Paul
Goble
Staunton, July 13 – Most of
Daghestan’s 31 indigenous languages are on the brink of disappearing, the
result of a combination of Moscow’s promotion of Russian, the multiplicity of
languages and the need for some common one, urbanization and migration, and a
lack of interest among parents in saving their native tongues, according to
scholars in the republic.
Most non-Russian republics have to
try to maintain one non-Russian language, a difficult enough challenge. Bela
Boyarova of Paragraphs say. But Daghestan has 31, 13 of which are
literary languages and taught in schools alongside Russian. Unfortunately, the
journalist says, “the republic has already surrendered without giving battle” (paragraphs.online/article/407-na-grani-vymiraniya-mogut-li-ischeznut-dagestanskie-yazyki).
“The language of inter-ethnic
communication, documentation, instruction in schools and higher educational
institutions is here one – Russian,” she continues. “Daghestanis forced to find
a common language have become hostages not only of the dominant position of
Russian but of their own ethnic multiplicity.”
Magomed Magomedov, a senior philologist
at the Makhachkala Institute of Language, Literature and Art, says that “in
such conditions, the threat of the loss of Daghestani languages is completely
real.” The spread of Russian as a result of urbanization and the decline of
mono-ethnic villages has significantly reduces usage of the indigenous
languages.
According to the scholar, “today not
only officials but even ordinary Daghestanis are not up to the preservation of
languages. Psychologically and economically, they have been put in such
conditions that the priority for linguistic issues is not high. Instead, they are
focusing on the struggle for their own survival.”
“Daghestanis have no desire to study
native languages,” Magomedov says. They know that a knowledge of Russian is
necessary and that “the mastering
or non-mastering of their native language won’t make any difference. They do
not feel discomfort when they do not know their language.
Even the
few parents who do care have no resources: now many schools don’t offer courses
in their native language; and those that do offer only one or two hours a week,
not enough to make a difference but enough to take time away from other
subjects. As a result, the number who want to study these languages constantly
declines.
Moscow’s
new language law which makes the study of languages of the republics completely
voluntary has only accelerated this trend, the scholar says. Unless something radical happens, many of the
smaller languages will become extinct, and even the major ones have no more
than 50 years before they will “pass into the ranks of the dead.”
Little
can be done if the mono-ethnic villages continue to disappear with
urbanization. “The city is already the cemetery for native languages,”
Magomedov says. According to a study he
made, in Makhachkala, “92 percent of pupils of all nationalities do not master
their native literary language.”
Magomedrasud
Magomedrasudov, director of the Avar-language theater in the Daghestani
capital, is equally pessimistic or even more so. He is convinced, Boyarova says, that “the
time when it was necessary to raise the alarm is already long past.” Now, there
is little or nothing that can be done as the process of the death of these
languages has become irreversible.
Moscow
isn’t willing to do anything to help, and local people feel they have no
possibility of doing anything on their own. Even where these indigenous languages
continue to be spoken, they are degraded to the point that they can no longer
be considered “pure literary” tongues.
Magomedrasudov
is especially angry at the pseudo-activists who position themselves as
defenders of languages in order to attract attention and get grant money but in
fact do little or nothing to help. He sees most of the indigenous languages disappearing
from the public space “in the next 15 to 20 years.”
According
to the theater direction, “a war for the destruction of national languages and
national culture is going on. If the residents of the republic sit and do
nothing, the languages will disappear. And the rare Daghestanis who will still
take pride in knowing their native language will be like veterans of the war.”
Salim
Abdulkadyrov, the director of a Makhachkala school in which five languages in
addition to Russian are offered, gives this perspective: “The number of hours
with us unfortunately is declining. Now this is two hours a week. It used to be
three. Simply many children want more hours for the study of other subjects.”
“In our school,
there are also those who at the insistence of their parents are not studying native
languages. Most of them are from ethnically mixed families. In the eighth and
ninth classes,” the director says, “we even have three groups in which
Daghestani children are studying Russian as a native language,” approximately five
to seven percent of all of them.
“This is
the desire of their parents. We do not have the right to refuse them.”
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