Each year, just before summer, the editor reaches out to students who want to do journalism internships at the newspaper. Beforehand, universities or the students themselves have sent their résumés, listing Valencian and other languages they are supposed to master. Or so it seems. After several observed instances, the writer has come to a simple conclusion: in roughly six out of ten cases, the claimed language level is softened upward. When the usual note appears — “Valencian: high level” — many applicants are young people from the Valencia region, born in the early 2000s, who cannot sustain a basic phone conversation in that language, or in English, about everyday topics such as what they enjoy doing, their hobbies, whether they have a driver’s license, where they live, and in which section they would like to learn and why. When pressed about why they include a skill that is plainly not well mastered, the reply is almost always the same: “I can read and understand it, but I don’t actually speak it.”
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And it is here that a larger question arises: when can we truly claim language mastery? If someone can read and write in English or Spanish yet cannot utter a single sentence aloud in that language, can they honestly claim to be proficient or to be qualified by the public administration of the territory where that language is spoken? These are some of the reflections triggered by a policy initiative recently rolled out by the Generalitat Valenciana. The plan allows students who earned a grade of seven or higher in Valencian in Bachillerato from 2008-2009 onward to certify directly a B2 or C1 level, at no cost and through online proceedings. And a doll in a raffle, as the old joke goes, comes to mind.
No doubt the measure will be well received — like a wave — by the thousands of people, estimated to be around 300,000 between C1 and B2, who, unexpectedly, have been granted a document claiming they know the language well enough, perhaps with a single exam moment from many years ago. That paper could have opened doors to a public job in another era. Now, in reality, it may be more like a piece of damp paper since Valencian has also ceased to be a formal requirement in administration. Still, the gesture remains. It is possible that some who earned the certificate continued to grow their language skills in the years since their exam, while others did not. In any case, there are rigorous assessments by the Junta Qualificadora or universities that test a candidate across all aspects a language official to a European standard must demonstrate, within shared EU benchmarks.
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Yet beyond this so-called “Valencian for all” marketing — presented as a repair and a justice for the perceived suppression of Spanish by the region’s other official language, as described by President Carlos Mazón — there are a couple of lingering questions. First, how is it possible that, under this perceived imposition, Valencian usage continues to decline overall? Second, how can the leader who does not speak the language be celebrated as the guardian of every Valencian identity? The inconsistencies are visible in the data and in everyday life. If Valencian is denigrated, the Valencian Community, its administration, and its citizens will be poorer and less plural. This is a concern that touches everyone, not just language enthusiasts.