The loss of a language is more than the disappearance of words and grammar; it represents the erosion of memory, identity, and entire worlds of knowledge. This complex phenomenon is explored in Sophia Smith Galer's new book, "How to Kill a Language," which moves beyond personal grief to examine the global implications of language extinction.
Galer's personal journey into this subject began with the death of her 93-year-old grandmother, who spoke al dialët, a regional Italian language. Galer's inability to respond in her grandmother's native tongue sparked a profound sense of loss, a "pre-grief" for what was slipping away. This intimate experience serves as the foundation for a broader investigation into the forces that lead to language loss and what is irrevocably lost in the process.
The book chronicles journeys to diverse communities, from Italian diaspora families in London to camel herders in Oman, Ukrainian speakers navigating conflict, and Indigenous language revival efforts in California. Through these encounters, Galer challenges the notion that languages fade due to the passive choices of their speakers. Instead, she advocates for the term "linguicide," framing language loss as the result of power dynamics, policy decisions, war, shame, and neglect.
"Languages don't become endangered of their own accord," Galer stated. "Who is endangering them? What is threatening them?" She posits that institutions and societal structures often make it more difficult to pass on a language, reduce its utility in public life, or even make it dangerous to speak, thereby shifting blame away from the speakers themselves.
In the Dhofar region of Oman, Galer met Arif, a camel herder who speaks Śḥehrɛ̄t, also known as Jibbali. While the language remained secure within his isolated community, Arabic's status as the official language of government and education exerts a powerful pull on younger generations. Galer observed that remote locations and archives are increasingly becoming the last bastions for languages on the verge of disappearing.
The political dimension of language became starkly apparent in Ukraine. Galer recounts the story of Oryna, a woman from Dnipro who, following Russia's full-scale invasion, abandoned the Russian version of her name and the language she had used most of her life. This visceral shift highlights the deep emotional connection many Ukrainians feel towards their language and what it represents in the face of conflict.
Similarly, the book details instances where Kurdish speakers in countries like Turkey were compelled to register non-Kurdish names due to official restrictions on Kurdish names, illustrating the "cruelties of linguicide" that force such difficult choices upon individuals.
However, the book also illuminates pathways toward language preservation. In Northern California, Maymi, a Karuk mother, embarked on a journey to learn and speak the Karuk language with her young family, even after not being raised fluent herself. Her story exemplifies the "raw, grassroots willpower" that Galer identifies as crucial for language survival, working in tandem with institutional support like funding and recognition.
Galer concludes that a language is intrinsically linked to personal history, embodying the voices of parents, childhood memories, names, songs, and the subtle intimacies that define human connection. "We lose far more than a bunch of grammar rules and words when we lose a language," she asserts, emphasizing the profound cultural and personal toll of linguistic extinction.