There are names that do not name at all because they can name such different things that they end up not naming anything.
Names that are the subject of debates and misunderstandings, brawls and lawsuits.
The
Spanish
word is usually one of them.
The Spanish word is old.
They say that it was invented by the Phoenicians who occupied these coasts 2,500 years ago and that it meant “land of rabbits”, and that the Romans who conquered it later represented Hispania as a rabbit hutch: Terra cuniculosa the great Catullus called it —and, in
his
mouth , the word
cunis
was worth a whole language.
Afterwards, the brand was forgotten due to a change of owner and began to reappear, slowly, hesitantly, a few centuries ago, when a German family, first, and a French one, ruled these fiefdoms.
But all historians agree that the first time it was officially proclaimed was in the Constitution of Cádiz, 1812, when the liberals who did not want families in command defined the "Spanish Nation" as "the reunion of all Spaniards from both hemispheres”.
In the other hemisphere there were fewer and fewer and the Cortes of Cádiz were dissolved and repressed by the Bourbons that now reign, but the name stuck.
And since then.
We live in a country called Spain, full of Spaniards who want or don't want to be one, who are proud or ashamed of being one —but even those who boast have to be convinced.
It would seem that they should not fully believe it, because they need to repeat it several times: I am Spanish Spanish Spanish, they sing to cheer themselves up.
Faced with a history of outstretched arms, faced with the cultures and conspiracies and fevers that pull the Kingdom, "Spanish" is a concept in contention.
But in no field is that word discussed as much as in that of language.
The dilemma is simple but a bit brutal: what is the name of the language in which I write these lines?
I always thought it was called Castilian.
When I was a boy, at school, they taught me “Castilian language and literature”, not Spanish —because we studied Sarmiento and Martí and Sor Juana more than Unamuno, more Neruda and Rulfo and Borges than Miguel Hernández.
And saying "Spanish" would have sounded to us, logically, to the product of a country called Spain.
But I have found, here and now, that many say they speak Spanish and defend that name.
In North America —
formerly known
as “Hispanoamérica” — very few spoke “Spanish”.
On my side of the water we always speak Spanish, although now the word Spanish has made its way.
In these decades it was promoted by the North Americans, who say “Spanish” because their language does not use the word “Castillan”.
Spanish, in America, is almost an Anglicism.
And the name fluctuates and is discussed and the historical and political reasons appear.
Castellano is ultimately the name of the dialect of a region that spread, but does not allude to any current country.
Spanish is the opposite: the demonym and adjective of what belongs to the Kingdom of Spain.
It is logical —it would be logical— that 420 or 430 million ladies and gentlemen from 20 countries do not want to think that they speak another's language.
Is strong.
One consequence of the colonial centuries is that the globe teems with countries that speak languages named after their conquerors: English and French, of course, and of course Spanish.
In a world where much lesser identities are constantly being claimed in the face of ever more tenuous affronts, it does not seem that ex-colonial countries are still interested in calling the language they speak a proper name.
It may be nonsense —or bullshit or stupidity or nonsense or bullshit— but maybe it's time to start thinking of a name for that language other than the name of the country that imposed it.
A common name, if possible —it would be good to underline that absolute originality, 20 countries capable of understanding each other in one language—, but one that is not the name of one, the name of another.
I, of course, would propose the one that I have been using for a few years: American.
Where the eñe, that banner of our language, modifies the notion of American to make it ours.
But that's just a bad option.
Surely there can be better: the question is to decide to look for it.
And so, one day, we will know what language we speak, what our language is called.
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