Welcome to Declassified, a weekly humor column.
“As a multi-hatted person and a commissioner-designated, I am one hundred-percently committed to enhancing the Parliament’s scrutinary powers and encountability, while always walking for a stronger Europe.”
One could easily have heard such nonsense in the European Parliament over the past couple of weeks — and in fact I did. All those are real words drawn from the public job interviews of the 26 people vying to become the next European commissioners.
Let’s face it, Brussels doesn’t really do English. At least not in the standard British or American way. In the microcosm of the EU institutions people speaking English as a second or third language throw idioms from their own mother tongue into the mix, to be recycled and warped even further, all floating on an impenetrable fatberg of European Commission jargon.
There were some telling or simply weird slip-ups, from the agriculture commissioner who said farmer instead of father, one commissioner who said “sex” instead of six, mistook “process” for “progress,” and even one who declared the need to “ensure much more isolated homes.”
Things have deteriorated since Brexit. Many of the pedants have gone home (except me) and those British officials crossing back over the Channel, cap in hand, are hardly likely to spoil the vibe by pointing out a grammatical error.
In every turn of phrase, French false friends lurk just below the surface. In Brussels if you say you are actually dead, it’s only temporary. If you’re eventually doomed, it’s only a possibility. (Actuellement means currently, and éventuellement means possibly.) Maybe that’s why some careers in the European institutions last so long.
There is only one solution: Embrace the change and push English to its limits to forge a wholly distinct language, spoken only on the streets of the EU quarter. A sort of Euro-patois, whose vocabulary has 100 words for “directive.” The migration commissioner should also be tasked with handling your-gration and their-gration, and we will officially stick an extra “o” in portofolio and triologue and an extra syllable in “sovereignity.”
Children will grow up speaking Euro-patois, learning to count up to 27, and having a “super” nice time, while their parents “telework.”
And to all the French people who feel hurt about the fact that no one wants to go back to making français the lingua franca in the European institutions. For heaven’s sake, don’t be so sensible! Oops, I mean sensitive.
CAPTION COMPETITION
“At a time like this, we need to find three people who can show Europe is truly united. Oh, hold on.”
Can you do better? Email me at [email protected] or get in touch on X @EddyWax.
Last time we gave you this photo:
Thanks for all the entries. Here’s the best from our postbag — there’s no prize except for the gift of laughter, which I think we can all agree is far more valuable than cash or booze.
“Oh mein Gott, I can’t wait to get rid of this guy.” by POLITICO’S very own Šejla Ahmatović
Eddy Wax is POLITICO’s Playbook co-author.
The post How I stopped worrying and learned to love Euro-English appeared first on Politico.
