Lack of translation in science is creating more inequality: Can translators help?

A while ago, I read this article on The Guardian titled “Lost in translation: Is research into species being missed because of a language barrier?”, together with a couple of scientific articles that included in it (especially, this one and this one).

I thought this article gave an unfair treatment to environmental translators in particular, and translators in general, so I decided to write a protest blog post.

Environmental translators are staunch advocates for the texts they translate.

First let’s establish some common ground. These are the main take-away messages from the articles that I can’t not agree with:

1. Because of budget, time constraints and language barriers, a big chunk of the science developed in languages other than English (LOTE) is never published and therefore never available to the wider scientific community.

2. This reduction in scientific knowledge is detrimental to the world as a whole: less knowledge is disseminated, used, and applied to public policing; our land, water, resources, and wildlife suffer the consequences; academia underutilizes its full capacity; this creates a vicious cycle.

3. Publishing and making available more scientific articles in LOTEs would benefit global conservation efforts and help close the gap between the global north and the global south.

4. As the amount of scientific research grows, so does this gap.

5. Language barriers are not being dealt with effectively.

6. Many reporters and scientists don’t understand what translators do and how their proficiency can make a difference.

Conservation efforts for migratory shorebirds rely heavily on translation.

 I have been a professional translator for over 16 years, and I specialize in conservation sciences. I guess I can say I am environmental translator. When I read that we translators are either virtually non-existent, too expensive or useless, I cringe. I have translated for environmental non-profits for issues I care about, sometimes charging my full fee and sometimes a lot less. I know about this gap in knowledge firsthand, and every time I translate, my intention is to do my part to bridge it, one text at a time.

The article on The Guardian and the other two scientific articles get a lot of points right.

They talk about how linguistic barriers stop outstanding scientists from succeeding in their careers because to succeed in science, you publish or perish; and to publish in today’s world means to publish in English. They talk about how this is detrimental to the global scientific community. Understandably, if scientists working and writing in LOTEs can’t publish, their knowledge is never shared, acted upon or taken full advantage of. Other scientists don’t know about their discoveries or advances, don’t include their evidence or perspectives in meta-studies or even double research efforts. Public policing suffers at every level. Funding is distributed unequally. Local scientists in poorer countries don’t have the resources they need. Local, regional, and global conservation and biodiversity weaken. Academia suffers from a heavily biased source of information. Much less knowledge and scientific evidence is collected and distributed. And the cycle goes on.

Those are accurate, urgent points. It all needs to change. The two scientific articles also give some useful, applicable guidelines to overcome language barriers to environmental sciences.

However, from my perspective as a seasoned environmental translator, here is what the three articles get all wrong:

1. The Guardian uses the catchphrase “lost in translation” in its article title to hook readers’ attention. It is too easy, and in many cases incorrect, of a cliché to always blame the translator. But apart from that, focusing on the idea of “losing something in translation” is not a productive way to see a translated text and a translator’s work. This rule is as old as the Bible, literally: translators do not translate words. Translators translate meaning in context. Meaning goes beyond one or two words, even those branded as “untranslatable.” Meaning is like human communication—universal. There is always a way to convey an equivalent meaning if you transcend the word level. Meaning does not stand alone, stands in context. Context includes not only the immediate words surrounding a particular term, but also the complete text in which those words are used and the whole social context is which this text has been written and is intended to be used, both in its original language and its translated one. When translators do their work, they are parsing all these aspects and creating a mosaic translation, localizing what needs to be localized, adapting what needs to be adapted, retaining what needs to be retained, restructuring what needs to be restructured.

2. Similarly, the news article says:

“The specific meanings of words can also pose a problem in translation [...]. For example, in the [...] indigenous communities in the Amazon, many of the local languages don’t have one single word to describe forest snakes and frogs.”

Yes, as it happens in every other language with many terms. Not many languages have one single word to name a particular species. When I was translating a book about migratory shorebirds, I encountered at least 217 names of migratory and non-migratory birds. I translated this book into Spanish, a language that is spoken in 21 countries. In Spanish, one such bird can have ten different vernacular names, often conflicting with each other and only understood in a particular country or region. So, what does a professional translator do? Stand in a corner crying out that this is untranslatable? A resounding NO. We find alternative solutions that favor a wider understanding, like using couplets, triplets, or quadruplets (two, three or four different words referring to the same thing, all joined by commas), definitions, descriptions, and scientific names if the text formality allows it, to name just a few strategies. If you’re interested, I wrote about some of my challenges and strategies I’ve used as an environmental translator here.   

Ana Salotti, presenting about her experience as an environmental translator.

3.  In the scientific articles, a lot of emphasis is put on the institutional need to equip scientists working and writing in LOTEs with more language skills in English. It is claimed that, if scientists with non-native knowledge of English learn the language, they’ll be able to fully participate in academia, be able to fund their research, contribute their knowledge to the world and ultimately help conservation and biodiversity locally and globally. Yes, learning English or any other language may well be a requirement in today’s academia, where English is the lingua franca. But knowing two languages doesn’t mean you can translate your own research adequately and satisfactorily to get the grant you are applying for or get published in a renowned journal. Knowing two languages is simply not enough to do what professional translators do after spending years in training and in practice. The same can be said about citizen scientists. Citizen scientists can champion serious advances in science, but in certain situations and under certain circumstances they’re simply not enough. Amateur translators, or machine translation to a similar extent, can help in numerous cases, to name just a few: where the stakes may not be high, where the purpose may be to get the gist of a text or where a preliminary analysis is needed to consider whether to translate the full text or not.

4. The use of translators seems to be badly misunderstood. The Guardian article says:  

“Scientists can work with an English collaborator, or use a translator – but this ultimately strengthens the cycle of dependency on the global north...”

Additionally, in the scientific articles, some hints are made as to the high cost of translation.  

Translators are, therefore, seen as enemies, or opponents, as the arm of dependency to the global north, as a high-cost ballast to the scientific ship. But in reality, translators are authors’ best allies and most ardent advocates. Translators will make translations available only because they believe in their messages. Translators will research one single term for hours or even days, without getting paid for this extensive legwork –and then think about possible solutions for days or dream about the translation, and ultimately keep thinking about that comma they should have added but didn’t in the final version... Professional translators put their heart and soul in their work, just as much as environmental scientists. Most successful translators are truly passionate about their work, just like environmental scientists. We are on the same boat.

So, if you’re considering translating an environmental text that has high stakes for you, consider hiring a professional translator as your best language partner. It will save you time and money and give you a good return on your investment.

Horseshoe crabs are essential to coastline conservation and human health.

Translating the Environment: A Journey of 10,000 Miles

During 2017 and early 2018, I took on one of the most challenging, yet rewarding projects in my 12-year translation career: I translated a nonfiction environmental book by American author Deborah Cramer, The Narrow Edge: A Tiny Bird, an Ancient Crab and An Epic Journey, into Spanish. This experience took me through such a fascinating journey that I wanted to share it with anyone willing to listen. So at the 59th ATA Annual Conference in New Orleans I presented a session focused on some of my scientific and poetic challenges as an environmental translator, together with solutions and take-home lessons. Two months later, I was invited to re-present it at my local chapter, the Northern California Translators Association. Here are some highlights.

This book tells the story of the annual migration of a shorebird called the red knot. The author follows them from the most Southern tip of Patagonia all the way up to the Arctic tundra, describing their environmental stressors and meeting people dedicated to protect the birds. I used their journey as the compass in my session, taking the audience through a remarkable 10,000-mile migration, one of the longest in the animal kingdom.

My first big translation challenge in this journey was also the most pervasive one in the book: how to translate the name of each species of birds mentioned? All animal species have two names: a standard scientific name in Latin, used by scientists globally, and a common one. In languages other than English, species’ common names tend to vary greatly within languages. In Spanish, spoken in 21 countries, one bird can have ten different names, often conflicting with each other. Names usually refer to the birds’ colors and reflect local people’s understanding—things that vary depending on where one is based. To make matters worse, in migratory birds, their feathers change color with the seasons. For example, red knots are called playeros árticos [Arctic shorebirds] in Chile, where the book begins, because they come from the Arctic, but also because “Arctic” evokes the greyish white feathers they have during the time they spend there (See image below). When six months later they hop to the Argentine Patagonia, the book’s second stopover, they’re in a different season, have brown and reddish plumage and are called playeros rojizos [reddish shorebirds]. This extreme variation gets repeated with almost every bird the book mentions—and it mentions at least 217!

Same bird; different plumage, different season and different name: A breeding bird at the top, and non-breeding bird at the bottom. Looking like this, Chileans call it “playero ártico” (bottom), while Argentineans call it “playero rojizo” (top). Photo reproduced with the permission of the Western Hemisphere Shorebird Reserve Network (WHSRN) Executive Office.

So what to do in translation? Let’s see what I could NOT do:

• I couldn’t use one regional variant or change the variants around: it would create confusion in a wider readership.

• I couldn’t add a translator’s footnote enumerating other variants: it would distract the reader’s attention and interrupt the book’s literary flow.

• I couldn’t use the birds’ scientific name: the book’s audience, both in its source and target versions, is a lay reader interested in environmental topics, not a scientist. A name in Latin would distance the reader and prevent them from making an emotional connection with the birds, something a good environmental nonfiction book should attempt to do—harness the power of emotional, poetic language to create awareness around species conservation and help bring about socio-political change.

After some deliberation I held with the author, the proofreaders and other interested parties, we decided to go for a creative solution. When Cramer follows the birds in Chile, I used their Chilean names, honoring their feathers’ color and their season. When they hop over to Argentina, I added a phrase like “where the Argentines call them ‘playeros rojizos’”, again true to their colors and season. Along with the author, the book’s scientific proofreader and the publisher, I helped write an introduction to the book explaining these decisions. We also included a multilingual glossary of bird names at the end, containing some of their regional variants in Spanish.

A second challenge was dealing with archaic, historical language in my source text. While in Patagonia, Cramer ponders the birds’ evolution and refers to Darwin’s explorations and observations there, citing paragraphs from his Voyage of the Beagle, Autobiography and On the Origins of Species. These source texts dated from mid 1800s, and added a notable old English flavor, which I wanted to preserve in my target language. I tried my best, but the feel of Darwin’s 1800s style was painfully missing in my translation. While researching, I discovered that some early 20th century Spanish translations of Darwin’s writings were in the public domain. I searched for and incorporated the corresponding quotes, which did have an old Spanish flavor, and added a footnote crediting the version and translator. When another piece of writing from the 15th and 16th century appeared in my source text, I did a bit of digging for old expressions and spellings in a diachronic Spanish language corpus (see image below. And if you’re interested in knowing more about corpuses and how they can help translators, you can watch my webinar here). By means of compensation, I added an old spelling here, an old word there, and hopefully conveyed the writing style of old.

Diachronic corpus search results, showing the concordances of the word “estima” in old Spanish, sorted by year of publication. By clicking on each line, you can read the whole context of the word and its bibliographical details. Source: www.http://web.frl.es/CNDHE (Corpus del Nuevo Diccionario Histórico del Español). If you’re interested in knowing more about corpus, you can watch my webinar.

Another challenge was the meticulous specificity with which Cramer describes the animal and bird behavior she observes first hand. Not being a biologist or having made these observations myself, I felt I needed to “see” what she saw before attempting to translate. I used the advanced search in Google to look for videos, and after a bit of digging, I found YouTube videos of every animal behavior she described, like Magellanic plovers spinning and pecking, mullet running and dolphin “strand-feeding” on them; and blue crab busting out of their shells, to name a few (See video below).

This is one of the YouTube videos that showed me first-hand animal behavior. Reproduced here with the video creator’s permission, Patricia González.

After the birds depart Patagonia, many of them travel nonstop to Delaware Bay (USA), flying at least 6,000 miles in six to eight days without stopping to rest or feed. They gather here in huge numbers to voraciously eat a prehistoric animal’s eggs: the horseshoe crab. The chapter Cramer dedicates to horseshoe crabs, which she calls Blue Bloods after the animal’s blood color, was the one that took me the longest to research, translate and edit. She embarks—and I along with her—upon a centennial journey of fishing exploitation, blood therapy history, intravenous drugs and nuclear medicine. As it turns out, horseshoe crabs are just as essential to migratory shorebirds’ survival as they are to our health (See image below).

Horseshoe crabs in Jamaica Bay, NY, during my research explorations. Horseshoe crabs are caught to extract their blue blood for its clotting agent, LAL. The LAL test has become the standard to test for fatal bacterial contamination in most intravenous devices and IV substances for human use. If you’re mesmerized by these creatures, you may want to know that they were an essential help to create the COVID-19 vaccines in record time.

On the next stop in our journey, I encountered a few sociopolitical challenges in translation. Cramer is on a helicopter with an ornithologist surveying for birds at the US-Mexican border. While aloft, she describes how the US Border Patrol is looking for “walkers... following the many curves of the Rio Grande”. Firstly, keeping the tone of “walkers” to refer to people crossing the border on foot was a challenge for me knowing the sociopolitical connotations this entails in the United States. Secondly, Rio Grande posed an additional problem—this is the name the river is given here, but not in Mexico, where its official name is Río Bravo. Considering the Spanish book was going to be read both in Mexico and potentially in the US by Spanish-speaking readers, I ended up using “Río Bravo” first, with the addition of “which in the United States goes by Río Grande”.

Politics permeated my source text in yet another way—is the Americas one or more continents? The word “América” in Spanish may be politically controversial to those born and raised in Latin America. To them, this word means the Americas, not just the US. What’s more, it’s also thought of as a single continent extending from Ushuaia all the way to Alaska, when in English this is understood as two continents: North and South America. So when Cramer writes: “Red knots speak to us of distant realms, uniting us along a line that stretches the entire edge of continents,” I was torn. In a Northern hemisphere’s worldview, red knots flying from the Arctic to the Chilean Patagonia unite two continents, while in my Latin American readership’s worldview they unite one continent. Once again, geographical borders are not equivalent, but rather fuzzy, and source and target readerships’ expectations differ greatly. I ultimately decided to go for “one single continent” leveraging the author’s message that these migratory birds know no political boundaries and unite us all in their flight.

Apart from all these technical, sociopolitical challenges, the book author made poetic, creative use of the language. As an example, let me include a pun that caused me a translation headache. Cramer is exploring the Canadian Arctic looking for red knots in their breeding grounds. One of the scientists she travels with sees a breeding red knot and writes: “I was amazed how difficult it was to follow the knot; it blended in very well with the rocks. I lost track of it over a ridge. I sat for a while hoping to spot it again, but unfortunately did (k)not.” Any ideas how you’d translate this into your languages?

All in all, translating this environmental nonfiction book was a like microcosm of the practice of translation. It required me to wear several hats simultaneously. I needed my science hat, as I researched, studied and consulted experts and highly-specialized glossaries and dictionaries. I needed my literary hat while conveying the author’s worldview, poetics and writing style, and capturing a lay readership’s interest in the story. I also needed my cultural broker’s hat, bridging sociopolitical differences and uniting a varied readership that spans as wide as the birds’ annual migration. Come to think of it, wearing multiple hats simultaneously is part and parcel of every translator’s daily work. I strongly believe that the key to a well-done job is to know when and how to move in and out of these different roles and to reflect on why.

Presenting a talk about this topic at the December 2018 General Meeting for the Northern California Translators Association.

References

Cramer, Deborah. The Narrow Edge: A Tiny Bird, An Ancient Crab and an Epic Journey. New Haven-London: Yale University Press, 2015.

Cramer, Deborah. Volando a orillas del mar: El viaje épico de un ave playera que une continentes. Buenos Aires: Vázquez Mazzini Editores, 2018.