The Value of Language: What a Machine Can’t Grasp

This cultural distinctiveness was evident right upon deplaning. All signs were in Catalan, Spanish (officially called Castilian or Castellano) and English following. While waiting at customs, I overheard bemused tourists consult each other on what this language was, settling eventually on “classic Spanish.” Later, before orientation, I chatted in clumsy Spanish with some local students. Jet lag blurred the day, but one moment is branded in my memory: the topic of Catalan came up, and I rattled off the handful of words I’d prepared for my trip: “bon día” (good morning), “gràcies” (thank you), and “si us plau” (please). Out of the corner of my eye, one girl whipped around. “That’s Catalan!” she exclaimed. “How do you know that?” Even now, I can remember how her eyes lit up.

Week by week, I became more attuned to how language carves culture. As I befriended Barcelona locals, I was shocked by their disconnect from Spanish. They were fluent but rarely used it; they laughed at their accent. None identified as Spanish but as Catalan, whether they supported independence or not. Some even distrusted Madrid—one friend described to me watching the national police march into towns during the 2017 referendum. However, while visiting Madrid, I got to speak to a local with an opposing perspective. She found it “regrettable” that Spain viewed Catalonia as part of itself, but it wasn’t mutual; at one point, she even requested that I don’t speak Catalan to her when I said “plaça” instead of “plaza.” It was a full circle moment, showing that language divides as well as unites.

The city of Barcelona also spoke. All signs were in Catalan. The Catalan coat of arms adorned public buildings. Catalan flags and pro-independence flags dotted apartment balconies, with the national flag few and far between. When I watched the city’s livestream of the FC Barça women’s soccer team playing the UEFA championship—where else but in Plaça de Catalunya? —every flag in the crowd sported the Catalan stripes; the team crest itself even wearing the Catalan flag.

With all that I’d soaked in from my trip, I found myself reflecting on the function and value of language. Much of my learning came during meals that stretched for hours, chatting with friends over emptied plates; in the culture, eating is more than sustenance—it’s social communion. In the same manner, language is more than a technical tool, but a window into culture. This is why my local friends, though able to navigate perfectly in three languages, defended Catalan being the dominant language on the street and in school. Language is more than how we understand words; it’s how we understand ourselves. Artificial intelligence may soon master the mechanical side of language, translating A to B. Machines, though, can only conceptualize language as an ends—we use language as a means. Rather than rendering language learning obsolete, our advancing machines make it more important. After all, ChatGPT is brilliant because it’s trained on all the texts we’ve written: our history, culture, reflections. Connecting with each other through language is what connects us with humanity. 

With seven weeks flown behind me, I said goodbye to the local friends I’d made. I realized that no one said their final goodbye to me in Spanish, even though I don’t speak Catalan: it came to them instinctively, heartfelt, and I understood them anyway. Their sentiment transcended language.