Wales - Please Don't Silence Me

1850s

“Ah Wales, what am I to do with you?” England asked tiredly as he stepped into his kitchen, spotting the Welsh nation sitting at the table, reading a book peacefully.

Wales looked up from his book, his eyes narrowed in suspicion and confusion. He questioned warily, “What about me?”

England rectified with an exasperated expression, “Well not you specifically, but the low educational standard of your people… and that… “problem” of yours.”

“What are you defining as a “problem” of mine?” Wales said in a sceptical voice, closing his book and setting it on the table. He looked at England with an expressionless face, clasping his hands together.

Resisting the urge of looking too irritated, England answered, “The problem that causes the ignorance and backwardness of your people is,” he pointed at Wales’ book, “this.”

Looking down at his book in confusion, Wales looked back up at the English nation with a raised eyebrow, asking in puzzlement, “Books?”

Sighing impatiently, England exclaimed sharply, “It is your damn language Wales!!”

The nation stared at the English nation blankly before letting out a hollow laugh. Wales snorted, “Welsh is the reason why my people are, in your opinion, backwards?”

“Indeed, that’s what the Blue Books concluded as well,” England declared, looking at Wales in annoyance.  

“Oh those pathetic excuses of books,” Wales grumbled, suddenly standing up and glaring at England. He started walking out of the kitchen into the living room, complaining indignantly, “Those books did nothing but insult my people’s morality, literature, religion, education and native language… am I honestly meant to believe one single word from these writers?”

“You cannot deny that some of your people would benefit from a more… efficient education,” England tried reasoning as he followed his irked older brother into the living room.

The Welsh avatar turned around to face England, his eyes filled with irritation as he demanded, “And I suppose your version of efficient education is synonymous to English-medium schooling?”  He crossed his arms over his chest, awaiting but knowing what England’s answer would be.

“Wales, Wales,” England exhaled heavily, walking up to Wales and placing a hand on his shoulder, “Welsh is a language of the past, not of the present anymore. Let the old language die and embrace the language of progress and of civilization, English.  Let your people learn English so that they might have an equal chance of success like the others of the UK. Welsh is only holding them back.”

Wales balled his fists in dumbfounded disbelief as he stepped away from England’s hand, pointing out resentfully, “My native language is doing no such thing, it isn’t holding my people back. Can’t you just admit that your definition of “progress” is the advancement of English instead of encouraging bilingualism?”

“Bilingualism is a waste of time and has no place in modern society,” England scoffed, annoyed that Wales was once more resisting England’s attempts to accept English as the language of the future. “It causes more difficulties than necessary and causes people to struggle with two languages for the rest of their lives, rather than simplifying their lives by having one language unite everyone.”

The Welsh nation wrinkled his nose in disgust, shaking his head as he responded, “You’re a poor fool for believing so much in the superiority of your own language that you honestly believe that I will blindly drop what has been my own language for centuries and have yours replace mine.”  Wales glowered at the English nation before turning around to leave, not wanting to be in the same room as the insufferable Englishman.

England frowned in frustration and reached out, grabbing Wales’ wrist none-too-gently to stop his brother from leaving. He argued, “Wales, you can’t deny that you do not have enough schools, the school hours aren’t long enough and your students are suffering greatly due to Welsh being an obstacle to them! Their English isn’t good enough! For all his flaws, at least Scotland was able to accept that English was the language of progress and is talking about having all his people taught completely through the English medium.”

Wales yanked his wrist out of England’s grip and scowled sourly at his younger brother before hissing, “I am not Scotland. Do not expect me to be like him.” He turned around and strode off, leaving a stunned England behind him.

***

1860s

A small 8-year old Ulster plantation poked his head into Wales’ room curiously, eyes wide as he heard the heavy coughs coming for the Welshman. He entered the room carefully, asking in a quiet voice, “Why are you coughing Wales?”

Wales was sitting on the side of his bed, coughing into a handkerchief. The small plantation spotted the deep red tainting the handkerchief. Wales attempted to hide the handkerchief out of the other’s sight but it was too late.

Panicked, the small plantation cried, “Wales, you’re bleeding! Are you dying??” He ran up to the Welsh nation and stood on tiptoe to study Wales’ pale face.

The Welsh nation smiled tiredly and just petted Ulster plantation’s ginger hair, reassuring soothingly, “Don’t worry little one, I’m just a bit sick. I’ve been through worse things.” A glimpse of blond hair caused Wales to look up and see England standing by the side of the door, regarding both avatars quietly. Wales frowned before looking down at Ulster plantation, gently suggesting, “Why don’t you go out into the garden to play for a bit?”

“B-but will you be okay?” The little plantation asked fearfully, looking at Wales’ bloody handkerchief still held by the older brother in concern.

The nation set the handkerchief on his nightstand and let out a weak chuckle, claiming, “No need to worry little Ulster, I will be on my feet again in no time. I just need some rest.”

Still not completely reassured, the plantation looked at Wales worriedly before walking out of the Welshman’s room, passing by England and looking up at the English nation with anxiety in his eyes. England’s eyes softened at the plantation’s troubled expression and
England gave the younger brother a small smile. The Ulster plantation walked on and as his small footsteps faded in the distance, England’s eyes hardened as he turned his head to regard the sickly-looking Welsh nation.

“So…,” England began after a long, tense, silence between the two brothers, “Do you know why you’ve been under the weather lately?”

“Don’t you know yourself?” Wales huffed in annoyance, coughing into the tainted handkerchief again.

“I’d say your middle classes have begun to reject your native language as people are starting to see it how much of a hindrance it will always be to those who want to be successful in life.” England replied, unable to stop a hint of smugness entering his voice. If his people accepted English and gave up on their language, Wales would have no other choice than to follow his people.

Spotting the smugness in England’s voice, Wales glowered at the other silently before letting himself fall back on his bed, too tired to even argue. He didn’t feel like dealing with England today. Wales sighed in exasperation and muttered, “Leave me be, England”.

“When are you going to realize that Welsh will always be a barrier to progress for you?!” England shouted, angered that even now Wales insisted on being a stubborn mule. “The only reason why you’re sick is because your language is declining and you remain completely attached to it. Detach yourself from Welsh and let the old language die.”  

“Yes, shall I detach myself from Welsh as you detached yourself from English when French became the language of nobility?!” Wales demanded hoarsely, suddenly having a coughing fit and rolling on his side to curl up, his back to England.

“…that was a different situation,” England mumbled lowly, adding firmly, “Besides, French has always been an inferior language. Even France, someone who has spoken the language since it has appeared, still makes mistakes now and again with it. It is illogical, has a complicated grammar system and is just a pansy language.”

Wales interrupted sharply, “England, I am feeling unwell and I would rather rest than argue a lost cause with you.” He then sighed after his outburst, closing his eyes and requesting more wearily, “Can you please respect my need to rest?”

England didn’t make any sound but Wales heard the shifting floorboards at the doorway, indicating that his brother was hesitating. Eventually he heard England mutter under his breath, “You know that Welsh is keeping you and your people back from progressing like the rest of us. It would be for the best for the new generation to lose Welsh and become fully English-speaking if they want to get the best education. You know that yourself. Holding onto an ancient language because of sentimental values is no solution.”
The English nation closed the door and walked away, leaving Wales alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that were stubborn to change but… deep inside, the seeds of doubt started flowering.

***

1870s

“Wales, open your GODDAMNED DOOR!” England yelled, banging on the door. The weight on the other side didn’t budge, causing England’s rage to increase as he pushed against the door. “I SWEAR TO GOD WALES, I WILL BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR IF YOU DO NOT OPEN IT THIS INSTANT-”

Suddenly the weight disappeared, making the door give in and England fell on his face in Wales’ room. England looked up and saw Wales towering over him, glaring at him both fearfully and helplessly. England had tried to respect Wales’ space and leave this room as a place where Wales could go to if he needed peace. But not anymore.

Lurching to his feet, England stared at Wales as he spat angrily, “What the hell is up with you lately? You’ve been avoiding me these last few weeks, staying in your own room and only venturing out at late hours and you even refuse to talk to me properly.”

“Because all you keep talking to me about lately is why I should stop speaking Welsh and lose the language, which I am not going to do!” Wales exclaimed, looking at England wide-eyed. “I don’t care how many reports you show me that show “conclusively” that Welsh is being a burden, it isn’t going to change my mind. I am not English, I am Welsh. Leave my language in peace! Your government is doing enough damage through the education of my people.”

England shook his head and growled, “I’m honestly beginning to wonder if you’re too stupid to understand this: the Empire can’t be expected to tolerate an ill-educated and undisciplined avatar so close, especially you. Your language poses a danger to society, it has the potential of causing political unrest within you and you’ll never be fully united with the rest of the UK. Why can’t you simply understand that you need to lose the language as well?!”  

As the Welsh nation stayed stubbornly silent, England added furiously, “Having your people accept my language and my culture will improve their lives, don’t you see? It will improve your own progress as a nation and help the newer generation of your people go and excel in any university they would like. No one would have to be held back anymore by a dying language. You don’t have to hold yourself back anymore.”  Wales looked at his younger brother in disgust, turning his head away to not look at England anymore.

Grabbing Wales’ arm viciously, England yanked at his arm to get Wales’ attention back. “Listen to me you fool, we have to become unified in language, culture and thought. This is the only way we can stand strong together. We have to become homogeneous.”

“At the cost of my own iden-!” Wales began to protest before being swiftly cut off by England.

“Yes, English is the more progressive language after all,” England declared firmly, “I understand you have a romantic interest in preserving your ancient tongue but it can’t block our need to become a unified English-speaking state. Scotland is on my side about this and Ireland will no doubt soon follow… you’re the only one left who is being an idiotic mule and is refusing to change!”    

Seeing the unconvinced expression of the Welshman, England tightened his grip on Wales’ arm and with his other free hand, grabbed Wales’ neck and pushed him forward, forcing the Welsh nation to bend his neck and touch his forehead to England’s forehead. After a moment, England demanded slowly and threateningly, “Repeat after me Wales: The sooner the Welsh language disappears as an instrument of the practical, political, social life of Wales, the better.”

Wales was rigid and was trying to pull his head away, deeply uncomfortable in the constrained position he had been put in. He seemed unwilling to repeat what England had said but a warning squeeze to his neck caused Wales to shakily echo, “T-the sooner the Welsh language d-disappears as an instrument of the practical, political, s-social life of Wales, the b-better.”

“…the better for England, the better for Wales itself.”

“…the ….the better for England, the b-better for W-wales itself.”

England smiled, happy that Wales was finally conceding. He continued, “For all modern purposes, I repeat, let us all as soon as possible be one people.”

Wales repeated hollowly, “For all m-modern purposes, I repeat, let us as soon as possible be o-one people.”

“…let the Welshman speak English, and, if he is an author, let him write English,” England concluded, looking at Wales expectantly.

Wales opened his mouth to repeat England but then he paused, unwillingness setting in again. He closed his mouth tightly, clenching his jaw. England tightened his grip on Wales’ arm and neck but the Welsh nation only seemed to become more reluctant to echo this last phrase. He struggled, attempting to yank his arm away but England held on.

Suddenly Wales lashed out with his free arm and hit England in the cheek, causing the other to stumble backwards, letting go of Wales as he fell. Not that the punch hurt England, actually he barely felt the pain but he was more in shock that Wales had physically lashed out. The Welsh nation had always been very passive and avoided using physical force… where had this violence come from?

“Wales, what is the reason for thi-” England began to chastise before he was firmly cut off by Wales.

In an oddly composed voice, Wales interjected, “When you put me under pressure to come live in this cursed mansion of yours so as to show our so-called unity, you gave your promise never to step into my room with malicious intent or use force on me. You swore that this room was the only place you wouldn’t step in to respect my privacy. I will remind you of this and ask you to leave my room lest I have to believe that you are dishonest with your promises and I will leave.”

England glowered at the Welshman resentfully before smirking as he stood up, “Leave? Who tells you that you can leave? You are under my rule, my government rules your people and you’re under political pressure to stay here. Where do you think you can go-?”

“England, leave his room. You’re enough of a tyrant around the mansion, do you honestly need to break your own damn rules and bother us within the confines our own rooms too?” A new voice spoke out, sounding very disappointed and annoyed. England looked behind him to see Scotland standing by the door, looking at the English nation with a raised eyebrow.  

“And what’s your business with anything of-” England began to spit angrily before he saw Ulster plantation hiding behind Scotland’s legs, looking worriedly at England and Wales.

The Ulster plantation stared up at Scotland in concern and asked, “Are they fighting Scotland? Is it a bad fight?”

“Don’t worry little Ulster, we weren’t fighting,” England hastily replied as he quickly walked over to the small redhead child, patting his head. He added, “I was just having an exchange of opinions with Wales, nothing bad is going on. I was just leaving as a matter of fact.”

The small plantation looked up at England, eyes unconvinced as he saw the red mark on England’s cheek. But the child held his tongue, wanting to believe England’s words rather than try recognizing what was really happening. England straightened up as he turned to look at Wales, his eyes narrowing.

“You might need to actually look around at your place and look at your people. They’re more in favour of English than you might believe. A lot of the working class and lower middle class at your place are becoming fluent in English. It is in your best interest to accept that it is inevitable that English will soon become the language of your people as well,” England explained simply, turning around to leave the room, passing by the still-critical Scotland and the apprehensive Ulster plantation.

Wales looked down at his feet, feeling anger at England’s words. Who was he to decide that English was the superior language and Welsh had to die out? But then… why were his people following the English? Why were they allowing the English to drive off the Welsh language? Was Wales betraying his people for not following them in this decision?

***

1880s

There is no place for the native language in the modern world.

This phrase echoed unpleasantly in Wales’ mind, making his stomach twist uncomfortably. That couldn’t be true. But this was what a Welsh native-speaker had claimed… why were his own people becoming hostile to their native language? He paced around his room, unhappy being in his room but not wanting to go outside as well. Either way, he couldn’t get away from his thoughts.  

…why was English better?

Wales had been visiting many of his cities and counties, trying to see what his Welsh avatars thought of all this. Unfortunately many seemed supportive of accepting the English-medium education and were convinced that Welsh was useless in the modern world.
Many of these avatars explained to Wales that the people wanted their children to become fluent in English so that they had a better chance at getting a good job, one that was better-paid. The Welsh were tired of their language being a disadvantage to them, only perpetuating the harming image of the Welsh people being backwards and unintelligent.
If this came at a price of excluding Welsh from the classroom and encouraging the quick death of a useless language, many of the Welsh avatars thought it was a fair price to pay. Wales couldn’t believe his ears.

Cardiff had explained to him that the dean of Llandaff had said, “There is an idea prevailing that the knowledge of it (the Welsh language) is another name for ignorance and bigotry.” When Wales had asked what Cardiff personally believed, the avatar looked a bit uncomfortable as he explained that he didn’t think Welsh had a future, it was a doomed language and was dying a natural death.

Not a long while ago, Wales would have been incensed by these words and would have even scolded Cardiff for believing such things. But doubt was starting to settle in and Wales found himself uncertain about what to believe anymore. His pride in his history and literature told him that Welsh was worth keeping alive and should be protected… but when his own people were rejecting their native tongue and claiming that life was just easier with the absence of Welsh?  Was Wales fighting a lost cause? Was Welsh dying and nothing Wales did was going to stop it?  

Many leading Welsh figures such as Dr Lewis Edwards were resigned to the view that the demise of the Welsh language was inevitable. There was nothing to be done, the language was no longer welcome. Was Wales this stupid that he somehow couldn’t see what the others were seeing and was resisting an unavoidable death?

Was he that much of an idiot for wanting to keep the ancient tongue alive? Blinded by his pride and his conviction that Welsh was just as good as English? Was English the more superior language and his people saw this before he did?

He let out a heavy and sad sigh, lying on his bed and looking at the ceiling. Wales heard his door creak open, his mood already dropping lower at the expected argument that he would have with England again. He closed his eyes tightly and warned, “I am not in the mood to talk England, get out of my room.”

“Don’t tell me I sound so much like him when I move?” Another voice joked lightly, causing Wales to open his eyes and see Scotland towering over him. Scotland gave Wales a crooked smile as he sat down on the side of the bed. Wales sat up cross-legged and stared at the Scot, feeling uncertain.

“Scotland, do you think I’m stupid?” Wales asked quietly after a few minutes, staring briefly down at his hands, unable to look Scotland straight in the eyes for that answer. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see Scotland’s reaction because he didn’t know if he would react in the way Wales wanted him to.

“Where’d that silly question come from?” Scotland chuckled weakly, sounding caught off-guard and hesitant. When Wales didn’t look up at the Scottish avatar, he shrugged helplessly and answered, “I never would call you stupid… just maybe too stubborn and not… exactly open-minded to change. I think you’re lost and confused about where you stand with your people.”

Wales scratched the back of his head, exhaling slowly. He was thoughtful for a moment before mumbling, “I know that as avatars, we are meant to follow our people wherever they go and change with them as they evolve… but somehow I constantly feel that I am harming myself in supporting the destruction of my native language.”

“Ah Wales, it’s just a phase. It will pass,” Scotland said lightly, “I too was once uncertain when English became the spoken language of most of my people but now I see the advantages it has brought me when I accepted it as well. It has allowed me to let more settlers in, make better business and I am in contact with a wider range of nations through my ability to connect with their people through a common language. You will never believe how easy it is when you don’t need to have someone translate all the time.”

“But you aren’t an English avatar…” Wales trailed off uncertainly, looking at Scotland with confused eyes.

Scotland gave him a bewildered look as he responded, “I never suggested that I was. I might have accepted English but that doesn’t make me England.”

“But you’re not exactly living up to what your name suggests anymore then,” Wales pointed out, frowning a bit.

The Scot became rigid at that and his smile was tense as he jabbed back, “Times have changed Wales, meanings change. I might not live up to what my name originally meant but that doesn’t matter now. The word “Briton” used to originally belong only to you and those who were from the same branch as you but now I and England can also use that word. You can’t stay stuck in the past, you have to learn to move forward.”  

“But moving forward and disconnecting from your past is only going to damage you and cause you a lot of pain. You’re losing your connection to your history and very often losing a language means losing the identity… which has been sometimes fatal to avatars!” Wales argued back, feeling frustrated with Scotland. “You know that all too well yourself.”

Scotland stood up from the bed abruptly, turning completely to glare at the Welsh avatar. He exclaimed, “It isn’t fatal to an avatar if they have the sense to change with their people! Wales, it wasn’t easy for me to start disconnecting from my Gaelic language but it was a necessary change. Had I held on as you and Ireland have done, I would have fallen into the same category of barbarians that England feels he needs to “tame”. By taking in his language, I’ve been able to become urbanized a lot more easily and once I drive Scots-Gaelic out of Highlands and Western Isles, they will be able to become urbanized as well and my people will be able to keep up with progress. The sacrifice has to be made!”

Wales shrank back a bit at Scotland’s outburst but he quickly recovered, narrowing his eyes as he balled his fists. “At the cost of your own Celtic nature, you’re willing to kill it just so that England and the other nations acknowledge you as a progressive nation?!”

The Scot sighed, massaging his temples with a pained expression as he closed his eyes. He spoke lowly, “Wales, the world does not belong to the glorious past. It does not belong to the oldest languages. It belongs to the strong.” Scotland opened his eyes, staring at Wales long and hard. He continued, “The Celts weren’t strong. If they were, they would have been able to resist Rome. Britannia should have been able to resist the Anglo-Saxons. Ireland should have been able to resist the Vikings. But it is an inherent truth, the Celts weren’t strong enough. That’s why you and Ireland fell under England’s rule so easily, you two have always clung onto your Celtic culture and language. Despite my pains, I did the necessary to push away the things that made me weak and try to become a strong nation that could keep up with the others. However I never managed to get this far since Scots-Gaelic has survived on the edges of my lands and this has weakened me. If Lowlands and I manage to force Highlands and Western Isles to give up on the useless language, then we can all move as one in the direction of civilization.”

The stunned Welsh avatar looked at Scotland wordlessly, sadness beginning to weigh down on his shoulders. He sunk his head as he admitted, “Scotland, I can’t do this to myself. I can’t make that sacrifice. To let my language die… is to lose myself. I am killing what is making me Welsh.”

Scotland sighed and he patted Wales’ shoulder. “Wales, this isn’t killing you and your identity won’t die.” He crouched low so that he could look at Wales’ face directly, reassuring, “It will only hurt for about a century or two, it won’t hurt for much longer. Once you’re over that then you won’t regret it.”

Tears of frustration appeared at the corners of Wales’ eyes but his pride refused to let them go. He stubbornly looked to the side, not wanting to let Scotland see his tears. Scotland seemed to pick up that Wales no longer felt like talking and he straightened up.

As he made his way out of Wales’ room, Scotland briefly paused at the doorway, not turning to look at Wales as he said quietly, “Wales, you are far from stupid and unintelligent. You’re very bright even and you have talents. But…” He cast a glance back at Wales, a sad smile on his face, “You have blinded yourself into believing that clinging onto a dying language is going to help your people and yourself survive. You have to learn to let go.”

Once the footsteps became distant down the hallway, Wales let his tears fall. Was he meant to follow Scotland down the same path too then? Let the his language die? Believe in the superiority of English and become completely Anglicized, something that England has always wanted him to become?

Welsh had sustained a lot of damage…

And as the weaker language, it was most likely going to die if English wedged its way deeper in Wales’ heart.

But perhaps…

Welsh should be allowed to die an honourable death…

…instead of being strangled in disgrace?

Wiping his tears away, Wales came to one conclusion. He was going to continue following his people… but he also was going to keep the hope alive that his language wouldn’t die. He wasn’t England, neither was he Scotland nor Ireland. He was Wales and he had a language that was rich in literature, beautiful in poetry and breath-taking in song. No one had the authority to decide what language deserved to survive or die based on its superiority or inferiority to other languages.

If his people let the language die, so be it. But if his people continued to speak Welsh…
…he was not going to let his language be silenced.