alexpgp | LJ Idol 6.15: Saving the boss...

What if Khrushchev wanted peace, but his interpreter wanted war?
– Woody Allen

Nikita Khrushchev – whose "We will bury you!" became a Cold War catchphrase – is said to have once attended an international trade fair where he came upon a piece of machinery that won his admiration with its elegant lines and impressive appearance. He turned to his entourage and began to speak loudly and gesticulate, demanding to know why something like this – pointing at the machine – couldn't be manufactured in the Soviet Union.

Well, as it turned out, everyone – except Khrushchev – was uncomfortably aware that the machine in question had been made in the USSR, and it appeared that the Soviet leader was on the brink of looking foolish in front of the world press when journalists (who had been following Khrushchev around the exhibits) looked to the Soviet delegation's interpreter for some insight into Nikita Sergeyevitch's energetic outburst. The interpreter smiled as he turned to face them.

Now, there are several reasons why an interpreter may fail to communicate what was said by a speaker. Some interpreters find, too late, that they are out of their depth and don't understand what's been said. More commonly, an interpreter may simply misunderstand what is said (if speech is slurred), or may not hear what is said at all (if there is too much ambient noise or if sound equipment malfunctions).

However, there is one additional reason.

"Mr. Khrushchev said," began the interpreter, turning to point at the machine the way Khrushchev had done, "'This is the kind of machinery that places the USSR in the lead, industrially, in the world.'"

The press duly swallowed the deliberate fabrication hook, line, and sinker.

Some may quibble, but as an experienced interpreter, I have nothing but admiration for my long-ago colleague's successful attempt to save the boss from embarrassment. The problem is, such attempts have become more difficult as the years pass and technology improves.

Take the case of the 2002 press conference held to summarize the results of a summit between Russia and the European Union, during which Russian President Putin answered a reporter's question with some rather frank comments about the threat of Islamic terrorism:

...If you are a Christian, you are in danger. Even if you are an atheist, you are in danger, and if you decide to convert to Islam, that won't save you, either, because traditional Islam is inimical to the conditions and objectives set by [the terrorists].

According to the interpreter, Mr. Putin concluded his answer by saying:

If you want to become an Islamic radical, come to Moscow. We are a multidenominational and multiethnic nation. Please come, as Moscow is tolerant of everything and everybody.

As things turned out, given the high density of recording devices at the conference, it soon became clear that the interpreter had attempted to soften Mr. Putin's last remark, because what the Russian President had really said was:

If you are prepared to become a most radical Islamist and are prepared to circumcise yourself, I invite you to come to Moscow. I will recommend having the operation done so that that nothing will grow for you anymore.

Ouch!

As an interpreter, you can't plan to save the boss, but you must be ready to do so.

Back in 2000, I was at a space-industry gathering when a Russian space official – who was well on the way to a monumental hangover the next morning – approached the podium and began haranguing his American audience.

"You Americans don't know squat about exploring space," he began – in Russian, of course – and his drunken remarks went downhill from there.

After about a minute of this, the speaker's colleagues – who had turned pale at the VIP table – interrupted him with some rather frantic whispers along the lines of "Are you out of your mind? Have some decency! Sit down!"

At this point, my good friend Paul, who was interpreting for the VIPs that evening, stepped to the podium with authority and reached for the microphone. The Russian moved aside to give Paul room.

"Yes," said Paul, addressing the audience in a smiling aside, "it's important to let the interpreter interrupt from time to time." This got a laugh and provided a plausible explanation for the whispers from the VIP table. The room quieted.

"As I look out at my American colleagues in this historic enterprise of space exploration," began Paul, speaking in the first person on behalf of the Russian, "I can only marvel at the cooperative spirit that has led our two great space-faring nations..."

I stopped listening to what Paul was saying at that point, because all of us who have done this kind of work have said the same sort of thing many times, expressing lofty thoughts using words such as "peace," "historic," "progress," "brotherhood," and so forth. I looked out at the audience, which listened in rapt attention to the fine words Paul was saying, and I felt enormous admiration for my colleague's skill, both linguistic and diplomatic. When Paul finished, the audience burst into enthusiastic applause, which somewhat surprised the Russian, who by this time had regained his seat and was refilling his glass.

Of course, common sense draws lines that should not – cannot – be crossed by interpreters. We are, after all, tasked with facilitating communication between parties who do not speak a common language, and overwhelmingly, that's what we do.

Still, as in all things, there are exceptions, wouldn't you agree?