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Over 7,000 languages are spoken today, but nearly half could vanish by the end of the century.


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Essay


Why linguistic diversity matters

By Lorna GibbApril 29, 2025








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Rare TonguesAvailable in 3 editionsView Book







I have long wanted to write something for a general readership that explored the world’s endangered languages and the cultural, cognitive, and historical significance they hold. Linguistic diversity matters, and not just to linguists, but to all of us. Over 7,000 languages are spoken today, but nearly half could vanish by the end of the century. Globalization, migration, and political marginalization have driven this shift, hastened this loss. But every language encodes a unique worldview, history, and way of understanding the world. When a language dies, so too does an entire way of thinking.


Individual accounts of the speakers of threatened tongues are poignant. Marie Smith Jones was the final voice of Eyak in Alaska. When she passed away in 2008, she took with her a language that had shaped generations of ecological and cultural knowledge. Similarly, the Livonian language of Latvia, once spoken along the Baltic coast, has nearly disappeared, a casualty of historical repression and shifting social pressures. Tefvik Esenç, the last speaker of Ubykh, a language once spoken in the Caucasus region dedicated his life to preserving his language, working with linguists to document as much as possible, but by the time of his death in 1992, Ubykh had no living speakers left. These languages didn’t fade away naturally; they were actively suppressed, marginalized, or deemed impractical by invading cultures. Linguistic extinction is almost always a consequence of power dynamics, with minority languages forced out by the dominance of others.


Beyond the emotional and cultural loss, there are also cognitive and environmental implications of language extinction. Indigenous languages often contain highly specialized vocabularies for landscapes, plants, and ecological systems, knowledge that can be invaluable for conservation efforts. The Kayardild language of northern Australia, for example, encodes highly specific spatial information tied to the land, something that becomes nearly impossible to translate into English. The Tofa people of Siberia, whose language is critically endangered, suppressed by the Russian government, possess a deep knowledge of reindeer herding that is embedded within their linguistic expressions. When these languages disappear, we don’t just lose vocabulary; we lose an entire way of engaging with the world. This is particularly alarming in an era of climate change, where traditional ecological knowledge could offer crucial insights into environmental sustainability.


Current research shows that multilingualism also enhances problem-solving and cognitive flexibility, perhaps even our resistance to dementia. Our diminishing linguistic diversity isn’t just a cultural tragedy but a cognitive one. For example, the Matsés people of the Amazon have a verb structure that requires speakers to indicate precisely how they came to know something. This means that every statement carries an embedded epistemology, forcing speakers to be explicit about the source of their knowledge. This linguistic feature is completely absent in English, raising the question of what happens to cognitive habits when such structures disappear. If languages construct the way we perceive time, space, and relationships, each disappearing language represents the loss of a way of conceptualizing the world. I wonder what ways of thinking are already lost to us, what intellectual diversity has quietly vanished alongside these rare tongues


 


Key to all of this is that language is tied to power and identity. Many communities see their languages as fundamental to who they are, and when those languages disappear, people can experience deep psychological and social dislocation. These are tragically illustrated by cases where colonization and forced assimilation nearly erased languages, such as Gaelic, Welsh, and numerous Native American tongues. 


Yet hope remains, glimmers of resurgence, showing how languages can be revived. The success of Hebrew in the 20th century is remarkable, and efforts to restore Māori in New Zealand and Hawaiian in Hawaii prove that languages can be brought back from the brink if communities commit to them. Cornish language activists, despite their language being declared extinct in the 18th century, have successfully revived it to the point where it is now spoken in schools and cultural events.


Technology too can play a part. Digital archives, online courses, and AI-driven tools offer new ways to document and teach endangered languages. Social media has even become a platform for linguistic activism. YouTube channels and TikTok influencers have played a role in revitalizing Irish and Scottish Gaelic, making them more accessible to younger generations. But I wonder sometimes if this is a true revival or just a chimera of the thing itself. Language is not just something to be recorded; it needs to be lived, spoken, and passed down. No amount of digital preservation can replace real-world speakers keeping a language alive.


And that same technology can hasten the demise of other languages.  Whistled languages evolved to enable inhabitants of remote communities or geographic terrain that was difficult to traverse, communicate more easily across vast distances.  It’s astonishing that every continent of our world has an example of a language like this: from Gomera in the Canary Islands and Folopa in Australia to Hmong in the Himalayas. Yet there are far fewer whistlers now than there were even a decade ago as mobile phones have slowly replaced the need for them. More encouragingly, sometimes, this has led to concerted campaigns that amount to a celebration of the language, whistled Kus dili, from Kuskoy in Turkey, is a perfect example of this, where a yearly festival for the language now brings global visitors to what was a small village.


Linguistic diversity is an irreplaceable human treasure. We must appreciate what we have lost, what we are in danger of losing, and we must fight for those languages that remain to be free from persecution. Losing a language isn’t just about losing words; it’s about losing a way of seeing the world. We can lament the past and commemorate it in words but we must also fight for change. Governments, educators, and individuals must take an active role in preserving and revitalizing endangered languages.



Lorna Gibb is associate professor of creative writing and linguistics at the University of Stirling. Her books include The Extraordinary Life of Rebecca WestLady Hester: Queen of the East, and the novel A Ghost’s Story. Her writing has appeared in leading publications such as Granta and the Telegraph.











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