Translation is a necessary evil. Clients, individuals as well as organizations, are actually forced to address to us, professionals, by standing laws and bureaucracy procedures. Something like 80% of what non-publishing-sector translators produce is not likely to be read by anyone. That’s why our clients hate us. Because they have to wait for and pay for something that is only a step that will bring them closer to complete a certain task. Who reads translated articles of association, who has ever read a translated balance-sheet, or even worse is there a sound minded human being who would ever show any interest at all in reading the translation of a patent? Nobody wants translation. Translation is like VAT. One must pay for it but without knowing why.

We translators, by nature, are not complaining. We are comfortably seated and enjoying the translation of a colonoscope manual, we are charmingly polite when delivering medical opinions to our clients who have already heard the bad news, we find nothing ridiculous in being assigned with the Greek translation of the lyrics of “In the heat of the night” and “Maria Magdalena”, and we are ok with starting our career by subtitling a German porno, or two.

But then, there is TED. And the opportunity of translating some words that are so powerful that can even make someone find a reason to wake up in the morning, when everything around collapses. TED is all things modern, artistically combined with all things human. Most of all, the mission of TED constitutes tangible hope in a rather cruel world, a hope that takes shape through the works of great (wo)men and through actual initiatives and feasible solutions, giving a new perspective on things. So, this is the first of a series of TED translations into Greek, in an attempt to contributing in spreading the ideas that worth it. Question No. 9 of a questionnaire sent by TED to its translators is “Why do you want to translate for TED?”. It took me only a few seconds to answer: “TED makes me want to be a better person”.

Austrians could never possibly have coined the word tsunami. As a phenomenon and as a word tsunami bears the seal “made in Japan”. It is depicted by two Han characters: 津 for tsu which means harbor and 波 for nami which means wave. Surprisingly enough, the first man ever to have scratched his head over the nature of this great wave, pointing at the earthquake as its main cause, was Thucydides, as early as 426 B.C. in his History of the Peloponnesian War.

In their attempt to dress the menace of tsunami with some logic, the ancient Japaneses invented Susanoo, the god of the sea and storms, who was born from Izanagi’s, the primeval god’s, nose, when the latter was blowing it (how nice…). Susanoo was an intractable young man of furious and impulsive temper, letting himself go on huge waves and smashing splashes.

Sounding as today’s bad joke, the Great Wave off Kanagawa, the woodblock print of the Japanese artist, Hokusai, is probably one of the most recognized works of Japanese art in the world, ever. Water is the dominant element of the composition, covering even mount Fuji, the absolute symbol of what Japan is, discerned in the background, only a breath far from braking over the fishermen, bent over their oars, submitted to their lot. Although published somewhere between 1830 and 1833, The Great Wave is the content of today’s nightmares.

Let’s hope that Susanoo will find some reason to calm down, that he will find a place to close his eyes eternally and that no more men, women, nor children, will ever again set eye on a tsunami, as it is known, that once you see it, it’s already too too late. 

Last year, I and my husband travelled to Vietnam. A country of painful beauty and equally painful history. Among other places, we visited Vinh Moc, a complex of tunnels strategically situated between the North and the South of the country. In 1966, the villagers of Vinh Moc, in an effort to shelter themselves from the intense bombing of the American forces, dug the tunnels in order to move their village, reaching a depth of 30 metres. The complex grew to include kitchens, rooms for each family and spaces for healthcare. Around 60 families lived in the tunnels until early 1972, and as many as 17 children were born inside them.

We met one of these children. A man of indefinable age, of very very very small height and the weight of a feather. Mentally deficient, deaf and mute. And yet, he was to be our ….. guide!!

He came to me and taking me by the hand we stood in front of a map of the tunnels and with the stick he was holding, he showed us a route of 2.5 km. He then showed us a picture of a baby born in the tunnels, and he was pointing at the picture and then at him, glowing with the most proud of smiles. He gave us torches and he started walking, semi-flying, followed by us, the bewildered foreigners, in this meander of dark, mud and humidity. He showed us everything, he told us what no other speaking, mentally unimpaired man, could ever tell us. We learnt where exactly he was born, where those people down there, used to eat, how they used to entertain themselves, what they did when the skies were raining bombs above their heads. Seeing me under an extreme emotional state, because of a claustrophobic feeling that came upon me, and the unimaginable stories that were unfolding before me, he consoled me with care, and reassured me that there was no reason to be afraid and sad, and that he was there to protect us, and he made me laugh changing the tears of panic into tears of joy. And we did not exchange even a single word.

Communication between human beings is beyond words. Communication and understanding is beyond languages. Languages are arbitrarily shaped tools, manufactured by the trembling hands of the peoples, unreliable and risky.

Behind the different forms of the letters, behind the way in which the present or past tense is formed, behind the conjugations of verbs and nouns, and behind the synonyms and antonyms and all the –yms of the world, lies a global undeniable truth: that languages serve the same purposes. They meet the same human needs. They express sentiments felt by the man as a living species, not as a member of a specific geographical community. Whether you say die, perish, pass away, mourir or умереть, no tears can be uncried, no loss can be undone and the event is equally irrevocable.

The beauty of a nicely structured sentence, the linguistic tricks, the mental struggle to find the exactly appropriate word and put it at the exactly appropriate place, the identification of hidden messages, must not be taken as a commonplace for everyone. The mechanisms of language are intrinsic, unconceivable, beyond any control. It is the job of linguists, translators, writers or scholars to deal with all these things. All the others only have to appreciate and search for the essence of languages, which is no other than the value of being understood.