires, with their actual use of direct and indirect style in court. In the questionnaire for the institutional representatives, the judges were asked: “Which form of address do you use when addressing people who do not speak Danish?” The reply options were as follows: – Direct form of address (e.g. “Where were you at 6 o’clock on March 3, 2006?”) – Indirect form of address (e.g.“Where was he/she at 6 o’clock on March 3, 2006?”) – Both direct and indirect forms of address – Don’t know All the judges stated that they used direct speech when addressing non-Danishspeaking defendants. Comparing this with the way they actually addressed nonDanish-speaking defendants through an interpreter (cf. Table 4), the authentic data generated by this study confirms the observations of Wadensjö in that the participants’ accounts of their speech style differed from their actual style. In practice they all deviated from direct speech. In other words, the judges used both forms of address, although they did so to varying degrees. The judge in the Skanderborg trial used indirect (56.7%) and direct speech almost indiscriminately, whereas the judge in Kolding adopted the indirect form of address almost exclusively (76.3%). Only the account of the judge in the Viborg trial can be said partly to match his actual speech style, because in practice he deviated from direct speech only at Stage 5d (defendant being questioned by the prosecutor), when he wrote and read out the court records.



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7.3 Summary and discussion of the findings Summing up the findings presented above, we may hypothesise that unlike interpreters, who according to Angermeyer (2005: 204 and 212) produce target utterances and choose a speech style that is designed primarily to conform to the institutional norms of court interpreting, in practice judges do not generally perform according to the expectancy norm stipulated by the Danish legal system. They do not generally address non-Danish-speaking defendants directly, so in fact they fail to adopt the usage recommended by the Danish legal system. The findings seem to suggest that the use of direct and indirect speech is a highly individual choice — which raises an intuitive question, namely, is there a connection between the use of direct and indirect speech and the judges’ own language skills in the foreign languages used in the encounter concerned? Considering Mason’s (2000: 200) observations about motives for switching to indirect forms of address, namely that some primary participants may deviate from the direct form if an initial loss of confidence in the direct mode of address via an interpreter leads the speaker to resort to what he or she might perceive as a more secure form of communication, addressing the interpreter as someone who shares his or her language, it may be expected that the less competent the judge is in the language concerned, the more likely he is to resort to addressing the interpreter instead of the non-Danish-speaking individual using indirect speech, thus excluding the nonDanish-speaking individual from the interaction. In answer to the question “How would you describe your language competences in the foreign language in question?”, which was included in the questionnaire, the judge in Kolding described his German skills as follows: “I understand everything and I am fluent in the language”, while the judge in Viborg described his French skills as follows: “I understand a little bit, but I am not fluent in the language”. In the Skanderborg case, where the defendant was speaking Arabic, the judge commented “I neither understand nor speak the language”. However, comparing these results to the points made above, the intuitive hypothesis must be rejected. The authentic data supports a opposite hypothesis, since there was an increase in the use of indirect speech when the level of a judge’s language competence in the foreign language concerned was higher. The findings further suggest the existence of significant differences between participants’ accounts of the style they used and the way they actually talked through interpreters in court. When completing the questionnaire, all three judges stated that they used direct speech when addressing non-Danish-speaking defendants. In practice, however, they all deviated from direct speech to various degrees and used both forms of address. Even so, it could be argued that the account of the judge in the Viborg trial might be said to match his actual speech style. He only deviated from direct speech at Stage 5d, the stage at which the defendant is

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questioned by the prosecutor, when writing and reading out the court records. It is possible that when stating what speech style he preferred when addressing nonDanish-speaking individuals, the judge assumed that this question referred only to utterances forming part of question-answer sequences, and did not regard the act of reading out the court records as relevant in this connection — in which case his speech style (indirect 11.8%) may be seen as consistent with his account of his own speech style. However, perhaps the fact that none of the judges indicated a preference for combining the two forms of address supports the hypothesis that there are potential differences between what the judges said about their speech style and the one they actually used. Here, it should be mentioned that the judges were not asked to complete the questionnaires until after the trials had ended, so they were not able to adapt their discourse during the proceedings to the answers they had already given. Arguably, the judges might have responded to the questionnaire on the basis of their knowledge of the recommended speech style according to the guidelines. This possibility cannot be excluded, since the judge in Skanderborg was the only one to state in his questionnaire that he was not aware of the existence of guidelines. With regard to the primary objective of this article, namely to explore the potential connection between the use of direct and indirect speech and certain functional stages of Danish court proceedings, the findings show that the indirect forms of address occurred at all the functional stages of Danish court proceedings stipulated by Danish law. The judges primarily deviated from the prescribed direct forms of address at the initial stages of the court proceedings, when asking further questions, writing down statements, reading out the court records and reading out the judgement. So far, I have made no other mention of why and in which interactional situations the judges deviated from direct speech. In my theoretical introduction, I listed arguments for the switch in the form of address documented by different scholars. My focus was on frequency-related aspects, for which reason my findings confirm only the observations of Wadensjö (1997) and Kadric (2001), who documented that the switch from direct to indirect form of address is often related to physical activities such as reading and writing the court records. The fact that there is a correlation between physical activity and the switch from direct to indirect speech is clearly indicated by the proceedings in both the Kolding and the Viborg trials. In the Kolding trial, the judge continuously dictated the records of proceedings, but at Stage 5d he seemed to ask questions to which he was given no answers via the other participants’ questions or questions regarding circumstances which still seemed unclear to him. At this stage, the judge addressed 59 utterances to the defendant, eight of which were actual questions which were recorded, whereas in



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the remaining 51 utterances he was reading from the record and almost invariably (78.4%) used indirect speech, including status words (e.g. “I have noted down that the defendant has explained …”). In the Viborg trial, the judge continuously entered information into the court records, and repeatedly put supplementary questions to the defendant, for example, at Stage 5b, when the defendant was questioned by the prosecutor. Here, the judge never announced when he was reading, and it is difficult to determine when he intended to ask an actual question and when he was reading statements aloud in order to obtain the defendant’s acceptance of the records. The only conclusion that may be reached with any degree of certainty is that of the 81 utterances addressed to the defendant, the judge used indirect speech in 13.6% of the turns. Further investigations will be needed to determine whether my authentic data supports some of the other motives put forward as affecting the switch from direct to indirect speech.

8. Conclusion This study has analysed the legal discourse of three Danish judges in three different interpreter-mediated proceedings. It focuses on their use of direct and indirect forms of address at various stages of Danish court proceedings in order to find out whether there is a correlation between the use of direct and indirect speech by judges and certain prescriptively and descriptively norm-based functional stages of these proceedings. On the basis of the empirical data, it has been documented that during the initial phases of the proceedings in particular, when the case is being announced, the judges deviated from the norm stipulated by the Guidelines for interpreting in Danish court proceedings because they did not address questions and answers directly to the person in question, but addressed the interpreter instead. The judges also tended to switch from the direct to the indirect form of address when reading out statements made by the defendant or asking further questions for inclusion in the court records. The indirect speech was further adopted when announcing the judgement and informing the participants of the possibilities of appeal. However, these stages only occurred in one of the three cases considered. This means that the findings are in no way conclusive; they are simply initial observations based on a very small sample of data with the sole purpose of generating hypotheses to be tested on much larger samples of data. Furthermore, the study has shown that the use of direct and indirect speech is the result of individual choice. In the three trials analysed for this study, the use of indirect speech fluctuated between 11.8% and 75.3%. Most interestingly, the study has demonstrated that what the judges say about the speech style they use does not correspond with the style they actually adopt in court practice.

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This article has focused on frequency-related aspects, and contains only limited reference to why and in which interactional situations the judges deviate from the direct speech style. As regards the motives for switching to indirect speech documented by various court interpreting scholars, the authentic data used for this study only confirms that the switch from a direct to an indirect form of address is related to physical activities such as reading and writing the court records. However, as emphasised by Mason (2000: 220), it is important to know more about what motivates switches of footing in order to fully understand what occurs in interpreter-mediated encounters. Consequently, I intend to investigate and discuss this aspect of court interpreting in greater detail in future studies.

Notes 1.  As with most prescriptive norms (cf. Mikkelson 2000) the chief concerns of the Danish guidelines are accuracy and neutrality, and the conceptualisation of the interpreter as a language conduit is still prevalent, despite the fact that studies of courtroom interpreting (e.g. BerkSeligson 1990: 54ff; Jansen 1995; Jacobsen 2003) have demonstrated that interpreters influence and intervene in interpreted communicative events and therefore play an active and visible role during interaction in the courtroom, co-constructing meaning together with the interlocutors. Disregarding this, one of the stated goals of the Danish guidelines is that interpreters should “relay accurate renditions of a message, even going to the extreme of stating that the goal of the interpreter is to make a communication between parties who do not share a language as smooth as it would be if the parties did have a common language” (Angelelli 2004: 13). 2.  According to Dubslaff and Martinsen (2005), there is general agreement in extratextual sources of information such as handbooks and guidelines (e.g. Adams et al. 1995; Mikkelson 2000; Phelan 2001) that interpreters should use the first person (direct speech) when rendering the utterances of primary participants in face-to-face encounters (Dubslaff & Martinsen 2005: 212). In addition, according to the rules and regulations for legal interpreting, the rendering of primary interlocutors’ speech in direct and rather than reported speech is in fact an established standard in a range of countries (cf. Berk-Seligson 1990: 151; Schweda Nicholson & Martinsen 1997: 267; Hale 2004; Angermeyer 2005: 204). Consequently, professional court interpreters presumably regard the first-person style as a universal norm which is to be followed. 3.  Goffman (1981: 227) defines footing as “the alignment of an individual to a particular utterance, whether involving a production format, as in the case of the speaker, or solely a participation status, as in the case of a hearer”. A person’s footing concerns the relation between himself and an utterance to which he has some kind of access, and a change in footing is therefore a change of his relation to that utterance.



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References Adams, C., Corsellis, A. & Harmer, A. (1995). Basic handbook for trainers of public service interpreters. London: Institute of Linguists. Angelelli, C. V. (2004). Revisiting the interpreter’s role. A study of conference, court and medical interpreters in Canada, Mexico and the United States. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Angermeyer, P. S. (2005). Who is ‘you’? Polite forms of address and ambiguous participant roles in court interpreting. Target 17 (2), 303–326. Berk-Seligson, S. (1990). The bilingual courtroom: Court interpreters in the judicial process. Chicago/London: The University of Chicago Press. Chesterman, A. (1993). From “is” to “ought”: Laws, norms and strategies in translation studies. Target 5 (1), 1–20. Chiaro, D. & Nocella, G. (2004). Interpreters’ perception of linguistic and non-linguistic factors affecting quality: A survey through the World Wide Web. Meta 49 (2), 278–293. Christensen, T. P. (2003). Translation-memory systemer til juridisk oversættelse. En kritisk analyse af anvendeligheden af TM-systemer til oversættelsen af selskabsretlige dokumenter. PhD dissertation, University of Southern Denmark. Cotterill, J. (2003). Language and power in Court: A linguistic analysis of the O.J. Simpson trial. New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Domstolsstyrelsen (2003). Vejledning om tolkning i retten. April 2003. http://www.domstol.dk/ om/publikationer/Publikationer/Vejledning%20om%20tolkning%20i%20retten.pdf (accessed 1 February 2005). Dubslaff, F. & Martinsen, B. (2005). Exploring untrained interpreters’ use of direct versus indirect speech. Interpreting 7 (2), 211–236. Fenton, S. (1997). The role of the interpreter in the adversarial courtroom. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 35–54. Garzone, G. (2002). Quality and norms in interpretation. In G. Garzone & M. Viezzi (Eds.), Interpreting in the 21st century: Challenges and opportunities. Selected papers from the 1st Forli Conference on Interpreting Studies, 9–11 November 2000. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 107–119. Goffman, E. (1981). Forms of talk. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Hale, S. B. (2004). The discourse of court interpreting: Discourse practices of the law, the witness and the interpreter. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Hale, S. B. (2006). Themes and methodological issues in court interpreting research. In E. Hertog & B. van der Veer (Eds.), Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting. Antwerp: Hoger Instituut voor Vertalers & Tolken, 205–228. Hale, S. B. (2007). Community Interpreting. Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Harris, B. (1981). Observations on a cause célèbre: Court interpreting at the Lischka trial. In R. Roberts (Ed.), L’ Interprétation après des tribuaux. Ottawa: University of Ottawa, 189–201. Jansen, P. (1995). The role of the interpreter in Dutch courtroom interaction: The impact of the situation on translational norms. In P. Jansen (Ed.), Translation and the manipulation of discourse: Selected papers of the CERA Research Seminars in Translation Studies 1992–1993. Leuven: The Leuven Research Center for Translation, Communication and Cultures, 133– 155.

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Jacobsen, B. (2002). Pragmatic meaning in court interpreting: An empirical study of additions in consecutively interpreted question-answer dialogues. PhD dissertation, Aarhus School of Business. Kadric, M. (2001). Dolmetschen bei Gericht. Erwartungen, Anforderungen, Kompetenzen. Wien: WUV-Universitätsverlag. Kalina, S. (2005). Quality in the interpreting process: What can be measured and how? In R. Godijns. & M. Hinderdael (Eds.), Directionality in interpreting — the “retour” or the native? Gent: Communication & Cognition, 27–46. Kurz, I. (1989). Conference interpreting — user expectations. In D. L. Hammond (Ed.), Coming of Age: Proceedings of the 30th Annual Conference of the American Translators Association. Medford, NJ: Learned Information, 143–148. Marzocchi, Carlo (2005). On norms and ethics in the discourse on interpreting. The Interpreters’ Newsletter No. 13, 87–108. Mason, I. (2000). Models and methods in dialogue interpreting research. In M. Olohan (Ed.), Intercultural faultlines: Research models in translation studies I. Textual and cognitive aspects. Manchester: St. Jerome, 215–231. Mikkelson, H. (2000). Introduction to court interpreting. Manchester: St. Jerome. Moser, P. (1996). Expectations of users of conference interpretation. Interpreting 1 (2), 145–178. Phelan, M. (2001). The interpreter’s resource. Clevedon/Buffalo/Toronto/Sydney: Multilingual Matters. Pöchhacker, F. (2000). Dolmetschen. Konzeptuelle Grundlagen und deskriptive Untersuchungen. Tübingen: Stauffenburg. Pöchhacker, F. (2001): Quality assessment in conference and community interpreting. Meta 46 (2), 410–425. Pöchhacker, F. (2002). Researching interpreting quality: Models and methods. In G. Garzone & M. Viezzi (Eds.), Interpreting in the 21st century: Challenges and opportunities. Selected papers from the 1st Forli Conference on Interpreting Studies, 9–11 November 2000. Amsterdam/ Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 95–107. Pöchhacker, F. (2005). Quality research revisited. The Interpreters’ Newsletter, No. 13, 2005, 143– 166. Pöchhacker, F. (2007). Critical linking up: Kinship and convergence in interpreting studies. In C. Wadensjö, B. Englund Dimitrova & A.-L. Nilsson (Eds.), The Critical Link 4: Professionalisation of interpreting in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 11–26. Pöchhacker, F. & Kadric, M. (1999). The hospital cleaner as healthcare interpreter: A case study. The Translator 5 (2), 161–178. Pöllabauer, S. (2007). Interpreting in asylum hearings: Issues of saving face. In C. Wadensjö, B. Englund Dimitrova & A.-L. Nilsson (Eds.), The Critical Link 4: Professionalisation of interpreting in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 39–52. Schäffner, C. (1999). The concept of norms in translation. In C. Schäffner (Ed.), Translation and norms. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters, 1–8. Schweda Nicholson, N. & Martinsen, B. (1997). Court Interpretation in Denmark. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour and D. Steyn (Eds.), The Critical Link: Interpreters in the Community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 259–270. Shackman, J. (1984). The right to be understood. Cambridge: National Extension College. Shlesinger, M. (1999). Norms, strategies and constraints: How do we tell them apart? In A. A. Lugrís & A. F. Ocampo (Eds.), Anovar /Anosar estudios de traducción e interpretación. Vigo: Universidade de Vigo, 65–77.



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Toury, G. (1980). In search of a theory of translation. Tel Aviv: The Porter Institute for Poetics and Semiotics. Wadensjö, C. (1997). Recycled information as a questioning strategy: Pitfalls in interpreter-mediated talk. In S. E. Carr, R. Roberts, A. Dufour & D. Steyn (Eds.), The critical link: Interpreters in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 35–54. Wadensjö, C. (1998). Interpreting as interaction. London/New York: Longman. Wadensjö, C. (2007). Foreword: Interpreting professions, professionalisation and professionalism. In C. Wadensjö, B. Englund Dimitrova & A.-L. Nilsson (Eds.), The Critical Link 4: Professionalisation of interpreting in the community. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 1–8.

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Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting An analysis of face Bente Jacobsen Aarhus School of Business, University of Aarhus

This article reports on an investigation of face in a triadic speech event, a prosecutor’s interpreter-mediated questioning of a defendant in a criminal trial at a Danish district court. The power differential of this particular speech event makes it inherently threatening for the less powerful individual, the defendant, who by consenting to make a statement potentially puts his face at risk in multiple ways. Moreover, his face-protecting strategies may result in the prosecutor’s face being threatened. Simultaneously, while attending to the face-work of the primary participants, the interpreter has her own face to attend to as a professional. Consequently, the aim of the investigation was to explore face-work in the speech event and the interpreter’s strategies for translating and coordinating face-work. The analysis revealed that the interpreter frequently modified facethreatening and face-protecting utterances in an attempt to protect her own face and/or the face of one of the primary participants.

1. Introduction This article presents an empirical study of face in a triadic speech event: a prosecutor’s interpreter-mediated questioning of a defendant in a criminal trial at a Danish district court.1 The aim of the study has been to explore face-work in the speech event and the interpreter’s strategies for translating and coordinating face-work. Triadic speech events share contextual constraints, such as the immediacy of the encounter, the physical presence of all three participants and the often sensitive nature of the topics discussed, which are bound to exert considerable influence on the way meanings are exchanged and negotiated (cf. e.g. Jacobsen 2002). Thus, various studies of interpreting in legal settings (e.g. Morris 1989; Berk-Seligson 1990; Jacobsen 2002) have shown that the common perception of the interpreter as a non-person, a kind of translating machine, often clashes with the reality of

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the interpreting situation in the courtroom. In addition, Wadensjö’s (e.g. 1992) analysis of footing, applying Goffman’s (1981) participation framework to interpreting in other institutional face-to-face encounters, has provided major insight into the interpreter’s role as translator and coordinator of the talk of others. Finally, a number of these and other studies of triadic speech events have pointed to the significance of face and have suggested that interpreters are aware of the need for attending to face, own face as well as the face of others (e.g. Berk-Seligson 1990; Harris & Sherwood 1978; Mason & Stewart 2001; Wadensjö 1998). In other words, interpreters are aware that, besides co-ordinating and relaying the face-work of primary participants, they have to avoid jeopardizing the confidence of these participants in them as translators and coordinators (cf. e.g. Wadensjö 1998: 177). 1.1 The legal setting The Danish courtroom is less adversarial than many other courtrooms around the world. Trial procedure is governed by law,2 which determines the role of participants and grants certain rights and privileges to defendants in criminal trials. Thus, witnesses are obliged to answer questions and will be punished if they perjure themselves3 whereas defendants are not obliged to answer questions and cannot be punished for giving false evidence.4 In addition, the lawyers in the courtroom are required to ask questions that will elicit clear and truthful responses.5 Moreover, the lawyers are not allowed to ask questions of defendants in a manner which implies that their refusal to answer questions or to acknowledge particular facts may be considered an admission of guilt.6 However, despite these constraints on lawyers’ questioning strategies, there is a clear power differential between the lawyers in the courtroom, judges, prosecutors and defence counsel, on the one hand, and the non-lawyers, defendants and witnesses, on the other. The degree of power held by each participant is determined by his or her specified role. Thus, judges are the most powerful participants, because they preside over proceedings and pass judgment. However, prosecutors and defence counsel are also very powerful participants, since they represent the legal system and are present in their professional capacity, and since their designated role of questioners gives them a degree of control over the proceedings. The non-lawyers, on the other hand, have only a small amount of power, because they have been summoned to appear (though they may of course have come forward voluntarily), because their designated role is limited to answering questions, and because they are outsiders to the legal system and generally unfamiliar with the specifics of the law (unless a defendant or a witness is a lawyer or a police officer, or a witness appears as an expert witness). Of course, defendants’ rights grant them



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the power to refuse cooperation, but such refusal carries the inherent risk that, despite the legal provisions, their refusal to answer questions may be interpreted, especially by the lay people in the courtroom (lay judges or jurors), as an attempt at concealing incriminating evidence. In addition, by refusing to answer questions, defendants deny themselves the opportunity to present directly to the court their version of events. Finally, though both defendants and witnesses may attempt to resist questions, for example by changing the topic or by claiming that they have no knowledge or memory of an event, this kind of strategy may likewise be perceived as an attempt at concealing incriminating evidence. Moreover, witnesses risk being held in contempt or perjuring themselves. Consequently, the power differential in the courtroom enables lawyers to exercise much of the control over the speech exchange, including the presentation of evidence. Considering that the elicited evidence will have a significant effect on the outcome of the trial, this control is clearly very significant. Two fundamental principles in both civil and criminal justice in Denmark are thus the principle of orality, which requires evidence to be oral, and the principle of immediacy, which requires that evidence be produced directly to those deciding on the case.7 Another fundamental principle in criminal justice in Denmark, relevant to the present study, is the principle of “favor defensionis”, which grants the defence of an accused person certain privileges, and which, in turn, acknowledges the principle of “in dubio re”, that is, the principle that a case must be proven beyond reasonable doubt (Dübeck 1994: 128). Clearly, therefore, given the adversarial role of the primary participants, the power differential and the purpose of the speech event, i.e. the elicitation of evidence, the questioning of a defendant or a witness constitutes a speech event with multiple challenges to face, within the framework of Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory.

2. The concept of face According to Brown and Levinson (1987: 61), all competent adults have and know each other to have ‘face’, that is, “the public self-image” that everyone wishes to claim for himself. Essentially, Brown and Levinson (1987: 61) explain, there are two main related aspects of face: negative face, which is the basic claim “to freedom of action and freedom from imposition”, and positive face, which is “the positive consistent self-image or ‘personality’ (crucially including the desire that this self-image be appreciated and approved of) claimed by interactants”. Brown and Levinson (1987: 61) also explain that their notion of face builds on Goffman (1967) and an English

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folk perception of face as being connected with embarrassment or humiliation. Thus, face is emotionally invested, and it can be lost, maintained or enhanced, and must be constantly attended to in interaction (Brown & Levinson 1987: 61). Moreover, because of the mutual vulnerability of face (everyone’s face depends on everyone else’s being maintained), interactants generally engage in face-work, that is, they cooperate (and assume each other’s cooperation) in maintaining face (Brown & Levinson 1987: 61). In other words, they choose communication strategies that will protect, maintain or enhance face, or mitigate face-threats. Some speech acts are inherently face-threatening. For example, orders may threaten receivers’ negative face, and criticism may threaten their positive face (Brown & Levinson 1987: 66). Similarly, an unwilling promise may threaten speakers’ negative face and an admission of responsibility their positive face (Brown & Levinson 1987: 68). Consequently, by engaging in face-work, interactants may inadvertently threaten their own face as well as the face of others. In order to mitigate potentially threatening utterances, therefore, interactants will engage in redressive action, i.e. communication strategies intended to redress potential threats to positive or negative face (Brown & Levinson 1987: 101ff). However, the degree of face threat is determined by the circumstances in which the threat occurs, rather than by the act itself. Brown and Levinson (1987: 74) identify three variables which affect the degree or weight of the face-threat: (1) the social distance between speaker and receiver, i.e. the degree of relationship; (2) the position the speaker has over the receiver, i.e. the power differential; and (3) the absolute amount of imposition of the act, i.e. the receiver’s perception of the degree of threat. Brown and Levinson’s (1987) politeness theory has provided valuable insight, and their notion of face is certainly applicable to triadic speech events such as the event investigated here. However, it is important to note that their theory has also met with some criticism, especially due to their claim (e.g. 1987: 242–255) that their notion of face is universal and may be applied to all cultures. This claim has been contested by studies of politeness in non-Western societies which argue that Brown and Levinson’s notion of negative politeness derives directly from the high value that western cultures place on individual freedom and autonomy (e.g. Gu 1990: 242; Kasper 1990: 195; Spencer-Oatey 2000: 13). In fact, based on studies of politeness in Japanese and Chinese societies, Spencer-Oatey (2000: 13) argues that Brown and Levinson’s negative face concerns are not necessarily face concerns at all, but may be defined as “sociality rights” which involve the management of social expectancies, or “fundamental personal/social entitlements” that interactants effectively claim for themselves. Furthermore, Brown and Levinson’s notion of positive face, Spencer-Oatey (2000: 14) argues, needs to include a social identity



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element. Thus, following Goffman (1967: 5), Spencer-Oatey (2000: 13–14) defines face as “the positive social value” that interactants effectively claim for themselves by the line others assume they have taken during a particular contact. In other words, Spencer-Oatey (2000: 14) argues, “face is associated with social/personal value” and has two interrelated aspects: (1) a desire for positive evaluation in terms of personal qualities such as competence, abilities, etc. (quality face), and (2) a desire for positive evaluation in terms of social identity or roles, such as standing within a group (identity face). This contention has received support from a study by Spencer-Oatey and Xing (2000) which explored face issues during a visit to a British company by a group of six Chinese business people. The study revealed that the Chinese business people seemed to be primarily preoccupied with identity face: The Chinese regarded themselves as having high status in relation to the British company, who on their part failed to acknowledge this sufficiently, and thus failed to give the Chinese the face they felt that they deserved (Spencer-Oatey & Xing 2000: 280). The different cultural conceptions of face certainly had to be considered in the analysis presented here: The trial was held in Denmark, and the mother tongue of everyone but the three defendants and one of the interpreters was Danish. One of the defendants, the defendant in this study, had lived most of his life in Great Britain and insisted upon speaking English throughout the trial, requesting an English interpreter (cf. 3.1 below), although his mother tongue was Chinese. The mother tongue of his co-defendants and their interpreter was also Chinese, and they were presumably less familiar with Western cultures. (The interpreter had lived in Denmark a number of years, but the co-defendants had not been in Great Britain for very long). Bearing in mind the geographical closeness and historical ties of Denmark and Great Britain, however, it seems reasonable to assume that Brown and Levinson’s (1987) notion of face, which is historically Anglo Saxon (cf. above), would also apply to the Danish interactants. For the reasons stated below it was considered applicable to the defendant in this study as well, though it is of course likely that at least some of his utterances might have been influenced by a Chinese notion of face, rather than, or in addition to, the one relied on by Brown and Levinson (1987). First, in terms of Spencer-Oatey’s (2000) definition of face, there was no evidence in the data to suggest that the defendant was particularly preoccupied with identity face, and the notion of quality face fits quite well with Brown and Levinson’s (1987) notion of positive face. Secondly, though Brown and Levinson’s (1987) notion of negative face may be associated with Western cultures’ focus on individual freedom and autonomy, the purpose of the questioning and the defendant’s situation (cf. 3.1 below) inevitably constrained his freedom of action in any case. Thirdly, having lived most of his life in Great Britain, the defendant was

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presumably sensitive to face concerns in Great Britain which are quite similar to face concerns in Denmark. 2.1 Face in the legal setting In the context of a criminal trial in a Danish district court, defendants who have consented to make a statement potentially put their face at risk in multiple ways: First, their negative face may be threatened by questions which request information that they are unable or unwilling to give. Second, their positive face may be threatened by questions which are designed to challenge their positive self-image as cooperative and trustworthy. Third, their negative face and positive face may be simultaneously threatened, for example by questions which suggest that their inability to provide required information constitutes attempts to mislead the court. Fourth, an attempt to protect positive face may put negative face at risk, and vice versa. Moreover, defendants’ strategies to counter face-threats may result in the lawyer’s face being threatened, and, in turn, as the lawyer attempts to counter such threats, in a series of attacks and counterattacks. A witness’s face is similarly threatened (cf. Mason & Stewart 2001: 56–64). Thus, the different status of defendants and witnesses and the fact that defendants generally have more at stake do not necessarily render one participant more vulnerable than the other as regards threats to face. Of course, a defendant may choose to opt out of answering a particular question or particular questions, but this strategy carries an inherent threat to his or her own positive face, because, as explained in 1.1 above, it may be perceived as an attempt at concealing incriminating evidence. Consequently, the fact that a witness is unable to employ this strategy does not necessarily result in his or her face being at a greater risk than the face of a defendant. In addition to responding to threats from defendants and witnesses, the lawyers in the courtroom also have their own face to attend to as professionals. In other words, their face may also be threatened by actions which potentially jeopardize their professional status. 3. The data The data for the present study were collected in a criminal trial in the district court of Copenhagen, the Copenhagen City Court, in November 1999. The languages involved were Danish and English, and the court interpreter was an authorized interpreter, i.e. a fully qualified and competent professional8 with some years of experience. I personally collected the data, recording all the Danish-English



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

question-answer dialogues on audiotape and later transcribing them for the purpose of analysis (cf. Jacobsen 2002: Chapter 4). As a rule, the questioning of defendants and witnesses in Danish courts is interpreted in the consecutive mode, whereas all other parts of a trial are interpreted in the simultaneous whispered mode (cf. Jacobsen 2002: 49). However, the interpreter in this study tended to interpret many of the lawyers’ questions in the simultaneous whispered mode. In my experience, authorized interpreters in Denmark, interpreting between Danish and English, often employ this strategy of reserving the consecutive mode for answers. Furthermore, the Danish courts tend to allow it, presumably being more focused on answers, and perhaps considering that it will save them some time. However, as will become apparent in the extracts below, the interpreter’s strategy resulted in multiple overlaps and loss of information, which may or may not have been the cause of some of her translation strategies. Consequently, there is evidence to support the contention presented by e.g. Russell (2000) that the consecutive mode is more suitable for question-answer dialogues, and that the simultaneous whispered mode should be reserved for procedures and for other one-way interaction. 3.1 The trial Three defendants appeared in the trial. They all had Chinese as their mother tongue, but only two of them, hereafter referred to as co-defendant1 and co-defendant2, were assisted by a Chinese interpreter. As mentioned in 2 above, the third defendant, the defendant in this study, hereafter referred to as the defendant, had specifically requested an English interpreter, arguing that, although he did not have English as a mother tongue, he was also fluent in that language, having lived in Great Britain for most of his life.9 However, there may have been other reasons for his request: He may have considered that by speaking English, he would be able to some extent to speak directly to the court, having possibly observed that many Danes are competent in that language. He may have felt that the similarity between Danish and English, as opposed to Danish and Chinese, would enable him to monitor the interpreter’s performance, e.g. by comparing the length of source texts and target texts. Finally, he may have wanted to dissociate himself, at least to some extent, from his co-defendants (cf. below). The alleged offence was fraud, the three defendants having allegedly used nine false credit cards to obtain a number of items from various shops in Copenhagen, and having allegedly travelled to Denmark from Great Britain for this specific purpose. All three had been arrested at the same time, in the hotel where they had been staying in Copenhagen. They had occupied two rooms in this hotel, the

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defendant and co-defendant1 having shared a room and co-defendant2 having occupied a room on his own. Furthermore, following the defendants’ arrest, the police had located three suitcases full of recently purchased items, two in the hotel room shared by the defendant and co-defendant1, and one in the hotel room occupied by co-defendant2. There was no specific evidence linking specific items to any one defendant, except for the credit cards; the defendant and defendant1 had both admitted to having used specific credit cards. Thus, when first presented with the charge at the preliminary statutory hearing, following their arrest, the defendant and codefendant1 had pleaded guilty as charged, whereas co-defendant2 had pleaded not guilty as charged, though he did acknowledge that some of the purchased items had been stored in his hotel room. In addition, his claim that he had never used any of the credit cards had been supported both at the preliminary statutory hearing and in subsequent interviews by his co-defendants who had also refused to say what he was doing in Copenhagen. However, believing that this defendant had played a much more active role in the fraud than either defendant was prepared to admit (having possibly masterminded the entire scheme, or, at the very least, having been in Copenhagen to supervise the actions of the other two), the prosecutor attempted throughout the trial to extract statements from all three on this matter. At the preliminary statutory hearing and in subsequent interviews, each defendant had denied any specific knowledge about the actions of the other two. Consequently, though the defendant had freely admitted to any details relating to his own part in the alleged fraud, he had denied any knowledge of which credit cards or how many of them were held by co-defendant1, as well as any knowledge of which purchases were made by this defendant. Moreover, he had refused to say who had sent them to Denmark and/or who had provided them with the plane tickets and the nine credit cards. He had also refused to say whether co-defendant1 and co-defendant2 were friends of his. Throughout his questioning, the defendant seemed eager to present and maintain a positive self-image as cooperative and trustworthy: He stated that this was his first and only criminal offence, committed only because he had been in a desperate situation, unemployed for many months and with a wife and two children to support. He further stated that he accepted full responsibility for his actions and was fully prepared for whatever punishment the court would see fit to impose. Moreover, he answered most of the questions, many of them willingly and without hesitation. Consequently, as we shall see below, his strategy for dealing with face-threatening questions was generally to engage in various kinds of face-work to maintain his positive self-image, rather than opt for his right to refrain from answering.



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

4. Analysis The entire questioning of the defendant by the prosecutor was analysed for this study. In addition, the adopted approach has been to explore face-work by focusing on those instances where the face-protecting strategies of one of the three interactants resulted in threats to own face or the face of another interactant, or, conversely, offered the face of another interactant some protection. The questioning was structured around seven themes, all of which contained questions that potentially or directly threatened the defendant’s negative and/or positive face. The prosecutor defined each theme, determining its beginning and end, and when she had achieved her goal, either succeeding or failing to extract the evidence she wanted, abandoned the theme and moved on. The seven themes were: 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

The defendant’s employment status; The defendant’s relationship with his co-defendants; The mastermind; The defendant’s personal gain; The defendants’ checking into their hotel; The defendants’ shopping expeditions; The nine counts, one for each credit card.

Examples of the kind of face-work that was identified in these themes are presented in Extracts 1 to 8 below. 4.1 Theme 1: The defendant’s employment status The prosecutor began the theme with a series of questions about the defendant’s employment status. Because the defendant had been unemployed, and because being unemployed carries negative implications in Western societies, including Britain and Denmark, her questions potentially threatened his positive face. Extract 110 P: og hvad laver du egentlig? and what do you do? I: what is your job, your profession? D: er my last profession or whatever? I: in general. D: I I was a company director. my company was registered in the company house in . I: ja. yes.

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D: and they trade restaurants. I: ja. altså jeg har været øh direktør for et øh selskab der drev virk- øh drev restauranter i i , og det er et registreret firma hus yes. I mean I was er manager of a er company which did busi- er ran restaurants in in , and it is a registered company housP: men det er du ikke mere? but you are not any more? D: andI: no longer? D: that company was liquidated in . I: firmaet gik konkurs i . the company was put into liquidation in . P: okay, hvad laver du så nu? okay, what do you do now then? I: so what are you doing now? D: I was unemployed. I have been looking for jobs. the unemployment, I mean the social security in they have my record of going to job centre in , but I didn’t get any. I: jeg er arbejdsløs. øh men jeg har søgt øh utroligt mange stillinger og, det øh (..) arbejdsløsheds øh kontor de har en en liste over alle de steder jeg har søgt job. I am unemployed. er but I have applied for er a very large number of positions and, it er (..) unemployment er office they have a a list of all the places I have applied for a job. P: okay. godt. er det rigtig forstået du kom okay. right. do I understand correctly you came D: andP: til til øh til Danmark sammen med og? nå. ((brief laughter)) to to er to Denmark together with and co-defendant2>? oh. ((brief laughter)) D: and I- and but I was living on unemployment benefit. I: og jeg jeg modtog dagpenge øh dag- eller arbejdsløshedsdagpenge, som jeg levede af. and I I received benefit er ben- or unemployment benefit, which I lived on. D: and they stopped paying me in . I: og jeg modtog den sidste øh ydelse i . and I received the last er payment in .

The defendant’s initial reaction to the question in the prosecutor’s first utterance11 was to ask for clarification, which may have been a stalling tactic, intended to protect his face: On the one hand, neither the original question nor the translation specified a point in time, which left room for multiple interpretations. On the other



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

hand, when the interpreter took it upon herself to clarify,12 relaying the question as a request for general information, which to some extent mitigated the potential threat, he responded by providing specific information about his last profession. Moreover, he provided a long and detailed answer and was seemingly so intent on getting his point across that he ignored the prosecutor’s second question, thus threatening her negative face by resisting her attempt at taking the turn. By requesting clarification, however, the defendant potentially threatened the face of both the prosecutor and the interpreter, by jeopardizing their role as competent professionals. In other words, his request potentially implicated that the original question was ambiguous or that it had been mistranslated. As stated, his request was never translated to the prosecutor, though she was presumably aware of it. Still, the interpreter’s reaction may have been an attempt at protecting face, her own and/or the prosecutor’s face. In other words, she may have been attempting to clarify the prosecutor’s intention and/or re-establish her own role as a translator and coordinator. Consequently, the defendant’s request for clarification may have been a face-protecting strategy, which, by threatening the face of the prosecutor and/or the interpreter, resulted in the interpreter adopting a face-protecting strategy, and this in turn, by mitigating the original question, ultimately offered some protection to the defendant’s face. The prosecutor’s second question was equally threatening, because her initial men (but), marking contrast (Schiffrin 1988: 152ff), implied a contrast between the content of the defendant’s answer and her question, which served to emphasize his status of unemployment. Again, the interpreter mitigated the threat, since her rendition (no longer?) omitted but and failed to specify whether the question referred to the defendant’s status of employment or to his former employers. The prosecutor’s third question, which was actually a repetition of her second question, was equally threatening to the defendant’s positive face, especially due to her use of the discourse markers okay and så (then). Stenström (1994: 67 and 85–86) explains that the marker okay functions as a frame and marks a boundary in the discourse, thus signalling a new topic or a change of topics. As for the adverb then, Schiffrin (1998: 246ff) explains that it marks time, pointing backward and focusing on how the speaker’s discourse follows either interactant’s prior discourse. Thus, the implication of the prosecutor’s question was that she was changing the topic, and that her change of topic and the topic itself were logical consequences of the defendant’s previous statement (that the company he used to work for no longer existed). The interpreter omitted both okay and så (then), and thus mitigated the threat. However, she included the adverbial link so, which marks cause and result (Schiffrin 1988: 191ff), and thus managed nevertheless to implicate that the defendant’s previous answer was the cause of or the reason for the question.

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Perceiving that his face was threatened, the defendant attempted to protect it by presenting mitigating circumstances for his status as unemployed. Again, he resisted the prosecutor’s attempt at taking the turn, threatening her negative face. She was in fact prepared to proceed to the second theme, having presumably extracted the information that she wanted to present to the court. The change of theme was indicated by her use of the discourse markers okay and godt (right), both functioning as frames and indicating a change of topic (Stenström 1994: 67 and 85–86). It was further indicated by her inclusion of the face-redress er det rigtigt forstået (do I understand correctly), by which she managed to mitigate what was clearly a potentially threatening question, by indicating that the topic of the utterance was her own understanding, and not the defendant’s actions. In other words, instead of implicating once again that her question was the result of the defendant’s response, she invited him to engage in a new interaction. However, she relinquished her turn, thus threatening her own negative face while simultaneously acting to protect his positive face. 4.2 Theme 2: The defendant’s relationship with his co-defendants The prosecutor began this theme with the question which she had relinquished at the end of Extract 1, again including the face-redress. Then, having established that the three defendants had travelled to Denmark together, she asked the defendant how he had become acquainted with his co-defendants. When he answered that he had known co-defendant2 for about a year, she continued: Extract 2 P: cirka et år? ja? og hvad med , hvor- hvor lang tid har du har du øh kendt ham? about a year? yes? and what about , how- how long have you have you er known him? I: and what about , for how long time have you known him? D: I know him on . I: øh jeg mødte ham . er I met him . P: i hvilken anledning mødte du ham? on what occasion did you meet him? I: on what occasion did you meet him? D: well I I know that I will be coming to Denmark, and I know that he will be coming to Denmark as well. I: øh, jeg vidste jeg skulle rejse til Danmark, og at han også skulle rejse til Danmark. er, I knew I was going to travel to Denmark, and that he was also going to travel to Denmark.



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

P: okay, hvorfor skulle I til Danmark? okay, why were you going to Denmark? I: so why were you going to Denmark? D: #you have to- I- said it in the statement already.# I: øh altså det har allerede været nævnt i erklæringer i retten, altså, er I mean it has already been mentioned in statements in court, I mean, P: jamen jeg vil ik- jeg vil gi- meget gerne høre det en gang til, for yes but I don’t wa- I would gi- very much like to hear it one more time, because I: erm, P: retten har ikke rigtig hørt det. the court has not really heard it. I: er please state it once more because the court hasn’t heard it, really. D: right. I come to Denmark because, I mean, (..) I was approached by someone that asked me whether I wanted to make some easy money or not. and I was then quite desperate. even financially. and therefore they tol- they say that I can have a opportunity, if I used the false credit card, to buy things here, and to get back to . I: øhm, jeg var i en i en meget håbløs situation. øh og derfor var der en der spurgte mig om jeg om jeg havde lyst til at tjene nogen lette penge, øhm, og og det skulle jo ske ved at- ved brug af et falsk visakort, øh som jeg skulle købebruge i Danmark og så tage varerne med tilbage til . erm, I was in a in a very hopeless situation, er and therefore there was one who asked me if I if I wanted to earn some easy money, erm, and and it was going to happen you know by- by the use of a false visa card, er which I had to buy- use in Denmark and then bring the goods back to .

When the prosecutor twice requested confirmation of some of the content of the defendant’s previous answer cirka et år? ja? (about a year? yes?), she managed to implicate that this answer was odd, suggesting, in turn, that it might be untrue. Thus, her requests threatened his positive face. However, her requests, and thus the implication they carried, were not conveyed to the defendant. The prosecutor’s fourth question i hvilken anledning mødte du ham (on what occasion did you meet him) set off a series of attacks and counterattacks, though. Because the defendant had admitted to first meeting co-defendant1 only two days before coming to Denmark, the question carried the implication that this first meeting might have been connected to their trip to Denmark, and, in turn, that he knew more about the actions of co-defendant1 than he was willing to reveal. This implication could lead to the even more damaging implication that he was deliberately attempting to mislead the court when he claimed ignorance of the actions of co-defendant1. Thus, the question left the defendant with a dilemma: If he refused to answer it, he would be challenging his self-image as a cooperative defendant. If he answered it, he would need to avoid giving the impression that he

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was now willing to provide information that he had been withholding. The extent of his dilemma may have been signalled by his initial well. According to Schiffrin (1998: 102ff), well is a response marker that indicates a speaker’s awareness of the need for building coherence, and for anchoring him into the interaction precisely at those points where upcoming coherence is not guaranteed. The defendant’s initial well thus potentially indicated that he was aware of the fact that the content of his utterance was somehow insufficient, not providing the required information. In any case, his course of action was to omit giving specific details, merely stating the obvious. Consequently, he attempted to protect his own face by threatening the prosecutor’s positive face, implying that her question was superfluous, or even silly. The interpreter omitted well, but included an initial voice-filled pause which added a degree of hesitancy to her target text. Thus, perceiving that her face was threatened, the prosecutor counterattacked, threatening the defendant’s negative face by resisting his attempt at avoiding the question, and threatening his positive face by implicating that her question, and her change of topic, marked by okay (cf. Extract 1), were a logical consequence of his previous answer. Thus, she managed to implicate that her previous question had been reasonable, and that his resistance to it constituted an attempt at misleading. The interpreter conveyed the threat to some extent, because though she omitted okay, she did include the adverbial link so, marking cause or reason (cf. Extract 1). Finding himself doubly threatened once more, and for the same reasons as before, the defendant again counterattacked with you have to … already, threatening the prosecutor’s positive face, implicating once again that her question was superfluous, maybe even a waste of the court’s time. The force of his statement was strengthened by his tone of voice, which clearly indicated annoyance. The interpreter’s tone of voice did not indicate annoyance. However, Schiffrin (1988: 295ff) explains that the filler I mean potentially indicates a certain attitude on the part of the speaker towards the interaction, part of the interaction, or the addressee, or addressees, since it marks a speaker’s modification of his ideas and intentions and is used to maintain speaker and hearer focus on this information. Consequently, the fact that the interpreter twice included the filler altså (I mean), indicating the need to maintain focus, added a degree of hesitancy to her target text, especially in combination with the voice-filled pause øh (er), which potentially indicated that the defendant was surprised, or even incredulous, at being asked to provide the required information. Certainly, the prosecutor seemed taken aback. Though she counterattacked with a threat to the defendant’s negative face, referring to a procedure with which he was compelled to comply, she included the redressive jamen jeg vil ik- … en gang til (yes but I don’t wa- … one more time), which indicated that the main topic of her utterance was in fact her own need for repetition. The interpreter omitted the prosecutor’s redressive move. However, she began with a



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

voice-filled pause, which added a degree of hesitancy. She then turned an indirect request into a direct request, and ended with the adverb really, which was possibly an attempt at including the prosecutor’s rigtig (really) in her target text. However, here the adverb served as a staller, which, when placed as here, in final position following a continuing intonation, added yet another degree of hesitancy (Stenström 1994: 76–78). The result was a target text that was potentially less threatening than the original. Nevertheless, the defendant presumably realized that he must comply with procedure, indicated by his right, which together with his terminating intonation signalled acceptance (Stenström 1994: 39 and 67), i.e. his acknowledgement of the request. He proceeded to provide a statement which referred solely to his own actions and motives and made no mention of co-defendant1 or co-defendant2. His dilemma regarding the actions of the other two was indicated by his I mean and by the pause that preceded the part of his statement about the person or persons who had approached him, and which in combination added a degree of hesitation. Both his right, I mean and the pause were omitted by the interpreter, who instead included four voice-filled pauses. Consequently, she omitted his acknowledgement of the request, but presumably conveyed hesitation. In any case, the prosecutor now abandoned theme 2 and proceeded to theme 3. 4.3 Theme 3: The mastermind In this theme, the prosecutor attempted to establish the identity of the person or persons who had provided the defendant with the credit cards and plane ticket and who had instructed him to use the credit cards in Denmark. The defendant was not being very forthcoming, admitting only that he had received the items on the morning when he travelled to Denmark. Subsequently, the prosecutor asked him whether his co-defendants had been present when he received the credit cards, a question which clearly threatened his negative and positive face. When he firmly denied this, she continued: Extract 3 P: ¤men I mødtes vel ude i lufthavnen?¤ ¤but presumably you met at the airport?¤ I: but you met in the airport. *is that correct?* D: yes? I: ja. yes. P: *det gjorde du.* og I- du vidste godt da I skulle af sted til til Danmark at også havde nogen kreditkort på sig? *you did.* and you- you knew when you were leaving for for Denmark that also had some credit cards on him?*

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I: and you also knew it, when you left for Denmark, that also had some credit cards in his possession. is that correct? D: er, (..) #I don’t know what he has got, in his pocket.# I: #altså jeg ved ikke hvad han har i sine lommer.# #I mean I don’t know what he has got in his pockets.# P: øhm ok- okay. hvorfor skulle så med? erm ok- okay. why was coming then? I: then why was going to Denmark then? D: #I mean he- (.) er he came here the same reason as me. but he might have the credit card in Denmark, I don’t know.# I: altså han kom her øh med samme forhold som jeg kom her, men han kan godt have fået øh kreditkortene i Danmark. det ved jeg ikke. I mean he came here er with the same circumstance that I came here, but he might have received er the credit cards in Denmark. I don’t know. P: hvem hvem skulle han så have fået kreditkortene af? from whom whom would he then have received the credit cards? D: because IP: hvis det var i Danmark? if it was in Denmark? D: I did not I did not see anyone, giving him the air ticket or the card or whatever. I: øhm, jeg så ikke nogen øh give ham øh billetten eller ((inhales noisily)) kreditkort eller noget som helst ((exhales noisily)). erm,I did not see anyone er give him er the ticket or ((inhales noisily)) credit card or anything at all ((exhales noisily)). D: I only understand that he will be coming Denmark, for the same (.) thing. I: jeg forstod på det at han skulle til Danmark med samme formål som mig. I understood that he was going to Denmark for the same purpose that I was.

According to Brown and Levinson (1987: 164), the prosecutor’s inclusion in her first question of what they refer to as a Quality hedge, i.e. addressed to Grice’s (1975) maxim of Quality (‘Try to make your contribution one that is true’), vel (presumably), not only suggests that she was not taking responsibility for the truth of the content of that question, but also raises doubts as to whether a cooperative condition has in fact been met: The defendant had acknowledged that they all three flew to Denmark together, on the same plane, so by suggesting the possibility that all three defendants met at the airport, the prosecutor also suggested that the credit cards and the plane tickets were handed out there, and in turn that all three defendants were present when it happened, as well as the person or persons who handed them out (also leaving room for the possibility that co-defendant2 was that person, or one of those persons). In addition, the connective men (but) implied a contradiction between the defendant’s negation and her suggestion (cf.



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

Extract 1). As a result, the prosecutor managed to implicate that the defendant was being less than truthful, and, in turn, that he was deliberately attempting to mislead the court, an implication which was strengthened by her tone of voice which conveyed surprise, or even incredulity. The full implication of the prosecutor’s question was not conveyed to the defendant, however, due to the interpreter’s omission of the Quality hedge (cf. Brown & Levinson, 1987: 164) and her neutral tone of voice. Instead she added the tag question is that correct?, which indicated that ratification of the information in her first utterance was required. Thus, Hale (2004: 46–48), citing Quirk et al., (1985: 814), explains that the added tag constitutes an ‘invariant tag question’, a type of question which is used to seek confirmation of the statement and which usually contains no “contentious information”. However, the tag question in Extract 4 indicated that the defendant was required to confirm information which was potentially controversial and could lead to other, more damaging information. Consequently, it may have served to suggest, like the Quality hedge, that the interpreter did not take responsibility for the truth content of the statement in her first utterance. On the other hand, the fact that the tag was spoken in a low voice may have indicated to the defendant that, rather than question his cooperative intention, the interpreter was expressing doubt about the correctness of her translation, or doubt about the correctness of the content of the original question, rather than doubt about his cooperative intention. Of course, if her addition was in fact meant to express doubt about the correctness of her translation, she may have been attending to own positive face, attempting to establish herself as a competent professional, willing to take responsibility for translation errors and, in turn, correct such errors. However, since she did not explicitly express this intention, if it was indeed her intention, the defendant would presumably have attributed the content of her utterance to the original speaker, the prosecutor, anyway. Finally, the interpreter may actually have been motivated by a need for protecting the defendant’s face, as well as her own face (not wanting to appear confrontational), which caused her to mitigate the threat in the original utterance. In any case, possibly perceiving that his face was threatened, the defendant responded with the affirmative yes, but with a questioning intonation, thus answering the question with another question. This strategy implicated that the prosecutor’s question was surprising, or possibly irrelevant, and thus it threatened her positive face. However, the interpreter conveyed the affirmative yes with a terminating intonation, thus eliminating the original implication and the threat. Consequently, the prosecutor proceeded with another attack. Her first utterance det gjorde du? (you did?), though spoken in a low voice, again threatened the defendant’s positive face by repeating the information in his affirmative response, thus emphasizing

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this information, and, in turn, the previous implication that he was deliberately attempting to mislead the court. Her second utterance, which suggested the possibility that he knew about his co-defendant’s credit cards, which, in turn, implicated that the credit cards were handed out in the manner described above, threatened both his negative and his positive face. The interpreter omitted the prosecutor’s first utterance. However, once more she added the tag question is that correct?, which again indicated that the defendant was required to confirm information which was potentially controversial and could lead to other, more damaging information. Consequently, this tag may also have suggested that the interpreter did not take responsibility for the truth content of the statement in her first utterance. Moreover, the addition was not spoken in a low voice, and was thus less likely to have been perceived as expressing doubt about the correctness of the translation, as well as less likely to mitigate the original threat, if this was the intention. Certainly, the defendant perceived that his face was being threatened as indicated by the steps he took to protect it, implying after some hesitation (4 seconds) that the question was unreasonable, which presented a threat to the prosecutor’s positive face. As in Extract 2 above, the force of his statement was strengthened by his tone of voice, which clearly registered annoyance. The interpreter’s tone of voice also registered some annoyance, though to a much lesser degree. Furthermore, she omitted his initial hesitation, the voice-filled pause and the pause. However, again her inclusion of altså (I mean) added a degree of hesitation which potentially strengthened the implication of annoyance. In any case, the prosecutor’s subsequent utterance øhm ok- okay (erm ok- okay), the voicefilled pause and the false start signalling hesitation and okay signalling acceptance (Stenström 1994: 39 and 67), i.e. her acknowledgement of the defendant’s response (cf. Extract 2), indicated that she was somewhat taken aback. Then she counterattacked, though, and her subsequent question implicated that her previous question had indeed been reasonable. Consequently, she managed to implicate a third time that the defendant was deliberately attempting to mislead. This time, the interpreter increased the force of the original, when she omitted the prosecutor’s first utterance and added then, which emphasized the link between the question and the defendant’s previous statement (cf. Extract 1 above). Once again, the defendant counterattacked. His tone of voice again indicated annoyance, and the implication was the same as before, i.e. that the prosecutor’s question was unreasonable. The prosecutor responded with yet another attack, implicating that the defendant’s response was absurd and in fact an attempt at misleading the court. Because the defendant and his co-defendants were based in the UK, and because he had acknowledged having received his credit cards together with his plane ticket, and before departing from the UK, it was highly unlikely that his co-defendant



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had not received his credit cards before the departure. However, her utterance was never interpreted, due to the defendant’s elaboration on his previous answer in a further attempt to protect his face, which made her relinquish her turn. He was thus unaware of this particular face-threat. Moreover, by resisting the prosecutor’s attempt at asking the question, he threatened her negative face, and when she relinquished her turn, she threatened her own negative face while simultaneously acting to protect his positive face. Interestingly, the interpreter seemed to find the translation of the first of his two utterances strenuous, indicated by her inclusion of three voice-filled pauses and the paralinguistics. Possibly, this was merely a reaction to the general strain of interpreting in face-to-face interaction. On the other hand, her realization that the defendant was unaware of the threat presented by the prosecutor’s last question and was still responding to a previous threat, may have made the translation of his face-protecting utterance especially difficult at this stage. Following the defendant’s elaboration, the prosecutor insisted that the defendant state the identity of the person who had sent the three defendants to Denmark and the purpose of co-defendant2’s stay in Denmark. This time, the defendant opted for his right to remain silent (I don’t want to mention any names. I don’t want to make any comments about-), and thus his face-protecting strategy resulted in a threat to his own positive face. Following the interpreter’s translation of his opting out, the prosecutor abandoned theme 3 and proceeded to theme 4. 4.4 Theme 4: The defendant’s personal gain The prosecutor now asked the defendant a series of questions about his personal gain from his trip to Denmark and his purchases, all of which potentially challenged his self-image by relating to his motivations for committing the alleged offence. When the defendant admitted that he was to get 10 percent of every item that he purchased, the prosecutor asked him if he had kept an account of his purchases. Since no account was included in the presented evidence, the implication of her question threatened both his negative and his positive face. The logical conclusion to his statement would be that someone had to have kept an account. However, if he acknowledged that he or one of his co-defendants had kept one, he would presumably need to explain its whereabouts. Furthermore, if he acknowledged that one of his co-defendants had kept it, his acknowledgement might be taken as an admission that he and his co-defendants had presented false statements when they denied any knowledge of each other’s actions. On the other hand, if he denied having kept one, his denial might be taken to imply that one of his co-defendants had

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done so, and thus the implication might be again that he and his co-defendants had presented false statements regarding their knowledge of each other’s actions. In addition, his denial might be perceived as an indirect admission that his statement about the 10 percent represented a lie. The defendant finally provided the hesitant and incomplete answer in Extract 4 which clearly reflected his dilemma: Extract 4 D: I (.), I I wrote, I mean, I I did not but I usually do. at the end of the:, when I finish all the:, I: øhm, altså (.), jeg gjorde det ikke men men det gør jeg normalt når jeg er færdig med at købe ind. erm, I mean, I didn’t do it but but I normally do when I have finished shopping. D: I know approximately. I know approximately. I: øh men jeg ved cirka hvor meget. er but I know approximately how much. P: okay, hvad mener du med normalt, har du gjort det her før? okay, what do you mean by normally, have you done this before? I: er what do you mean by normally, have you (.) done this before? D: no, no, that was in my mind. I: øh nej er noD: that I was going to do it. but because, you know, things get confused sometimes. I: øh, nej. øh men det var hvad jeg- hvad jeg havde tænkt lidt at gøre. øh men fordi det hele blev så forvirret så: ja. så nåede jeg det ikke. er, no. er but it was what I- what I had thought a little about doing. er but because everything became so confusing then: well. then I didn’t have time to do it.

The defendant began by stating that he had written something down, and then proceeded to deny that he had kept an account. Thus, he managed to avoid committing himself to any definite action. Moreover, the contradiction in his statement was emphasized by his I mean, indicating a need for maintaining focus, and his usually, which implied ‘normally’. The interpreter’s course of action was to complete his fragmented utterance, presumably in an attempt to make his communicative intention available or more available to the prosecutor (cf. Jacobsen 2002: 272), and deliver it slightly less hesitantly, thus potentially increasing the force of the original. Naturally, she may have been attending to own face also, fearing that a fragmented rendition would reflect on her. In any case, she omitted the first two parts of his utterance, where he admitted to writing something down, and thus she failed to render what might have been an important piece of evidence: I, I wrote.



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The defendant then proceeded to claim that there had been no need for an account, twice stating I know approximately, presumably because of the overlap. Apparently, the interpreter again attempted to complete his utterance, possibly for the same reasons as before. Moreover, her inclusion of men (but) served to strengthen the defendant’s claim by indicating a contrast between this and the denial in his previous statement (cf. Extracts 1 and 3). The prosecutor proceeded with a threat to the defendant’s positive face, implicating that he had committed a similar offence, or offences, at some earlier time, which, in turn, implicated that his earlier statement to the effect that this was his first offence represented a lie. The implication was further strengthened by her okay, marking a change of topic (cf. Extracts 1 and 2), followed by her request for clarification of his previous answer. However, the interpreter omitted okay and included a voice-filled pause and a pause, adding a degree of hesitancy, thus mitigating the threat, again possibly to protect own face as well as the face of the defendant. Nevertheless, perceiving that his face had been threatened, he took steps to protect it. Thus, his first two utterances implicated that he had intended to keep an account, while his last utterance but because, you know, things get confused sometimes constituted a blatant flouting of Grice’s (1975) first maxim of Quantity (‘Make your contribution as informative as is required’) generating the implicature that he did not have the opportunity to keep an account, and, in turn, that he did not keep one. The interpreter explicated this implicature så nåede jeg det ikke (then I didn’t have time to do it) and included the adverb lidt (a little) which down-toned the implication that he had intended to keep an account. She also included three voice-filled pauses, and included well just before her rendering of the implicature, indicating a need for building coherence. Consequently, her target text was potentially more hesitant than the original. However, presumably satisfied with his answer, the prosecutor proceeded to ask him whether he had kept the receipts from his various purchases. Since no receipts were included in the presented evidence either, this question also threatened his negative and positive face for the reasons stated above. Again, his answer reflected his dilemma, his usually indicating ‘normally’, which was contradicted by most of them, fo- for example and some, indicating ‘not all’. In addition, the interpreter again omitted what might have been important evidence (most of them. fo- for example and some of the stuff): Extract 5 D: er (..) I usually destroy them. most of them. fo- for example because some of the stuff, I don’t want to carry the receipt. I mean along. I: ø:h nej normalt så tilintetgør jeg dem, fordi jeg ikke ønsker at øh tage kvitteringen med mig. e:r no normally I destroy them, because I don’t want to er bring the receipt with me.

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P: ¤hvorfor vil- ønsker du ikke det?¤ ¤why don’t you want- wish to do that?¤ I: why don’t you want to bring the receipt? with you? D: hm? I: why don’t you want to bring the receipts with you? D: because, I mean, if I finish: if I finish and I bring it a- I mean to the airport, I don’t want them to know there. I mean if they look at it I don’t want them to know whe- where the stuff come from. I: altså, hvis øh mit forehavende havde lykkedes, så ville je- og de i lufthavnen ville kigge på det, så skulle de ikke vide hvor det kom fra. I mean, if er my business had succeeded, then I would- and they at the airport wanted to look at it, then they weren’t to know where it came from. P: okay, men hvordan skulle det her regnskørb ren- regnskab så gøres op? hvis du skulle have ti procent af det hele? okay, but how was this accont acc- account to be settled then? if you were to get ten per cent of everything? I: how were you going to mak- how were you going to: finish this er statement of the amounts? if you were going to have ten percent of of the- the value of it, and you didn’t have any receipts? D: the- the person, who sent me, I mean, he will probably I mean know roughly how much those items worth. I: hm. øh altså de personer som har sendt mig herover, de ville ø:h de burde vide sådan cirka hvor meget øh genstandene var værd. hm. er I mean the people who sent me over here, they would e:r they should know more or less how much er the items were worth.

Following the defendant’s answer, which did not commit him to any definite plan of action, the prosecutor proceeded by asking for clarification, which further threatened his negative and positive face. In addition, her tone of voice indicated that she found his response surprising, or odd, by which she managed to strengthen the implication that he was being less than truthful. The interpreter’s tone of voice did not indicate surprise, but her second utterance, with you, served to emphasize the request for clarification, and thus may have suggested to him that his response was considered surprising, or odd. In other words, she conveyed the threat to his negative face, but mitigated the threat to his positive face. The defendant responded with a request for clarification or repetition which may have been an attempt to stall. As in Extract 1 above, the interpreter took it upon herself to comply with his request, repeating the question, but this time without the emphasis (as one utterance instead of two). Again, his request potentially threatened the face of both the prosecutor and the interpreter, by jeopardizing their role as professionals, and the interpreter’s reaction to it may very well have been a face-protecting strategy, which, by mitigating the original question, offered



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some protection to the defendant’s face. He now responded with yet another long and fragmented answer. Moreover, his I mean, spoken three times, indicated a need for maintaining focus, thus indicating hesitation, and his if, spoken four times, implied uncertainty, and thus he managed once again to avoid committing himself to a definite plan of action. The interpreter completed the fragmented parts, while simultaneously omitting some of the material, presumably again in an attempt to make his communicative intention available or more available and/or in an attempt to protect her own face (cf. Extract 4). The prosecutor’s reaction was a direct attack on the defendant’s positive face. Again, the implication of her questions was that his previous answer was far from satisfactory and, in turn, that he was not being truthful. This implication was further strengthened by her initial okay, marking a change of topic, the connector men (but), marking contrast, and the adverb så (then), maintaining focus on how the current discourse followed previous discourse (cf. Extract 1). However, the interpreter omitted all three, so though she explicated some of the implicit information in the original questions and you didn’t have any receipts, which possibly served to emphasize the implication that the defendant was not being truthful, her target texts carried less force than the originals. However, once more the defendant presented an answer that reflected his dilemma, emphasized by I mean, spoken twice, and probably, implying ‘possibility’, not certainty. So once again he avoided committing himself to a definite plan of action. Interestingly, the defendant’s attempt at protecting his face caused him to reveal some evidence of the identity of the mastermind: the person … he. However, this specific piece of information was not conveyed to the court, but was translated into the vaguer the people… they. Thus, the interpreter omitted a third time what might have been important evidence. The prosecutor now proceeded to ask the defendant if he had received any instructions concerning which items to purchase. When he denied this, she abandoned theme 4. 4.5 Theme 7: The nine counts Having completed themes 5 and 6 also, the prosecutor proceeded to the nine counts which referred to the nine credit cards allegedly used by the defendant and co-defendant1. Again, many of the prosecutor’s questions threatened the defendant’s negative and positive face, especially those that referred to the purchase of the suitcases used for storing the purchased items, and to the fact that these items were found in the hotel room occupied by the defendant and co-defendant1 and the room occupied by co-defendant2, respectively (cf. 3.1 above). Thus, under

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count 4, following the defendant’s acknowledgement that he had purchased the items allegedly bought with the credit card in question, the prosecutor asked: Extract 6 P: er det rigtigt forstået, at I købte den her kuffert med henblik på at opbevare tingene i kufferten? do I understand correctly, that you bought this here suitcase with a view to storing the things in the suitcase? I: er do I understand you correctly, that you bought this suitcase for storing er the items in it? D: yes. I: ja. yes. P: det er rigtigt nok? that is correct? I: that’s correct, now?

Despite the face-redress er det rigtigt forstået (do I understand correctly) (cf. Extract 1), the prosecutor’s first question in Extract 6 presented a threat to the defendant’s negative and positive face, since her use of the second person plural I (you) implied that the three defendants knew more about each other’s actions than they were prepared to admit. However, the threat may have been eliminated by the interpreter’s addition of the second person singular you in the first part of her rendition, which might have cancelled the original implication by giving the defendant the impression that the question referred to him alone. Moreover, this impression may have been strengthened by the fact that the prosecutor’s previous questions had referred to his purchases alone. In addition, the interpreter failed to mark the you in the second part of her rendition as either the second person singular or the second person plural, leaving room for multiple interpretations. Presumably, this was an error on her part, though it may also have been an attempt at mitigating the original threat. In any case, the defendant did not take steps to protect his face besides providing the affirmative yes, which was presumably the reason for the prosecutor’s request for confirmation, which threatened his positive face. This time, the interpreter increased the force of the original by including a continuing intonation, followed by the adverb now. Stenström (1994: 130–131) explains that this adverb is a frame, marking a change or a new stage within the speaker’s turn, which, when placed as here, in final position and following a continuing intonation, serves to give slight emphasis to the content of the utterance. The defendant’s response was inaudible on the tape and was apparently never interpreted. Presumably, his response, whether inaudible or non-verbal, must have



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been an affirmative one, because the prosecutor abandoned the issue of the suitcase and the location of the purchased items at this stage. However, under count 9 she asked: Extract 7 P: hvordan kan det være, at der er nogen af tingene som du har købt på det her kort, som altså er på et andet værelse? why is it, that some of the items which you bought with this card, that they are in fact in another room? I: how come that some of the items that you bought, on this card, were standing in another room? D: I don’t want to make any comments, because I want to give an answer to mislead to anything else. (xxx). I: øhm, jeg ønsker ikke at udtale mig om det her. øh jeg ønsker ikke at udtale mig på omkring øh eller vedrørende det her punkt- øh to punkter. erm, I don’t want to make a statement about this. er I don’t want to make a statement on about er or concerning this point- er two points.

Clearly, the prosecutor’s question threatened the defendant’s negative and positive face. Moreover, the threats were strengthened by the interpreter’s added stress, and by her continuing intonation before and after on this card. As a result, the defendant’s course of action was to counterattack. In the first part of his first utterance, he opted for his right to remain silent, by which he threatened his own positive face. Then, in the second part of his utterance, he provided an elaboration which implicated that his reason for opting out was his fear that, if he provided an answer, this would be misinterpreted, by which he threatened the prosecutor’s and/or the interpreter’s positive face. This implication was clearly perceivable, though he contradicted himself, because I want to give an answer…, and though his utterance was followed by one or more utterances which were inaudible on the tape. In addition, his utterance or utterances were presumably audible to the interpreter who was sitting right next to him. Consequently, her to punkter (two points) presumably constituted a translation of part of this inaudible statement. In any case, possibly in an attempt to mitigate the threat to face presented by his statement, thus protecting the prosecutor’s face and/or her own face, she omitted his implication that it would possibly be misinterpreted. Moreover, her inclusion of the voice-filled pauses (seemingly four in all) made her target text more hesitant than the original, thus decreasing the force of the original. The prosecutor asked him twice more about the same matter, but he chose to opt out, thus threatening his own positive face. She then reverted to the issue of the suitcases a final time:

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Extract 8 P: har du slæbt rundt på to kufferter? were you lugging two suitcases? I: have you been er carrying around two suitcases? D: at one stage I was carrying two suitcases. I: altså på I mean atD: at one stage. I: på et tidspunkt der havde jeg to kufferter. øhm på mig eller at one time I had two suitcases. erm on me orP: men kan du også efter den samme- har mødtes med øh eller , og så efterfølgende så har bedt dem om at bære de her rulleskøjter og lagt dem over i en anden kuffert? but could you also after the same- have met with er or , and then subsequently then have asked them to carry these roller skates and put them in a different suitcase? I: but could it also be so that you met er or , and then you have asked one of them to take the roller blades and carry them for you. D: maybe. I: måske. maybe. P: det vil du ikke afvise at det kunne være sket? you will not deny that this might have happened? I: you do not refuse this statement? D: sorry? I: you don’t say that that cannot be the case? D: I don’t think I can comment on that. I: ja det ønsker jeg ikke at sige. well I don’t want to say.

The prosecutor’s first question threatened the defendant’s positive face by questioning his cooperative intention. Her choice of words, slæbt rundt på (lugging), implied that it would have meant great discomfort to carry two suitcases and therefore that it was unlikely that two of the three suitcases had been his. However, the interpreter translated her words into carrying, thus decreasing the force of the original. The defendant thus responded by contradicting the prosecutor’s implication, without admitting to the two suitcases being his. Thus, his at one stage implied ‘not all the time’, and this implication was repeated in his second utterance, emphasizing it. The force of his face-protecting utterance was decreased by the interpreter, however. First, though her initial altså (I mean), added hesitation, potentially indicating annoyance, this may not have been perceived by the



Interactional pragmatics and court interpreting

prosecutor, due to the overlap. Second, she omitted the defendant’s second utterance, presumably due to the overlap. Third, she added a hesitant and fragmented utterance, which may have been an attempt to provide repair, thus attempting to protect own face, having translated was carrying into had, which did not necessarily imply ‘carry’. In other words, her face-protecting strategy aimed at her own face may have decreased the force of the defendant’s face-protecting utterance. Consequently, the prosecutor persisted and provided yet another threatening utterance, again emphasized by men (but) (cf. e.g. Extract 1). However, she mitigated her threat by including kan du også (could you also), suggesting ‘possibility’, not ‘certainty’. Again, the interpreter decreased the force of the original, omitting og lagt dem over i en anden kuffert? (and put them in a different suitcase?). However, the defendant took steps to protect his face, his maybe merely acknowledging ‘possibility’, not ‘certainty’. When the prosecutor persisted, attempting again to get him to acknowledge the suggested possibility by her kunne være (might have), the interpreter increased the force of her question, changing the suggestion of possibility into a request for confirmation of fact. Perhaps this explains the defendant’s request for repetition or clarification, which may again have been an attempt to stall, but which again potentially threatened the face of the prosecutor and the interpreter. In any case, when the interpreter repeated the question, she mitigated her first translation, now conveying the original intention. Thus, if she was attempting to save the face of the prosecutor and/or her own face, her face-protecting strategy again offered the defendant’s face some protection. However, having perceived the original implication, the defendant’s course of action was to opt once again for his right as a defendant, thus threatening his own positive face. He included the face-redress I don’t think, implying ‘doubt’, thus mitigating the threat to own face. However, the interpreter substituted this for I don’t want, implying ‘intention’, while simultaneously including ja (well), which signalled a need for building coherence (cf. Extract 2), indicating that the defendant was aware that his opting out was not the required response. Consequently, she increased the force of his opting out, and thus the threat to his own face.

5. Conclusion This article presented an analysis of a triadic speech event, namely a prosecutor’s interpreter-mediated questioning of a defendant, which inherently contained a degree of threat to the face of the individual with less power, the defendant. The adopted approach was to explore face-work by focusing on those instances where the face-protecting strategies of one interactant resulted in threats to own face or

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in threats to the face of another interactant, or offered the face of another interactant some protection. The analysis thus looked at various kinds of face-work and at how face-threatening and face-protecting utterances were translated and coordinated. The analysis showed how the interpreter’s attempts at saving own face and/ or the face of one of the two primary participants frequently caused her to modify both face-threatening and face-protecting utterances. The analysis thus points to the significance of face in triadic speech events in legal settings and the need for more research into this important aspect of faceto-face interpreting. First, it is important to investigate the extent and variety of face-work to enhance interpreters’ awareness of face-related devices and the issues involved in translating and coordinating face-work. Second, research is also needed into the effects of an interpreter’s failure to relay face-work to determine how this may affect, for example, the direction of the talk exchange, the power differential, the credibility of primary speakers and/or perceptions of their professional competence.

Notes 1.  District courts are courts of first instance and hear both civil and criminal cases. Most cases in district courts are heard by three judges, one presiding (judicial) judge and two lay judges. 2.  Retsplejeloven (Danish Administration of Justice Act). Most recently amended version is that of 5 October 2006. 3.  Danish Administration of Justice Act, Section 181, and Straffeloven (Danish Criminal Code), Section 158. 4.  Danish Administration of Justice Act, Sections 752 and 754, and Danish Criminal Code, Section 159(1). 5.  Danish Administration of Justice Act, Section 184. 6.  Danish Administration of Justice Act, Section 752(3). 7.  Danish Administration of Justice Act, Sections 148 and 214(3). 8.  The official title is state-authorized translator and interpreter. 9.  However, the entire procedure was interpreted into both English and Chinese. 10.  P = prosecutor, D = defendant, I = interpreter. See Appendix for transcription symbols (cf. Jacobsen 2002: 85–88). 11.  For the purpose of this analysis, an utterance is defined as a stretch of speech preceded and followed by either a terminating intonation or a questioning intonation (see Appendix).



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12.  The prosecutor allowed the interpreter’s clarification, possibly because she understood what was going on and/or because the interpreter relayed her intention. The interpreter’s behaviour nevertheless constitutes a violation of interpreter ethics (Jacobsen 2002: 61). Danish courts tend to allow this kind of dialogue, however, when the foreign language is English, a language with which many lawyers and judges are familiar, and when the interpreter is a competent professional (Jacobsen 2002: 97–98).

References Berk-Seligson, S. (1990). The bilingual courtroom. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Brown, P. & Levinson, S.C. (1987). Politeness. Some universals in language usage. Cambridge University Press. Dübeck, I. (1994). Introduktion til Dansk Ret (Introduction to Danish Law). Baden-Baden: Nomos Verlagsgesellschaft. Goffman, E. (1967). Interaction ritual: Essays on face to face behaviour. Penguin University Books. Goffman, E. (1981) Forms of talk. Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Grice, H. P. (1975). Logic and conversation. In P. Cole & J.L. Morgan (Eds.), Syntax and semantics 3: Speech acts. New York: Academic Press, 41–58. Gu, Y. (1990). Politeness phenomena in Modern Chinese. Journal of Pragmatics 14, 237–257. Hale, S. (2004). The discourse of court interpreting: Discourse practices of the law, the witness and the interpreter. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Harris, B. & Sherwood, B. (1978). Translating as an Innate Skill. In D. Gerver & H.W. Sinaiko (Eds.), Language interpretation and communication. New York/London: Plenum Press, 155–170. Jacobsen, B. (2002). Pragmatic meaning in court interpreting: An empirical study of additions in consecutively-interpreted question-answer dialogues. PhD thesis, The Aarhus School of Business. Kasper, G. (1990). Linguistic politeness: Current research issues. Journal of Pragmatics 14, 193– 218. Mason, I. & Stewart, M. (2001). Interactional pragmatics, face and the dialogue interpreter. In I. Mason (Ed.), Triadic exchanges: Studies in dialogue interpreting. Manchester: St. Jerome, 51–70. Morris, R. (1989). Court interpretation: The trial of Ivan John Demjanjuk. A case study. The Interpreters’ Newsletter 2, 27–37. Quirk, R., Greenbaum, S., Leech, G. & Svartvik, J. (1985). A comprehensive grammar of the English language. London/New York: Longman. Russell, D. (2000). Interpreting in legal contexts: Consecutive and simultaneous interpretation. PhD dissertation, The University of Calgary. Schiffrin, D. (1988). Discourse markers. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Spencer-Oatey, H. (2000). Rapport management: A framework for analysis. In H. Spencer-Oatey (Ed.), Culturally speaking: Managing rapport through talk across cultures. London/New York: Continuum, 11–45. Spencer-Oatey, H. & Xing J. (2000). A problematic Chinese business visit to Britain: Issues of face. In H. Spencer-Oatey (Ed.), Culturally speaking: Managing rapport through talk across cultures. London/New York: Continuum, 272–289.

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Stenström, A.-B. (1994). An introduction to spoken interaction. London/New York: Longman. Wadensjö, C. (1992). Interpreting as interaction: On dialogue interpreting in immigration hearings and medical encounters. Dissertation. Department of Communication Studies, University of Linköping. Wadensjö, C. (1998). Interpreting as interaction. London/New York: Longman.

Appendix: Transcription symbols .

“Terminating intonation” (usually with a falling tone), indicating that the speaker is prepared to relinquish the turn, or, at least, that an information unit has been completed.

?

“Questioning intonation” (usually with a rising tone), indicating that the speaker wants a response from the addressee.

,

“Continuing intonation” (usually with a rising or sustained tone, with or without a short pause), indicating that the information unit has not been completed and/ or that the speaker does not want to relinquish the turn.

¤¤

Frames an utterance, or part of an utterance, and indicates that the framed part is spoken in a tone of voice which indicates surprise.

##

Frames an utterance, or part of an utterance, and indicates that the framed part is spoken in a tone of voice which indicates annoyance.

**

Frames an utterance or part of an utterance and indicates that the framed part is spoken in a low voice.

-

Indicates a sudden cut-off of the current sound.

…

“Open-ended intonation” (utterance fading out with an ambiguous intonation terminal).

:

Indicates that the sound just before has been noticeably lengthened.

(.)

Indicates a pause of less than a second.

(..)

Indicates a pause of a second or more.

(())

Indicates paralinguistics.

underlining

Indicates simultaneous talk.

boldface

Indicates emphasis.

italics

Author’s translation into English of utterances in Danish.

(xxx)

Indicates that the transcriber heard talk but could not identify the words.

Book Review Martina Behr and Maike Corpataux. Die Nürnberger Prozesse — Zur Bedeutung der Dolmetscher für die Prozesse und der Prozesse für die Dolmetscher. München: Martin Meidenbauer, 2006. 93 pp. ISBN 3-89975078-0 [InterPartes, 2]. Hartwig Kalverkämper and Larisa Schippel (Eds.). Simultandolmetschen in Erstbewährung: Der Nürnberger Prozess 1945. Mit einer orientierenden Einführung von Klaus Kastner und einer kommentierten fotografischen Dokumentation von Theodoros Radisoglou sowie mit einer dolmetschwissenschaftlichen Analyse von Katrin Rumprecht. Berlin: Frank & Timme, 2008. 336 pp. ISBN 978-3-86596-161-7 [TransÜD, 17]. Reviewed by Christiane J. Driesen The number of German language publications devoted mainly to interpreting at the Nuremberg Trials and to the role of the trials in the development of conference interpreting, especially as it is used at international tribunals, is indeed very small. Thanks to two recent works, however, the German-speaking reader will have a chance to learn about the language organisation of these trials, as seen from the perspective of the interpreter. Such depictions are all the more rare since interpreters, masters of the spoken word, seem less prone than translators to represent their experiences in writing. The first of the two books, on the importance of the interpreters for the trials and of the trials for the interpreters, is by Martina Behr, a conference interpreter and translator who is working on a doctoral thesis in the School of Applied Linguistics and Cultural Studies (FASK) of the University of Mainz at Germersheim, and Maike Corpataux, a freelance interpreter and translator in Berlin. The two authors’ training and professional backgrounds may account for the relevance of the information contained in this small volume. It was published as Volume 2 in the InterPartes series in interpreting studies, edited by Dörte Andres of the University of Mainz, Germersheim, and is intended primarily for students and researchers of interpreting and for those practising interpreters interested in the origins of the profession. In their foreword the authors note that the five chapters are essentially selfcontained, and that each of them may be consulted individually and separately. The introduction starts with the much-quoted words of Hermann Göring: “Ich brauche keinen Rechtsanwalt, ich habe nie etwas mit Anwälten zu tun gehabt,

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sie würden in diesem Prozess nichts nutzen. Was ich wirklich brauche, ist ein guter Dolmetscher.” (I don’t need a lawyer, I’ve never had anything to do with lawyers; they would be of no use in this trial. What I really need is a good interpreter.) The authors draw our attention to the mistrust of certain participants and outline the historical issues and the challenge taken up by the master-organiser Colonel Léon Dostert and by the pioneers of modern interpreting. They also underline correctly the unprecedented innovation and the risks involved in this undertaking. (Reading the trial records, one cannot but notice that the basic problems of simultaneous interpreting were there from the start: speakers reading or speaking too fast, poor sound quality, etc. However, the Nuremberg setting was exceptional in the level of awareness displayed by the presiding judges, who insisted on calling the speakers to order whenever such problems arose.) Unlike a number of other works devoted to the Nuremberg Trials, the authors express from the very beginning their desire to place the interpreter as a human being at the centre of their study. To this end they examine the careers of four interpreters. The second chapter describes the facts with clarity and precision: dates, number of days of hearings, number of accused, sentences passed. The legal basis, stemming from the Declaration of Moscow in 1943, is the starting point of the Charter of the International Military Tribunal signed on August 8, 1945. A footnote mentions that the International Criminal Court set up in 2002 adheres closely to the “Nuremberg Principles”. The passage dealing with organisation and implementation describes the use of the IBM simultaneous interpreting equipment. Descriptions of the prosecution, the defendants, as well as their behaviour are brief, and the chapter ends with the outcomes of the 13 trials and their bearing on the present day. The third chapter deals with the technical aspects of interpreting, during the early days of simultaneous interpreting at the ILO, and discusses some of the challenges facing interpreters who had to apply inventive skills in this new and difficult environment. Practitioners’ misgivings about the IBM system seem to live on in the reactions of interpreters to this day. The recruitment process is not all that different either. All in all, the technical facilities, the place of the interpreters, the rotation of teams and the monitoring system are described concisely and enable the reader of today to draw comparisons based on current experience. The fourth chapter deals with the interpreters themselves and begins with the acerbic criticism by the British Judge Birkett who accuses them of being “touchy, vain, unaccountable …a race apart” etc. Such comments ring particularly cruel when one thinks of the enormous stress under which these early practitioners operated. Moving on to individual interpreters, the authors present brief and interesting biographies of Marie-France Skuncke and Patricia Vander Elst, based on



Book Review

the rare firsthand accounts of these interpreters who maintain their reserve even when describing the challenges they faced. The accounts of Richard Sonnenfeldt and Siegfried Ramler are more detailed. The former committed his memoirs to paper and the latter gave a detailed analysis of his work at Nuremberg for the duration of the trials. This chapter also touches on the psychological aspects: the authors suggest that only open-minded individuals, made flexible by dint of multicultural and multilingual experiences from a very early age, were capable of meeting this challenge. Not surprisingly, they find it difficult to assess the effects of such stressful and traumatic experiences on the lives and the personalities of the interpreters. The fifth chapter deals with court and legal interpreting in Germany after Nuremberg. Here we find the legal basis for the work and the differences between civil law and common law systems. Our attention is drawn to the inconsistencies inherent in the European system in general which, in contrast to the system in the United States, fails to define the qualifications of an interpreter. The chapter ends with the few possibilities for training court interpreters in Germany. Unfortunately, the link between this chapter and the remainder of the work is somewhat tenuous. Should the question not be: Why are the standards of Nuremberg to be found only at international courts and tribunals and not in the national jurisdictions in Europe? Even so, this is a valuable work whose brevity does not detract from its precision. It sheds light on a variety of aspects, some purely technical, others legal, historical or human, while upholding rigorous scientific standards. It provides a range of references, enabling any newcomer to this domain to research it further. The book on the Nuremberg Trials conceived by Hartwig Kalverkämper (as stated in his preface) brings together three works under one cover. The introductory article, on the trials as a milestone in the history of mankind and of international law, is by Klaus Kastner, a legal scholar with a distinguished judicial career. In it we find clear insights into the developments in international law leading up to the Nuremberg Trials. After describing the language situation, the author provides a lucid explanation of the Krupp case and the way it was handled, including a revealing description of the ups and downs of the first day. This remarkable analysis concludes with an attempt to define the legacy of Nuremberg. The first answer is hardly optimistic: The author lists the wars and military conflicts that have taken place since then, contravening the principles of Nuremberg, but ends on a more upbeat note. Since Nuremberg people no longer consider crimes against peace and crimes against humanity as mere blows of fate, and judicial bodies have been set up to prosecute such crimes (The International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia, The International Criminal Court, etc.).

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After this introduction, the reader is well prepared to consult the annotated photographic material compiled by Theodoros Radisoglou to illustrate the work and working conditions of the interpreters and translators at the Nuremberg Trials. Radisoglou, who holds a PhD in sociolinguistics and is a sworn interpreter and translator, used photographs by the American reporter Ray D’Addario to create a traveling exhibition on interpreting at the Nuremberg Trials for the German Federation of Interpreters and Translators (BDÜ) and the Bavarian courts. Many elements of that exhibition are found in the present publication — which is fortunate since the exhibition, after all, is ephemeral. The documentation systematically traces the different characteristics and stages of the trials, highlighting the key persons involved. The reader sees Nuremberg in 1945, the prison, the courtroom from every main functional angle, and — touching for the modern interpreter — the “tools”: the rudimentary microphone, the lights to indicate to the speakers to slow down, the weighty headphones. The comments are mostly brief, sometimes confined to an anecdote or an unusual original detail, such as the number of headsets or the fact that the language channel switch was in the form of a dial. The photograph of the Translation Division (p. 61), showing a vast room strewn with pages to be translated, is particularly spectacular, as are the documents on the technical monitoring system (p. 62 ff). In addition to these evocative photographs the author has chosen relevant quotations from the trial records which clearly illustrate the pitfalls of the system and the harshness of the interpreters’ working conditions: the error in translation culminating in a tug of war between Jackson and Göring (p. 104 ff) or the tactic of the alleged error in translation (p. 110). The case of Sauckel (p. 117 ff), constantly called to order for the speed of his delivery and complicated syntax, is also mentioned. While Sauckel himself remained convinced that he was sentenced owing to poor translation, the author rightly indicates that the interpretation probably enhanced the effect of his statements on the tribunal. Jackson’s apologies to the interpreters (p. 108) aptly show the difficulties involved in interpreting cross examination. The account of the interpreter at the concentration camp (p. 126) is deeply moving, as is the statement of Mrs Schmaglewsaja, a witness who spoke Polish and was interpreted consecutively (p. 127 ff). Also very interesting is the long passage devoted to Paul Schmidt, an official interpreter of the Third Reich. As an irony of fate the author concludes by mentioning the technical hitch that occurred when the first judgement was passed. The third part of the book is an analysis of the relevance of the Nuremberg Trials for the development of modern-day conference interpreting by Katrin Rumprecht, a recent graduate in interpreting and translation from Humboldt



Book Review

University in Berlin. Based on her diploma thesis, this review concentrates on what is most closely linked to the Nuremberg Trials, leaving aside the details concerning interpreting schools and AIIC. After a brief introduction on interpreting techniques and the history of interpreting from antiquity through the Middle Ages to modern times and the League of Nations, Rumprecht devotes a long chapter to the Nuremberg Trials, the practical and technical arrangements, including the recruitment of the interpreters. There is also a lengthy passage on the biographies of certain interpreters, notably Marie-France Skuncke, Patricia Vander Elst, Peter Less, Siegfried Ramler and Arno Hamburger, reflecting their multi-faceted personalities. The fourth section describes the period of transition and the establishment of the United Nations and the growing number of working languages in the wake of World War ll. The author rightly quotes the pioneers of the profession and describes the role of Colonel Léon Dostert in setting up simultaneous interpreting at the United Nations. Few interpreters today are aware of the similarities between the introduction of simultaneous interpreting at the Nuremberg Tribunal and at the United Nations. It is also difficult for us to imagine the opposition that this generated. Recalling the stance of the consecutive interpreters, the author cites a reply by André Kaminker to a delegate who accused him of not rendering a faithful translation: “I didn’t say what you said, but what you should have said.” (p. 231). Also featured in this chapter is the arrival of the first graduate interpreters, along with the famous strike which ultimately played a key role in determining professional working conditions. The section ends with a description of the current working conditions at the United Nations. The dissertation is very informative, particularly when presenting the transition between Nuremberg and the introduction of simultaneous interpreting at the United Nations, and opens up new perspectives on the subject, especially for German-speaking readers. These two books, the second comprising three different works, are particularly well timed for the German-speaking countries. They complement each other perfectly and provide valuable material for reflection, not only for conference interpreters but also for court and legal interpreters with a poorer command of English, when addressing such issues as differences in qualifications or working conditions of interpreters at international and national courts. Nevertheless there is still one question on which Western literature remains silent: however much we now know about the recruitment of Western interpreters at the Nuremberg Tribunal as well as their life in Nuremberg and thereafter, we find that similar information about the Russian interpreters is still sadly lacking.

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Book Review Erik Hertog and Bart van der Veer (Eds.). Taking stock: Research and methodology in community interpreting (Linguistica Antverpiensia, New Series, 5/2006). Antwerp: Hoger Instituut voor Vertalers & Tolken, Hogeschool Antwerpen, 2006. 377 pp. ISBN 978 90 775 5405 0. Reviewed by Cecilia Wadensjö Linguistica Antverpiensia, New Series, an annual journal published by the University College Antwerp, Belgium, has devoted its 2006 issue to research and methodology in community interpreting. The editors, Erik Hertog and Bart van der Veer, have collected an impressive number of papers, sampling from the diversity of approaches taken so far to explain and explore community interpreting as a social, cultural and linguistic practice. In 19 articles, 24 international scholars review and discuss, from various angles, academic approaches and developments in studies of interpreting, performed in legal, medical and other institutional settings. If the range of questions which studies of translation are to answer make translation studies into an “inter-discipline”, to use Toury’s (1980) term, the same indeed holds true for community interpreting studies. Apart from the traditional subdivisions of the field (medical, legal and sign language interpreting) the 19 contributions are sorted under another four subheadings. This task cannot have been altogether easy. The articles are quite diverse in style and scope. However, the editors have solved the problem in a very reasonable way, even if the title of the first subdivision, Exploring the paradigm is somewhat puzzling. It answers the editors’ initial question concerning “whether CI research can (already?) be surveyed in one or more paradigms” (p. 13). From what follows in the volume here reviewed, it is evident that there indeed is a substantial history of CI research already. Moreover, it can clearly be seen that the studies constituting this history represent a diversity of research paradigms. So, why “the paradigm”? In the first section, Mette Rudvin’s introductory chapter concerns what she refers to as “the cultural turn in Community Interpreting”, alluding to Cronin’s (2002) call for a cultural turn in interpreting studies. The article gives a broad outline of epistemological developments in the literature on community interpreting and explains the development of this field as a result, by and large, of paradigmatic changes in the humanities. The author points to cross-fertilisation of methodological and theoretical approaches applied in linguistics, anthropology, sociology, hermeneutics, social psychology and other fields and to the parallel pragmatic turn in language studies generally. Rudvin writes about implications of current views of

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translation and interpreting as social and cultural practices, no less than linguistic ones, not only when it comes to designing research projects. She also discusses the possible impact of empirically based insights into the nature of interpreted talk in relation to community interpreters’ professional training and professional ethics. Basically, she points to the importance of understanding conflicting demands in the work of the community interpreter, an observation that works perfectly as a point of departure for the volume. Hildegard Vermeiren, in the second article, discusses the interdisciplinary character of research into the emerging field of what in French is termed l’interpretation sociale. (The paper is written in French, which is one of the languages in which Linguistica Antverpiensia New Series welcomes manuscripts, the other ones being Dutch, English, German, Italian, Portuguese, Russian and Spanish. The policy is quite unusual, and should turn the journal into an exciting platform for interpreting scholars.) The following paper involves another example of cross-use of English and French literature. Moira Inghilleri presents an outline of a “sociological and linguistic-ethnographic perspective”, drawing on Pierre Bourdieu’s social reproduction theory. She has demonstrated the applicability of this to studies of community interpreting in greater detail elsewhere (e.g. Inghilleri 2005). For instance, she suggests using Bourdieu’s notion of “zone of uncertainty” to capture complexities of institutional interpreted events. Her paper sketches a way to study participants’ understanding of such events, and of the interpreter’s role and obligations in these, and in wider social and political processes, using interviews as the research method. Makiko Mizuno’s chapter, also in the first section, offers some insights into the development of community interpreting as a professional occupation and an academic field in Japan, a society that only recently started evolving from a very homogenous to an increasingly multi-cultural one. An important point in this paper, and this is probably not unique to Japan, is that the political regulation of interpreting services and the parallel academic studies of community interpreting started in the context of legal issues and human rights. In Section II, called Research Methodologies in CI, the first contribution is by Carmen Valero Garcés, who provides a comprehensive and concise survey of linguistics-based, or rather applied-linguistics-based research on interpreter-mediated institutional encounters. As she points out, although the pragmatic paradigm is particularly well suited for research on community interpreting, its potential remains largely unexplored. Her claim that research on how language is used and how linguistic resources function in concrete community interpreting events is “extremely rewarding and very promising for the future” (p. 98) is very convincing. Ian Mason’s thoughtful and thought-provoking contribution fits perfectly as a continuation of Valero Garcés’ paper. It starts by explaining a descriptive approach to interpreting as interaction (e.g. Wadensjö 1998), as motivated by, for one thing,



Book Review

a desire to avoid interpreting studies as error analysis, secondly, a wish to generate knowledge from naturally occurring data and, thirdly, the idea that, highlighting human agency, this approach has the potential for considering social constraints, power relations and other issues pertaining to wider layers of contexts. Looking for other ways to align micro- and macro-contexts, motivated by a concern for explorations of interpreters’ performance in the light of “what might have been said but was not” (p. 116), Mason’s point in this paper is that approaches that are often thought of as mutually incompatible — conversation analysis (CA), critical discourse analysis (CDA) and relevance theory (RT) — could serve, if not in combination, at least as complements of one another. Last in Section II, Erik Hertog, Jan Van Gucht and Leen de Bontridder share some thoughts on methodological rigour and awareness. Their concern is essentially with studies of attitudes and opinions, which are increasingly common in the literature on community interpreting. Their chapter serves as a useful reminder of the ground rules of traditional, hypothesis-driven social science, neatly demonstrated with an example, a research project designed to diagnose the needs of interpreter services at a hospital. The third section — Medical Interpreting — begins with a longer chapter by Franz Pöchhacker, who has ‘vacuum-cleaned’ the relevant literature for research on interpreting in healthcare settings and has indeed come up with an impressive number of studies, representing a wide variety of themes, methodological approaches and theoretical/conceptual frameworks, which he efficiently contextualizes in disciplinary terms. As Pöchhacker stresses in his conclusion, the overview yields an enormous diversity of research approaches. Among these he identifies, as a cross-cutting theme, a concern for quality, at multiple levels. Section III contains three more chapters, written by Hanneke Bot, Alexander Bischoff and Diana Abraham and Marco Fiola. Each of these contributions exemplifies, in a more detailed way, themes mentioned in Pöchhacker’s overview. More precisely, Bot identifies some interesting points where interpreting in mental health care seems to differ from interpreting in other institutional settings and suggests methods for exploring these. Bischoff ’s contribution demonstrates the use of satisfaction ratings, applied in a study among patients speaking a foreign language. Moreover, his article describes how the results of such ratings are used in the organisation of training for medical students. Abraham and Fiola describe their development of what they call the “Assessment for Risk Management Tool” and the potential impact of a change of attitude among decision-makers and clinicians concerning language services, from being seen as a human rights issue (cf. Mizuno’s chapter mentioned above) to being considered as a clinical, or risk management issue. The fourth section of Taking stock is comprised of two articles devoted to legal interpreting. In the first, Sandra Hale identifies and reviews major research

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projects on court interpreting, accounts for their themes and discusses strengths and weaknesses in their methodological approaches. Looking at the future of research in the legal area, she points to the need to expand data sets in terms of sample size and diversity of language combinations. Moreover, as Hale appropriately concludes, even if we know a lot about what interpreters are doing (and are expected to be doing) in court, there is not much known about the impact of interpreting practices on actual courtroom interaction. Sonja Pöllabauer, in the second article on legal interpreting, aims at presenting a “bibliometric survey” of research on interpreting in immigration, asylum and police settings, and at investigating the different analytical approaches that have been used to analyse these kinds of interpreter-mediated interviews. Unfortunately, Pöllabauer’s contribution confuses an important methodological issue. As she justly points out, the body of research identified for the study is, for the most part, qualitative in nature and the methods applied are mainly varieties of what may broadly be termed discourse analysis. At the same time, the author argues that all the empirical studies reviewed in the chapter base their analysis of data on “a research hypothesis (although the hypothesis is not always explicitly stated)” (p. 238). Yet, many of the studies mentioned in the chapter do not assume a hypothesis to be verified or falsified. Rather, they are designed to generate knowledge from systematic scrutinising, describing and interpreting of recurrent patterns and specific features of interpreter-mediated interaction, as manifest in a given body of recorded and transcribed (naturally occurring) spoken interaction. The availability of discourse data is of course essential for how studies may be designed in the first place. As Pöllabauer also reminds us, gaining access to data from legal settings can be difficult, constrained as it is by laws of secrecy. And no doubt, certain research issues may only be answered by using large corpora of data, not least studies where individual subjects are taken to represent specific, pre-defined social groups. In the exploration of other issues, such as the impact of individuals’ use of certain communicative resources on the interaction order, a single recording of a social event can certainly reveal much, something which is nicely demonstrated, for instance, by Roy’s (2000) detailed study of an interpreter-mediated teacher–student encounter. Following the tradition of conversation analysis (CA), one may assume that “there is a constitutive order to singular occasions of interaction, and to the organization of action within them” (Schegloff 1987: 102). In the fifth part, devoted to sign language interpreting, Pöllabauer co-authors the article introducing the section. Among other things, Nadja Grbic and Sonja Pöllabauer state that “the divide between spoken and signed language interpreting research has been partially overcome” (p. 258). Melanie Metzger’s account of topics in salient studies of signed language interpreting from the 1970s to the present offers a valuable context to this statement. Metzger provides the said studies



Book Review

with a larger framework of spoken-language interpreting — not least community interpreting — research. Mieke Van Herreweghe and Myriam Vermeerbergen, in the third and last contribution of Section five, also look back, but not so much at research and methodologies as at the history of community interpreting in the Deaf community in Flanders. In Section six, Tim Connell identifies the need for new kinds of evaluations and explorations following from the implementation of new technologies that are now being applied to interpreting in public service institutions, while Leong Ko pleads for long-term empirical studies to identify possible advantages and/or disadvantages of telephone interpreting. Ann Corsellis, in a concluding chapter (a caveat section) appeals for academic support of active interpreters and translators working in the public service sector. This interesting volume, although somewhat uneven, will serve as a rich source of inspiration for years to come, for all those interested in research on various aspects of interpreting as it occurs in healthcare, legal and other public service settings. I want to mention Carmen Valero Garcés’, Franz Pöchhacker’s, Sandra Hale’s and Melanie Metzger’s overviews as particularly noteworthy and well suited to the given theme. Partly thanks to publications such as Taking stock, community interpreting studies is now taking shape as an academic field in its own right. Seen from another angle, as an empirical field, community interpreting, in all its diverse forms, settings and modes, is attracting growing interest from researchers working in a broad range of research traditions, applying a variety of methodological approaches, equipped with diverse conceptual tools and theoretical models of language, mind, communication, society, power and so forth. Regarded from whatever perspective, thanks to this volume of Linguistica Antverpiensia we now have an adequate and easily accessible outline of the state of the art in studies of community interpreting, and plenty of ideas for the future.

References Cronin, Michael (2002). The Empire talks back: Orality, heteronomy and the cultural turn in interpreting studies. In F. Pöchhacker & M. Shlesinger (Eds.), The interpreting studies reader. London/New York: Routledge, 387–397. Inghilleri, Moira (2005). Mediating zones of uncertainty: Interpreter agency, the interpreting habitus and political asylum adjudication. The Translator 11 (1), 69–85. Roy, Cynthia B. (2000). Interpreting as a discourse process. New York: Oxford University Press. Schegloff, Emanuel A. (1987). Analyzing single episodes of interaction: An exercise in conversation analysis. Social Psychology Quarterly 50 (2), 101–114. Toury, Gideon (1980). In search of a theory of translation. Tel-Aviv: Porter Institute. Wadensjö, Cecilia (1998). Interpreting as interaction. London/New York: Longman.

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Book Review Cecilia Wadensjö, Birgitta Englund Dimitrova and Anna-Lena Nilsson (Eds.). The Critical Link 4: Professionalisation of interpreting in the community. Selected papers from the 4th International Conference on Interpreting in Legal, Health and Social Service Settings, Stockholm, Sweden, 20–23 May 2004. Amsterdam/Philadelphia: John Benjamins, 2007. x + 314 pp. ISBN 978 90 272 1678 6. Reviewed by Holly Mikkelson As the title indicates, this volume is the fourth in a series of proceedings published after an equal number of international conferences on community interpreting held every three years since 1995. The theme of the 2004 conference was professionalisation, reflecting the increasing sophistication of practitioners, consumers and clients in this maturing field. The quality of the papers presented in these proceedings also reflects the fact that researchers and educators are taking a growing interest in community interpreting. The book is divided into six parts, preceded by an editors’ foreword: (1) a keynote paper examining community interpreting as a part of interpreting studies research, (2) papers on the micro-dynamics of interpreter-mediated interaction, (3) papers written from a macro-dynamic perspective, (4) presentations on the development of local standards, (5) reflections on professional ideology, and (6) analyses of training initiatives and programmes. An “about the authors” section containing the presenter bios that were provided at the conference itself would have been a welcome addition. Franz Pöchhacker’s paper focuses on the contribution that research on community interpreting can make to what is being done in the broader field of interpreting studies. In this context, interpreting is viewed along a conceptual continuum ranging from international to intra-social communication, and Pöchhacker identifies commonalities that characterise all types of interpreting, as well as features that make community interpreting unique. He concludes that research in the areas of cognition in communication, discourse, and psychosocial factors, which began in the context of community interpreting, is applicable to interpreting studies in general. In the section on micro-dynamics, the papers report on research embodying the dialogic interactionist approach that Pöchhacker highlights. Amalia Amato looks at whether medical interpreters prioritise one party over the other in managing the flow of triadic communication, while Sonja Pöllabauer analyses role conflict and face-saving measures taken by interpreters working in the asymmetrical

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power dynamics of asylum hearings. The latter paper raises some very interesting questions that cannot be fully addressed in such a brief format, leaving the reader hungry for more concrete data. Birgit Apfelbaum follows with a discussion of how conversational dynamics can be used as an instructional resource in interpretermediated technical settings, but it is difficult to see how the specific case presented relates to the typical community interpreting venue. The final contribution to this section is Brett Allen Rosenberg’s data-driven analysis of telephone interpreting. He points out that too little empirical research has been done on this fast-growing mode of interpreting, and emphasises the false assumptions that are made about telephone interpreting in general. His research, which is limited to calls that he himself interpreted, is an unorthodox approach to a subject that merits much more attention from scholars in the field of interpreting studies. Part 3 of the book, on the macro-dynamics of interpreting in the community, begins with a presentation by Isabelle Perez and Christine Wilson of a study aimed at determining the effectiveness of a programme to train police officers to work with interpreters. The authors also propose some useful guidelines for future programmes of this type. The next two papers describe the state of the community interpreting profession in two countries, Poland and Malaysia. Małgorzata Tryuk reports on a study of practitioners in Poland and laments the lack of training and standards there. Roger Bell reports on a programme with a relatively long history in Malaysia that nevertheless has some serious shortcomings. He applies “systems thinking” to the current situation and recommends actions for improvement. In the last paper of this section, Uldis Ozolins looks at what he calls a “black hole” in the literature on community interpreting as a profession or industry — the role of agencies as the interpreter’s “third client”. He points out that codes of ethics rarely mention agencies, but rather assume a direct relationship between interpreters and the users of their services. He broaches the idea of accrediting interpreting agencies, and stresses the need for codes of practise in the industry that would govern the role of agencies as well as interpreters. The fourth section contains papers that report on the development of local standards in various countries. Leena Idh describes the system for authorising interpreters in Sweden, where community interpreting is a well-developed profession. However, even Sweden faces the familiar problems posed by the demand for a multiplicity of languages without a commensurate availability of expert resources in all of them or the ability to enforce uniform standards across the board. Another report from a country with a relatively mature interpreting profession, the United Kingdom, discusses the challenges of establishing, maintaining, and expanding a national register of interpreters. Ann Corsellis and colleagues provide a very detailed description of the registry’s features, especially disciplinary procedures, which can serve as a model for other countries.



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In another contribution by multiple authors, “From Aequitas to Aequalitas”, Erik Hertog and colleagues give an account of two Grotius projects sponsored by the European Union with a view to establishing common standards for training, assessment and practice in the area of legal interpreting and translation (though the authors note that the standards could apply to all realms and countries). They indicate that Europe is making good progress in this regard, despite resistance from governments concerned about costs and sovereignty issues. They highlight the “unholy trinity” of (1) governments not wanting to pay for good interpreters, (2) unqualified interpreters fearing the loss of their livelihood with the imposition of high standards, and (3) interpreting schools fearing that not enough of their students will meet these high standards — a phenomenon that is certainly not unique to Europe. The fourth part concludes with a paper by Claudia Angelelli and colleagues describing the development, validation, and application of the California Standards for Healthcare Interpreters, another effort that can be viewed as a model to be emulated in other parts of the world. Part 5 is aptly titled “Professional ideology: Food for thought”. It presents some innovative and refreshing ideas about the professionalisation of community interpreting, beginning with Graham Turner’s analysis of interpreting as a collaborative activity, not just in the community but with the community. He asserts that “it is a legitimate part of the interpreter’s professionalism to seek to bring [primary participants] to an overt and active appreciation of the interpretative work — the fine-grained semantic, pragmatic and discoursal navigation and management — in which the practitioner is engaged”, and goes on to argue that “making meaning is a cooperative venture” (p. 183). The notion of “quantum interpreting” that he puts forth provides fresh insight into the interpreter’s role in triadic communication, although one wonders what he would suggest if all parties do not want to cooperate in this shared venture. Stephanie Jo Kent follows with “Why Bother?”, an analysis of professionalisation as a process of institutionalisation, in which interpreters may be empowered but Deaf consumers are further oppressed. She notes that Deaf respondents in studies often complain of feeling powerless and ignored when interpreters interrupt them to control turn-taking in triadic communication. She does not, however, inquire into the perceptions of speakers of the dominant language when these interruptions take place, and her analysis is influenced by the ongoing relationship that Deaf consumers develop with their interpreters. It would be interesting to conduct similar research among consumers of spoken-language interpreting, who do not usually form a stable pool of interpretees over a period of years. Is there a difference in the relationship and attitudes when the consumers are immigrants, whose reliance on interpreting services is likely to be temporary in nature? Do indigenous linguistic minorities establish the kind of enduring ties with interpreters

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that Deaf communities do? This paper definitely offers food for thought and plants the seeds for further research. Zubaidah Ibrahim goes right at a controversial issue with “The interpreter as advocate”. After pointing out that interpreters are permanent employees of the courts in Malaysia and as such are expected to fulfill many roles besides interpreting, including frequent advocacy for defendants appearing without legal counsel, the author asks whether different ethics should apply to different working environments. Another argument for different standards in different interpreting settings is presented by Abdelhak Elghezouani in the context of mental health. The four models of interpreter functions proposed here, including that of “ethno-psychiatric actor in a cast of three” (psychiatrist, interpreter, patient), would be easier to understand if the paper provided some concrete examples. Satu Leinonen also offers an innovative approach by applying the concept of “stocks of interactional knowledge (SIKs)” to court interpreting. Leinonen defines SIKs as theories and models of interaction that are shared within a profession, usually manifested in codes of ethics and training manuals, and makes some very valid points about disparities between court interpreters’ SIKs and the realities of their work. As other scholars have contended (e.g. Morris 1995; Moeketsi & Wallmach 2005), there is a wide gap between professional ideology as prescribed in imperative terms by accepted doctrine (including legislation, professional standards, and textbooks), and the realities that interpreters face in their daily work. This paper adds one more contribution to the continuing exploration of this vital issue. It is followed by the last paper in this section, Patrick Kermit’s application of Aristotelian logic to modern professional interpreting. The contrast between usefulness and morality as criteria for defining “good” interpreting provides an interesting perspective on the matter that is illustrated by a real-life dilemma. The compilation of Critical Link 4 papers concludes with Part 6, “Improving and assessing professional skills”. It begins with Yvonne Fowler’s discussion of the importance of peer evaluation and self-assessment in interpreter training and guidelines for their implementation. Sheila Johnston presents another essential aspect of the development of professional interpreters, employer-community partnerships to provide opportunities for students to make the transition to professional practise in supervised internships. She echoes Fowler’s emphasis on peer- and self-assessment as key elements in training. Jane Straker, in “On-line and between the lines”, offers a look at how the Internet can be used in helping student interpreters learn to make their own glossaries and develop a systematic approach to terminology. And finally, Beppie van den Bogaerde reports on a programme that is surprisingly common throughout the world, though infrequently acknowledged or studied: a four-year undergraduate programme that trains interpreters “from scratch”, that is, beginning with little or no knowledge of a second language.



Book Review

Helge Niska puts the icing on the cake with a sweeping analysis of the history of the community interpreting profession in Sweden, including statistical data, an overview of training, testing for authorisation, and the training of trainers. Just as the Critical Link conferences are a must for anyone interested in the many facets of community interpreting, the proceedings containing the most essential papers are a vital record that will enable us to document the past, present and future of this fascinating endeavour.

References Moeketsi, R. & Wallmach, K. (2005). From sphaza to makoya!: A BA degree for court interpreters in South Africa. International Journal of Speech, Language and the Law 12 (1), 77–108. Morris, R. (1995). The moral dilemmas of court interpreting. The Translator 1 (1), 25–46.

239

Index A acceptability, 130 access, 1–2, 29–31, 38, 41, 44, 64–65, 75 accreditation, 47, 107 accredited interpreter, 47–48 accuracy, 2, 10, 14, 24, 59, 70–71, 101, 107, 118, 129, 134, 146, 154, 156, 165–166, 188 accusatorial principle, 127 accused, 1, 10, 45, 47, 55, 59, 62, 65, 67–68, 71, 80, 108, 113, 115, 117, 127, 168, 195, 224 ad hoc interpreter, 29, 50 additions, 19–20, 125, 161, 190, 221 addressee, 110, 167, 170, 179, 183, 206, 222 adequacy, 62, 65, 144 administration of justice, 31, 33, 39, 41, 49–50, 68, 74, 76, 87, 96–97 admissibility, 71 adversarial courtroom, 3, 5, 189 AIIC, 227 ambiguity, 114, 118 Amharic, 73 ancestral languages, 32, 34–36, 38, 52 animator, 102, 168 appellate court, 2, 65, 75 appropriateness, 21 Arabic, 59, 61, 67–68, 70, 72–73, 86, 88–89, 96, 98, 173, 185 arbiter, 11–14, 16, 22, 24–25 Argentina, 30

asylum hearings, 127, 162, 190, 236 attorney, 41, 48, 87 Attorney General, 74 audio recording, 18, 107 Australia, 56, 64, 67, 76, 82–83, 99, 107 authorized interpreter, 198, 199 B balanced bilinguals, 42 bilingualism, 30, 37, 39, 41–43, 47–48, 58, 60, 103 Bolivia, 30 Brazil, 30 British Mandate, 67, 86 Bukharian, 68 C Canada, 3, 55–57, 62–63, 65–66, 75–77, 82, 84, 120, 160, 189 case law, 66, 70, 73, 75 case study, 5, 125, 127, 130, 167, 170, 190, 221 census, 41–45 certification, 50 certified court interpreter, 48 check interpreter, 144, 146, 151, 153 Chile, 30 Chinese, 11, 72–73, 119, 196–197, 199, 220 chuchotage, 89 clarification, 47, 101, 118–119, 169, 202–203, 213–214, 219, 221

code of ethics, 85, 87, 92–93, 97, 129, 158, 163, 165 cognitive limitations, 14 cognitive psychology, 9 coherence, 154, 206, 213, 219 Colombia, 30 common law, 60, 62, 64, 66, 76, 225 Commonwealth, 64, 83 communication facilitator, 95 community interpreter, 131, 154, 230 community interpreting, 1, 3, 5, 9, 161, 169, 189–190, 229–230, 233, 235–237, 239 community interpreting studies, 229, 233 competence, 44, 57, 75, 125–126, 138, 154, 156–160, 185, 197, 220 complainant, 73, 114–116 completeness, 95, 129, 134, 154, 156, 165 conduit, 50, 58, 90, 94–95, 99, 188 conference interpreting, 9, 57, 172, 223, 226 confession, 70, 80 confidentiality, 87, 129, 165 consecutive, 12, 14, 57, 78, 89, 173, 199 contextualization, 10, 106 contextual conditions, 153–155, 159 control, 13, 25, 127, 169, 194–195 conversation analysis, 231–233 cooperativeness, 3, 125, 128, 131–135, 138–139, 152, 155, 159

242

Index

corrections, 12, 19, 21 cost, 32, 39, 65, 70 counsel, 23, 73, 79, 90, 92–93, 95–96, 108, 112, 118, 127, 132–133, 136, 138, 151, 153, 169, 171–178, 181, 194, 238 court registrar, 72 courthouse, 39, 40–41, 47 credentials, 47 credibility, 46, 116, 220 criminal procedure, 69, 76 criminal proceedings, 1, 66 criminal trial, 39, 66, 84, 127, 140, 193–194, 198 critical discourse analysis, 231 Critical Link, 3, 6, 190–191, 235, 238–239 cross-examination, 57, 63, 78, 116 cultural turn, 10, 26, 229, 233 custody, 70, 73 D Danish, 125–176, 180, 182–188, 193–194, 197–199, 220–222 deaf/Deaf, 5–6, 55–56, 66, 233, 237 declarative, 140 defendant, 37–40, 47–48, 63, 65, 67, 73, 80, 85, 93, 95–96, 115–116, 131–144, 148, 151–153, 159, 162, 167–168, 172–187, 193–195–220 defense, 11, 20, 38–39, 47–48, 72–74, 89–90, 92–96, 112, 116, 118, 127, 132–133, 136, 138, 140, 144, 146, 149, 151, 153, 156–157, 162, 171, 174–176, 178, 194–195 deictic shift, 103, 106, 111, 119 deixis, 103–104, 106, 108, 110, 113 Demjanjuk trial, 68, 84 Denmark, 3, 130–135, 149, 153, 157, 162–163, 168, 171, 173, 189–190, 195, 197, 199, 200–208, 211

detention, 38, 72, 86, 88 deviation, 62, 120, 132, 144, 147, 152, 166 dialogue interpreting, 9, 190, 221–222 dictionary, 148 direct quotation, 103, 113 direct speech, 106–107, 113– 114, 121, 161–170, 179–188 directive, 103 discoursal shifts, 3 discourse, 2, 3, 5–6, 9, 19–20, 39, 51–53, 94, 99, 101–107, 111–114, 119–122, 127, 129, 135, 148, 161, 164, 170–173, 180, 186, 189–190, 203–204, 215, 221, 232–235 discourse analysis, 9, 52–53, 129, 180, 232 discourse marker, 5, 135, 148, 203–204 discourse patterns, 3 discursive practice, 101–104, 114, 119, 121 dissenting opinion, 57, 66–67 district court, 75, 126–127, 163, 173–174, 193, 198, 220 domestic violence, 32, 37, 44, 46, 48 Dostert, 224, 227 Druze, 81, 83, 89, 96, 98 Dutch, 11, 161, 189, 230 duties, 48, 58, 61, 70, 85, 87–88, 90–97 E East Africa, 56, 82 Ecuador, 3, 29–38, 42, 45–49, 51–53 effectiveness, 21, 236 ellipsis, 106, 114, 118 embedded clause, 103 empirical data, 187 empirical studies, 3, 232–233 English, 3, 6, 10–13, 17, 19–23, 26, 48, 56–68, 71, 74, 78–79,

81, 83, 86, 101, 103–104, 106, 108, 111–114, 119–122, 137, 162, 173, 178, 195–199, 220–222, 227, 230 entitlement, 62–63 error, 14, 18, 20, 23, 110, 141, 216, 226, 231 ethics, 2–3, 24, 60, 85–88, 90–93, 96–98, 125, 128, 146, 150, 155–158, 163, 172, 190, 221, 230, 236, 238 Ethiopian, 73 ethnic groups, 30, 46 ethnolinguistic, 33, 42 EULITA, 1 European Parliament, 1 evidence, 3, 24, 40, 56–59, 63–66, 74, 77, 79, 101–103, 107, 112, 115, 117, 119, 126–127, 143–144, 153, 155, 159, 174–176, 180, 194–195, 198, 200–201, 211–213, 215 examination-in-chief, 112, 114, 116–117 expectancy norms, 14, 128, 130, 163, 165 expectations, 2, 21, 37, 128, 140, 159, 166, 171–172 expert, 47, 63–64, 128, 133, 155, 174–176, 194, 236 F face, 132–133, 136, 138, 143–144, 146, 169, 193–198, 200–221, 235 face-work, 146, 193–194, 196, 200–201, 219–220 fair hearing, 69–70, 73 fairness, 57, 65–66, 103 false start, 143, 148, 210 fieldwork, 47–48, 50, 88 first-person style, 164–166, 170, 188 footing, 2, 150, 168, 188, 194 foreigner, 38, 66 form of address, 120, 130, 164–170, 173–174, 179–189



French, 11, 56–58, 61, 77, 130–133, 137–140, 142, 144, 147, 149, 153–154, 156–157, 160, 162, 173, 185, 230 functions, 9–11, 19, 25–26, 238 G gatekeeping, 95–96 Gaza Strip, 73 gender, 10, 33, 37 German, 3, 11, 57, 61, 158, 173, 185, 223, 226–227, 230 grammatical, 20, 104, 110, 113, 119, 170 Greek, 79, 122 H hearsay, 101–102, 117 Hebrew, 55, 59, 67–76, 80–89, 91, 96, 98–99 hedge, 208–209 helper, 95 hesitation, 143, 148, 200, 207, 210, 215, 218 Hideki Tojo, 9–10, 16 honorifics, 104, 106 human rights, 2, 32, 34, 37–38, 49, 73, 86, 230–231 I IBM equipment, 12 ideology, 33, 41, 53, 122, 237 immigrants, 17, 30, 86, 237 impartiality, 13, 48, 129, 131, 165, 167 IMTFE, 10–19, 25–26 in-between, 15, 26 India, 71, 82 indigenous languages, 31, 34, 48, 51 indirect quotation, 103 indirect speech, 107, 121–122, 125, 163, 166, 168, 170, 179–189 institutional norms, 166, 185 integrity, 65, 157

Index

intelligibility, 137 interactants, 125, 128–129, 140, 144, 151, 155, 159, 195–197, 201 interaction, 9, 18, 93, 101, 116, 125–129, 132, 134, 142, 144, 152, 155, 163–170, 174, 185, 188, 196, 199, 204, 206, 211, 230, 232, 235, 238 interjection, 19–20, 22 interlingual, 55–57, 60–61, 63, 68, 75–78, 89 international trials, 2 interpreting studies, 1, 6–7, 27, 98–99, 161, 190, 223, 229, 231, 233, 235–236 interrogative, 110 interruption, 95, 146, 177 intertextuality, 101, 119, 121 interviews, 17, 25, 29, 31–32, 36, 42, 85, 88–93, 96–97, 152–154, 168, 230 intonation, 123, 133, 140–141, 162, 207, 209, 216–217, 220, 222 invisibility, 2 Ireland, 63, 79 Israel, 3, 55–56, 61, 67–86, 97–98 Italian, 7, 61, 230

justice system, 7, 30–34, 40–41, 44, 46, 50–51, 55–56, 67, 75–76 K Kibei, 13–16, 27 Kiswahili, 71 Korean, 101–122

L Ladino, 68 language ideology, 52 language policy, 29 language rights, 3, 41 language skills, 85, 132–133, 144, 172, 185 Latin America, 29–32, 52 latitude, 2, 7 lawyers, 4, 12, 26, 29, 33, 39–41, 46, 49, 59–60, 72–74, 78, 87, 91, 96, 101, 127, 167–168, 194–195, 198–199, 221, 224 lay judge, 127, 173–174, 178, 195, 220 legal discourse, 51, 103, 114, 163, 187 legal proceedings, 1, 6, 38, 58, 84–88, 91, 94, 97, 99, 119 legal process, 5, 51, 72, 121, 161 legal profession, 58, 64–65, 127, J 130, 132, 137, 144, 153–154, 160 Japan, 7, 9, 11, 13, 15–16, 20–27, legal professional, 127, 130, 132, 230 137, 144, 153–154, 160 Japanese, 10–27, 104, 106, 119, legal terms, 22 121–122, 196 legislation, 31, 55–56, 61, Jewish law, 61, 75, 85 63–64, 74, 76, 84, 238 judge, 10, 29, 31–33, 38–41, lingua franca, 31 46–49, 55–58, 64, 68–73, linguistic rights, 30–31, 34–35, 79, 85–96, 108, 130–162, 38, 84 167–168, 172–186, 220 linguists, 9–16, 19, 25–26, 37, judgment, 12, 26, 62, 67, 89, 194 177 judicial attitudes, 3, 55–56, 64, literal translation, 62–63 67, 76 Lockerbie trial, 59 judiciary, 58, 75, 163 loyalty, 15, 125, 128, 131–138, jurisprudence, 62, 66 140, 143–144, 150, 152, jurists, 56, 61 156–159

243

244

Index

M magistrates, 4, 29, 44, 73, 75 Maimonides, 59–60, 78 Malaysia, 5, 236, 238 Mandarin, 104 Manitoba, 56–57, 78 mediation, 1, 49, 55–57, 63, 74 mediator, 90–91, 94 mental health, 231, 238 mestizo, 29, 36, 43, 45, 49–50 meta-talk, 140, 144, 151–152 methodology, 5, 161, 170, 189, 229 military court, 3, 5, 81–86, 93, 97, 99 military interpreters, 13 military officers, 10–13, 24 minority language, 32, 160 mistake, 18, 38 mistranslation, 140 mode, 12, 14, 89, 94, 108, 167–168, 173, 185, 199, 236 Mongolian, 11 monitoring, 2, 9–10, 14, 16, 25, 154, 224, 226 monitors, 9, 11–26, 153 monolingualism, 30, 43–44 mood, 104, 106 mother tongue, 131, 154, 197, 199 multicultural, 64–65, 83, 225 multi-method, 130 N narratives, 106, 114, 117, 119 native tongue, 61, 63, 79 natural/native translator, 14 neurolinguistics, 9 neutrality, 2, 94–95, 188 New South Wales, 63, 107 NGOs, 37–38 Nisei, 11, 13, 15, 22, 24, 27 non-normative behavior, 3 non-verbal, 60, 216 norm, 14, 25–26, 33, 36, 50, 62, 81, 85, 97, 121, 125, 127–128, 134, 146, 149, 156–158, 161– 168, 173–176, 180, 185–190

Nova Scotia, 66 Nuremberg (Trial), 3, 5, 10, 12, 223–227

power relations, 3, 10, 26, 34, 231 pragmatic force, 141 pragmatic shifts, 3 pragmatics, 9, 135, 161, 193, 221 O presiding judge, 76, 127, 152, oath, 13, 103, 156 174, 224 objection, 143, 151 primary participant, 125–126, official documents, 19, 36–37, 48 135–138, 144, 164–169, 178, official language, 30, 34–36, 38, 185, 188, 193–195, 220, 237 67–68, 76, 86 prisoner, 13, 79 off-the-record, 178 procedural, 16, 18, 23, 74 omissions, 19–20, 72, 118, 125 procedure, 10, 139, 152, 174, orality, 195 194, 206, 220 Ottoman, 61 professional conduct, 87 professional ideology, 235, 238 P professionalization, 2, 50, 191, Palestine, 61, 67, 86 235, 237 paralinguistic, 106 proficiency, 16, 29–30, 42, 48, participant observation, 163, 70, 150, 173 170 pronoun, 104, 110, 116, 170, 179 participation framework, 102, propositional meaning, 105, 167, 194 107 participation status, 188 prosecution, 11–12, 20, 59, 93, particle, 103, 104, 106, 110, 127, 224 116, 122 prosecutor, 19, 37, 39–40, 47, pause, 4, 95, 123, 137, 140, 148, 85, 90, 92, 127, 132–137, 140– 162, 206, 210, 213, 222 141, 151, 160, 162, 172–176, personal interpreter, 13 183–187, 193, 200–221 Peru, 30 prosody, 103, 121 Philippines, 13 pro-verb, 103 plaintiff, 37, 78 psycholinguistics, 9 pleadings, 67 public defender, 32, 75 Poland, 236 public service institutions, 233 police, 5, 32, 55, 69, 70–75, 80–83, 96, 102, 119, 130–131, Q 135, 137, 144, 167, 194, 200, qualifications, 41, 107, 150, 153, 232, 236 157–158, 173, 225, 227 police interview, 70, 74, 83, 167 quality, 1, 2, 5, 7, 23, 30, 34, 37, police officer, 32, 69–71, 74, 48, 55, 58, 62, 66, 75–76, 167, 194, 236 91, 98, 144, 150–153, 157, policy makers, 1 164–165, 189–190, 197, 224, politeness, 195–196, 221 231, 235 Portuguese, 30, 230 Quechua, 30, 37 power constellation, 9–10, questioning, 71–74, 80, 91, 16, 25 131, 133, 135, 140–141, 149, power differential, 125, 127, 151–162, 174–176, 191–201, 193–196, 220 209, 218–220



questionnaire, 134, 156, 171–172, 184–185 Quichua, 29–52 quotative, 103–105, 110–118 R race, 10, 19, 25, 224 recording, 70–75, 80–83, 107, 126, 129–130, 138, 156, 171, 180, 198, 232 reformulation, 101 refugees, 133 register, 48, 104–105, 113, 125–126, 236 relay interpreting, 10 relevance theory, 231 remand hearings, 72 renditions, 13, 18–23, 48, 101, 108, 110, 113, 136, 138–141, 150, 154, 169, 188 repetitions, 133, 135, 143, 147 reported speech, 3, 101–122, 166, 188 reporting context, 101–102, 107–108 restraining order, 46, 48 risk management, 231 role, 1–7, 15, 24, 26, 29, 31–32, 44, 47–48, 50, 61–62, 65, 67, 85, 87, 90–95, 98–99, 102, 120–121, 128–129, 133–134, 144, 160–167, 171–172, 188–189, 194–195, 200, 203, 214, 223, 227, 230, 235–237 Russian, 10, 69–70, 72, 92, 122, 227, 230 S screening test, 11 self-repair, 148 sentence-ending form, 104–105, 110, 116 service provider, 65 settings, 5–6, 9, 15–16, 29–30, 43, 101, 119, 126–127, 166, 168, 171, 173, 180, 193, 220, 229, 231–233, 236, 238

Index

shifts, 3, 104 sight translation, 89 sign language (interpreting), 6–7, 81, 229, 232 simultaneous interpreting, 89, 224, 227 situated activity, 10 skopos, 128, 132, 135–136, 140, 144–159 socialization, 14 sociolinguistics, 9, 226 sociological, 5, 12, 230 sociopolitical, 9, 25, 29 S-O-V order, 103 Spanish, 30, 33–48, 83, 230 speech event, 106, 193, 195–196, 219–220 speech level, 104, 120 speech style, 134, 163, 166, 168, 172, 179–187 standards, 2, 4, 55, 62–65, 75, 87, 163, 165, 225, 235–238 status, 30, 47, 57, 81, 90–97, 110, 133, 170, 179, 197–198 Stockholm, 3, 235 strategy, 16, 84, 144, 154, 191, 195, 198–200, 203, 209, 211, 214, 219 subordinate clause, 103 Supreme Court, 39, 62–63, 66, 69–70, 73–74, 76–77, 83–84 survey research, 163, 170 suspect, 69–75, 80–81, 137, 140 Sweden, 235–236, 239 syntactic structure, 103–104 T tag question, 209–210 Talmud, 56, 59, 77, 86 telephone interpreting, 233, 236 tense, 103, 106, 111 terminology, 97, 127, 238 terrorists, 88, 94 testimony, 6, 9–10, 16–25, 40, 47, 56–58, 60, 77–78, 84, 103, 108, 111–112, 116–121, 139, 152, 157

theory, 4, 50–53, 61, 122, 161, 191, 195–196, 230, 233 Tokyo, 3, 9–13, 27 traffic accident, 47 training, 1, 2, 7, 11, 13–14, 41, 48, 67, 75, 85, 88, 97, 120, 131, 150, 157–158, 164, 168, 173, 223, 225, 230–231, 235–239 transcript, 57, 81, 131, 154 transcription, 23, 73, 107, 132, 220 translation culture, 125, 127–130, 133, 156–157 translator, 25, 47–50, 55, 57–61, 66, 70, 78, 80, 126, 128, 130, 135, 147, 149, 158, 194, 203, 220, 223, 226 transparency, 2, 95, 125, 128–129, 138–139, 146, 150, 152, 155, 158 triadic, 93, 193–196, 219–220, 235, 237 trial record, 224, 226 triangulation, 129–130 tribunals, 223, 225 trust, 14, 25 trustworthiness, 13 Turkish, 61 turn, 110, 113, 115–118, 132–138, 140, 147–150, 158, 175–178, 181, 187, 203–204, 211, 216, 222 turn-taking, 135, 237 U understanding, 1, 4, 20–22, 25–26, 60, 63, 65–66, 68, 94–97, 121, 135, 141, 147–149, 151, 158, 167–169, 180, 204, 230 United Nations, 132, 227 United States, 11, 13, 66, 74, 76, 79, 83, 120, 160, 189, 225 units of meaning, 146 untrained, 14, 29, 121, 154, 160, 189 USA, 50

245

246

Index

user expectations, 172, 190 utterance, 60, 102, 104–105, 107, 110, 113, 115–118, 123, 133–134, 136, 140–141, 146, 148, 162, 167, 169, 177–178, 180, 188, 204, 206, 209–222

victim, 32, 45, 112, 117, 159, 179, 180 visibility, 9

W war crimes tribunal, 3 West Bank, 3, 5, 73, 75, 81, 83, V 88, 98–99 verb, 103–104, 106, 110, 114, 116, whisper-interpreting, 13 118, 170 witness, 5, 16, 18, 45, 55–57, verbatim, 59–60, 80, 87, 61, 63, 73–75, 78–80, 87, 102–104, 107, 126, 156, 166 95, 102–103, 108, 110–122, verbatim translation, 59 131, 136, 139–144, 146, 149,

151–153, 161–162, 167, 169, 172, 174–175, 189, 194–195, 198, 221, 226 witness statement, 73, 75, 80, 122 word order, 60, 62 World War II, 3, 16, 26 written translation, 62, 81, 89 Y Yiddish, 68

In the series Benjamins Current Topics (BCT) the following titles have been published thus far or are scheduled for publication: 28 GULLBERG, Marianne and Kees de BOT (eds.): Gestures in Language Development. ca. 150 pp. Expected December 2010 27 DROR, Itiel E. (ed.): Learning Technologies and Cognition. Expected Forthcoming 26 SHLESINGER, Miriam and Franz PÖCHHACKER (eds.): Doing Justice to Court Interpreting. 2010. viii, 246 pp. 25 ANSALDO, Umberto, Jan DON and Roland PFAU (eds.): Parts of Speech. Empirical and theoretical advances. 2010. vi, 291 pp. 24 ARBIB, Michael A. and Derek BICKERTON (eds.): The Emergence of Protolanguage. Holophrasis vs compositionality. 2010. xi, 181 pp. 23 AUGER, Alain and Caroline BARRIÈRE (eds.): Probing Semantic Relations. Exploration and identification in specialized texts. 2010. ix, 156 pp. 22 RÖMER, Ute and Rainer SCHULZE (eds.): Patterns, Meaningful Units and Specialized Discourses. 2010. v, 124 pp. 21 BELPAEME, Tony, Stephen J. COWLEY and Karl F. MACDORMAN (eds.): Symbol Grounding. 2009. v, 167 pp. 20 GAMBIER, Yves and Luc van DOORSLAER (eds.): The Metalanguage of Translation. 2009. vi, 192 pp. 19 SEKINE, Satoshi and Elisabete RANCHHOD (eds.): Named Entities. Recognition, classification and use. 2009. v, 168 pp. 18 MOON, Rosamund (ed.): Words, Grammar, Text. Revisiting the work of John Sinclair. 2009. viii, 124 pp. 17 FLOWERDEW, John and Michaela MAHLBERG (eds.): Lexical Cohesion and Corpus Linguistics. 2009. vi, 124 pp. 16 DROR, Itiel E. and Stevan HARNAD (eds.): Cognition Distributed. How cognitive technology extends our minds. 2008. xiii, 258 pp. 15 STEKELER-WEITHOFER, Pirmin (ed.): The Pragmatics of Making it Explicit. 2008. viii, 237 pp. 14 BAKER, Anne and Bencie WOLL (eds.): Sign Language Acquisition. 2009. xi, 167 pp. 13 ABRY, Christian, Anne VILAIN and Jean-Luc SCHWARTZ (eds.): Vocalize to Localize. 2009. x, 311 pp. 12 DROR, Itiel E. (ed.): Cognitive Technologies and the Pragmatics of Cognition. 2007. xii, 186 pp. 11 PAYNE, Thomas E. and David J. WEBER (eds.): Perspectives on Grammar Writing. 2007. viii, 218 pp. 10 LIEBAL, Katja, Cornelia MÜLLER and Simone PIKA (eds.): Gestural Communication in Nonhuman and Human Primates. 2007. xiv, 284 pp. 9 PÖCHHACKER, Franz and Miriam SHLESINGER (eds.): Healthcare Interpreting. Discourse and Interaction. 2007. viii, 155 pp. 8 TEUBERT, Wolfgang (ed.): Text Corpora and Multilingual Lexicography. 2007. x, 162 pp. 7 PENKE, Martina and Anette ROSENBACH (eds.): What Counts as Evidence in Linguistics. The case of innateness. 2007. x, 297 pp. 6 BAMBERG, Michael (ed.): Narrative – State of the Art. 2007. vi, 271 pp. 5 ANTHONISSEN, Christine and Jan BLOMMAERT (eds.): Discourse and Human Rights Violations. 2007. x, 142 pp. 4 HAUF, Petra and Friedrich FÖRSTERLING (eds.): Making Minds. The shaping of human minds through social context. 2007. ix, 275 pp. 3 CHOULIARAKI, Lilie (ed.): The Soft Power of War. 2007. x, 148 pp. 2 IBEKWE-SANJUAN, Fidelia, Anne CONDAMINES and M. Teresa CABRÉ CASTELLVÍ (eds.): Application-Driven Terminology Engineering. 2007. vii, 203 pp. 1 NEVALAINEN, Terttu and Sanna-Kaisa TANSKANEN (eds.): Letter Writing. 2007. viii, 160 pp.