Our shared inheritance

Originally published in Manila Bulletin

Imagine a library burning down, one that holds the oral histories, poetry, and wisdom of countless generations. This is not a metaphor; it is happening right now, as the world's languages disappear at an alarming rate.

With every language that falls silent, we are not merely losing a list of words. We are incinerating a unique chapter of the human story, an irreplaceable archive of culture, memory, and identity that diminishes us all.

Language is the primary vessel for culture, the living fabric into which a community weaves its understanding of the world. It carries the rhythm of ancestral prayers, the precise vocabulary for local ecosystems, the humor of inside jokes, and the moral weight of ancient stories. These are not mere artifacts; they are the collective soul of a people.

A proverb translated from Welsh to English may convey a similar meaning, but it loses the lyrical cadence that has shaped a national consciousness for centuries.

A song from the Australian Aboriginal Songlines, describing the creation of a landscape, cannot be separated from the specific language that maps the terrain itself. When the language dies, the deep, culturally-specific resonance of the art dies with it.

The loss is catastrophic for our shared history and intellectual heritage. So much of human history exists outside of written texts, residing in the oral traditions passed down through generations. These are not just tales; they are repositories of historical events, philosophical insights, and scientific observation.

A language may contain unique classifications for plants that hold medicinal secrets, or grammatical structures that reflect a particular relationship with time and nature.

When a language vanishes, we lose a distinct perspective on what it means to be human—a unique answer to the universal questions of existence. The global narrative becomes flatter, more homogenized, and infinitely poorer.

This erosion of cultural diversity is a crisis that should alarm anyone who values art, history, and the richness of human creativity.

For writers, it means a loss of narrative voices. For artists, a loss of symbolic vocabulary. For historians, a gaping hole in the record of humanity.

The preservation of linguistic diversity is, therefore, not a niche concern for linguists but a fundamental duty for anyone invested in our collective cultural heritage.

We must act with the urgency of archivists racing against a ticking clock. This means actively supporting the initiatives that keep these cultural archives alive. We must champion and fund oral history projects that record the last fluent speakers of endangered languages.

We must advocate for translation initiatives that bridge worlds, allowing the wisdom and beauty contained within minority languages to be appreciated by a wider audience, while ensuring the original tongue continues to thrive.

Furthermore, we must encourage the integration of local languages into contemporary arts and media—from radio broadcasts and music albums to digital storytelling platforms—giving them relevance and space in the modern world.

The great library of human culture is on fire. We cannot afford to be passive bystanders. By supporting the preservation of every language, we are not just saving words; we are safeguarding the very poetry of human existence for generations to come. Our shared inheritance depends on it.

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