In praise of ... interpreters

They are in almost every shot yet they pass unnoticed, discreet facilitators at the elbow of power, perpetual outsiders. They are on the soundtrack of the post-communiqué press conference, and the monotone accompaniment of the dreary images of international gatherings, voices threading mechanically through anger and joy alike. But these latter are lesser mortals than the hand-picked interpreters at the ear of every head of delegation making the round of economic, political and military (Nato next) summits, three of them to every world leader, rotating through long meetings, tense bilaterals and tedious dinners. They are charged with conveying not a mere translation but an understanding of the nuance of every exchange. That means a sympathetic familiarity not only with the colloquial, but with the context, and the ability to translate it into the language of their boss. It is a world fraught with risk: only last week attempts to relieve the chill between Russia and the US almost foundered after Hillary Clinton's interpreter mistranslated her intention to "reset" relations into "overload". But it is much more than avoiding the confusion of what the French call faux amis, where an English word exists in French, but with a different meaning (Gordon Brown might be conducting the summit but he is not le conducteur, and although the outcome might be une déception, it is not a deception). They are commuters between cultures, their own identity lost in translation.