When I was a child and saw Doraemon one of the magical artifacts that I envied the most was the “Translation Jelly” — all it took was to eat it to understand any language, and everything said was automatically converted into the mother tongue of the listener. At that time, it seemed like an unreachable fantasy. Who would have thought that, forty years later, the fantasy would become reality.
Last week, during the “Two Sessions” – National People’s Congress and Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference – the Secretary of the Party Committee at the Communication University of China announced that the institution had “cut” 16 undergraduate programs, including Translation and Photography.
The justification was straightforward: with the arrival of Artificial Intelligence (AI), these jobs will be performed by machines, so universities should not continue to train talents condemned to obsolescence.
The news immediately caused a stir in the public opinion. Some consider it a forward-thinking view of education, while others see it as a cultural surrender.
However, regardless of the position adopted, there is an undeniable fact: the role of the “intermediary” is being redefined by technology.
Translation was once the premier profession of mediation. Two parties who did not share the same language needed someone who mastered both languages to mediate communication. This role was not limited to a mechanical conversion of vocabulary but rather required an understanding of context, culture, and subtext.
Great translators perform a creative task, whose merit is not inferior to that of the original author. However, when AI can translate dozens of languages in real-time with increasing accuracy, the value of the existence of this role is shaken.
The history of Macau is also, in a certain way, the history of an “intermediary.” Since the sixteenth century, this city has served as a bridge between China and the West – channeling goods, information, religion, and diplomacy.
The Portuguese brought not only trade but also Jesuit missionaries, Western science, and the Latin alphabet. Silk, porcelain, and tea from China also flowed to the rest of the world through Macau. The value of this city was precisely based on the premise that “both parties need me.”
Today, however, direct flights have become commonplace, video conferences have replaced face-to-face negotiations, and AI translation is gradually eliminating linguistic barriers. When both parties can communicate directly, will an intermediary still be necessary?
Perhaps the answer lies in a new understanding of what it means “to be in the middle.” Machines can translate languages, but they cannot translate trust. AI can transmit information, but it is incapable of building relationships. In a world that is increasingly digitized, physical “trust anchors” may become even more precious – a place where both parties are willing to sit down and talk, a space with historical weight, institutional guarantees, and cultural richness.
The ‘Translation Jelly’ allowed Nobita to understand the words of the extraterrestrials, but it couldn’t make friends for him. The future of intermediaries may not simply involve message transmission, but rather the creation of connections.
