Lost—and Found—in Translation:
The Delicate Balancing Act of Diplomacy - Guest Post
For the 33 years that I worked as senior political advisor at the US Embassy in Kuala Lumpur, I served as a kind of bridge between my country, Malaysia, and the United States. It was a great honor, but (I have to admit) it could sometimes be a challenge, too. My role was to provide framing and context for the diplomatic dialogue, to ensure the pieces fit together and communication flowed in both directions. I tried to take care that the essence of the message was carried across, that what was said was heard as intended. Walking this tightrope was not always easy.
It sometimes required some contorting and re-balancing, and some thinking on my feet to keep the situation from fraying or falling apart. It could also require actual translation. Two memorable such moments occurred during separate visits to Kelantan, a deeply conservative state in Malaysia’s Islamic Malay heartland in the northeast part of the country bordering with Thailand. Both involved the then Chief Minister (Governor) of the state—the late Tok Guru Nik Aziz, a revered “spiritual leader” of the Pan Malaysian Islamic Party (PAS).
For context: the use of English remains widespread in most of Malaysia (a legacy of our British colonial past), but much less so in the Malay heartland. Few of our contacts there—whether party bosses, grass roots figures, or leaders of the Islamic community—speak or understand English. The lingua franca there is Malay. Even the Chief Minister relied on his interpreters whenever US diplomats called. These interpreters, it turned out, didn’t always translate the full message, either because they couldn’t or chose not to. So I had to decide when and how to jump into the breach, to capture the nuance or humor of a critical remark to make sure a delicate diplomatic situation didn’t take a dark turn.
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One conversation involved the Chief Minister and my then American boss, the head of the political section. It started as a routine diplomatic exchange of pleasantries and domestic political questions. But things took an unexpected turn when the Chief Minister referred to staunch US support for Israel in the Middle East as a factor that complicated US-Malaysian relations, given deep sympathy for Palestinians among the Malay population. An affable man, the Chief Minister spoke with a knowing smile as he dropped a Malay proverb into the mix: "Lebih baik tahu syaitan yang kita kenal daripada syaitan yang kita tak kenal." Translated literally, it means, "The devil you know is better than the devil you don’t." The problem was that, in this case, the “devil” of the proverb referred clearly, if indirectly, to the United States. What to do?
I looked at the Chief Minister’s interpreter, who had been doing a credible job up to that moment and waited for his faithful translation. But instead, he paused and said nothing. The silence was uncomfortable, if not exactly deafening. We both knew that this statement was loaded and potentially explosive, depending on how it was framed and delivered. It would need to be handled with care, however else it was handled. When the silence went on and the strain extended to near breaking point, my boss, an experienced diplomat who knew how to read fraught situations, turned to me and asked,
"Ravi, What did he say?"
I hesitated for a moment before telling him straight, with no sugarcoating. A true professional, my American boss nodded and replied to the Chief Minister,
“Well, you’re entitled to your opinion."
The Chief Minister smiled, pleased with the provocation and his ability to convey the Malay take on this complicated question, and the conversation continued. But for that brief moment, I remember feeling the weight of being the one in the room who had to walk the diplomatic tightrope, navigating a path between the harshness of the metaphor and the graciousness expected in the human exchange of diplomacy.
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The Chief Minister made a similarly provocative remark on another occasion, couched again in a cloak of mischievous humor. In a private meeting, he declared out of the blue that our Charge d'Affaires should convert to Islam. With no hint of doubt or hesitation, he said that on Judgment Day,
"The believers will find their place in heaven, while the non-believers will go straight to hell."
Again, the official interpreter balked, and looked over at me as if it was my decision whether—or how—to translate this somewhat blunt, undiplomatic, and unexpected assertion. Again, I found myself caught in a delicate position. What to do? Alluding to preparatory conversations we had had about what to expect in our meeting with the playful and pious Chief Minister, I went ahead with a straightforward translation. The Chargé, thankfully, took it in stride, made light of the Chief Minister’s concern about his spiritual fate, and moved on.
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These moments remind me of the responsibility entailed in being a bridge, a translator in the broad sense, for diplomatic communications. It’s not just conveying words but capturing their nuances, the human meaning and cultural context in which they are spoken, as well as anticipating possible reactions of those that hear them and making necessary adjustments. On one hand, you aim to handle sensitive issues with tact. On the other hand, you need to preserve authenticity.
This is especially important when the message being conveyed challenges your own beliefs or goes against your side’s position. Diplomacy becomes all the more necessary in those moments when you disagree or when the message might be heard as provocative, or worse. It’s important to be able to say it, and equally important to be able to hear it. How do you square the circle?
In the end, the Chief Minister’s comments were handled with grace, humor, and professionalism. But they also served as a reminder that diplomacy is as much about navigating difficult truths beneath the surface as it is about keeping the surface waters calm enough for navigation.
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