Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices: Assessing Minority Language Maintenance Across Europe 9781783094967

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

LINGUISTIC DIVERSITY AND LANGUAGE RIGHTS Series Editor: Dr Tove Skutnabb-Kangas, Åbo Akademi University, Finland Consulting Advisory Board: François Grin, Université de Genève, Switzerland Kathleen Heugh, University of South Australia, Adelaide Miklós Kontra, Linguistics Institute, Hungarian Academy of Sciences, Budapest Robert Phillipson, Copenhagen Business School, Denmark The series seeks to promote multilingualism as a resource, the maintenance of linguistic diversity, and development of and respect for linguistic human rights worldwide through the dissemination of theoretical and empirical research. The series encourages interdisciplinary approaches to language policy, drawing on sociolinguistics, education, sociology, economics, human rights law, political science, as well as anthropology, psychology, and applied language studies. Full details of all the books in this series and of all our other publications can be found on http://www.multilingual-matters.com, or by writing to Multilingual Matters, St Nicholas House, 31-34 High Street, Bristol BS1 2AW, UK.

LINGUISTIC DIVERSITY AND LANGUAGE RIGHTS: 11

Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices Assessing Minority Language Maintenance Across Europe

Johanna Laakso, Anneli Sarhimaa, Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark and Reetta Toivanen

MULTILINGUAL MATTERS Bristol • Buffalo • Toronto

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. Names: Laakso, Johanna, author. | Sarhimaa, Anneli, author. | Spiliopoulou Åkermark, Athanasia, author. | Toivanen, Reetta, author. Title: Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices: Assessing minority language maintenance across Europe / Johanna Laakso, Anneli Sarhimaa, Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark and Reetta Toivanen. Description: Bristol; Buffalo: Multilingual Matters, [2016] | Series: Linguistic Diversity and Language Rights: 11 | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2015036329| ISBN 9781783094950 (hbk : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781783094967 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: Linguistic minorities—Europe. | Language and languages—Variation—Europe. | Language maintenance—Europe. | Language and culture—Europe. Classification: LCC P119.32.E85 L25 2016 | DDC 306.44/94–dc23 LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015036329 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue entry for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN-13: 978-1-78309-495-0 (hbk) Multilingual Matters UK: St Nicholas House, 31-34 High Street, Bristol BS1 2AW, UK. USA: UTP, 2250 Military Road, Tonawanda, NY 14150, USA. Canada: UTP, 5201 Dufferin Street, North York, Ontario M3H 5T8, Canada. Website: www.multilingual-matters.com Twitter: Multi_Ling_Mat Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/multilingualmatters Blog: www.channelviewpublications.wordpress.com Copyright © 2016 Johanna Laakso, Anneli Sarhimaa, Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark and Reetta Toivanen. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. The policy of Multilingual Matters/Channel View Publications is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products, made from wood grown in sustainable forests. In the manufacturing process of our books, and to further support our policy, preference is given to printers that have FSC and PEFC Chain of Custody certification. The FSC and/or PEFC logos will appear on those books where full certification has been granted to the printer concerned. Typeset by Deanta Global Publishing Services Limited. Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Books Group Ltd.

Contents

Tables and Figures

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To the Reader 1

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Introduction 1.1 The Monolingual Bias Underlying European Linguistic Traditions and Language Policies 1.1.1 All multilingualisms are not equal 1.1.2 The monolingual bias in linguistics... 1.1.3 ... and specifically in the research of Finno-Ugric minority languages 1.2 From the Monolingual Bias to the Idea of a Multilingual Europe – On Paper Only? 1.2.1 Multilingual language policies based on monolingual ideologies? 1.2.2 New insights from research: Multilingualism is good for you, and it is natural – in fact, everybody is multilingual 1.2.3 Contested language borders and contested languages: Discrimination by way of status denial or creating new identities? 1.3 Rethinking Types of Languages and Language-Based Groups 1.3.1 Mother tongue vs. heritage language 1.3.2 Vehicular languages or lingua franca as languages of interethnic communication 1.3.3 What makes a minority? 1.3.4 Different types of minorities: Old and new, indigenous, autochthonous, migrant...

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1.4 From the Monolingual Bias to a Broad Understanding of Multilingualism and Diversity: The ELDIA Approach 1.4.1 ELDIA strategies for avoiding the monolingual bias: Acknowledge diversity, respect speakers’ choices and avoid the ‘Mother Tongue Mystique’ 1.4.2 Multilingualism means more than just the coexistence of languages 1.4.3 The prevailing narrow view on multilingualism as a problem for language education and language policies in general 1.4.4 Superdiversity: New layers in the European diversity of languages and identities 1.4.5 What the ELDIA case studies reveal of the diversity of diversities in Europe 1.5 Minority and Majority Relationship Through the Mirror of Media Contents 1.6 Analysing Laws and Policies: Beyond Law as a Mere Formality 2

European Language Vitality Barometer – A Novel Tool For Measuring the Degree of Language Maintenance at Group Level 2.1 Investigating and Measuring Language Maintenance: Precedents to the EuLaViBar 2.2 The EuLaViBar in a Nutshell 2.3 The ELDIA Language Maintenance Scale 2.4 From Survey Data to the EuLaViBar: Making a Long Story Short 2.5 Beyond the EuLaViBar: Contextualising and Qualitative Data

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Apples, Oranges and Cranberries: Finno-Ugric Minorities in Europe and the Diversity of Diversities 3.1 Hungarian in Slovenia: In the Trap of Well-Intentioned Minority Policies? 3.1.1 From Trianon to modern minority policies 3.1.2 Regulating domestic language diversity: Hungarian in an ethnically mixed area 3.1.3 EuLaViBar results for Hungarian in Slovenia: Endangered despite strong legal protection

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3.2 Hungarian in Austria: Diverse Origins, Diverse Statuses 3.2.1 Autochthonous, immigrant or both? 3.2.2 Hungarian and other languages in Austrian legal and institutional frameworks 3.2.3 ‘Discourse of mutual gratitude’: The Hungarians of Austria in minority and majority media 3.2.4 Spoken but not secure: Hungarian in Austria in the light of the EuLaViBar results 3.3 Estonian in Germany: Modern Mobility Creates Invisible Minorities 3.3.1 Invisible among more numerous migrant groups 3.3.2 Regulating diversity in Germany: ‘There certainly are laws for more important languages but that does not concern Estonian’ 3.3.3 EuLaViBar results for Estonian in Germany: Strong in private use, poor in public visibility? 3.4 Seto in Estonia: On the Border of States and Statuses 3.4.1 ‘Our history is behind the border’ 3.4.2 Regulation of the Seto language 3.4.3 Seto in the media: Poor coverage, moderate demands 3.4.4 EuLaViBar results for Seto: Overall endangerment 3.5 Võro (Võru) in Estonia: A Minority Defying Definitions 3.5.1 Dialect or language? 3.5.2 Regulation and public use of Võro 3.5.3 Media analysis: ‘We are not a minority but normal people’ 3.5.4 EuLaViBar results for Võro: A language ‘more for the mouth’? 3.6 Veps in Russia: ‘There are laws, but we don’t see them in action’ 3.6.1 The easternmost Finnic minority 3.6.2 Legal and institutional position of Veps in Russia 3.6.3 Veps in the media: focus on identity and tradition 3.6.4 EuLaViBar results for Veps: Few real signs of hope amidst unwarranted optimism? 3.7 Karelian in Russia: ‘Where can we go with the Karelian language?’

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3.8

3.9

3.10

3.11

3.7.1 The elusive Karelia and its language(s) 3.7.2 Regulation and public use of Karelian in Russia: The legacy of exceptionally capricious language policies 3.7.3 Karelian and Karelians in the media 3.7.4 EuLaViBar results for Karelian in Russia: Being the titular language of an ethnic republic does not mean adequate support Karelian in Finland: Last-Minute Recognition? 3.8.1 Karelian speakers in Finland: A minority that was never allowed to exist 3.8.2 Legal and institutional position of Karelian in Finland: From assimilation to recognition 3.8.3 The Karelian language and its speakers in Finnish media: From folklorism and nostalgia to a more modern media presence? 3.8.4 EuLaViBar results for Karelian in Finland: Can the language shift be reversed? Estonian in Finland: A Numerous but Inconspicuous Minority 3.9.1 The long and short history of Estonians in Finland 3.9.2 Legal and institutional position of Estonian in Finland: An immigrant group among others? 3.9.3 Estonians of Finland in minority and majority media: Silent and invisible? 3.9.4 EuLaViBar results for Estonian in Finland: Practical accommodation or assimilation? Meänkieli in Sweden: From ‘Our Language’ to Official Minority Language 3.10.1 Strong democracy = weak minority protection? 3.10.2 Legal and institutional position of Meänkieli in Sweden 3.10.3 Poor media supply in Meänkieli, controversial images of Meänkieli in majority media 3.10.4 EuLaViBar results for Meänkieli in Sweden: Weak presence, poor opportunities Kven in Norway: A Real Language or Just a Variety of Finnish?

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3.11.1 National or immigrant language? 3.11.2 Legal and institutional position of Kven in Norway 3.11.3 Media and Kven 3.11.4 EuLaViBar results for Kven in Norway 3.12 North Sámi in Norway: A Hopeful History 3.12.1 Indigenous in the North 3.12.2 Legal and institutional position of North Sámi in Norway: A paragon for many indigenous peoples? 3.12.3 North Sámi and its speakers in Norwegian media 3.12.4 EuLaViBar results for North Sámi in Norway: Uneven successes 3.13 A Note on Finnish in Sweden 4

Analysis 4.1 What the Results of the EuLaViBar Analyses Tell Us 4.1.1 Capacity: Cultivation, standardisation and institutional support make a difference – but can we really know ‘how well these people speak their language’? 4.1.2 Opportunity: Lack of explicit discrimination rather than proper institutional support? 4.1.3 Desire: ‘What can one do with this language?’ 4.1.4 Language products 4.1.5 Can we really trust the EuLaViBar results? 4.2 Law, Language and Multilingualism 4.2.1 Language legislation, linguistic justice, and legal analysis: On the theoretical background of the legal studies in ELDIA 4.2.1.1 Language legislation can be a tool of oppression but also of emancipation 4.2.1.2 Language legislation, language rights and ‘linguistic justice’: ‘Moralism’ vs. utilitarian arguments 4.2.1.3 From details of language regulation to more general discussions on justice and fairness: The ELDIA approach to law and to debates on law

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4.2.2 Historical background: Language and nationalism through law 4.2.3 Language policy through law: The societal vs. the individual perspective 4.2.4 Non-discrimination and the heritage of the egalitarian tradition 4.2.5 Language-related case law at an international level 4.2.6 Remarks on the limitations of litigation and case law studies 4.2.7 Novel normative approaches to language matters 4.2.8 Conclusions of ELDIA legal studies 4.3 Language and Society: Have We Been Able to Overcome the Idea About the ‘Survival of The Fittest’? 4.3.1 Sociology and language studies 4.3.2 Ethnographic studies on languages and language minorities 4.3.3 Language and power 4.3.4 The sociological dimension in ELDIA 4.3.5 Comparing ELDIA media discourse analyses 5

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Implications and Recommendations: What Should We Do to Maintain Language Diversity in Europe? 5.1 Supporting the Diversity of Diversities: Common Directions for European and National Language Policies? 5.2 Visibility, Publicity, Empowerment and Identity Building 5.3 Revitalisation, Intergenerational Transmission and Empowerment 5.4 Language Skills, Mobility and Sustainable Multilingualism 5.5 Legal and Institutional Support 5.6 Research Implications 5.7 Concluding Recommendations

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Afterword: Disendangering Languages Miklós Kontra, M. Paul Lewis and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas

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About the Authors

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Contents

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References

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Attachment 1: ELDIA Institutions and Research Teams

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Attachment 2: ELDIA Workshops, Conferences, and Seminars

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Index

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Tables and Figures

Tables Table 1 Short definitions of mother tongue(s)

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Figures Figure 1 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Finland

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Figure 2 Speaker communities investigated in ELDIA

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Figure 3 Colour codes for the dimensions and grades of language vitality in the EuLaViBar radar charts

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Figure 4 An overview of the vitality values for each language surveyed in the ELDIA case studies

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Figure 5 EuLaViBar chart for Hungarian in Slovenia

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Figure 6 EuLaViBar chart for Hungarian in Austria

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Figure 7 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Germany

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Figure 8 EuLaViBar chart for Seto in Estonia

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Figure 9 EuLaViBar chart for Võro in Estonia

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Figure 10 EuLaViBar chart for Veps in Russia

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Figure 11 EuLaViBar chart for Karelian in Russia

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Figure 12 EuLaViBar chart for Karelian in Finland

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Figure 13 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Finland

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Figure 14 EuLaViBar chart for Meänkieli in Sweden

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Figure 15 EuLaViBar chart for Kven in Norway

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Figure 16 EuLaViBar chart for North Sámi in Norway

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Figure 17 The decrease of the number of Hungarians in Croatia between 1921 and 2011

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To the Reader

Do you think that the needs of language minorities are adequately catered for in the European Union (EU) and in Western democracies? Do you believe that multilingualism in Europe is protected by legislation? Or that language classes at school will guarantee the maintenance of minority languages? Are you convinced that the Nordic countries, as the most developed democracies of the world, have all the means to successfully protect their minority languages from extinction? Do you think that the situation of minorities in Europe has received enough attention in academic research? Do you believe that we already know enough about minority languages and their language-based communities in today’s Europe? Don’t be naïve. Don’t believe everything you are told. Read this book.

*** This book ensues from the international, interdisciplinary research project ELDIA (European Language Diversity for All). It was funded by the European Commission from the 7th framework programme in the years 2010–2013. ELDIA investigated the current state of 12 language minorities with a Finno-Ugric heritage language in the European Union, Norway and Russia, from the Mediterranean area to the Barents Sea coast. These cover a broad range of different language minority situations, from wellestablished to newly standardised languages; from relatively strong and numerous minorities to very small and acutely endangered ones; from old (indigenous or autochthonous) minorities to quite recent migrant groups. Common to all the investigated groups is that they struggle with their individual but also universal problems amidst today’s radical societal changes. One of the main goals of ELDIA was to develop a tool – the European Language Vitality Barometer (EuLaViBar) – for measuring the state of language maintenance, but ELDIA research also produced a wealth of new data and information about a variety of minorities that are less well represented

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in international research. In this book we want to share this knowledge with you, dear reader. We hope to attract a wide audience of readers. This book is written for those who want to broaden their academic knowledge on European minorities, but also for policy makers eager to complement their understanding in minority-language issues and for language activists interested in the problems of other language minorities and the solutions that other societies may have found. The ELDIA research group consisted of specialists in Finno-Ugric studies, sociolinguistics, sociology, law studies and statistics. At its largest, during the fieldwork period in 2010–2011, ELDIA employed about 100 people, centring on a core team of a couple of dozen senior and early-career researchers from seven universities and research institutes. These people worked in intensive cooperation on the basis of a highly structured and uniform research design, implemented in all the 12 case studies. This book is based on the work of these colleagues, too numerous to be listed here.1 Our most cordial thanks are due to all of them. We also wish to thank warmly all our fieldworkers and student assistants as well as all the private citizens, institutions and organisations who helped us in so many different ways during the data collection. This book was written jointly by the four authors, each author contributing something to all the sections. Despite diverse challenges in our professional and private lives during this time, our cooperation was a pleasant and enriching experience. We are extremely grateful to all those colleagues who helped us with constructive criticism, comments and ideas – especially to the series editor, Tove Skutnabb-Kangas, and the anonymous reviewer. Finally, we would like to thank our friends and families for their patience, understanding and constant support throughout our hard work in pulling the threads together. Johanna Laakso • Anneli Sarhimaa • Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark • Reetta Toivanen

Note (1)

You will find the names of our ELDIA colleagues in the Attachment ‘ELDIA research teams’ – and, of course, in the relevant text passages and in the bibliographic references, by which we hope to give them all the academic credit they deserve. Project website: www.eldia-project.org.

1 Introduction Who is multilingual, and what kind of a society can be called multilingual? Do you need to master more than one language ‘perfectly’ and acquire them in early childhood in order to be really ‘multilingual’? What does this imply for minorities who have not been able to acquire and use their heritage languages to their full potential? Can education make you multilingual, and how should this be done? Are some languages better, more useful, more real, more authentic or more valuable than others? These questions are seldom asked. Instead, we understand and manage multilingualism as if we already had answers to them. These answers, as will be shown in the following sections, arise from the monolingual bias: the unfounded but unquestioned tacit assumption that monolingualism is the natural and default condition of human beings and societies.

1.1 The Monolingual Bias Underlying European Linguistic Traditions and Language Policies This section will first introduce the reader to the current understanding of European multilingualism. It reveals that, no matter how multicultural Europe may seem, the view on the diversity of languages spoken there still derives from what is known as the monolingual bias.

1.1.1 All multilingualisms are not equal From a global perspective, multilingualism is the norm rather than an exception; it has been estimated that the average person grows up using three languages (García, 2009; García & Schiffman, 2006). There are no monolingual states in the world, and most people do need multiple languages in order to manage their everyday lives. It is true that not all states have endorsed an official multilingualism, like, for instance, South Africa, which has 11 administrative languages; and India, which has 22. Instead, many states have opted for official monolingualism in the political and legal spheres, pushing all languages but the dominant one into a marginal position. Yet, even in the face of direct prohibition and discrimination, minority languages were and are spoken at home and among relatives and friends (Lasagabaster & Huguet, 2007).

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European history shows a remarkable emphasis on monolingualism developed by force or persuasion over the years of state and nation building. As late as the 1970s, the dominant language ideology in Europe stressed that children whose native tongue was a non-dominant language were to be ‘healed’ and ‘normalised’; the education system was supposed to transform them into monolingual speakers of the dominant state language. For example, Adler (1977a: 40) wrote that ‘bilingualism can lead to split personality and, at worst, to schizophrenia’. In other words, the emphasis in the multilingualism debates was – and sometimes still is – on the negative impact of multilingualism. It was believed that the use of multiple languages in childhood might destabilise the personality and provoke identity problems (for critical discussions of this view see e.g. Cummins, 2000; Skutnabb-Kangas, 1982, 2000). As is also reflected in the European Language Diversity for All (ELDIA) case study reports, all over Europe, the language ideology described above was supported by assimilatory policies. The ideology of 19th-century pseudo-Herderian linguistic nationalism – the belief that multilingualism is harmful both to the individual and to the nation – established itself in Europe partly before World War I and immediately after it (see e.g. Blommaert & Verschueren, 1998; Kamusella, 2009; Gal, 2015) and lived on through most of the 20th century. This ideology emphasised the need for one national culture to guarantee the wellbeing of all citizens on the same basis (Ngũgĩ, 1987). As illustrated by the following quotation, the legacy of these policies can still turn up in everyday contexts; even in today’s Europe, teachers and healthcare professionals may still discourage parents from speaking to their children in their mother tongue if it is not the language of the majority. Egyesek azt hiszik, hogy azon a nyelven illik beszélni, amin az ország többsége beszél, hogy a gyerekek jobban be tudjanak illeszkedni a közösségre. Meg pszichológustól is ezt hal[l]ottam. ‘Some people believe that it is appropriate to speak the language which is spoken by the majority in the country, so that the children can better adapt themselves to the community. I have even heard this from a psychologist.’ (Hungarian-speaking informant of the ELDIA case study in Austria; Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013: 160) Despite the ideology stressing the linguistic and cultural unity of the state, multilingualism has always been an organic part of the everyday life of millions of Europeans. In practice, however, multilingualism in the European context is still largely seen from the perspective of majorities and of state languages. At the level of language policies, multilingualism

Introduction

3

is understood as the knowledge of major European languages, the default case being that people with an assumedly monolingual background acquire these language skills in the education system. The meaningfulness of teaching (certain) foreign languages to everyone – or learning them, for that matter – is far too seldom questioned. Rather, the teaching of ‘useful’ languages is regarded as a necessary investment in the competitiveness of the country in the global market. For this, the society concerned simply must find the resources. The multilingualism of minorities and migrants, acquired at home and largely employed in group-internal communication, is, in contrast, implicitly regarded as a burden. In societal discourses, it is framed in terms of costs and workload: costs for the society and extra workload for language learners belonging to a minority, who need support for both learning the national language and maintaining their own heritage language. Consequently, languages are implicitly (or perhaps even explicitly) divided into two categories. The high-status ‘major’ or ‘international’ vehicular languages (as well as the national language in each nation-state) are languages that should be learned and are, accordingly, the main target of nationwide language education policies. The low-status or subordinated (Grillo, 1989: 174) ‘minority’ languages are seen as ethnic attributes rather than tools of communication and identity construction or as carriers of cultural values (cf. Lambert, 1979). ‘Minority’ languages are often dealt with as if they were of no interest to anybody outside the speech community, and the practices and policies pertaining to them may belong to completely different – and often regional – language-political frameworks. In the worst-case scenario, in the practice of language planning and education, ‘the monolingual habitus of (even) multilingual schools’ (Gogolin, 1993) ends up making potentially bilingual speakers (of less prestigious, ‘ethnic’ minority and migrant languages) monolingual while simultaneously attempting to make originally monolingual majority-language speakers multilingual in international vehicular languages.

1.1.2 The monolingual bias in linguistics... The dominance of monolingual ideologies in linguistic research is often attributed to the enormous influence and prestige of Noam Chomsky and his followers in Western linguistics since the 1950s. Chomskyan linguistics assumes a ‘homogeneous competence’ model (for criticism, see e.g. Jessner, 1997; Herdina & Jessner, 2002: 30ff), seeing language as a monolithic, static system based on a hypothetical ‘Universal Grammar’ – which is universal because it is genetically determined for all human beings alike. According to this view, the human capacity for language is monolingual in essence, and multilingualism is a secondary object of study that can

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indeed be investigated only after the corresponding aspects of language faculty in its ‘pure’, monolingual form are known well enough.1 Moreover, this view almost inevitably leads to seeing individual multilingualism as the presence of multiple monolingual language capacities; in other words, as ‘parallel monolingualisms’ (Heller, 2006). Chomskyan linguistics also emphasises the crucial difference between (genetically conditioned) mother tongue acquisition – which can only take place in the critical age in early childhood – and second-language learning. This implies that ‘true’ bi- or multilingualism is only possible as a consequence of bi- or multilingual language acquisition in childhood, and that ‘native speakerhood’ is something essentially different from language skills that are acquired later in life (for a critical discussion, see Davies, 2003). For speakers of endangered languages, this view also highlights the fatal and final character of language loss. If you have been hindered from acquiring ‘your ’ language at the critical age (which is true of many minority-language speakers whose parents did not speak the language with them in their childhood), then, according to this view, you will never be able to become a ‘real native speaker ’. The purported lack of ‘real’ native speakers of a given minority language also commonly turns up in debates on bi- and multilingualism. It is used by non-linguists as an argument against lending financial support to the language, as the following quotation illustrates: Dom beskriver det ju i princip som att det här är ett språk som snart inte längre har några människor som talar det som första språk längre. Och det innebär ju inte att ett språk på nåt sätt dör ut i och för sig. Men det blir en helt annan sak, då blir det just att man lä... det lite grann den situation som Jiddish har idag. Att det finns egentligen ja, möjligtvis några mycket gamla tanter alltså som har Jiddish som sitt första språk. men annars är det ju mer att det är ett språk som man kanske bestämmer sig för att lära sig lite grann för att kunna ha en kontakt med kulturen och så vidare. ‘They [activists] describe it in principle like that this is a language that soon no longer will have any people who speak it as a first language anymore. And it does not mean that the language as such will somehow die out. But it becomes a completely different thing, then it will be just that one learns… a little bit the situation that Yiddish has today. That there are actually, well, possibly some very old ladies, that is, who have Yiddish as their first language. But otherwise it is more that it is a language one maybe decides to learn a little bit to be able to have a contact with the culture and so on.’ Swedish politician in one of the ELDIA control group interviews for Sweden (SE-FINFIT-FG-P-01m)

Introduction

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However, it must be borne in mind that monolingual ideologies were not introduced into linguistic theory by Chomsky (or Saussure). They are part and parcel of the idealisation of language-as-a-system, languageness (see e.g. Garner, 2004). The term refers to the view that each language, as an autonomous system mastered by an ideal native speaker, is complete in itself. This implies that multilingualism can only mean separate monolingualisms existing independently alongside each other. This idea is present in all Western theoretical (autonomous), descriptive and prescriptive linguistics from ancient Greek and Roman grammar-writing onwards. It is the basic assumption behind Saussurian structuralism and also in classical (Neogrammarian) historical-comparative linguistics, which is based on discovering and describing the ‘laws of nature’ that determine units of closed, autonomous systems and their changes.

1.1.3 ... and specifically in the research of Finno-Ugric minority languages Already in the 19th century, Neogrammarian linguistics – which focused on (re)constructing an authentic language form – were conspiring with the emerging Romantic Nationalism and numerous European projects of national language planning. This is particularly important in the case of the Finno-Ugric languages investigated in ELDIA, as the foundations of classical comparative Finno-Ugric studies were laid in the spirit of Neogrammarianism. Following the positivist research tradition, until recently, Finno-Ugric language studies were largely characterised by the search for ‘authentic’ dialects or the pure language X spoken by idealised, monolingual speakers. Partly, this tradition persisted throughout most of the 20th century for political reasons: most Finno-Ugric minority languages were spoken in the Soviet Union and were not accessible to Western researchers, who had to work with archive material collected in traditional communities before World War I. In some cases, most notably in the field of Hungarian studies (hungarológia or magyarságtudomány, see e.g. Kovács, 2008), this tradition also conspired with nationalist ideas of purity and authenticity: Hungarian studies came into being also as a reaction to the peace agreement of Trianon 1920, which turned large numbers of Hungarians into minorities in Hungary’s new neighbour states (see e.g. Fenyvesi (ed.), 2005) and made the maintenance of the Hungarian language and identity an acute political concern and an important object of Hungarian minority studies. Focusing on authenticity meant that even obvious foreign influences or linguistic practices resulting from multilingualism and language/dialect contact (such as code-switching or the use of mixed codes) were filtered out as ‘secondary’, uninteresting or even undesirable developments. Of course, field researchers collecting dialectological data among Finno-Ugric speech

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communities were well aware of multilingualism and contact phenomena and commented on them, for instance in their field reports. Due to the prevailing research paradigm, however, these phenomena were not part of the central research agenda (with the exception of loanword studies, which have always played a central role in Finno-Ugric linguistics). This is reflected in the classical documentation of many minor Finno-Ugric languages, and it also applies to varieties traditionally regarded as dialects of the Finno-Ugric state languages, such as Meänkieli, Kven or Võro/ Seto. Up to the present day, Kven and Meänkieli have been treated as varieties or dialects of Finnish, and Võro and Seto as varieties or dialects of Estonian. Furthermore, focusing on language varieties perceived as ‘pure’ and ‘authentic’ has led to the neglect of whole speech communities, as those dialects that were thought to be less interesting for historicalcomparative linguistics or dialectology were simply ignored. Until ELDIA, a particularly ill-studied Finno-Ugric minority language was Karelian, spoken in Finland (see Section 3.8). The consequences of the monolingual bias in the Finno-Ugric research traditions became obvious even in the first information-gathering phase of the ELDIA research project on which this book is based. The languages of ‘old’ (indigenous/autochthonous) minorities (for instance, Karelians in Russia, North Sámi, or Hungarians in Burgenland, Austria) have traditionally been described from the point of view of the ‘authentic’ language variety. With the exception of Karelian in Russia and Hungarian in Burgenland (Sarhimaa, 1999; Gal, 1979), usually there are no detailed, up-to-date descriptions of multilingual patterns of language use, code-switching or code-mixing. Within our fieldwork, it was possible to fill these gaps only to a modest extent. However, we hope to draw the research community’s attention to these ‘white spots’, stressing that the recordings and transcripts of our interviews will constitute valuable material for further, more fine-grained linguistic research.

1.2 From the Monolingual Bias to the Idea of a Multilingual Europe – On Paper Only? In recent years, both policy makers and researchers have begun to see multilingualism as an essentially positive phenomenon. European language policies celebrate multilingualism: Multilingualism is a European asset! Two+! Every European citizen will learn at least two foreign languages! Linguists, psychologists and education professionals emphasise that speaking many languages is good for you. So is the general consensus then that all multilingualism is beneficial and that all forms of multilingualism are equally important? By no means. Despite all the lip service paid to multilingualism, language policies do not focus on multilingualism as a phenomenon

Introduction

7

but, typically, concentrate on promoting the use of certain languages in certain environments and contexts. Multilingualism in itself, as a dimension of human behaviour, is actually seldom recognised. And while linguists increasingly question the idea of languages as autonomous entities with clear borders, many minorities may feel tempted to emphasise the idea of their language as an entity, the ‘real language’, a symbol and the carrier of their ethnic identity. In a supposedly multilingual Europe, we even today argue fiercely about the uses and the rights of individual languages, or rather the rights that their speakers have to use and to develop their language. We also still disagree even about the very idea of language diversity. How will the borders of individual languages be set, and who has the right to set them in the first place?

1.2.1 Multilingual language policies based on monolingual ideologies? In the European context, language diversity is largely apprehended as the ability of one and the same person to communicate in two or more dominant European languages. Typically, the term ‘multilingualism’ is used to refer to situations in which, for instance, native German speakers also know French or English (Wright, 2000; Strubell, 2007). The factual multilingualism of such European Union (EU) citizens and residents who speak less prestigious and informally learned languages has received little attention. As a rule, research projects concentrate on describing the situation of just one minority language, or at most they compare a few language minorities spoken within the EU (see e.g. Tandefelt, 1988; Laugharne, 2006; Barni & Extra [eds], 2008, with references to several case studies). Today, a more diversity-oriented view on multilingualism is gaining political acceptance, and new political goals are being set in regard to multilingualism. The reason for the change is twofold. First, the linguistic human rights of minorities are increasingly recognised, at least on paper. In other words, the legitimate expectation and the legal right of all Europeans to maintain one’s mother tongue and to learn the majority language as well as a further vehicular language such as English is starting to establish its position in European societies. As will be shown in this book, the question is much more complicated in reality, and the advance towards more diversified language policies is still quite modest. Second, new forms of mobility and communication, increasing European cooperation and the development of education systems are increasing the practical and economic importance of knowing many languages. According to the official EU website, ‘EU language policies aim to protect linguistic diversity and promote knowledge of languages – for reasons of cultural identity and social integration, but also because multilingual citizens are better placed to take advantage of the educational,

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

professional and economic opportunities created by an integrated Europe.’ To implement the ideal in practice, the EU Commission adopted a strategy to promote multilingualism in 2005. The goals set by the strategy include (a) ensuring that citizens have access to EU legislation, procedures and information in their own language; (b) underlining the major role that languages and multilingualism play in the European economy, and finding ways to develop this further; (c) encouraging all citizens to learn and speak more languages in order to improve mutual understanding and communication.2 The EU multilingualism strategy also stresses that Europe is not a melting pot for ‘rendering down’ differences in cultures, customs, beliefs and languages but ‘a common home in which diversity is celebrated, and where our many mother tongues are a source of wealth and a bridge to greater solidarity and mutual understanding.’ (Commission on the European Communities 2005: 2.) In other words, the EU claims that promoting multilingualism is one of its rather central political goals. Nevertheless, as many studies have shown, there are tensions and even fairly deep gaps between political goals on the EU level and the reality in which the speakers of Europe’s minority languages live (Kraus, 2008; Nic Shuibhne, 2007; Toivanen, 2007). As already discussed above, despite the positive developments of recent years, language policies still reflect a covert naturalisation of monolingualism. For instance, national education systems, as Busch (2011) points out, are often characterised by ambiguity. On the one hand, governments try to adapt education plans to the European requirements of multilingual education. On the other hand, language-political discourses mainly revolve around the national language, especially as concerns the integration of immigrants; immigrants’ lack of proficiency in the state language is identified as the main problem. The same ambiguity was confirmed by the ELDIA media discourse analyses (see Toivanen, forthcoming). Furthermore, even textbooks and curricula for foreignlanguage teaching are still primarily built on the essentially monolingual conception of language (Dufva et al., 2011).

1.2.2 New insights from research: Multilingualism is good for you, and it is natural – in fact, everybody is multilingual While European language policies highlight the importance of language learning and multilingualism for societies, states, supranational institutions and businesses, at the same time linguistics and social sciences have begun to emphasise that multilingualism is a central

Introduction

9

and very natural dimension of human language competence. In fact, in recent years, several studies have been published that indicate that multilingualism is beneficial for the individual. Knowing many languages may have positive effects on an individual’s creativity (Ricciardelli, 2011) and language-learning abilities (Errasti, 2003; Abu-Rabia & Sanitsky, 2010), perhaps even on the individual’s cognitive abilities in general (or, at least, no overall negative effects can be shown; cf. Bialystok and Feng, 2010). It has even been claimed that multilingualism can delay the onset of dementia or Alzheimer’s disease (see e.g. Chertkow et al., 2010; Alladi et al., 2013). In the light of this evidence, multilingualism cannot be considered detrimental or even an anomaly but rather as the normal state. This insight is at the heart of some political and even research initiatives of the last few decades. For instance, the Pushkin Manifesto of the Eurolinguistics research initiative from 19993 stated that man is endowed with a faculté du langage, which is multilingual by nature, and that the multilingual individual should be the focus of research. In linguistic research, the monolingual bias has been increasingly criticised from many directions. Many linguists now prefer to see languages as historical (‘products of history’; cf. Bourdieu, 1991: 33) and as social constructs. Their borders are not natural but constructed, and multilingual individuals do not necessarily see them as distinct systems. Furthermore, language educators and sometimes even policy makers are beginning to understand the relevance of what de Cillia (2010) calls ‘language-internal multilingualism’ (innersprachliche Mehrsprachigkeit), and Wandruszka (1979) earlier coined the term ‘mother-tongue multilingualism’ (muttersprachliche Mehrsprachigkeit). Due to language-internal diversity, even so-called monolingual speakers are normally expected to be able to use many varieties, dialects, registers or styles of their mother tongue. Swiss German, which is practically unintelligible to speakers of standard German, is now often considered something like a separate language. But are you ‘bilingual’ or diglossic in the same sense if you know, in addition to standard German, also Wienerisch, Kölsch, or some other nonstandard variety of German? Where should the border be drawn, and who is to draw it? And if everybody is multilingual, who is multilingual?

1.2.3 Contested language borders and contested languages: Discrimination by way of status denial or creating new identities? The issue of language-internal diversity is probably not (equally) relevant to all minorities. However, for quite a few European minorities, it has played a central role. These minority languages, being closely related to a nation-state language, have traditionally been considered ‘just dialects’ or ‘patois’, and this has often effectively blocked their codification and cultivation.

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

Among the ELDIA case studies, one particularly clear example of discrimination by way of status denial was Karelian in Finland, a variety that has only recently been acknowledged as a language (see Section 3.8). Generations of Karelian speakers have been taught to consider their language just a dialect of Finnish, and Karelian had until recently no chance of achieving an official position in the Finnish education system or in the media. Similarly, Võro and Seto in Estonia (see Sections 3.4 and 3.5) are officially only acknowledged as regional varieties of the Estonian language. Further language-political questions arise in connection with language borders and state borders. Among the speakers of Meänkieli in Sweden (see Section 3.10) and Kven in Norway (see Section 3.11), which were traditionally considered varieties of Finnish but are now officially acknowledged as separate languages, there are still different opinions about the relationship between these languages and Finnish. Fuzzy or contested language borders are problematic, especially from the point of view of idealised monolingualism. As already noted – and as will be shown in this book as well – purportedly multilingual policies often remain at the level of ‘parallel monolingualisms’. This is also shown by one of the most essential results of the ELDIA law research team: The legal protection of minority languages is seldom if ever understood as the protection of multilingualism (citizens’ right to know and use both the minority and the majority language) but as protection of a certain language variety, preferably a defined, codified and acknowledged one. This view, in turn, raises the question of whether a minority variety is a ‘real language’, one deserving recognition, and makes drawing the boundaries of the speech community a central issue. Minority language policies still often operate on the basis of the ‘ethnolinguistic assumption’ – the idea that there is a simple one-to-one relationship between a normal, monolingual and monocultural subject’s language use and his or her ethnic identity. Moreover, the ethnolinguistic assumption is now experiencing a revival in the emancipatory and empowering movements of many ethnic and linguistic minorities (Blommaert et al., 2012: 4). For members of minorities in these contexts, ignoring their internal diversity, downplaying the essential role of multilingualism in their everyday life and assuming a monolingually constructed ‘ethnolinguistic identity’ may, in Heller’s (2006: ix) words, ‘provide privileged access to commodified authenticity’, a position from which they can profit. This monolingual bias, involving the ‘ethnicising’ and ‘othering’ (or self-othering) of minorities, may conspire with the tradition of focusing on what is perceived to be the most authentic variety of the language as spoken by (idealised) monolingual speakers. As will be shown in what follows, this issue is of central importance for research into the Finno-Ugric minorities as well. Within the ELDIA project, it was not possible to investigate the issues of multiple and multilingual

Introduction

11

identities in more detail. However, we tried to define the language-based communities at issue as widely and flexibly as possible and to focus on practical multilingualism. In the following chapters, we will show how these ideas were operationalised in the ELDIA research design.

1.3 Rethinking Types of Languages and LanguageBased Groups Politicians, language experts and ordinary Europeans all speak about mother tongues, migrant languages and minorities. Everybody thinks she knows what she is speaking about when using the terms. However, many central terms that are generally employed in multilingualism research – including ‘mother tongue’, ‘migrant’, ‘indigenous’, or even ‘minority’ – are highly problematic. On the one hand, we tend to use them vaguely or too loosely. On the other hand, many of the central terms do not do justice to the inherent complexity of multilingualism as a phenomenon. In this chapter, we will discuss the terms used for different types of languages and types of minorities and address critically some terminological problems that arise when people try to distinguish different types of languages or minorities from each other.

1.3.1

Mother tongue vs. heritage language

To begin with, the term mother tongue (native/first language) is unambiguous only in a monolingualist framework, as illustrated by this example from our case study on Meänkieli: Minun ensimäinen kieli oli ruotti. Mutta mie en silti sano ette mulla on äitinkieli vain ruotti. Mulla on äitinkieli molemat, mulla on ruotti ja meänkieltä. Ko meänkieltä puhuthiin kotona ja mulla oli fammu talossa kenen kans mie puhuin, vaikka minun mamma ja pappa puhu mulle ruottia. ‘My first language was Swedish. But, still, I don’t say that my mother tongue is Swedish only. My mother tongue is both, I have Swedish and Meänkieli. As Meänkieli was spoken at home and I had my father’s mother in the house I spoke [it] with, even though my mother and father spoke Swedish to me.’ (Arola et al., forthcoming) The term mother tongue is problematic for many reasons. Firstly, multilingual individuals cannot always decide which of their languages is their ‘very first’ language. Secondly, the language that a person associates

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

with her ethnolinguistic identity is not necessarily her dominant or strongest language – the language in which she can express herself most fluently or across the widest possible spectrum of styles and domains. Thirdly, in our opinion, definitions of ethnolinguistic affiliation should not exclude ‘less valid speakers’, that is, people who, for instance, do not speak the language completely fluently and confidently or do not use it actively in their everyday life. As will be seen, many of the languages examined in this book are acutely endangered. The proportion of full ‘mother-tongue’ speakers is so low that applying any of the above requirements would be very counterproductive to any effective efforts to revitalise the language at issue. In effect, it would serve to cement the results of assimilatory language policies. The following example from our case study on Kven in Norway shows how this argument has been used to suppress a minority language; it is contended that teaching the minority language to children is harmful because they would not acquire a complete command of it but would remain semilingual. This is why parents are advised to give up the minority language altogether. svigefar ( ) sanoi että, ( ) hän tuli Norjaan, ( ) silloin ( ) seitkyt luvulla. Haastattelija: mm äm: ja hänen, ( ) anoppi sanoi että ( ) ei. älä vaa älä vaa älä vaa ( ) opeta lapsille suomee. Haastattelija: joo koska muuten niistä tulee ( ) puol- puolikieliseksi tai. ‘My father-in-law told me that he came to Norway, back then, in the ’70s. (Interviewer: Mm.) Ehm,4 and his... mother-in-law said to him: no, just don’t, just don’t, just don’t... teach Finnish to the children. (Interviewer: Yeah.) Because else they will become... semi-, semilingual, or...’ (Räisänen forthcoming) Instead of mother tongue, in this book we prefer the term heritage language. This term is widely used, especially in American language sociology and minority studies. As a rule, it is defined broadly and flexibly and covers a broad range of languages, often divided into three main types: indigenous languages, colonial languages (those of the first European colonisers, including e.g. Dutch and German) and the languages of latterday immigrants (Fishman, 2001: 81). Alongside the term heritage language, terms such as native, ethnic, ancestral or primary languages have also been used in America, while European traditions of language policies favour terms

Introduction

13

such as language of origin (German: Herkunftssprache), minority language, migrant language, community language (cf. Yağmur & Extra, 2011) or home language (Swedish: hemspråk; see also Van Deusen-Scholl, 2003: 216–219). Heritage languages are typically used in the private sphere within one language-based group and often predominantly in spoken rather than in written form. Often, they do not have an official status, sometimes not even a written standard. However, a highly cultivated nation-state language can also assume the role of a heritage language in another country, as in our case studies on Estonian- and Hungarian-speaking minorities. A central aspect in the definition of heritage language is that the term, unlike mother tongue, does not imply so-called ‘native-speaker level’ or ‘perfect’ language skills. In reality, many heritage-language users are more fluent (especially in written or more formal language use) or feel more confident in the majority language, which often is their language of education.

1.3.2 Vehicular languages or lingua franca as languages of interethnic communication When referring to languages that are used in the public sphere and in interethnic communication, for instance, the EU seems to have recently started using the term vehicular language. The term is interesting, since it suggests that there are specific languages in the society that are used for specific purposes. By definition, the term also assumes (macro-)societal as well as individual multilingualism and suggests that people use other languages alongside their mother tongues. Like mother tongue, the term vehicular language (langue véhiculaire, Verkehrssprache) is somewhat problematic. Firstly, all languages are inherently vehicular, since any language ultimately is a ‘vehicle’ of communication (see e.g. Adler, 1977b: 8). Secondly, the distinction between vehicular language and lingua franca is not completely clear. The two terms are often used synonymously, but the latter also has other, more specific meanings. For instance, in its historical sense, lingua franca refers to a certain Romance-based jargon that was once used for interethnic communication in the Mediterranean area. Sometimes, the term seems to carry connotations of conspicuously non-native, less skilled and less sophisticated language use (see e.g. Lingua Franca: Chimera or Reality? 2011); or, as Phillipson (2008) points out, the apparently neutral term lingua franca can be used to conceal the linguistic hegemony of English. Cherubim (2006) has sought to define the term Verkehrssprache (‘vehicular language’) as a language that is used in certain established contexts and situations and that symbolically represents or is associated with certain social practices. This definition, too, has its problems. Most notably, vehicular languages are used not only in the public sphere but

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

also as vehicles of private communication; for instance, in interethnic personal relationships. In practice, it is impossible to separate the public and private uses of languages in a clear and constant way. Cherubim’s definition is also challenged by the fact that a vehicular language need not have an official status, a standardised literary form or institutional support. A case in point is Meänkieli in Northern Sweden (or its precedents, which can linguistically be called Finnish of the Far North); it was often used in the 19th and 20th century as the vehicular language between native speakers of Meänkieli/Finnish/Kven, Sámi and even Swedish within the Laestadian religious revival movement. 5

1.3.3 What makes a minority? The term minority (even language minority) has its controversies as well. Firstly, as amply attested in sociolinguistic literature, defining minority groups and setting criteria for a group membership is a very complicated matter (for an introduction and further references, see e.g. Gorter, 2006, 2007; Extra 2007). Secondly, ethnic and linguistic identities and affiliations can be approached and understood in various ways; the definitions and labels that are used are often connected to a variety of personal, emotional, social and political factors. For instance, some of the people who were interviewed in ELDIA resented the term minority. In the Austrian case study, it became obvious that many Hungarian informants clearly preferred the official term Volksgruppe, ‘ethnic group’, to Minderheit, ‘minority’, and the latter was often experienced to be loaded with negative connotations. Similarly, many Sámi informants preferred to be identified as an indigenous people rather than as members of a minority. And several Karelian interviewees in Finland shared the opinion of the young lady who explained how for her the term ‘minority’ implies being ‘worth somewhat less’: no se tietty kielivähemmistö sana ni sit- minä vierastan sitä että, jos verrattaan sitte, ois ollu karjala sitte semmosie vähän alempiarvosie muihi suomalaisii verrattuna. tuloo tuosta sanasta mulle miellee et ‘well, I shun the very word language minority, if we compare-, like Karelian would have been of a bit less of value in comparison to other Finns. That’s what the word makes me think.’ (Sarhimaa, 2015) The term minority has not been defined precisely even in international human-rights law, although there is a considerable agreement about its legal components (see proposals by Capotorti, 1977; Deschenes, 1985; Eide, 1993; Jackson-Preece, 2013, 2014). The lack of terminological precision was one of the major deficits in international conventions

Introduction

15

such as the International Convenant on Civil and Political Rights by the United Nations (esp. Art 27) and Council of Europe treaties, which were examined in the legal analyses conducted during ELDIA. The conventions do not give any exclusive and full definitions of the term minority, and such definitions cannot be found in the national legislation of any of the countries covered by ELDIA. What is generally agreed upon is that the definition has to consist of objective as well subjective elements; that is, that the definitions should refer to objectively observable characteristics as well as to subjective elements such as people’s self-identification, a sense of group solidarity and the wish to preserve the culture or language. Despite the general acceptance of what should constitute the criteria, practices and regulations in the different European states differ widely, as also shown in the ELDIA studies.

1.3.4 Different types of minorities: Old and new, indigenous, autochthonous, migrant... Although minority languages in practice are often divided into regional (‘old’, ‘traditional’) and immigrant (‘new’) ones, this distinction is far from clear (cf. Gorter, 2007: 157). This is evident especially in cases of long-lasting and continuous migration. One example is provided by the Hungarians in Vienna, who are mostly post-World War II immigrants or their descendants but also represent a centuries-old migration pattern and the continuous presence of Hungarianness in Austria. ‘New’, ‘immigrant’ or allochthonous minorities6 cover a broad range of positions in relation to the majority nation and other minority groups, and the extent to which they receive attention and are present in the public discourse varies greatly. ‘Old’ or ‘traditional’ (regional) minorities are covered by the terms autochthonous and indigenous, both of which can be problematic. Indigenous, in the sense of the ILO Conventions 107 and 169 and the United Nations Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues7, relates to elements such as ‘historical continuity with pre-colonial and/or pre-settler societies’, ‘distinct language, culture, and beliefs’, and a non-dominant position in society – in other words, this concept is closely linked to the consequences of colonialism and the colonisation of non-European areas by European states. In Europe, the Sámi are often called ‘the only recognised indigenous people of the European Union’. This status is sometimes contested by other Northern minorities, viz. the Kven in Norway and the Meänkieli speakers in Sweden, as it – according to some activists – seems to create a hierarchy of minorities in which the indigenous Sámi enjoy a special protection. There have been debates as to whether the Kven and the Meänkieli speakers should also be treated as indigenous peoples alongside the Sámi (cf. Räisänen, forthcoming; Arola et al., forthcoming). Moreover, there are no internationally accepted or applied criteria as to what counts as

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

a colonialism experience; minorities of the Russian empire and the former Soviet Union are seldom mentioned in this context, even if some of them look back to a history of colonisation and dispossession very similar to that of, for instance, the indigenous peoples of the Americas. The term autochthonous has been used in ELDIA research to cover all ‘old’ or ‘traditional’ minorities that do not necessarily fulfil the criteria of ‘indigeneity’. The terminological distinction between indigenous and autochthonous, however, is unclear and does not exist in all languages. Autochthonous minorities are ethnic groups that have inhabited their traditional regions ‘from time immemorial’, that is, since the beginning of proper historical documentation. This criterion, of course, is anything but exact as well; as mentioned above, the border between ‘old’ and ‘new’ minorities can also be fuzzy. Another important and terminologically problematic distinction is often made between ‘roofless’ language varieties (in the German tradition: dachlos; e.g. Haarmann, 2005), which are not used as a state language or an official language anywhere, as opposed to languages that have a ‘linguistic homeland’, ‘kin state’8 or ‘patronage state’ (Offe, 1996), i.e. languages that are used as official or state languages in another country. As will be seen in the case studies in Chapter 3, languages with a kinstate seem in general to be in a stronger position. However, the statuses of languages may change and be contested, and kin-state support can also turn out to be politically problematic and counterproductive. The discussion on kin-states is connected to the distinction between territorial and non-territorial languages. Non-territorial languages, in particular under the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages, are languages that do not have any clear and historical link to a particular territory; the languages of the Roma minorities in Europe are often mentioned as an example of this. Typically, non-territorial languages have a weaker legal and institutional position, which means less protective measures. From the point of view of the language speakers and their rights, the reasons for this distinction may be difficult to understand, except perhaps from the perspective of Realpolitik: Bilateral reciprocity solutions have often been used as basis for minority protection (Spiliopoulou Åkermark, 2010). In order to avoid being trapped within the strict dichotomies described above and endless domestic debates about which term is the most appropriate, ELDIA researchers, while regularly using the terms minority and majority (and occasionally also target group and control group), also use the term ‘language-based community’ (or ‘speech community’). This term has the advantage of being independent of debates about power relations and legal status. However, it can dangerously simplify the complicated reality, as it suggests a homogeneous group with a collective identity, a sociogeographic unity or concentration and a link between each group and its language (the ‘ethnolinguistic assumption’). In reality, speech communities

Introduction

17

are often fragmented or dispersed and and seldom operate in only one language. In some language-based communities, a considerable share of the members does not fluently master the heritage language at issue any more, although they may symbolically identify themselves with it (see Allardt et al., 1979). Keeping in mind all these terminological issues, it is important not to lose sight of what is really at stake: the wish of all minority language communities to maintain and develop their languages, and the multilingual realities in which their members live. As will be shown in this book, these multilingual realities can only be understood if multilingualism itself is understood in a broader and more flexible way.

1.4 From the Monolingual Bias to a Broad Understanding of Multilingualism and Diversity: The ELDIA Approach How can you investigate multilingualism if you do not have the time and staff for detailed observations of how languages are really used in everyday life? Our solution in the ELDIA project was to carry out empirical research on speakers’ and outsiders’ attitudes and experiences. Trying to diminish the effects of the monolingual bias that we harshly criticise above, we implemented a variety of strategies, which will be described in this chapter. We will also show here that in order to really understand what multilingualism means in today’s Europe, a few central concepts need to be redefined. And, as we already hinted in Section 1.2, the prevailing understanding of multilingualism needs to be re-oriented: We will show here that language and education policies suffer from the monolingualism bias as well, and that this affects speakers of minority languages especially severely. In brief, what we want to make clear here is that the diversity of language resources and the ways in which languages are used is increasing. To cope with these developments, new approaches to language diversity are urgently needed.

1.4.1 ELDIA strategies for avoiding the monolingual bias: Acknowledge diversity, respect speakers’ choices and avoid the ‘Mother Tongue Mystique’ During the project, we did not have the time or human resources for a detailed linguistic analysis of the new empirical data or the interviewees’ actual language use. However, the results of the questionnaire surveys showed that the members of the investigated language-based communities

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

are bi- or multilingual to varying extents, have varying language skills and employ diverse multilingual patterns of language use. Acknowledging the built-in multilingualism of the target communities as well as of the entire nation-state societies where our minorities live played a central role in all our communication with interviewees, language activists and representatives of minority organisations. One of the leading thoughts of our research was that it is a good thing to be multilingual, and that using two or more languages in any context is a normal mode of communication. In our field research, we consciously and consequently attempted to bring these points through to our partners and informants. In practice, this meant that (i) the survey questionnaires were distributed in both the minority and the majority language and the respondents were explicitly instructed to choose whichever they wanted;9 (ii) the interviews were typically conducted by bilingual fieldworkers who made it clear that the informants could use either their heritage language or the majority language, and that they could also switch between languages during the interview; (iii) the questionnaires allowed the respondents to name more than one language as their first or native language; (iv) many survey questions pertaining to the heritage language of the minority were accompanied by a similar question about the local majority language, or even about further relevant languages such as English, other languages taught at school or other (minority) languages of the region. The underlying idea was to indicate that we were not only interested in the minority language but in the respondents’ multilingual life and language choices; (v) when conducting interviews, we also emphasised that our research is about the coexistence of languages and about how Europeans use ‘their languages’, irrespective of whether these languages were acquired in childhood or learned later in life; (vi) finally, we explicitly avoided highlighting the distinction between the ‘mother tongue’ and ‘other’ or ‘foreign languages’.

1.4.2 Multilingualism means more than just the coexistence of languages In the early days of the ELDIA project, we defined the term multilingualism as ‘the parallel use of national and/or regional/minority languages alongside one or more international vehicular language(s)’. The definition sought to direct attention to the ‘mosaic multilingualism approach’ (cf. Spolsky, 2004: 173): the idea of the coexistence of languages as parallel, autonomous systems complete in themselves (‘languageness’,

Introduction

19

cf. Section 1.1.2). During the project, however, we realised that the definition had at least two severe limitations. Firstly, it became ever clearer to us that languages in reality do not merely exist as parallel, independent systems. As already described in Sections 1.2.2 and 1.2.3, languages are internally diverse, language borders are sometimes fuzzy and contested, and the demarcation of languages can be a real problem. Multilingual individuals do not necessarily regard their languages as distinct, separate systems. In some of the ELDIA case studies, the demarcation issues were too obvious to be ignored. For instance, in the questionnaires for Meänkieli and Kven, we had to give multiple labels for the heritage language at issue (‘from whom did you first learn Kven/Finnish?’), because not all speakers agree about the language being separate and distinct from Finnish. Secondly, it became obvious that individual multilingualism and societal multilingualism are two different dimensions, which cannot be conflated. Most notably, multilingualism from the point of view of an individual is not just a question of settings and contexts (‘can I use language X or language Y in speech and in writing, at home, with my friends or at my workplace, etc.?’). We must also ask how and to what degree individuals are able and willing to use the languages they know. This kind of individual multilingualism is today referred to as ‘plurilingualism’ (for a discussion of the term and further references, see e.g. Coste et al., 2009). Many Europeans are used to dividing languages into vehicular ones – languages that are learned through education and used also in formal and inter-group communication, languages that ‘one can expect others to learn and to know’ – and ‘non-vehicular’ languages, which are typically acquired at home, used for group-internal communication and seldom learned by outsiders. Learning vehicular languages, often in formal education, creates ‘acquired multilingualism’, which is typical of speakers of state languages (for instance, German speakers in Germany or Estonian speakers in Estonia who have learnt English or French at school). In contrast, ‘native multilingualism’, the acquisition of many languages in childhood, often without formal education, is typical of modern minorities. As stated already in Section 1.1.1, acquired and native multilingualism are often treated differently in European language policies: the former as an acknowledged goal of education policies that concern the whole population, the latter as a ‘handicap’ of ethnic minorities (often in a certain region). Yet, as we argued above, there is no clear distinction between these two as there is no sharp border between ‘vehicular’ and ‘non-vehicular’ languages (unstandardised and weakly codified languages can also have vehicular use), and the border between mother-tongue acquisition and language learning is also contested. Speakers themselves

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may see their multiple languages, acquired in different contexts, as representing the same dimension. This interviewee of the ELDIA case study on Veps had probably already acquired Veps and Russian in childhood as the main languages of his environment, but he also knows Finnish (possibly learnt in formal education but also supported by the close relatedness between Finnish and Veps) and even some English. He uses the same spatial metaphor, equally, for all of them: –

– –

minä tedan miše, konz ühten kelen tedad sinä oled, miččiš a ningomiš kuti sindai ühtes sijas ištud, honuses, a konz äi kelid nece om jo, äihonusine fater, sinä void kävelta, ((laughing)) ka, minai om koume honused fateras i völ nece kut hän tualet, ((laughing)) englan- kel’, ((laughing)) sikš ku hän pen’ völ om i tedad tedad. vähäižen redukaz mugažo ka, konz opendan, aigoin tegen hänesespäi miččen-ni suremban honusen

‘I know that when you know one language you are sitting like in one place, in one room. But when there are many languages, it’s already an apartment with many rooms, you can walk, [laughing] right. I have three rooms in my apartment and then a toilet, [laughing] the English language. Because it’s still small, you know.’ (Interviewer: ‘A bit dirty, too.’) ‘Yes. When I study, I will maybe make kind of a bigger room out of it.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 149)

1.4.3 The prevailing narrow view on multilingualism as a problem for language education and language policies in general The fact that European language policies tend to treat ‘vehicular’ and ‘non-vehicular’ (minority) languages differently has an interesting consequence for language education from the point of view of minorities. In practice, it means that minorities are affected by both general (often nationwide) language education policies and specific (often regional) ethnopolitical measures, and these two can form parallel systems that are based on a different logic. For instance, in many European countries, minority and immigrant children have the right to a certain amount of language (mother-tongue) classes in their heritage language (as a subject). However, these classes, unlike the vehicular (‘foreign’) language classes, which are in principle meant for all students alike, are not always a regular part of the school curriculum. Sometimes they are organised outside regular school hours or even at another location, and participating

Introduction

21

in them means an extra investment of time and effort for children and even their parents. Paradoxically enough, although European language policies may take a fundamentally different approach to ‘international’ vehicular and ‘ethnic’ minority or migrant languages, they can also force them into the same mould and make them compete for resources. In other words, language policies fail to understand both the similarities and the differences between different types of multilingualism. When it comes to resources and the motivation for and legitimation of language learning, minority languages can suddenly find themselves competing with ‘international’, ‘useful’ vehicular languages in a very uneven match, as an interviewee in the ELDIA case study on Veps put it: Interviewer: voiži-k tehta školas vepsän grupan, kenespäi ripub miše ii tehta ‘Is it possible to form a group for Veps in the school? On whom does it depend that it is not done?’ RU-VEP-IIAG3f: norile mamoile i tatoile, konz sanuba tahtod-ik sinä miše sinun laps’ opendaiži kel’t, hö sanuiba, ku hot’ hö oma vepsläižed i babad. hö sanuba mikš, min täht nece kel’. kel’ meide vepsän kel’ tariš küläs, a muite nikuna ei tari. i hö ku linneb valičuz anglian kel’ opendaškandeb laps’ vai vepsän kel’, kaik sanuba anglian kel’t. mikš lapsele vepsän kel’ ‘When you ask young parents whether they would like their children to study Veps, they say they are Veps and so are the grandmothers. They ask: why, what is this language for. The Veps language is only needed in the village but nowhere else. And when they have to choose whether their child will study English or Veps, everyone chooses English. What does the child need Veps for?’ (Puura et al., 2013: 176–177) European minority language policies – as shown in the ELDIA case studies as well – often fail to support the multilingualism of minorities in an adequate and efficient way. Heritage languages are sometimes taught as part of the ethnocultural component of the curriculum (as in Russian Karelia; Karjalainen et al., 2013: 188) or ‘local lore’ (as in the case of Võro in Estonia; Koreinik, 2013b: 24). However, this kind of language teaching may be ‘characterised by the language being more of a hobby than a true and modern vernacular language’ (as Puura et al., 2013: 51 state for Veps in Russia). In other words, while major vehicular languages are taught for communicative skills, the teaching of minority languages may have completely different, more diffuse goals. At the same time, it may also be the case that minority languages are described, regulated and taught even to members of their ‘own’

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communities as foreign languages. This may be due to the heterogeneity of teaching groups, as in Burgenland, Austria, where the officially GermanHungarian bilingual teaching groups meant for the Hungarian minority can include practically monolingual German-speaking children (BerényiKiss et al., 2013: 35). More generally, it seems that language (education) policies are often unable to deal with the concept and category of heritage language learners, language students who are neither native speakers in the traditional sense nor typical second-language learners. So far, there is very little if any teaching material planned for heritage-language learners, nor are their needs catered for in European education systems or teacher training (see also Csire & Laakso, 2014). This might be one of the reasons why the ambitious bilingual two-way immersion model in the Prekmurje area in Slovenia has not lived up to its goals; it does not make Slovenianspeaking school children functionally bilingual in Hungarian, nor does it adequately support the language maintenance of the Hungarian minority (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013: 41–43). In all, ELDIA research helped us understand that we need a more diversified approach to multilingualism as a phenomenon. This is all the more important as many nation-state languages in today’s Europe are now facing the danger of domain loss. So far, this has happened to a lesser extent, but the process itself is not unlike what many minority languages have been experiencing for a long time: Global English is increasingly replacing state languages such as German, French, Hungarian, Swedish or Finnish in the international domains of science, technology and business (for a detailed case study on the importance of English in Finland today, see Leppänen et al., 2011). National language policies or strategies sometimes explicitly identify the ‘rapid internationalization of cultural space, including the emergence of English as the most important language of communication’ (Development plan of the Estonian Language 2011–2017: 11) as a threat to the national language, or emphasise that the parallel use of national languages alongside English in science and business must be specifically supported and encouraged (Declaration on a Nordic Language Policy: 93–94). Under the circumstances created by globalisation, nationwide monolingualism in the national language becomes less and less viable. Therefore, maintaining linguistic diversity means supporting a functional and stable multilingualism involving both (one or more) native/heritage languages and (one or more) vehicular languages. This applies to majorities and minorities alike. We must learn how languages can coexist.

1.4.4 Superdiversity: New layers in the European diversity of languages and identities The entire ELDIA project evolved as a reaction to the rapid changes that are currently affecting the social dynamics of languages in Europe.

Introduction

23

Linguistic diversity and language contacts, contacts between people who speak or identify themselves with different languages, and experiences of coping with such situations are not just an essential part of the European cultural heritage; diversity and experiences of diversity are the stuff of everyday life for millions of Europeans today. There have always been minorities and migration and diverse and shifting local, regional and international vehicular languages. In the course of globalisation, the nature of European language diversity seems to be changing into what Vertovec (2007) calls super-diversity. Although this precise term was not used in our original project plans, the ELDIA research design follows a very similar line of thought. In what follows, we shall elucidate the ELDIA research ideology, first paying special attention to the effects of globalisation and internationalisation of European societies in terms of super-diversity and the diversification of communication resources, before proceeding to our understanding of European multilingualism as the ‘diversity of diversities’. Blommaert and Rampton (2011: 2) define super-diversity as ‘characterised by a tremendous increase in the categories of migrants, not only in terms of nationality, ethnicity, language, and religion, but also in terms of motives, patterns and itineraries of migration, processes of insertion into the labour and housing markets of the host societies, and so on’. As a consequence, ‘the predictability of the category of “migrant” and of his/her sociocultural features has disappeared’ and the traditional ‘ethnic minorities’ paradigm cannot fully capture the existing diversity any more. Individuals living in a super-diverse world do not necessarily categorise themselves as members of territorial minority or migrant communities that are clearly based on language and ethnicity (‘I’m a Karelian from Salmi’, ‘I’m an Estonian living in Germany’) and as distinct from the majority population. People, as also confirmed in our ELDIA results, have multiple, fluid and overlapping identities. While claiming to take pride in their ethnic origins and their heritage language, they may simultaneously strive for integration and assimilation. Assimilation, in turn, is often accelerated by formal education in the dominant language and/or in major vehicular languages, as the Finno-Ugric minorities in Russia testify. Despite symbolic identification with and paying lip service to the beauty and value of the heritage language, even minority-language activists and language professionals (teachers, writers, etc.) may choose to communicate with their own children in the majority language only (see e.g. Kampf, 2005). Due to the development of technology and education systems, communicative resources (languages, writing systems, language technologies) become mobile and accessible to an increasing number of people in an unprecedented variety of forms and genres. At the same time, mobility (propelled by urbanisation, education and new

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work opportunities) may render the traditional territorial definitions of minorities questionable. For instance, of the Sámi in Finland, the majority now lives outside the traditional and administrative Sámi area to which the language law specifically applies (for a detailed case study, see Aikio-Puoskari, 2009). In Austria, although the Hungarians of Burgenland are officially defined as an ethnic minority with a special status granting them some visibility (signage) and the right to use their language in certain contexts, there are no monolingually Hungarian villages, neighbourhoods or settlements any more. Thus, instead of living and communicating as native speakers in traditional (often mainly oral) communication modes in a prevalently unilingual speech community that is conspicuously distinct from its neighbours (e.g. ‘Veps-speaking village in Russia’, ‘Chinatown’), today’s minorities live amidst a superdiversity of language resources.

1.4.5 What the ELDIA case studies reveal of the diversity of diversities in Europe With its numerous old and new minority and vehicular languages and with new contexts and modalities of language use in education, work, media, and communication, Europe exhibits an increasing diversity of language resources. It is becoming customary to speak of diversity of languages as a dimension in itself and as a goal of European language policies. This talk of diversity, however, may hide very different realities in which languages are spoken and used, and different minorities can see ‘diversity’ and concepts related to it, such as ‘multilingualism’, in very different ways. One of the central ideas in the ELDIA research design was to see through the surface of concepts such as ‘diversity’ by comparing language-based communities that represent maximally different types. The analysis of our data showed that we cannot speak of ‘diversity’ as a single dimension: In comparing European minorities, we are dealing with a diversity of diversities. As an example of two maximally different minorities, we will use here Karelians in Finland and Russia and Hungarians in Austria. The boundary between Karelian and Finnish has long been contested for political rather than linguistic reasons. Therefore, Karelian was only recently recognised as a minority language in Finland, where it had been regarded as merely a dialect of Finnish. In Russia, the exceptionally capricious language policy during the 20th century prevented the development of a viable Karelian standard language as well. In both countries, Karelian is characterised by significant dialectal variation. Due to that, Karelian is currently cultivated in writing in four different forms, and the discussion of creating a common literary standard has not yet led to any concrete results. Practically all Karelians are bilingual

Introduction

25

in the dominant language (Finnish or Russian), and Karelian is mainly used as the spoken vernacular in the private sphere. This means that Karelian speakers today do not necessarily regard Karelian as a clearly definable system with clear ‘rules’, and some of them – in particular, some Karelians in Finland who have internalised the views of Karelian as ‘merely a dialect’ – may even think of Karelian as something ‘less than a real language’, a mode of communication that mainly exists in relation to other, dominant languages. Hungarian, in contrast, has a written tradition dating back to the Middle Ages. It is the full-scale official language of an exceptionally monolingual European nation-state: Almost two-thirds of the population of Hungary cannot maintain a conversation in a language other than Hungarian.10 Although the vernacular language has since 1920 been spoken in six to nine countries and correspondingly developed into different directions, the variations between dialects are not very substantial. Hungarian linguistic culture is fairly prescriptivistic, and the education system strengthens and reproduces the idea of the ‘correct’, ‘real’ Hungarian language as a clearly bounded entity. Karelian borders on the closely related language of Finnish in the north-west and Veps in the south-east. Actually, Finnish, Karelian and Veps dialects form a fairly smoothly running language continuum, and especially in the border areas between the languages, many speakers have experiences of ‘partly understanding’ a language which is ‘almost like ours’ – in practice, they can easily become functionally multilingual or communicate in multilingual modes or using mixed codes. Hungarian, on the contrary, is a ‘quasi-isolate’ without any close linguistic relatives and is conspicuously different from all its neighbours; there is no ‘almostHungarian’ language, and for Hungarian speakers, becoming functionally multilingual typically means investing a lot of time and effort in language learning. Regardless of what Hungarian speakers and Karelian speakers think and state about their different languages, concepts such as ‘correct’ language use or multilingualism are understood by them in completely different societal, cultural and linguistic frameworks. When asked, for instance, whether and how easily they can use Karelian or Hungarian in different occasions or domains, they may think in terms of entirely different scopes of use. For example, ‘using the language at school’ means a different thing for a first-generation Hungarian migrant who has been raised in a completely Hungarian-language education system (or even for a second-generation Hungarian migrant who knows that in Hungary such a system exists) than for a Karelian who has experienced Karelian at school in the best case scenarios as a (marginal and optional) subject, or not at all. Considering the diversity of diversities from this point of view, even a project like ELDIA, which very consciously aimed at a maximal

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compatibility and comparability of the case studies by throughout employing a unified and highly structured methodological approach, could ultimately reach only part of its most ambitious goals.

1.5 Minority and Majority Relationship Through the Mirror of Media Contents Have you ever come to think about how much the readers of majority-language media actually learn about the life of heritagelanguage speakers? Do they even know that these people live in the same society? What are the images of minorities that the media presents to those who only follow majority-language media? Do the media support the idea of a viable multilingualism, or do they rather use their power to reinforce the image of minorities as mere relicts of vanishing cultures? How about the minority-language media – do they encourage language learning? Do they appeal to young people and spread the idea that multilingualism is modern and that mastering many languages is possible? In what follows, we will show how the media produces and reproduces power relationships between majority- and minoritylanguage communities. We also will discuss the crucial role that the media plays in promoting as in disturbing efforts of maintaining and empowering minority languages in different societies. In contrast to postcolonial and other research traditions stressing the ‘otherness’ of groups that deviate from the majority or the socially dominant group, in ELDIA, the investigated minority groups were approached as an organic, natural and completely ‘normal’ part of the society in question. Our research design also sought to do justice to the active agency of both the minority and the majority in the processes constructing the societal context for the maintenance of a given minority language. As pointed out earlier, the ultimate goal of ELDIA was to increase understanding about the interaction between minorities and majorities in a variety of multilingual settings. Given the central role that the media in general plays in societal discourses today, one of the main foci in our research came to be the analysis of media discourses. In brief, the ELDIA media discourse analysis aimed at contributing to understanding the role of multilingualism and the position of minoritylanguage communities in the respective societal contexts. The hypothesis was that the media produces and reproduces power relationships between majority and minority language communities and plays a crucial role in furthering or hindering language maintenance. The media discourse analysis was carried out in six out of the eight countries where ELDIA case studies were conducted: Austria, Estonia,

Introduction

27

Finland, Norway, Russia and Sweden. Germany and Slovenia were left out for technical reasons: The Estonians in Germany are a minority too small and too dispersed to receive any attention in majority media, while a media analysis in Slovenia would have required additional resources and would have probably brought little new information in addition to the media analysis that was conducted on the Hungarian minority in Austria. In each case, the media analysis concentrated on the nationwide media but addressed especially issues concerning the minority communities investigated in ELDIA. Both majority and minority media were analysed. The empirical material was drawn from daily and weekly newspapers and, if there were no or too few newspapers available, information brochures, leaflets and materials drawn from the internet, such as regularly appearing blogs, were used to complete the material. In order to gain maximally comparable reports for each country, the researchers responsible for the media discourse-analysis case studies were instructed to faithfully follow a research manual created for the purpose of the study.11 The manual included questions to be addressed concerning the media material as well as advice on how to deal with the vast amount of material. Researchers were also instructed to provide illustrative examples and quotations concerning legislation, education, media, and language use and interaction. The research frame for analysing the minority and the majority media was identical. The key questions of media discourse analysis can be summarised as follows: (1) How are minorities discussed/characterised in the majority/minority media? (2) What kinds of positions are given to majority and minority media and how they position themselves and each other in the media landscape and society in general? (3) How do majority/minority media inform the public about what is going on in the field of intergroup relations? (4) Is the language maintenance thematised in the media and how it is discussed? Who is given the responsibility to act on behalf of the minority? (5) What kinds of roles and functions are assigned to majority/minority languages in the media? In general, sociological media analysis is primarily interested in the contents – in pieces of texts. The research questions are formed on the basis of social rather than linguistic issues (see e.g. Fairclough, 1995; van Dijk, 1993). Text, oral as well as written, is defined broadly as a set of meanings that has the task of transmitting a message (van Leeuwen, 2008; Moring & Husband, 2007). The message, then, is something that is meant

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to be shared with others. In other words, content analysis aims at revealing what a given text seeks to communicate, that is, what the message is that the text distributes. The focus in the analysis is therefore neither on the author of the text nor on how the recipient understands the message but on what the text actually says. In ELDIA, the critical discourse analysis (CDA) methodology was chosen. Language use was, in our analysis, regarded as a social force, and social problems were defined as the object of study (see also van Dijk, 2008). Studying texts through CDA made it possible to reveal unequal power relations embedded in them as well as to uncover attempts to legitimise or question these power relations. CDA is a flexible tool that can be used for large quantitative studies as well as for pinpointing qualitative studies. When the content analysis is declared to be a critical one, it means that societal power relations are included in the analysis of the media texts (Wodak & Meyer (eds), 2009). The effort is then made to locate power in the social practices dealt with or discussed in the texts. Consequently, the focus of the analysis is on uncovering disproportionate power relationships. The researchers paid particular attention to (a) macro-semantic structures (topics and main arguments); (b) relevant implicit and indirect meanings (implications, omissions, vagueness, polarisations); (c) lexical choices, especially in naming, describing, grammatical choices (for instance, passive or active verb forms), etc. Photos and other pictures that had been used as illustration in the texts that we analysed were discussed as a part of the main text only if they adduced some additional or contradictory information to the information in the text itself; for instance, if the text is about a new computer game in a minority language and is accompanied by a photo of an elderly person in traditional folk costume. The goal of the media discourse analysis in ELDIA was to produce information on how languages, in particular minority languages and their language-based communities, are represented in the majority and the minority media. Considering the above-mentioned role of media in transmitting and legitimising power relations (Johnson & Milani, 2009), the ultimate goal of our media analysis was to shed light on the position of the minority languages and the linguistic situation in the society of the country or region at issue. Thus, the media analysis complemented the picture created by the other analyses conducted in ELDIA (desk research, questionnaire survey, interviews). The results of the media analysis for each language community are summarised in the sections of Chapter 3.

Introduction

29

1.6 Analysing Laws and Policies: Beyond Law as a Mere Formality No matter what people may think, laws alone cannot rescue a language, and language policies cannot guarantee that laws are properly implemented in administrative practices. Nevertheless, legislation can limit or broaden the spectrum of choices that people have, and this also applies to choices of languages. Laws and legislation are not only complex, they can also contain inbuilt contradictions or gaps. One way of making these visible is to analyse laws and regulations from the perspective of the users – those people who need and use the support or protection that legislation offers to them. Such an analysis can help lawmakers understand and amend problems and gaps in legislation, but it will also help the ‘end users’ understand the contents of the laws that affect their life and their use of languages. Language is not a simple matter, and language legislation cannot always be simple either. But even if language laws are complex and complicated, they should be understandable to the users, and they should be applied in a consistent manner. Otherwise, the complexity of the laws will work against the laws themselves. Legal and institutional research in ELDIA contributed to the core goals of the project in two main ways. First of all, the analyses of legal and institutional documents aimed at revealing institutionalised attitudes that result from political processes and compromises and are reflected in legislation as well as in the implementation of the legislation. Analyses of legal and institutional documents reveal society-wide attitudes to languges, language communities and language policies. It is precisely these widely-shared attitudes that form the widest societal framework within which language minorities live and act. Hence, legal and institutional framework analyses12 not only formed the frame for the entire ELDIA project but also contributed to the general project goal of examining minority languages within wider societal discourses and strands (see Section 1.4). Secondly, our analyses of the legislative and administrative practices and the judicial implementation of language-related legislation made it possible to identify core actors and ‘focal points’ in framework for the maintenance of the languages. The analysis offers a deeper understanding of not only of the inherent attitudes embedded in the legal systems but also about the societal dynamics that affect the languages and the language communities that we studied. Methodologically, the legal and institutional analyses conducted in ELDIA propose a shift away from conflict-based models stressing the

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competition of intra-national and international ‘vehicular’ languages. Instead, we wanted to give space to the interactional and constructivist models highlighting societal dialogue and the joint agency of all involved in the construction, maintenance and reconstructions of contemporary social structures and cultural practices in Europe, including language use. For this reason, we have chosen to examine within the legal framework analyses the existing channels of participation for language communities, particularly in the shaping of language policies and legislation. The core scientific questions addressed in the ELDIA law studies were: (1) What role is played by law in the use or non-use of different languages in different domains? (2) What role is played by law in promoting or inhibiting language diversity? (3) Which of the factors related to legal and institutional matters influence language use, language maintenance and language diversity? The starting point of the legal and institutional analyses, derived from the general ELDIA research ideology, maintains that a great number of individuals around Europe use two or more languages in different domains and types of communication, within and across national borders. As has been argued by many researchers, monolingualism is so widely accepted as the norm in the Western world that it is often believed to be a dominant and global phenomenon. In contrast, our point of departure was that individuals speak and use languages at very different levels of proficiency, sometimes for purely functional, communicative reasons and on other occasions for symbolic reasons (i.e. for demarcation of identity, affiliation or distance). The importance of symbolic language use can be seen in the legislative field as well: Many language-based communities have set the symbolic recognition of their language as the major goal, even if they do not seem to aspire to a broad range of communicative uses for their ‘mother tongue’. The efforts of Karelian speakers in Finland and of Võro and Seto speakers in Estonia can be referred to as examples in this regard. And, last but not least, our understanding of multilingualism means that individuals and groups are seen as agents who constantly make linguistic choices between a wide range of varieties: styles, dialects, languages. The choices are influenced by personal as well as societal, domestic or trans-national contexts. Legislation, of course, is an important factor that can limit or broaden the spectrum of choices available to language speakers. The legal and institutional analyses were conducted in all eight countries. The scope of the analyses was on the whole national legal system, but an emphasis was laid on laws and regulations concerning the language-based community (communities) studied in each particular country and on how the laws and regulations are implemented in practice.

Introduction

31

So, for instance, in Norway, the focus was on legal, institutional and policy issues that concern the North Sámi and Kven languages. The legislation and policies were analysed with reference to the broader Norwegian legislation and institutional arrangements towards language, minorities, diversity and integration (see Granholm, 2012). The ELDIA legal and policy studies examined in particular legislation and policies in the fields of constitutional provision, education, language and media. The overall results of the ELDIA legal and policy work will be presented and contextualised in Section 4.2.

Notes (1)

In a famous interview, quoted by Grosjean (2013), Chomsky said that his choice for monolinguals is the same as for chemists who study pure H 2O and not other types of water that contain other substances. “The only way to deal with the complexities of the real world is by studying pure cases and trying to determine from them the principles that interact in the complex cases.” (2) Source: http://ec.europa.eu/languages/languages-of-europe/index_en.htm (accessed May 22, 2015). (3) http://www.elama.de/manifest.htm (accessed June 5, 2015). (4) Ämm can be interpreted as a discourse particle here, but it is also possible that the interviewee is first attempting to use the word ämmi, a Kven and North Finnish dialect word for ‘grandmother’. (5) Laestadianism is a Pietistic religious movement initiated by Lars Levi Laestadius (1800–1851), a clergyman in Swedish Lapland. Although Laestadians formally remain members of the Lutheran church, the movement draws a clear border between ‘true believers’ and outsiders, thus creating its own separate social networks within the national churches. Due to the important position of laymen as preachers and spiritual counsellors, local vernaculars and Meänkieli/Finnish in particular have played a central role in Laestadianism. (6) Note that the terms for ethnic groups originating from another area can gain negative connotations in the emotionally loaded discourse around migration issues, and this happens with different terms in different countries and language areas. For Greek or French language speakers, for instance, the term ‘allochthonous’ may be even more pejorative than ‘new’ or ‘immigrant’ groups or minorities, as it accentuates that the persons referred to are not ‘born’ here (an idea associated with ‘race’) or even ‘do not belong here’. (7) http://www.un.org /esa/socdev/unpfii/documents/5session_factsheet1.pdf (accessed April 6, 2013). – Note that in European debates on immigration, the term indigenous is sometimes used simply as an antonym to ‘immigrant’, that is, to denote all non-immigrants, majority nations and old minorities alike. (8) The term kin state is used and defined, for instance, in the EUROMOSAIC III report (Darquennes et al., 2004: 12-15). See also the Council of Europe Venice Commission Report on the Preferential Treatment of Minorities by their KinStates, adopted in October 2001 (Document CDL-INF(2001)19). (9) In some cases, even more than two language options were offered: In Finland the survey questionnaire was sent to all minority-survey respondents in four language versions, viz. in each of the three Karelian languages and in Finnish. As Finland has two national languages, Finnish and Swedish, the majoritysurvey questionnaire was distributed in two language versions as well. The

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only exception to the rule that questionnaires should be available in both the minority and the majority language was done in the fieldwork among Karelians and Veps in Russia. There, the survey was conducted in the form of so-called assisted questionnaire completion: Respondents filled in the questionnaire in the presence of a bilingual fieldworker who provided translations and clarifications whenever needed. (10) Eurobarometer survey of 2012, http://ec.europa.eu/public_opinion/archives/ebs/ ebs_386_en.pdf (accessed June 2, 2015). (11) The manual was created under the leadership of Dr Reetta Toivanen and with the assistance of Outi Tánczos, MA The researchers participated in one-day training in using the manual. (12) All legal and institutional framework analyses of the ELDIA project have been published in the series Working Papers in European Language Diversity (see the Bibliography and the references in the sections of Chapter 3).

2 European Language Vitality Barometer – A Novel Tool For Measuring the Degree of Language Maintenance at Group Level Whether people continue speaking a given language or whether they abandon it for a more useful, a more prestigious or a more powerful language depends on many factors. In this chapter, we will discuss what researchers have found out about the reasons why people give up the language of their ancestors. We also will discuss how the knowledge has been used to develop scales for measuring language endangerment and tools for assessing how well a language actually is maintained. Most notably, we will here briefly describe the European Language Vitality Barometer (EuLaViBar), the tool that we developed in the European Language Diversity for All (ELDIA) project, which offers a complete method for processing quantitative survey data into information about what needs to be improved in language policies and practices if a given language is to be rescued.

2.1 Investigating and Measuring Language Maintenance: Precedents to The EuLaViBar To start with a simple working definition, language maintenance refers to situations in which a group of speakers continues using its language at least to some extent in the face of competition from another language. Language shift refers to situations in which they do not. In the latter case, the speech community will gradually give up its language in most communication contexts in favour of another (typically more prestigious or culturally or politically dominant) language. In both cases, the contact situations are characterised by varying degrees of bilingualism among the members of at least one of the groups in contact. Studies concerned with language maintenance and shift have provided a lot of information on the diverse factors and societal forces which may

33

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support language maintenance. Of the maintenance-supporting factors mentioned in literature, those that can best be generalised over a wide variety of language contact situations include • • •

inter-generational language transmission within families; the collective will of a given group to maintain its language as an identity symbol; the continuous presence of extra-domestic domains where using the language at issue is not only possible but even necessary.

In earlier research, some other forces have been shown to have a generally negative effect on language maintenance, even though they may bring with them many other advantages. These factors include, first and foremost, geographical and social mobility, exogamy (mixed marriages), and urbanisation, which are often connected with the decay of traditional lifestyles and the striving for social upward mobility. On the other hand, modernisation in a wider sense has during the past two decades given rise to minority emancipation movements all over the world. These, in turn, have produced literary standards for many earlier non-standardised minority languages; this process, however, may also be counterproductive to maintenance efforts, especially if the new standard is for some reason not accepted by the speakers (see, e.g. Bennett et al., 1999; Bielenburg, 1999; Neely & Palmer, 2009). In general, while some factors usually promote language maintenance, others are ‘ambivalent’ in the sense that it has turned out that they have supported language maintenance in some cases but worked against it in others (Kloss, 1966; Clyne, 1991). In sum, language maintenance does not result from a clearly definable set of promoting factors but rather depends on the case-specific constellation of social variables and their interplay in a specific sociohistorical context. Alongside concrete recommendations for social actions, the efforts to develop methods and practices for effective language revitalisation have provided numerous models of language endangerment and revitalisation. The models include lists of critical factors, scales for identifying the degree of language endangerment and classifications of languages in danger.1 Of these tools, the methodologically closest to our efforts within the ELDIA project are those by Fishman (1991, 2001), Edwards (1992, 1995), the UNESCO Ad Hoc Expert Group on Endangered Languages (2003, 2009), Lewis (2008), Lewis and Simons (2010) and some of the recent work done within the paradigm of ethnolinguistic vitality studies. In what follows, we shall briefly introduce these approaches. The model of language endangerment and revitalisation that is probably most widely known is the graded intergenerational disruption scale (GIDS) by Fishman (1990, 1991). The GIDS provides an eight-point

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scale of endangerment, from almost-extinction to full maintenance, and gives concrete recommendations concerning social actions to be taken in order to reverse the ongoing language shift. As the name indicates, this scale highlights the role of intergenerational language transmission as the decisive factor, alongside literacy and whether the language is used in highprestige domains or not. Edwards’s 1992 framework for identifying the role of different variables in language maintenance consists of 11 perspectives for characterising the vitality of a group’s language: demography, economics, education, geography, history, linguistics, media, politics (political, law and government), psychology, religion and sociology. Each perspective is to be approached from three different viewpoints: that of the speakers, that of the language and that of the setting. The framework was elaborated by Grenoble and Whaley (1998), who suggested that at least one more perspective needs to be taken into account, viz. literacy, and that ‘setting’ should further be divided to a broader areal setting and to national, regional and local settings. Evidently, Edwards’s original framework as well as the extended framework has been successfully applied in many language maintenance studies over the decades (see, e.g. Yağmur, 1997; Grenoble & Whaley, 1998; Yağmur & Kroon, 2003). As in Fishman’s GIDS, intergenerational transmission is one of the six major factors included in the UNESCO Language Endangerment Framework formulated by the UNESCO Ad Hoc Expert Group on Endangered Languages in 2003 (UNESCO, 2003: 7–17). The other five major factors are the absolute number of speakers, the proportion of speakers within the total population, shifts in domains of language use, response to new domains and media and the availability of materials for language education and literacy (UNESCO, 2003). Alongside the five main factors, the measurement tool includes three other factors that allow the assessment of language attitudes and policies, community members’ attitudes towards their own language, and the amount and quality of documentation. The UNESCO framework also contains six-point grading scales for operationalising each of the factors and shows, especially in its lately revised version (UNESCO, 2011), many obvious similarities with some ELDIA operationalisations. The shortcomings of the GIDS and the UNESCO Framework (see e.g. Landweer, 2012; Lewis, 2006) led Lewis and Simons (2010) to develop the expanded graded intergenerational disruption scale (EGIDS). The EGIDS endangerment scale is more detailed than that of the GIDS, containing five more levels than the earlier model. As in the GIDS and in the UNESCO framework, the main foci of the EGIDS are language domains and intergenerational transmission. The EGIDS is primarily designed to be a tool for language planning (Lewis & Simons, 2010: 106), and it offers a very minimalist and practical method of assessing the level of language

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endangerment by answering five key questions. This model too has been criticised for being too static and for containing overlapping categories (Landweer, 2012). The concept of ‘vitality’ that also occurs in the name of the ELDIA barometer is most commonly connected to the social-psychological approaches to assessing ‘ethnolinguistic vitality’. The term was coined by Giles et al. (1977), who defined it as ‘that which makes a group likely to behave as a distinctive and collective entity within the intergroup setting’. The core idea is that the more ethnolinguistic vitality a group has, the better it is able to use its language to manifest its own identity when engaging in interaction with other groups, and thus the more likely it will be able to continue operating as a distinctive entity (Giles et al., 1977: 307–308). A few years later, Bourhis et al. (1981) complemented the theory by distinguishing between ‘objective’ and ‘subjective ethnolinguistic vitality’. Objective ethnolinguistic vitality can be assessed by means of demographic variables, status variables and variables indexical for institutional support. By ‘subjective ethnolinguistic vitality’, the authors referred to the perception that the group itself has of its own sustainability. The complemented framework for studying ethnolinguistic vitality and identities has been employed in numerous studies over the decades (see e.g. Ehala & Niglas, 2007 and the sources discussed therein). All tools that have been developed so far for assessing language vitality, maintenance or endangerment have the same ultimate goal, although the practical purposes for which they originally were created vary a lot. In all these approaches, the degree of endangerment can be investigated by paying attention (solely or among other scopes of interest) to • • • •

intergenerational language transmission; (actual) language use; the degree of institutional support (opportunities for language use; language products); the willingness of speakers to use the language in informal and formal domains.

These key factors also play the key role in the ELDIA approach, which will be explained in the following sections. However, the EuLaViBar differs from the other tools in two major respects: • •

It is based on a large-scale survey conducted among the members of a given language community. The degree of language maintenance and its vulnerability is assessed and illustrated with a barometer based on the survey results.

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2.2 The EuLaViBar in a Nutshell The EuLaViBar consists of four main devices: (1) a systematic method of data collection with a large-scale questionnaire survey, (2) a system for operationalising the survey results in regards to language maintenance or loss, (3) a calculation formula for analysing the survey data and (4) a polar diagram representing the results of the analyses in a graphic form. The current chapter concentrates on elucidating the theoretical and methodological basis of the barometer, while the technical instructions for creating the barometer for any language were published on the project website in 2013.2 The EuLaViBar Toolkit is freely downloadable for noncommercial use (Creative Commons 3.0) and consists of five parts: • • • • •

a practical guide to the EuLaViBar Tool; the survey questionnaire with which the empirical data is to be collected; an overview of the EuLaViBar scaling system, which provides the operationalization of the different types of answers to the survey questions; the statistical explanations of the scaling system; a template for creating the polar diagram and instructions on how to do this in practice.

Note that each language community in which language maintenance is threatened will face both general and individual challenges, and the critical reference points will probably vary in the degree of their importance to different languages. Hence, when later adapted to new contexts and other language situations, the barometer and the tools presented in the EuLaVibar Toolkit need to be adjusted case-specifically. The final representation of the results, that is, the polar diagram, summarises the very essence of the barometer in a visual form and serves thus as a good starting point for getting familiar with what the barometer is about: As Figure 1 shows, the polar diagram is divided into four quadrants representing four focus areas: ‘Capacity’, ‘Opportunity’, ‘Desire’ and ‘Language Products’. Each focus area is divided into sectors representing the dimensions of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal stripes), ‘Legislation’ (dots), ‘Media’ (vertical stripes) and ‘Education’ (squares). (For technical reasons, in this book the original colours of the sectors, changing into lighter and lighter shades towards the edges of the diagram, have been replaced with black-and-white patterns.) For each dimension, a numeric value on the language maintenance scale from 0 to 4 (see Section 2.3 below) is given and visualised with a black radius line; the longer the line and the sparser the pattern in the sector at the end of the line, the higher the value. The diagram thus serves to give a quick visual impression of which areas and aspects of language maintenance and use are in particular need of support.

Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

op po r

y cit pa 1.74

ty ni tu

ca

38

2.18

0.98 0.50

2.74

0.80 1.65

1.65

0.50

2.40

1.11

0.98

1.48

gu

ag

pr

2.66

od

uc

ir e

lan e

de

s

ts

Figure 1 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Finland

Note that the dimension ‘Education’ is not represented in the focus areas ‘Capacity’ and ‘Desire’. Languages can, in principle, be learnt and mastered even if they are completely absent from the education system, and the desire to use a language is, in principle, independent of whether the language can be studied formally or not. In practice, however, it seems that formal education often does promote speakers’ capacity and willingness to use the language. Specifically, the lack of the dimension ‘Education’ in the focus area ‘Desire’ was due to a flaw in the original survey questionnaire: While concentrating on finding out whether and to what extent the informants had attended language classes in the minority language, experienced the language as teaching medium or otherwise received information about it at school, we missed the possibility of measuring if they would want to have the education available. The idea of breaking language maintenance down into focus areas as well as the choice of the three aforementioned focus areas were inspired by François Grin’s (2003) three decisive conditions for language use: Speakers must have the capacity, opportunity and desire to use the language. For the EuLaViBar, these were (re)defined as follows: •

Capacity as a focus area of the EuLaViBar refers to the speakers’ subjective capacity, that is, their confidence in their competence to use the language.

European Language Vitality Barometer

• •

39

Opportunity covers the existing institutional arrangements (legislation, regulations at schools or workplaces, etc.) that allow for, support or prohibit the official, public and private use of the language. Desire refers here to speakers’ wish and readiness to use the language, also reflected in speakers’ attitudes and emotional reactions to the use of the language.

The fourth focus area, ‘Language Products’, covers all products and services available in the language at issue (material or immaterial: books, papers, web pages, news broadcasts, concerts, plays, localised software etc.), as well as the wish for them. The idea that the market economy–style interaction between the supply and demand of language products plays an essential part for language maintenance was inspired by Miquel Strubell’s (1999) ‘Catherine Wheel’ model. This model envisions a positive cause-and-effect chain serving the revitalisation of a language: The more products and services are available in the language at issue, the more interest and confidence regarding the usability and practical value of the language will ensue, which leads to increasing learning and use of the language and a growing demand for language products. The dimensions within the focus areas (the patterned sectors in Figure 1) represent not only different contexts of language use but also complex sets of factors influencing language use: • • •

•

Legislation: the existence of laws supporting the language at issue or multilingualism in general, the speakers’ knowledge (or beliefs) about these laws and their opinions on them; Education: all types and levels of education (language classes/courses and the use of a language in education); people’s opinions on, attitudes to and feelings about it; Media: all types of media (traditional, electronic, social and interactive media); media use, language(s) used in media, minority issues in majority media, existence, accessibility and types of minority media; Language use and interaction: how the languages are used in communication and social interaction in different situations, with different people, and so on.

For calculating the EuLaViBar scores, answers to the survey questions had to be assigned to one or more dimension(s) of the EuLaViBar and given a value on the language maintenance scale from 0 to 4. The scale will be described in the following chapter.

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2.3

The ELDIA Language Maintenance Scale

As already shown by Fishman’s GIDS and later endeavours inspired by it (see Section 2.1 above), language maintenance, vitality and endangerment scales relying on a solid scholarly knowledge can be created relatively simply. The real challenge, however, lies in developing a consistent system for evaluating the language-maintaining potency of those factors that have been defined as constitutive for each model at each level that it involves. The existing scales have often been criticised for including indicators that are too general and not clearly defined, as well as difficult to measure and assess; for overlaps among categories; and for the possibility of erroneous assumptions (see e.g. Obiero, 2010). There also are researchers who are fairly sceptical about language endangerment scales in general; generalisations across the diversity of language endangerment situations are problematic, and it might be impossible to assess the impact of indicators that themselves often do not easily yield to measurement. This chapter briefly explains ELDIA’s efforts to turn the survey data into numerical values that can be employed to indicate the degree of maintenance of the investigated languages. Following the ELDIA research agenda, and based on what is currently known about the factors that promote or restrict language maintenance, the speaker is placed as the main focus of the scholarly attention. In the light of all that is known about language maintenance and language shift, the vitality of a language should be measurable in terms of its speakers’ willingness and ability to use it, their opportunities to use it in a wide variety of public and private contexts, and whether they are supported by their society in attempts to develop it further and transfer it to the following generation. In an effort to operationalise this particular understanding of language vitality, we developed a scale for classifying the investigated languages (and endangered languages in general) in regard to the degree of their maintenance. The ELDIA language maintenance scale comprises five categories. Each category is characterised by a brief assertion on the state or the degree of language maintenance. In addition, a statement concerning the immediate measures that need to be taken in order to improve or to uphold the current state of the language is included. The five categories are described as follows: 0

Language maintenance is severely and critically endangered. The language is ‘remembered’ but not used spontaneously or in active communication. Its use and transmission are not protected or supported institutionally. Children and young people are not encouraged to learn or use the language.

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→Urgent and effective revitalisation measures are needed to prevent the complete extinction of the language and to restore its use. 1

Language maintenance is acutely endangered. The language is used in active communication at least in some contexts, but there are serious problems with its use, support and/or transmission to such an extent that the use of the language can be expected to cease completely in the foreseeable future. →Immediate effective measures to support and promote the language in its maintenance and revitalisation are needed.

2

Language maintenance is threatened. Language use and transmission are diminishing or seem to be ceasing at least among some groups within the community. If this trend continues, the use of the language may cease completely in the more distant future. →Effective measures to support and encourage the use and transmission of the language must be taken.

3

Language maintenance is achieved to some extent. The language is supported institutionally and used in various contexts and functions (also beyond its ultimate core area such as the family sphere). It is often transmitted to the next generation, and many of its speakers seem to be able and willing to develop sustainable patterns of multilingualism. →The measures to support language maintenance appear to have been successful and must be upheld and continued.

4

The language is maintained at the moment. The language is used and promoted in a wide range of contexts. The language does not appear to be threatened; nothing indicates that (significant amounts of) speakers would give up using the language and transmitting it to the next generation as long as its social and institutional support remains at the present level. →The language needs to be monitored and supported in a long-term perspective.

It is important to remember that the EuLaViBar presupposes the existence of a community that at least in a certain sense still ‘remembers’ the language. Thus, there is no ‘ground zero’ in the maintenance scale for languages that have lost all their uses (including receptive, ceremonial and ritualised uses) so that their revitalisation would require the complete reintroduction of the language into the language-related practices of the community at issue.

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The ELDIA language maintenance scale considers three crucial factors. Firstly, like Fishman’s GIDS and many other scales, the ELDIA scale emphasises the role of intergenerational language transmission. The second factor relevant for each level of the scale is language use: While problems with language use are characteristic of the most endangered categories (Levels 0 to 1), a language being maintained at the moment is characterised by its use in many domains (Levels 3 and 4). The middle category, Level 2, is an intermediate stage between language maintenance and endangerment; this is the level where the first serious symptoms of reduced transmission and use are attested. As the current trends in Swedish spoken in Finland show, the reduction of language transmission and use can be perceived as a real threat even for a language that enjoys extensive institutional support (see e.g. Leinonen and Tandefelt, 2007). Consequently, we decided to exclude institutional support from the definition of Level 2, although this factor is included in the description of all other levels. The third crucial factor of the ELDIA scale is the willingness to use and to develop the language at issue; this distinguishes Levels 3 and 4 from the other levels. The five levels form a continuum. In practice, it may sometimes be difficult to decide in which category a given language is to be classified. As the verbal descriptions of the levels seek to indicate, alarm signals of varying kinds can be read out of the scale: For instance, if a language is rated in a category between 0 and 2 (as in fact do several of the languages studied by ELDIA, see below), there is reason to be seriously concerned. The ELDIA scale was primarily developed on the basis of the case studies, and its immediate goal was to serve the operationalisation of the ELDIA survey data sets so that the figures for the case-specific barometer could be calculated. Naturally, the ELDIA scale was indirectly influenced by earlier scales and shows some superficial similarities with some of them. It resembles Kinkade’s (1992) typology of the indigenous languages of Canada and the Ethnologue Evaluative System for Language Vitality (from the 14th edition in 2000 onwards); all these comprise five categories. Many other scales contain 6 (UNESCO), 7 (Krauss, 2007), 8 (GIDS), or even 13 (EGIDS) levels. The key factors of the ELDIA scale – intergenerational language transmission, language use and the speakers’ willingness to use the language – are applied in the other scales in different forms and combinations as well. However, the ELDIA language maintenance scale differs from all other scales significantly in three respects. First, it operates with three major factors (transmission, use and institutional support); second, the category labels are given as statements concerning the degree of endangerment; and third, the definitions include a brief recommendation as to what needs to be done to improve or to maintain the current state of affairs.

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2.4 From Survey Data to the EuLaViBar: Making a Long Story Short As stressed above, EuLaViBar differs from the other existing tools for assessing language endangerment or maintenance in that it is based on empirical data gathered by way of an extensive survey. The survey was preceded by desk research resulting in ‘context analyses’. These were based on a centrally planned template and coordinated by Riho Grünthal (University of Helsinki); the context analyses are included in the published casespecific reports. The context analyses charted the existing research and the relevant sociolinguistic, sociohistorical and demographic data, identifying the possible gaps and central issues for further research. Some of the target groups had been researched very scarcely prior to the ELDIA studies. On some groups, however, extensive literature was available. Even languages such as Hungarian and Estonian had, however, mostly been studied within the framework of their respective national research traditions, and the results had usually been published in the national language. At the context analysis stage, the linguists responsible for the desk research also provided preliminary descriptions of the basic tenets of the legal frameworks. The descriptions were used to identify research gaps and thus to pave the way for the in-depth legal analyses that were conducted later in the project. Together with the pre-existing sociolinguistic knowledge about language maintenance and endangerment, the knowledge collected by the context analyses contributed to the composition of the ELDIA survey questionnaire. The questionnaire was translated into all the minority and majority languages involved, and the surveys were conducted with all target groups (as well as with control groups representing the majority3, see Section 2.5) in winter 2011–2012. More detailed information about the surveys – sampling procedures and the diverse issues with them, the practicalities of each field study, response rates, and so on – can be found in the abridged version of the ELDIA final report (Laakso et al., 2013) and in the case-specific reports. The target group questionnaire had six thematic sections: (A) biographical information, (B) background to language use, (C) language skills, (D) attitude towards various languages and willingness to use them, (E) language use in public and private domains, and (F) media consumption in different languages and the active use of the languages in the (modern) media. The biographical Section A consisted of six questions inquiring about the anonymous respondent’s age, birthplace (country, rural or urban), education and profession. Section B was designed to assess background information on language use, consisting of 21 questions inquiring about how the respondent had learned the minority and the majority language

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and about language use within the family domain and at school. This section also included three questions designed to assess the respondent’s general impression of the societal attitudes towards using the investigated minority language with children in her or his childhood. Sections C and D of the questionnaire were concerned with language skills and language use. Section C consisted of five questions and collected information on the respondents’ self-evaluated skills (speaking, understanding speech, reading and writing) in the minority language; the mainstream language; English; three other, case-specifically defined languages; and a language of the respondent’s own choice. Section D was designed to collect information on the respondents’ domain-specific language use in the same languages that were asked about in Section C. Twelve domains were predefined in the questionnaire: home, relatives, work, friends, neighbours, school, shops, street, library, church, public authorities and community events. Furthermore, the respondents had the opportunity to add one more domain. Section E investigated the respondents’ attitudes towards various languages and their willingness to use them. This was the largest and the most complex section in the target group questionnaire. The section consisted of 27 questions, many of them with a fair number of options and open-ended questions, which made it particularly challenging and time-consuming in the analysis phase. Section F was dedicated to language use in public and private domains and consisted of only two questions: whether efforts are currently made to revitalise the minority language, and how widely the minority language is used in 15 different public domains (e.g. parliament, police station, tax office, education, TV, etc.). Section G consisted of two questions and collected information on the respondents’ media consumption in different languages (the same selection as in Sections C and D) and their active use of the languages in the (modern) media. Due to various technical issues and other problems that seriously affected the capacity of the lead researcher responsible to coordinate the work on the research design, the planning of the questionnaires was delayed and finally took place under extreme time pressure. As a consequence, the survey questions were not always optimally formulated, and some of them were difficult to translate in an unambiguous way. Furthermore, the original questionnaires as used in the ELDIA field studies and published as attachments to the case-specific reports turned out to be too long and cumbersome to use. An amended questionnaire version, edited on the basis of our experiences from the ELDIA field studies, is included in the EuLaViBar Toolkit. After the surveys had been conducted, the questionnaire data had to be operationalised. This meant devising a system by which the answers to each question were calculated into values on the ELDIA Language

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Maintenance Scale. This should have already been taken into account in the planning of the questionnaire, so that each question would have been carefully related to the relevant EuLaViBar dimension(s). However, due to the above-mentioned time pressure and communication problems in the planning phase, this measure was not taken at all. Thus, assigning each survey question to the EuLaViBar dimensions, focus areas and the language maintenance scale could only be done after the new empirical data was already collected. In practice, the mishaps in planning the questionnaire explain the majority of the deficits of the grading system as well as of the barometer itself. These deficits include the above-mentioned neglect of ‘Desire’ in the dimension of ‘Education’; further issues will be pointed out in Section 4.1. The grading system was developed by Anneli Sarhimaa and Eva Kühhirt (University of Mainz) with the support of Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark (Åland Islands Peace Institute). The formula for calculating the values was created by Kari Djerf with the assistance of Antti Mattila (University of Helsinki). An amended version of this device is included in the EuLaViBar Toolkit. Example 1 presents the grading of the closed question Q25, which inquired whether the respondent had been taught in one or more languages4 in all the schools that she or he had attended: (1)

Q25 What languages were used as teaching language when you are/were at school? I have only been taught in one language in all my school time, specify which language_____________________________ and go to question No, I was taught in more than one language. EuLaViBar grading scale: Q25: Opportunity, Language Products Barometer-Scale 0 Criteria The answer is “yes” and the defined language is the majority language or a language other than the minority language

1

2 “No”

3

4 The answer is “yes” and the defined language is the minority language

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As illustrated in Example 1, the grading system is in principle built upon a five-point scale from 0 to 4; for this particular question, 0 indicated no support for the maintenance of the investigated minority language, 1 and 3 were not used for grading the answers to this particular question, 2 indicated some potential support, and 4 indicated clear support for the maintenance of the investigated minority language. The problems with the scaling system will be discussed in Section 4.1.5. An analogous grading matrix was created for open-ended questions as well; the open-ended matrices were filled in with manually collected and classified data and were then converted into a format that could be processed statistically.

2.5 Beyond the EuLaViBar: Contextualising and Qualitative Data In addition to the survey data that could be operationalised and directly used in the EuLaViBar, the ELDIA field research produced a body of contextualising data that was essential in understanding and interpreting the EuLaViBar scores. As a rule, the EuLaViBar scores are based on statistical results for a defined set of questions, so the results can and sometimes need to be interpreted by taking into account the exact nature of the underlying information. In other words, the barometer scores can be broken down into individual dimensions, or even individual questions, when seeking to find out what actually is the problem behind a given low barometer score. To put this more concretely: For instance, Estonian in Finland and Veps and Karelian in Russia have fairly similar overall ‘Opportunity’ scores (between 1.5 and 1.6) but very different scores for the individual dimensions. In the realm of ‘Education’, Estonian in Finland received a much higher (2.18) score than Veps (0.59) or Karelian (0.53), but the score for ‘Language Use and Interaction’ was remarkably lower for Estonian (1.74) than for Veps (2.29) or Karelian (2.35). As the whole sociopolitical backgrounds of these language situations are completely different, the problems to be addressed to in the future language policies are different, too. In sum: • • •

Situations that receive similar EuLaViBar scores may differ from each other drastically in reality. Similar EuLaViBar scores may require very different actions to be taken in order to support language maintenance in the future. Hence, the EuLaViBar scores cannot and should not be interpreted without qualitative and contextualising data.

The contextualising data in ELDIA was collected by the context analyses (see Section 2.4) and by interviews. Interviews were conducted with speakers of the minority language as well as with representatives of

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the control groups, that is, of the speakers of the dominant language and other languages spoken in the country at issue. According to the original fieldwork plan, in total eight focus-group interviews with members of the minority and three with representatives of the mainstream society as well as eight individual interviews were to be conducted per group. Not all of these, however, could be carried out in all case studies. These semistructured interviews were conducted according to a centrally planned template; the templates are also included in the case-specific reports. The interviews provided illustrative and contextualising examples of the phenomena indicated by the EuLaViBar analyses. The tight timeframe of the project did not allow a systematic discourse-analytic investigation of the interviews, as had been planned originally. However, all interviews were transcribed and the transcriptions were used as a source for additional background information when interpreting and discussing the barometer results and pinpointing the major problem areas of language use and the current language policies. Some contextualising data were provided by the survey itself. The survey questionnaire included questions that could not directly be processed into the EuLaViBar scores. For instance, in Section E of the questionnaire, the respondents were requested to indicate their impressions of the minority and the majority language in terms of antonym pairs such as ugly–pretty or soft–hard. The answers to these questions could not always be related to the grading scale as they could not be interpreted as positive or negative; for example, which one of the antonym pair feminine–masculine expresses a more positive attitude towards a language? Yet, when including the information provided by the context analysis, the answers could yield relevant information about the respondents’ attitudes towards the languages at issue. We also gained a lot of data for contextualisation and interpretation of the barometer results through the control-group survey and interviews with representatives of the mainstream societies. The survey questionnaire addressed to the control group was based on the minority questionnaire but was much shorter and differed from the minority questionnaire in two respects. Firstly, the detailed section about cross- and inter-generational language use in Section B of the target group questionnaire was replaced with questions inquiring about languages in the respondent’s family background and the respondent’s opinions on language education and language use with children. Secondly, Section E, concerned with language attitudes and the willingness to use different languages, was restructured and modified in content. The control-group survey was conducted and analysed parallel to the minority language surveys in each country. As mentioned above, the control-group data were not directly processed into the EuLaViBar scores, but they formed an important part of the background and contextualising information and were used for specifying the interpretations of the EuLaViBar scores.

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In sum, the research data collected in the ELDIA case studies form a unique database in the field of language maintenance studies: Due to the systematic effort of conducting all 12 of the case studies in a maximally unified way, the database allows for fairly reliable cross-language comparisons over the entire spectrum of the minority languages that were investigated. In addition, it creates an exceptional empirical basis for further comparative and/or parallel study of a wide variety of research questions concerned with Finno-Ugric languages in particular, and, more generally, for example, with language maintenance, endangerment, revitalisation, language attitudes, multilingualism and the relationship between language and identity. The materials of the minority and the control group questionnaire surveys as well as the interviews have been stored in the ELDIA-DATA database at the University of Mainz. The minority-language database consists of 3,388 individual records from 13 minority-language groups. Each data set contains more than 300 variables. The control-group database consists of 1,460 responses from seven countries. Each data set contains almost 300 variables. In addition, the database includes the transcriber files of the interviews. The ELDIA-DATA is managed by the Johannes Gutenberg University of Mainz. The ELDIA project Steering Committee functions as its management board. Access to the ELDIA-DATA database can be granted upon written application for well-defined purposes of academic research. More information can be found on the website www.eldia-project.org.

Notes (1)

(2) (3)

(4)

A good overview of the multitude of the attempts and their outcomes can be gained by considering e.g. Edwards (1992, 2010), Grenoble and Whaley (1998, 2006), Crystal (2000), Clyne (2003), Tsunoda (2005), Gorter (2007), Obiero (2010) and Dwyer (2011). www.eldia-project.org; direct permalink: http://phaidra.univie.ac.at/o:301101. The informants of the control-group survey represented the inhabitants of the country or region at issue, excluding the minority group. Therefore, the control groups did not consist merely of the majority ethnic group (for instance, ethnic Finns in Finland) but could also include a few people with other ethnolinguistic backgrounds or affiliations; for instance, Swedish speakers in Finland or Burgenland Croats in Austria. Note that this expression is potentially ambiguous. One of the major problems in the ELDIA surveys related to the concepts of ‘teaching a language (as a subject)’ and ‘teaching in a language (language as a medium of teaching)’. The difference between these two was not optimally clear in all translations of the survey questionnaire, and many respondents obviously misinterpreted the questions.

3 Apples, Oranges and Cranberries: Finno-Ugric Minorities in Europe and the Diversity of Diversities ELDIA surveyed the situation of 12 European minority groups, each with a Finno-Ugric heritage language, from the Mediterranean area to the Barents Sea. These languages, spoken in very different historical situations and socio-political contexts, are endangered to different extents and – as also shown by the European Language Diversity for All (EuLaViBar) project scores – in different ways and in different dimensions. ELDIA was, in a certain sense, about comparing apples and oranges, or perhaps an even broader spectrum of differences. Yet, some problems are shared by all language-based communities studied in ELDIA. They tend to be invisible in the mainstream society and its media, so that the majority often has very little knowledge of these minorities’ concerns and problems. The minority communities studied in ELDIA are rather poorly informed of their rights and the legal protection to which they, in principle at least, are entitled. And these communities are typically passive and cautious in the use of their heritage language, sometimes reluctant to use it in public and often insecure about its future: We want our language to survive – but will it survive, and what can we do to support it? The ELDIA field studies were conducted among 12 minorities in eight countries across Europe, as shown in Figure 2. All these language-based communities have a heritage language that belongs to the Finno-Ugric (Uralic) language family; some are very closely related, while the genealogical distance between Hungarian and other Finno-Ugric languages in Europe is far beyond any kind of mutual intelligibility or even perceptible similarity. The Finno-Ugric languages have a fine research tradition especially as concerns their structure and history, that is, comparative-historical and typological linguistics; and the three nation-state languages (Hungarian, Finnish, Estonian) are cultivated and investigated in the framework of strong national research infrastructures. However, a major part of this research has been published

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Kv(N) NS(N) Me(S)

Ka(F) Ka(R) Es(F) SF(S)

Ve(R)

Võ(E) Se(E) Se(R)

Es(G) Hu(A) Hu(SV)

Kv(N) = Kven in Norway NS(N) = Northern Saami in Norway Me(S) = Meänkieli (Tornedal Finnish) in Sweden Ka(F) = Karelian in Finland Ka(R) = Karelian in Russia Es(F) = Estonian in Finland Ve(R) = Vepsian in Russia SF(S) = Sweden Finnish Se(E) = Seto in Estonia Se(R) = Seto in Russia Võ(R) = Võro in Estonia Es(G) = Estonian in Germany Hu(A) = Hungarian in Austria Hu(S) = Hungarian in Slovenia

Figure 2 Speaker communities investigated in ELDIA1

in less accessible languages on national fora, and prior to ELDIA there were almost no large-scale international research enterprises. Moreover, the current state of Finno-Ugric minority languages, especially in Russia, 2 is still poorly researched, or the research results are poorly accessible. Considering that European minority-language research in general is dominated by Western European, largely Indo-European languages of a few traditional minorities, ELDIA represents a novel approach to European language diversity. The groups or language-based communities investigated in ELDIA have very diverse backgrounds, statuses, and eco-socio-political environments, and comparing them and the different aspects of language diversity in these diverse cases constitutes a major challenge. In fact, it is difficult even to find a common term for referring to these language-based groups. Many are too heterogeneous, dispersed and fragmented to be called a ‘community’. It is also questionable whether they can be called ‘language communities’. The heritage languages are used to very diverse extents, and with some of the groups, the heritage language has almost completely fallen out of active use. However, one of our leading thoughts was not to exclude ‘potential speakers’ or speakers whose factual language skills are weak, as this would in practice only serve to cement the language loss already caused by assimilationist policies. To quote a Karelian informant of the case study on Karelian in Finland:

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jos meidy on painettu monta kymmenty vuottu, piendä lastu, tu- painettu. häi ei sua omua muamankielty paista. sillo hänen pidää olla oigevus olla karjalankielinen vaikka hän ei sitä malta. ja, kehittiä ielleh. ‘If we have been under pressure for dozens of years, a small child, has been under pressure. S/he is not allowed to speak his/her mother tongue. Then s/he must have the right to be a speaker of Karelian, even if s/he doesn’t understand it. And, to develop it further.’ (Sarhimaa, 2015) In the following chapters, we will also present the EuLaViBar results for each speech group or ‘community’, visualised with radar charts. In the charts, the patterns of the sectors indicate the different dimensions of language vitality, while the grades of language maintenance on the four-point scale (see Section 2.3) are indicated with different density (the denser the pattern, the more endangered the language), as shown in Figure 3. It should be borne in mind that the EuLaViBar charts presented here are merely tools for identifying the relative strengths and weaknesses in the maintenance situation of the language at issue. They do not have universal predictive force and cannot be used as general indicators for determining the ‘viability’ of a language at large. However, although there certainly are numerous problems with many details of the analyses, the overall picture corresponds to what was known already before our study: all these language varieties are more or less endangered. Figure 4 summarises the results. The maximum vitality value, summing up all four focus areas of language maintenance, would be 16 (4 x 4). As can be seen at first sight, none of the languages reached much more than half of the maximum value: even the best scores ranged between a total of 8–9. The minorities with a firmly established, standardised literary language and a kin state (Estonian and Hungarian) and/or rather good legal protection (North Sámi in Norway, Hungarian in Slovenia) get the highest scores, followed by the language use education legislation media 0

1

2

3

4

Figure 3 Patterns (replacing original colour codes) for the dimensions and grades of language vitality in the EuLaViBar radar charts

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Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices Hungarian in Slovenia Estonian in Germany Hungarian in Austria Estonian in Finland NorthSámi in Norway Seto in Estonia Karelian in Russian Karelia Veps in Russian Karelia Võro in Estonia Meänkieli in Sweden Karelian in Finland Kven in Norway 0 Capacity

2

4

Opportunity

6 Desire

8

10

Language Products

Figure 4 An overview of the vitality values for each language surveyed in the ELDIA case studies3

group of (other) traditional (autochthonous) minorities, while the scores for Kven are clearly the weakest, followed by Karelian in Finland and Meänkieli in Sweden. Interestingly, the case studies in the Nordic countries (Finland, Norway, Sweden) show the lowest scores, despite the fact that these countries hold high rankings in many other indexes of human development (life expectancy, education and gross national income)4 and democracy. 5 Obviously, even a developed liberal democracy with firmly established non-discrimination policies in itself is not enough to guarantee sufficient support to non-dominant languages and minority groups. We will return to this conclusion and other results of the study in Chapter 5.

3.1 Hungarian in Slovenia: In the Trap of Well-Intentioned Minority Policies?6 3.1.1 From Trianon to modern minority policies The traditional Hungarian minority in Slovenia turned into a minority in 1920, in the same way as the other old Hungarian minorities in all neighbouring countries of today’s Hungary. In the peace agreement of Trianon, their area – Prekmurje/Muravidék in the north-eastern corner of Slovenia – was separated from the old Kingdom of Hungary. The Hungarian minority in Slovenia (as in Croatia and Austria) belongs to the ‘smaller’ Hungarian minorities, far less in number than the Hungarian

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ethnic groups in Serbia, Slovakia, Romania and Ukraine. In the census of 2002, more than 7,700 Slovenian citizens declared Hungarian to be their mother tongue. Most of these belong to the old Hungarian minority of Prekmurje/Muravidék, but there are also some 1000 ethnic Hungarian migrants (presumably, most of them have come from other parts of the former Yugoslavia) living in different parts of Slovenia. The Hungarian minority in Slovenia speaks a dialect that, although not very far away from standard Hungarian (dialectal differences within Hungarian in general are not significant), is clearly distinguishable as deviating from the standard, while at schools and in official contexts, standard Hungarian (beside Slovenian) is used. Tudatában vagyunk annak, hogy nem beszéljük tisztán a “hivatalos” magyar nyelvet, nem tudunk helyesen magyarul, ennek ellenére az életünk meghatározó része a magyar nyelv: magyarul álmodunk, gondolkodunk, imádkozunk ... ‘We are aware that we do not speak the pure, “official” Hungarian language, we don’t know correct Hungarian, nevertheless the Hungarian language is a decisive part of our lives: we dream, think, pray in Hungarian...’ (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013: 148) The Prekmurje/Muravidék region is officially defined as an ‘ethnically mixed area’ where Hungarian enjoys special legal protection. Yet, despite the fact that Slovenia has fulfilled all formal requirements for minority protection, the maintenance and future of the Hungarian language in Slovenia are endangered. In particular, the bilingual school system in which all children of the region, Slovenians and Hungarians alike, study according to a bilingual curriculum obviously fails to produce sustainable, functional bilingualism. The use of the Hungarian language seems to be receding, and it is more and more clearly confined to the private sphere. Nem értem, az iskolákban 8 év alatt miért nem lehet megtanítani a gyereket magyarul. Nincs akarat a tanárok részéről sem. Erőszakkal tanítják őket magyarul, ez nem jó. ‘I don’t understand why it’s impossible to teach the Hungarian language to the kids by the end of the 8 years in [primary] school. Not even the teachers really want it. They teach Hungarian by force, that’s not good.’ (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013: 138)

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3.1.2 Regulating domestic language diversity: Hungarian in an ethnically mixed area Slovenia’s language policies represent a dual approach. On the one hand, ‘domestic’ language diversity – that is, the languages of the autochthonous Hungarian and Italian minorities – is supported on a territorial basis. On the other hand, Slovenian legislation recognises the fact that individuals’ knowledge of at least one widely spoken foreign language is an absolute necessity and should be promoted as such. Thus, the attitudes in Slovenia towards language diversity and multilingualism are mixed, whereas the policies regulating the use of languages in the public domain appear both very complex and confusing. Az ország elegendő mértékben támogatja anyagilag is a magyarokat. Tudatában vagyunk annak, hogy kevés ország nyújt annyit a kisebbségeknek, mint Szlovénia. ‘The state supports Hungarians sufficiently, financially as well. We are aware of the fact that few countries give as much (support) to their minorities as Slovenia does.’ Most ugyan kötelező tudni magyarul a közalkalmazotti szférában, de nincsenek ott olyan emberek. Azt kellene elérni, hogy fontosnak tartsák, hogy mindkét nyelven tudjanak kommunikálni. Nem csak a törvényeken kellene változtatni. Ha az igazgató beszélne magyarul, akkor az alkalmazottaknak is kellene. ‘True, civil servants [i.e. in the Prekmurje/Muravidék area] are now required to know Hungarian, but (in reality) there are no such people. The goal should be that they find it important to be able to communicate in both languages. It’s not only the laws that should be changed. If the director would speak Hungarian, then the employees would be obliged to do it, too.’ (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013: 165, 169–170) The autochthonous settlements of both recognised ‘minority nations’, that is, the Hungarians and the Italians, are referred to as ‘ethnically mixed areas’, and they are precisely defined in the statutes of the municipalities in which the minorities reside. The Italian community lives, and its members can enjoy special rights, in the ethnically mixed area alongside the Slovenian-Italian border in the municipalities of Koper/Capodistria, Izola/Isola and Piran/Pirano. Correspondingly, the Hungarian community inhabits the ethnically mixed area in the northeast of Slovenia in the municipalities of Dobrovnik/Dobronak, Hodoš/ Hodos, Lendava/Lendva, Moravske Toplice and Šalovci. With minor

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exceptions with respect to language learning and electoral rights, special minority rights can only be enjoyed within ethnically mixed areas, irrespective of the numerical strength of both communities. While this last aspect is positive for language-based communities that are quite small in numbers but are historically recognised, territoriality is problematic as it does not take into account the mobility of the population. Even more crucially, it excludes a number of other languages and language communities with links to the former Yugoslavia, such as the Serbs and Croats, which are much more numerous than the Hungarians and the Italians. The lack of a clear definition of the concept of ‘autochthonous settlement’ on one hand, and the condition that minorities have to be autochthonously (or traditionally) settled in Slovenia to enjoy protection on the other hand, have been persistently criticised by national as well as international institutions. Such criticisms have been voiced by, for example, Slovenia’s ombudsman, who has suggested that all national communities should be guaranteed equal rights, or that, at least, the term ‘autochthonous’ should be clearly defined, including the criteria that would need to be met for a community to be considered an autochthonous minority. In 2002, the Advisory Committee of the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities addressed briefly the needs of Hungarians and Italians outside their traditional area of settlement. The opinion of the committee concerning Slovenia states (para. 19) The Slovene authorities also pointed out that although persons belonging to the Hungarian or Italian minorities who live outside ‘ethnically mixed areas’ may not exercise the same rights as those established in the ‘ethnically mixed areas’, they can nevertheless rely on their status as persons belonging to a national minority. As such, they may enjoy certain rights, particularly with regard to financial support for cultural activities (see related comments under Article 5), to education (see related comments under Article 14) and to election to Parliament (see related comments under Article 15). The Advisory Committee welcomes that these persons keep their status and encourages the Slovene authorities to ensure this approach is fully implemented in practice as persons belonging to the Hungarian or Italian minorities living outside ‘ethnically mixed areas’ have specific needs to be catered for. One of the positive sides of the Slovenian policy though is that in the ‘ethnically mixed areas’ the practices of bilingualism, such as bilingual education and bilingual identification documents, are available to all inhabitants and not only to one of the language communities. Still, the very notion of ‘ethnically mixed areas’ indicates a strong link between ethnicity and language as well as between language, ethnicity and a particular territory.

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3.1.3 EuLaViBar results for Hungarian in Slovenia: Endangered despite strong legal protection

2.78

y cit pa

op po r

ty ni tu

ca

The EuLaViBar scores for Hungarian in Slovenia indicate the endangerment of language maintenance in all focus areas. The situation is best in the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors) and ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors). This reflects the population’s general awareness of the laws on minority protection as well as the good self-assessed language skills of the informants, the strong position of Hungarian in the private sphere and the belief of Hungarian speakers in the usability of Hungarian in various situations. (The latter results, however, are countered by the poor opportunities for actually using Hungarian in various domains outside the private sphere.) There is a longstanding tradition of legal regulation of language matters in the region; respondents expect their language to be protected by law, they require more laws to regulate language use and people expect their everyday life to be regulated by law. Experiences of direct discrimination were seldom reported; although some informants had experienced negative attitudes from the side of the majority, many of them explicitly emphasised their right to use Hungarian everywhere. The poorest scores are in the dimension of ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors). This low result is partly due to problems in the questionnaire

2.37

1.39

0.89 2.75

2.06

1.54 1.54

2.37

2.61 0.89

lan

1.64

ag

pr

od

2.33

uc

ts

Figure 5 EuLaViBar chart for Hungarian in Slovenia

ir e

gu

2.99

e

de

s

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survey, which probably assigned too much weight to functionally marginal types of media or cultural products and their use, for example, writing blogs or attending theatre performances. It seems that for the Hungarians in Slovenia, the Hungarian-language media supply is fairly sparse, and the Slovene language dominates, especially in the use of written media and language products. Hallgatom a rádiót, nézem a tévét. Az egész világon vannak magyarok. Jobban szeretem a szlovén tévét nézni, mert akkor tudom, mi történik minálunk, Szlovéniában. A magyart nem nézem, mert nem vagyok odavalósi. Olvasom a Népújságot, nézem a Hidakat. ’I listen to the radio, watch TV. There are Hungarians all over the world. I prefer to watch the Slovene TV programmes, because then I know what is going on at home, in Slovenia. I don’t watch Hungarian TV channels, because I’m not from Hungary. I read Népújság (a Hungarian-language weekly), watch Hidak (‘Bridges’, the Hungarian-language TV programme).’ (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013: 182) The scores for the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors) were negatively affected by the fact that there is no completely Hungarianmedium education available in Slovenia. In the bilingual area, the Hungarian language as a subject is taught to Hungarian speakers in Hungarian, while for all other subjects, the school curricula are bilingual for all pupils, Hungarian and Slovenian speakers alike. In this two-way immersion model (in effect since 1959), 50% of all instruction should be in Hungarian and 50% in Slovenian in the first six school years. After that, 70% of all instruction (in practice often even more) is in Slovenian. As noted above, this system does not fulfil the high expectations of the policy makers; yet, it is still perceived as the only possible way for Hungarian to survive, as Hungarian-medium education would mean segregation from the Slovenian-speaking society and its labour market, and most Hungarian parents would not choose it for their children.

3.2 Hungarian in Austria: Diverse Origins, Diverse Statuses7 3.2.1 Autochthonous, immigrant or both? Hungarians in Austria are a heterogeneous group. In Burgenland, the easternmost province of today’s Austria, which was separated from Hungary in the peace treaty of Trianon in 1920, a relatively small

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Hungarian minority has lived since the 10th–12th centuries. Most probably, the Hungarians were originally settled there as border guards to protect the western borders of the kingdom of Hungary, as also suggested by place names containing the element Wart or őr, ‘guard’, and their settlements formed enclaves surrounded by a German- or Croatianspeaking population. During the 20th century, the number of Hungarians in Burgenland constantly receded due to migration and assimilation. In the census of 2001, only 6,641 inhabitants of Burgenland were listed as ethnic Hungarians. Since then, there have been no censuses in which data about ethnicity, mother tongue or the language of habitual use would have been collected. Moreover, Austrian-born Hungarians may find it problematic to define themselves as ‘Hungarians’, even if they gladly acknowledge their Hungarian roots, as in this example from an ELDIA interview: – – – – – –

de én osztrák vagyok, me én i- ausztriában születtem, úgyhogy én nem tudnám mondani rólam mondani hogy én magyar vagyok. [...] akkor még egyszer megkérdezem ez nagyon érdekes, akkor azt mondanár rólad hogy (.) burgenlandi magyar vagy, vagy azt se? mh, van bennem magyar. but I am Austrian, ’cause I he- I was born in Austria, so I couldn’t say about me that I am Hungarian. [...] I want to ask you again, this is very interesting, would you then say about yourself that you are... a Burgenland Hungarian, or not even that? mh, there is some Hungarian in me. (Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013: 140)

Alongside the old Hungarian minority in Burgenland, a far greater part of ethnic Hungarians in Austria consists of post-World War II migrants representing diverse immigration waves from both Hungary and the areas of ethnic Hungarian minorities in the neighbouring countries (Romania, Slovakia, the former Yugoslavia). Most of these live in Vienna, but there are also Hungarian immigrant communities in other areas of Austria. There are no up-to-date statistics on the total number of Hungarians in Austria. A few years ago, the total number of ethnic Hungarians in Austria was estimated to be around 55,000–60,000, but immigration from Hungary to other European Union (EU) countries has rapidly increased in the last few years, and today’s figures are probably much higher.8 Thus, Hungarians in Austria are fairly numerous but still represent a far smaller and much less conspicuous group than many other immigrant ethnic groups in Austria.

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The Burgenland Hungarian community shrank throughout the 20th century due to assimilation prompted by low prestige and internal mobility. The Hungarian language, despite some recent successes in the field of education, is predominantly used in the private sphere and by the oldest generations, and is no longer considered a necessary part of the ethnic identity. Hungarians in Vienna seem to attach great value to the Hungarian language, but their good language skills and willingness to use and transmit the language are countered by the poor visibility, insufficient media supply and weak institutional support of Hungarian.

3.2.2 Hungarian and other languages in Austrian legal and institutional frameworks The Hungarians are officially acknowledged as an ethnic group (Volksgruppe) in the province of Burgenland and in the city of Vienna (the ELDIA field studies were conducted in these two areas), but only in Burgenland is there a specific legal protection for the use of Hungarian with authorities and in the education system. Thus, Hungarians have a different legal position in Vienna, in Burgenland and in the other provinces of Austria. In Austria, language diversity is mentioned as a goal of the Austrian legal system in Art. 8(2) of the Federal Constitutional Act of the Republic, which commits Austria to ‘its grown linguistic and cultural diversity, which finds expression in the autochthonous national minorities’. It is further laid down that the language, culture, existence and maintenance of these minorities shall be respected, secured and promoted. Thus, this provision has introduced a multicultural concept of bi- and multilingualism into the legal system. Language diversity is also mentioned as an explicit goal of the educational system in Austria. This becomes evident from the school curricula, which lay down that a positive attitude towards multilingualism and language diversity is to be striven for. They further stipulate that the competence of pupils to manage within multilingual surroundings, including in the European context, shall be fostered and that diversity shall be perceived as valuable. In the field of education, bilingualism is guaranteed by the constitutional provisions of Art. 7(2) of the State Treaty of Vienna, § 1 of the Minority School Act (MSA) for Burgenland and § 7 of the MSA for Carinthia. In addition, in 1979 the Austrian Supreme Court had already emphasised the importance of bilingual education as means of protection against assimilation. Thus, language diversity and multilingualism are mentioned as goals of the legal and educational system, even though in practice, language diversity in the field of education often refers to commonly used international

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languages rather than to minority languages. In addition, the importance of language diversity and multilingualism has not yet been acknowledged and sufficiently promoted by the political system, and language diversity does not seem to be accepted in practice with all its consequences. Despite the fact that multilingualism is an esteemed quality and value, it is generally held that it should not have any political or visible consequences (‘symbolic language diversity’). Despite the strong assimilation process to which minority members are exposed, only isolated and uncoordinated measures have been taken to slow this process down. Regardless of the commitment of the Austrian Republic to its linguistic and cultural diversity, there is still no farreaching and coherent language policy specifically promoting the use of particular minority languages in their various contexts and environments. Projects and programs initiated by private entities are also not sufficiently supported by the state. The laissez-faire style of Austrian language policy hampers the effective protection and promotion of minority languages and multilingualism. Despite some debates on the advantages of bi- and multilingualism, in particular within the European context, and despite the growing number of children registered for bi- and multilingual education, there is no broad language diversity debate with regard to the languages of ‘old’ and ‘new’ minorities. The ongoing integration debate on the situation of immigrants is virtually limited to the aspect that these persons should have a solid knowledge of German. Thus, language knowledge is equated with knowledge of the German language, whereas the mother-tongue language skills of persons belonging to ‘new minorities’ are completely neglected. Even throughout those Länder where minorities are historically resident, general instruction of all pupils also in the minority language(s), irrespective of their minority affiliation, is not provided. As a consequence, while bi- and multilingualism are common and even typical among minority populations, they are an exception among majorities.

3.2.3 ‘Discourse of mutual gratitude’: The Hungarians of Austria in minority and majority media For Austria, the ELDIA media analyses were conducted for three periods (1998; the autumn of 2006, when the 50th anniversary of the Hungarian revolution in 1956 was commemorated; and 2010–2011). During these periods, there was not a single news item in the selected majority press (Die Presse, Neue Kronen Zeitung) that would have dealt with the Hungarian minority living in Austria. Neither the Burgenland Hungarians nor Hungarian immigrants living in Vienna and elsewhere in Austria were thematised in these newspapers. Therefore it is clear that no continuous dialogical relationship between the Hungarian language minority press and

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the Austrian majority press exists, despite the fact that Hungarians are a recognised national minority in Austria. In fact, ‘Hungarian-language minority media’ in Austria hardly exist. There are gazettes and newsletters published by Hungarian organisations and clubs but no newspapers in the proper sense of the word. The public service broadcasting company ORF maintains, within its ethnic editorial office (Volksgruppen), a Hungarian-language service with a website, daily regional radio news in Burgenland and magazine-type TV (only a few times a year) and radio broadcasts. In the 3rd Periodical Report of the Republic of Austria pursuant to Article 15 (1) of the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages from July 2011 (p. 225),9 the supply of television programmes in national minority languages is deemed ‘absolutely insufficient’, and enhancing the supply is explicitly recommended. Out of all the events relating to the Hungarian community of Austria, the only newsworthy one was the commemorative series of events organised in Vienna and in Budapest in the autumn of 2009 on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of the 1956 revolution. The ‘discourse of mutual gratitude’ emphasised the positive role of both countries: While the ‘Hungarian freedom fighters’ made it possible to ‘unveil the lie of communism’, the Austrians extended a helping hand to the masses of refugees. Even in this discourse, however, the maintenance of Hungarian language and culture today in Austria was not discussed. Both majority and minority newspapers presented the connection between Austria and Hungary as a bond that cannot be undone. The frequent use of the kinship term ‘our brother-inlaw’ (unser Schwager/a mi sógorunk) by both parties when talking about the neighbouring nation also suggests that a close relationship between Hungarians and Austrians is taken for granted. During the analysis, it became obvious that the occasional conflicts either do not get covered in the minority media, or they get reported only in a moderate way. Moreover, the closest thing there is to a Hungarianlanguage newspaper in Austria, the bi-monthly gazette Bécsi Napló (‘Viennese Chronicle’, published by the umbrella organisation uniting the Hungarian organisations and clubs in Austria), fails to portray how the minority policy decisions covered in the newspaper and the events taking place in the majority society (e.g. the ratification of the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages, the Projekt Hungaricum for implementing and supporting the teaching of Hungarian in Austrian schools, etc.) affect the community life of Austrian Hungarians. These ‘hidden discourses’, which do not appear in the minority media, indicate the limited ability of Austrian Hungarians to promote their interests. Behind this relative ‘non-perception’ of Hungarians, other causes can be found alongside a lack of self-promotion. One of these causes is the relatively low number of members of the group compared with other

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immigrant minorities. Beside these quantitative characteristics, the general opinion that the Hungarians have managed to integrate into Austrian society is also significant. This perceived success is mainly due to their own diligence and inventiveness and to the positive attitude observed by the majority of Austrian society. Due to the Hungarians’ large-scale integration, their presence is unlikely to be connected to societal, social or political problems. This lack of media attention is not unique to the Hungarians living in Austria. The absence of coverage of the six officially recognised minorities living in the country can be observed during the course of the majority media analysis. The main reasons behind ‘media invisibility’ are partly the relatively small number of autochthonous minority groups and partly their advanced stage of assimilation. In the majority media, issues relating to languages and language use emerge, almost without exception, only in connection to matters of immigration and integration policy. The discourse relating to the knowledge of the official state language (German) plays an especially important role. Approaches related to people whose mother tongue is not German are almost exclusively oriented towards their lack of German language skills (deficit-oriented). These approaches deal neither with (foreign) language abilities nor with the possibility of language retention or development. Although the Hungarian-language media in Austria often reported on various events related to the teaching of Hungarian, the issue of language revitalisation did not emerge in any of the analysis periods. Not even the minority newspapers portrayed any conflict relating to Hungarian language education, nor did they discuss the role that the majority society should play in supporting the Hungarian language and identity in Austria.

3.2.4 Spoken but not secure: Hungarian in Austria in the light of the EuLaViBar results The barometer results for Hungarian in Austria are somewhat risky to interpret, as the data come from heterogeneous groups of informants representing both Burgenland Hungarians and diverse immigrants (more detailed analyses with breakdowns of data for the two main informant groups have been conducted in Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013). In any case, however, the maintenance of Hungarian in Austria is endangered beyond doubt. The strongest barometer results were obtained for the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors). This is most probably due to the fact that a major proportion of the informants consisted of first-generation immigrants, who spent their formative years in a Hungarian-language environment and received most of their formal education in Hungarian-medium schools; and of course, most of

op po r

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1.86 0.85 0.91

1.31

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Figure 6 EuLaViBar chart for Hungarian in Austria

them have never experienced discrimination or prohibition of language use in their childhood. For them, Hungarian is the first and dominant language and is still often used in interaction with family, friends and relatives. Considering this, even higher scores could have been expected. Probably, the scores were brought down by the poor opportunities to use Hungarian actively outside the private sphere; the scores for active use of Hungarian in various domains were conspicuously low. Moreover, some informants reported refraining from the use of Hungarian out of politeness; speaking Hungarian in the presence of German-speaking Austrians might be interpreted as impolite. Some had experienced direct opposition from the side of German-speaking spouses or in-laws or even education professionals: lányunk szerint – előnyös, jó lenne; ex-vő szerint felesleges, megtiltja ‘our daughter thinks it’s profitable [to speak Hungarian to the children], it would be good; our ex-son-in-law thinks it’s unnecessary, he forbids it’ tanárok az iskolában, hogy nem kellene magyarul beszélni a gyermekeimmel ‘teachers at school (told me) that (I) should not speak Hungarian with my children’

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Wenn ich in Anwesenheit meines Mannes mit unseren Kindern ungarisch spreche, fühlt er sich ausgeschlossen, daher spreche ich deutsch, wenn er dabei ist. ‘If I speak Hungarian with our children in the presence of my husband, he feels excluded, that’s why I speak German when he is present.’ (Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013: 160, 186) For the dimension ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), the scores were much lower than in the case of Hungarians in Slovenia. It seems that Hungarians in Austria are not very aware of the laws protecting their language and its use, and it also became evident in the case study that many find it difficult to distinguish legislation proper from policies and societal practices. In the comments to the questions on legislation, respondents commented about the policies of favouring certain languages of more numerous migrant groups (such as Turkish), or they referred to practices of (non-) discrimination. in Wien ist z.B. Türkisch in manchen Ämtern möglich, Ungarisch nicht ‘in Vienna some public offices allow e.g. the use of Turkish, not Hungarian’ Nincs szembetűnő diszkrimináció sem munkahelyen, sem hivatalokban ‘There is no conspicuous discrimination in the workplace nor with the authorities’ A nyelv használatának joga adott, de nincs mindenütt lehetőség rá, mert a hivatalnokok nem beszélik a nyelvet ‘the right to use the language is given but there is no opportunity to use the language everywhere because public employees don’t speak the language’ (Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013: 177, 179, 183) As a rule, Hungarian informants in Burgenland were better aware of protective legislation than the Viennese informants. Moreover, it seems that the positive effect of legislation is seen rather in non-discrimination (answers to the question of whether legislation prevents the use of Hungarian) than in proactive support. The scores for dimension ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) were very low. This may be partly due to the distorting effect of the questionnaire, which – as already noted – assigned too much weight to certain less central

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types of media and cultural products. Partly, however, the low score represents a real problem: although Hungarians have access to various, especially internet-based, media from Hungary, the supply of localised media with news and information in Hungarian from and about Austria is very sparse. For daily news, there are only German-language newspapers. Furthermore, due to the sampling procedures, the informants in this case study predominantly belonged to older generations, who are typically active users of traditional media such as newspapers or TV but are less active in the use of internet-based media. For the dimension ‘Education’ (squared sectors), the scores were fairly high. This result, however, is deceptive. As many informants were firstgeneration immigrants, their answers to survey questions about their education reflected their education in their country of origin, not in Austria. As mentioned above, there is only legislation concerning the use of Hungarian in Burgenland, where the possibility of bilingual GermanHungarian education as well as that for learning Hungarian as a foreign language is offered, and a minimum amount of childcare in Hungarian has to be provided in kindergartens. In Vienna (where Hungarians are a legally acknowledged ethnic minority, a ‘Volksgruppe’), as well as elsewhere in Austria, there is no legislation specifically concerning Hungarian, and the language is in the same position as all other migrant languages.

3.3 Estonian in Germany: Modern Mobility Creates Invisible Minorities10 3.3.1 Invisible among more numerous migrant groups Estonians in Germany are an example of so-called ‘EU mobility’. However, the history of Estonian immigrant communities had already begun with World War II. Especially towards the end of the war, tens of thousands of Estonians left their country to escape the Soviet occupation. Some of them ended up in Germany or areas occupied by Germany, where thousands of Baltic Germans as well as a few thousand ethnic Estonians had already been resettled by German authorities in the Heim ins Reich operation of 1939. Immediately after the war, there were more than 30,000 Estonian refugees in the DP (displaced persons) camps in the Western-occupied zones of Germany, but from 1947 on, most of them were resettled in other Western countries. Only some 4000–6000 Estonian refugees remained in the Federal Republic of Germany and maintained small Estonian communities, organisations and cultural activities. While maintaining cultural contacts to other exile Estonian communities in the Western world, they remained more or less isolated from Estonia; from Soviet Estonia, no further emigration to Western Europe was possible except in a few individual cases.

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The generations of post-war displaced persons are now passing, and the majority of the Estonians now living in Germany probably immigrated after the restoration of Estonia’s independence (1991) and Estonia’s accession to the EU (2004). Many of them have come as students, au pairs or individual mobile professionals. A clear majority of Estonian citizens in Germany are women between 20 and 50 years of age, often highly educated and typically living in urban areas. The exact numbers of Estonians in Germany are not known. At the end of 2011, there were 4840 Estonian citizens living in Germany, but not all of them are necessarily ethnic Estonians or Estonian speakers, while there are no statistics for Estonian speakers or ethnic Estonians with German or another citizenship. Among the immigrant and minority groups in Germany, Estonians are few and inconspicuous. The role of the Estonian language is not specifically regulated or protected by law, nor are Estonians visible in public discourse. Estonians in Germany typically attach great value to the Estonian language as an important part of their identity. They have a good command of both German and other languages, and the younger generations in particular define themselves as ‘multicultural’. Estonians in Germany are seldom or never brought to public attention as examples of unsuccessful or successful integration. Due to their small numbers and low demographic density, their opportunities for using Estonian outside the private sphere are very limited.

3.3.2 Regulating diversity in Germany: ‘There certainly are laws for more important languages but that does not concern Estonian’ Kui ma elan siin [Saksamaal], ma olen kohustatud rääkima selle rahva keelt kus ma olen (.) ma=len kohustatud ja see=n (.) mulle auasi rääkida saksa keeles kes on ka kultuurrahvas? see ei ole nisugune (.) kuu=pealt kukkunud. ‘While living here [Germany], it’s my duty to speak the language of the nation I live with... I’m obliged, and it’s... a matter of honour for me to speak German, because Germans are a cultured nation? not just something like... fallen from the moon (= ignorant, out of place).’ (Praakli, forthcoming b) Language diversity is not an explicit goal of the legal or political system of the Federal Republic of Germany. From an institutional perspective, Germany is largely seen as a monolingual state. This idea is emphasised by the legal regulation of German as the administrative language of the Republic, and it can also be stated that the debates around diversity and

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migration, while focusing on German language proficiency as a criterion of integration, ‘perpetually reproduce the ideological discourse of the monolingual state’ (Leichsering, 2014: 99). Multilingualism and language diversity have remained of marginal interest to legal and political thinking, and language diversity has no substantial position in the education system of the German Länder. In some Länder, however, such as Brandenburg, Saxony and Schleswig-Holstein, which are home to such German traditional (territorial) language minorities as Sorbs and Frisians, there are some schools or at least school classes with mother-tongue instruction in minority languages (Glaser, 2007; Schulz, 2010; Pech, 2012). With regard to the German Sinti and Roma, Germany struggles to provide for an accurate regime of protection, precisely because the territoriality principle cannot be applied. There are a number of international bilingual schools, both private and public, which are largely English-German and French-German. There is a pressing need to regulate the services for bigger language communities such as Turkish immigrants, and in some urban areas, projects supporting the heritage languages of immigrants have been launched (for the situation in Frankfurt/M, see Leichsering, 2014), whereas very small communities such as Estonians can hardly find any special legal provisions for the support of their languages. All in all, the German legal framework has proven not to be particularly accessible, adaptable or efficient, neither when it comes to the recognition of linguistic needs nor with regard to the utilisation of the wealth of linguistic resources available. Thus far, the legal and political system has not opened up towards a linguistic diversity encompassing the languages of migrants. Accommodating the educational needs of immigrant languages seems less politically acceptable compared with national minorities. Exploring the potential and the limitations of the legal system in cases such as the position of Estonian in Germany, a language lacking any kind of legal status or recognition in language policies, constitutes a major challenge. In addition, the federal constitutional structure entails that legal responses and policies concerning education can vary in the different Länder. This case study has been useful in two ways. First of all, it has revealed some implicit basic assumptions of the legal system under examination. In the case of Germany, two such basic assumptions dominate. The first is the predominance of the principle of territoriality, that is, that languages can and should be protected in those geographical areas where they are traditionally used. The second is that while multilingualism is in principle seen in Germany as an asset for individuals and for society as a whole, the large number of relatively recent immigrants is still perceived as a threat to Germany’s linguistic homogeneity. The idea that one could be both multilingual and proficient in the German language is not considered possible, and thus

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multilingualism is, in political discourse, conceived as an obstacle to full integration into German society. The second way in which the study of federal states – here Germany – is important is that it reveals that, even when the central state is not proactive or is even prohibitive in its regulation of language matters, there is an important margin for action and adapted responses at the regional and local level. As was found in the German case, many good practices and innovative efforts are taking place at a local level. For instance, the City of Cologne in North Rhine-Westphalia maintains six elementary schools with explicit multilingual learning policies, while the legal system as such does not create any clear legal obligations or rights in this regard. Also, in many cases, regions – in particular border regions – are at the forefront of institutional developments concerning the maintenance and protection of languages as well as that of the development of multilingualism and language diversity. In border regions in Germany, such as MecklenburgVorpommern (German-Polish), Schleswig-Holstein (Danish-German) and Saarland and Baden-Württemberg (French-German), we see that recognised minority languages (Danish and Frisian) as well as other languages are used. Despite the recognition of traditional (territorial) minorities and some good practices evolving in certain areas, there are almost no support measures specially planned for small-numbered and dispersed minorities such as Estonians in Germany. Small minority populations also suffer from a lack of continuity and long-term planning; for Estonians in Germany, for instance, practically all support measures are short-term projects that must be repeatedly re-planned and re-applied for.

3.3.3 EuLaViBar results for Estonian in Germany: Strong in private use, poor in public visibility? The analysis of the EuLaViBar for the Estonian language in Germany shows that a small, dispersed minority remains completely invisible, and its members may even believe that their language needs and skills are unimportant for society at large. The scores for the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors) were based on a wide range of variables (mother tongue, cross-generational language use, intra-generational language use, self-reported competence, domain-specific language use and support for/ prohibition of language use) and diverse aspects of language use. The respondents to the survey have a clear linguistic identity: the overwhelming majority (69 respondents from a total of 71) define Estonian as their mother tongue. Correspondingly, the highest scores for language use and interaction were in the focus area ‘Capacity’: the informants were confident in their language skills. High scores were also reached in the focus area

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Figure 7 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Germany

‘Desire’, indicating a generally positive attitude towards using Estonian. (German, the dominant language of the respondents’ country of residence, is for most survey respondents a foreign language that they have learned in their adulthood, only after migrating to Germany.) As also shown by the interviews, Estonians in Germany value their language highly and wish to maintain it and transmit it to their children: On nii tähtis, et eesti keel on olemas ja et me seda ei häbene ning edasi arendame. Minu jaoks on see väga tähtis. ‘It’s so important that the Estonian language exists and that we are not ashamed of it and develop it further. For me it’s very important.’ (Praakli, forthcoming b) However, it should be borne in mind that because of the low numbers and low geographic density of Estonians in Germany, it was impossible to create a representative sample of informants, and in practice, the informants had to be found with the help of Estonian organisations. This led to an ‘activist bias’: The informants of the ELDIA study came from circles with perhaps a higher-than-average commitment to the cause of the Estonian language.

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In contrast, the scores for language use and interaction in the focus area ‘language products’ were remarkably low: although products and services from Estonia are available especially by way of the internet, in Germany the use of Estonian is largely confined to the private sphere and is characterised by spoken interaction. The respondents have in practice no benefits from or use for their Estonian skills outside of home, and as the Estonian community in Germany is small and scattered, there are few occasions for interaction in Estonian. The opportunities to use the Estonian language outside of private circles are exclusively offered by NGOs and private networks. It should also be mentioned here that the rather high ‘opportunity’ score for Estonian in Germany is directly related to the fact that the survey was conducted among Estonian activists, that is, those Estonians who are actively involved in promoting and maintaining the Estonian language and culture in Germany and who thus have better access and opportunities to use Estonian outside home. Considering the very low score for language use and interaction in the focus area ‘Language Products’, the mean score for this focus area as a whole was fairly high (1.473), especially considering the small number of Estonians in Germany. This was obviously due to the very high scores for the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors). This result, however, is deceptive, as the informants were born, raised and educated in an Estonianspeaking environment and moved to Germany as adults. Thus, the scores for education reflect the education that the respondents received in their home country; they do not say anything about the role of the German state in supporting the maintenance of Estonian. The survey reveals that Estonians living in Germany have very few opportunities – or none at all – to use their mother tongue within the education system. Some children (whose parents work in EU institutions) are able to study Estonian at the European School in Munich. In addition, the children of Estonians living in Munich can study the language as an extracurricular activity (on Saturdays). Lessons are held twice a month, with classes in three age groups (2–8). Estonian study groups following a similar arrangement also operate in Berlin and Hamburg. The schools are funded by the Estonian Ministry of Education and Research, the Estonian Institute, the German-Estonian Society in Berlin and the parents themselves. In all of the schools, the classes are designed for children up to the age of 10, with an enrolment of around 40–50 students in each school. In general education schools in Germany, there are no opportunities to study Estonian. Some of the respondents even felt that the German school environment is hostile towards different languages.

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“On several occasions I have witnessed a mother speaking to her child in her own language, and the school’s staff ask her to continue the conversation in German.” (Praakli, forthcoming b) In the dimension ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), Estonian in Germany, similarly to migrant minorities in general, had very low scores. These reflect the poor availability of German laws in Estonian. The highest scores for this dimension were in the focus area of ‘Desire’, indicating the respondents’ (probably rather vague) wishes of more legislation supporting minority languages. The majority of respondents lack knowledge of the existence of legislation regulating the use of minority languages. Although most of the respondents felt that German legislation does not directly obstruct the use of Estonian, they also report that speakers of different languages and the languages themselves are not treated equally. Only four respondents (5.7%) answered that there are laws protecting the Estonian language and commented on the answer as follows: One can establish Estonian organisations, there is an Estonian newspaper, and after the war, when there were many Estonian refugees, they were permitted to establish Estonian schools, publish Estonian literature, etc. One is entitled to interpretation in Estonian in court. The activities of clubs are permitted in minority languages. Minorities are entitled to culture and interpreters in their own language, but there is no active support from the government. (Praakli, forthcoming b) The dimension of ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) showed rather high scores considering that there is practically no local media in Estonian. In Germany, only one Estonian-language gazette, Eesti Rada (‘The Estonian Path’), appears with six issues a year. The reason for the high scores is that many Estonians follow Estonian media on the internet or receive Estonian satellite broadcasts. The survey revealed that almost a third of the respondents (32.4%) read Estonian newspapers from Estonia on a daily basis (mainly on the internet). About a quarter of the respondents (28.4%) read Estonian newspapers with a frequency of several times a week. Nevertheless, if they want to follow the news of the region of their

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residence, they must rely on German-language media only – thus, most of the respondents also read German-language newspapers regularly. All in all, it can be concluded at this point that Estonians residing in Germany who took part in the study have such ‘linguistic instruments’ as they need to communicate in their mother tongue; that they have a positive attitude and the desire to use the language at least in communication within the family; but that they have relatively few chances to make use of Estonian in domains outside of the home. The results also underline the fact that Estonians in Germany do not expect any special protection for their language. Instead, they attach great value to their good skills in the majority language and eagerly portray themselves as ‘good immigrants’, as opposed to other, low-prestige immigrant groups whose integration problems are often thematised in public discourse.

3.4 Seto in Estonia: On the Border of States and Statuses11 3.4.1 ‘Our history is behind the border’ The Seto (Standard Estonian: setu, German: Setukesen) people have traditionally lived on the border between (South) Estonia and Russia and in close contact with Russians, as also indicated by their traditional Orthodox religion. Their traditional area, Setomaa, belonged to Estonia between the two World Wars, but in 1944 the border was moved westwards, dividing Setomaa between the Estonian Soviet Republic and the Russian Federation. When Estonia regained her independence in 1991, this border turned into a de facto state border12 and separated the Seto on the Estonian side from their relatives, material legacy (homesteads, family graves, etc.) and cultural sites on the Russian side – such as the town of Pechory and its Orthodox monastery, which had played a central role in Seto religious traditions. Since 1944, many Seto have moved from the Russian side to the Estonian part of Setomaa or other parts of Estonia.13 On the Russian side of the border, the remaining Seto have been added to the list of the “SmallNumbered” (maločislennye) Indigenous Peoples of Russia and should thus be entitled to various support measures. However, very little information about them and their current state is available, and there are no reliable statistics. In the all-Russian census of 2010, only 214 persons identified themselves with the Seto ethnic group (see also Fogelklou, 2014: 5). Due to the small numbers of the target population (which would have caused difficulties with the protection of personal data) and the lack of supporting research infrastructure in the Russian part of Setomaa, the planned ELDIA case study among the Seto in Russia could not be carried out. This chapter focuses on the Seto minority in Estonia.

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The Seto language, together with Võro, has traditionally been classified among the southern dialects of Estonian (which are markedly different from the northern dialects and the northern-based standard language). Linguistically, Seto is very close to the Võro language, but identity-wise, the two ethnic groups are clearly distinct. Due to their different traditional culture, characterised by the Orthodox religion and close contacts with the Russian cultural sphere, the Seto have often been considered – or have considered themselves – in a certain sense separate from Estonians and often identify themselves as both Estonians and as Seto. The Seto are not listed in official population statistics, but their number in Estonia has been estimated to be around 5,000–6,000. In the most recent all-Estonian census (2011), in which for the first time respondents were asked about their knowledge of Estonian dialects (or ‘dialect languages’, murdekeel), 12,549 persons reported being able to understand and speak the Seto dialect.14

3.4.2 Regulation of the Seto language Similarly to Meänkieli and Kven, traditionally considered dialects of Finnish, Seto and Võro have traditionally been regarded as ‘merely’ dialects of Estonian. Before the 20th century, the Seto belonged to the Russian cultural sphere, and those few who acquired formal education used Russian or Church Slavonic in writing. In independent Estonia, the Seto were subject to general Estonisation policies, including Estonianmedium schools, although a Seto-language reader for schools also appeared in the 1920s. In the late 1980s, a southern Estonian language emancipation movement gave rise to a new written standard. Since then, Seto has been used in writing to some extent, despite problems and conflicts around orthographic questions and the disputed relationship with the simultaneously emerging, closely related Võro standard. However, despite the efforts of language activists, the Estonian state has not been willing to acknowledge Seto and Võro as languages since its language policies are based on supporting and strengthening Estonian as the one and only national language. This idea, of course, must be seen against the historical background of the compulsory official bilingualism of Soviet times, which in effect served the covert goal of the Russification of nonRussian Soviet republics. The legislative framework in Estonia is mainly concerned with the requirements of the use of the Estonian language, while also providing for clear regulation of the use of foreign languages, including the languages of national minorities. The position of the Estonian language in Estonia is clearly reflected in the Constitution of the Republic of Estonia. Its preamble states that ‘[The Constitution] shall guarantee the

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preservation of the Estonian nation, language and culture through the ages.’ The constitution further accords the Estonian language the status of state language in Estonia (Art. 6). Two additional provisions of the constitution are important to mention, although they do not expressly deal with language. Article 45, providing for the freedom of expression, clearly includes the right to express oneself in a language of choice subject to appropriate restrictions. Another provision touching upon language is Article 49, providing for the right to preserve one’s ethnic identity. It is believed that ethnic identity cannot be preserved unless a person can use his/her respective language or if the existence of that language is in danger. This provision is in fact the basis for Article 37 (the right to choose the language of instruction) and Articles 50–52 (on national self-governing entities and the use of a national minority language). In addition to provisions regulating the use of languages, the constitution also provides for protection against discrimination based on language (Art. 12). In principle, the constitutional protection of the Estonian language also applies to ‘regional varieties of the Estonian language’ (in Estonian: eesti keele piirkondlik erikuju), such as Võro and Seto, as these are considered parts of the generic Estonian language, along with the Estonian Literary Standard (in Estonian: eesti kirjakeele norm), and Estonian Sign Language (in Estonian: viipekeel). Beyond the constitutional provisions mentioned, Estonia has enacted extensive legislation on language, mainly concerning the use of the Estonian language. The main legal instruments relating to language are the Language Act, which was revised recently (the current version entered into force on 1 July 2011),15 and the regulations adopted on its basis. The Language Act regulates the use of Estonian as the state language, language proficiency requirements in specific areas and instances where languages other than the state language can be used. The requirements as to the use of the Estonian language are divided into two parts. Official use, that is, in the exercise of public authority, must comply with the Estonian Literary Standard. In other cases of public use, such as in advertisements, announcements and signs, the language use must comply at least with the ‘good practice’ of the Estonian language. In the latter case, regional varieties of the Estonian language, including Võro and Seto, can be used. This is a significant development, as until the recent revision of the Language Act, regional varieties could only be used on public signage provided there was a similar text in the Estonian language of at least the same size. The phrase ‘regional varieties of the Estonian language’, as referred to in the Language Act, can also be found in different policy documents and discussions. Accordingly, ‘regional varieties of the Estonian language’ is understood to encompass the dialects historically spoken by people living

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in specific regions, such as by the Võro people in southern Estonia and the Seto people in southeast Estonia. The Võro and Seto communities, however, advocate adopting the term ‘regional languages’ as it is used in the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages – which Estonia has not signed. The Language Act includes two new provisions relating to dialect. First, the state is required to support the protection, use and development of the regional varieties of the Estonian language (Art. 3[3]). Second, in regions where ‘dialectal languages’ have historically been spoken, official texts can, in addition to the Literary Standard, also be written in the respective dialectal language (Art. 4(1)). The coherency of the language legislation has increased considerably as a result of adopting the new Language Act. The rights attached to the term ‘regional varieties of the Estonian language’ have also become clearer. However, it could be argued that the introduction of the completely new term ‘dialectal language’ (murdekeel), used obviously as a synonym for ‘regional varieties’ and giving the impression of a compromise to avoid real recognition of a minority language, has again made terminology less coherent. The Estonian educational system is flexible in regard to the language of instruction in individual educational institutions. The constitution states that, although everyone has the right to be taught in Estonian, the language of instruction of the particular educational institution is within the discretion of that institution (Art. 37). The regulation of place names is important from the perspective of the Võro and Seto languages, as many place names in the respective regions are, or used to be, in these languages. The Place Names Act recognises this and thus provides that the spelling of a place name must follow Estonian orthography, although it may reflect the local dialectal sound structure of the name (Art. 10). It is specifically provided that Estonian dialects, with or without their own orthography, are considered to be parts of the Estonian language for this purpose (Art. 10(3)). The regulation on place names has proven to be supportive of both Võro and Seto. However, efforts to restore old place names have not been without setbacks. Language legislation in Estonia is a complicated area. In addition to the main acts, such as the Language Act, the Place Names Act, the Names Act and others mentioned above, there are numerous regulations adopted by the government based on these acts. All this creates a considerable body of law, the practical impact of which is difficult to assess. This is especially the case in relation to the Võro and Seto languages, as their status with regard to language legislation is still somewhat unclear. There is no actual practice delineated in the implementation of the regulation with regard to these languages. Seto today is used to varying extents in literature (there are few authors who use Seto) and the media. It is taught as a subject in some schools in

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the Seto area and, since 2013, twice a month in Tallinn at Seto Latsi Kuul (‘Seto Children’s School’). However, it seems that attitudes towards the official and written use of Seto are mixed and confused, as also shown by this quotation from an ELDIA interview: Riigi ülesanne peaks olema see et see ära ei kaoks et see ikka nagu jääks püsima siia ja aga koolidesse ma arvan et ei peaks nagu konkreetset mingit siukest tundi või midagi sellist tegema et eesti keele tunnis ka jõuab nagu tutvustada kõigile õpilastele seda aga see tuleks teha piisaval määral lihtsalt nagu et see jääks ikka meelde ikka õpilastele mitte niimoodi et ma ei tea no kasvõi põhja-eesti inimesed võiksid teada no mõnda sõnagi ‘the state’s task should be to make sure it does not disappear, that it is maintained here, but at school I think that there should not be a concrete class or something like that. In Estonian classes, it can be introduced to all children but it should be done simply enough, so that the pupils would remember it, not so that, I don’t know, let’s say Northern Estonians could know at least a few words’ (Koreinik, 2013a: 91)

3.4.3 Seto in the media: Poor coverage, moderate demands In Estonian majority press, Võro and Seto are defined as ‘our minorities’, with a well-established position in Estonian society, but they are actually rarely covered. The implications of the fact that many cultural and language activities of these minorities are funded by the Ministry of Culture are not seriously discussed anywhere, nor is it made clear who should be responsible for the maintenance of the Seto language. Actually, mainstream media mostly deal with Seto issues in situations where the status quo seems to be changing or is challenged, for instance, in connection with debates on language legislation. In local media in particular, the coverage and attitudes seem to depend on the preferences and views of a small body of authors. As for minority media, the newspaper Setomaa does concentrate on local issues including the Seto language, but it is published so infrequently that altogether nine issues were analysed. A detailed analysis would need to concentrate on longer time periods. Paradoxically, the minority newspaper avoids topics that would address Seto and Võro speakers as minorities and seems not to have an explicit political agenda. The Võro and Seto activists and the minority language press do have own complaints and concerns, but they keep their demands moderate, steering clear of open conflicts. Similarly to Estonian immigrants in Germany or Hungarians in Austria, they see themselves as a well-integrated part of Estonian society and avoid being labelled as trouble-makers.

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3.4.4 EuLaViBar results for Seto: Overall endangerment The EuLaViBar results for Seto indicate a situation that is probably typical of minority languages with weak standardisation and poor official cultivation: Endangerment is evident in all dimensions and focus areas, with not even legislation or education compensating for poor scores in other dimensions. The clearly best scores (even if relatively poor in comparison with other case studies) were reached on the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors). Seto speakers are relatively confident in their language skills and want to continue using their language. The results would have been better if they had been based on oral language use only; the score for self-reported skills in understanding (spoken) Seto was 3.61, while the score for writing was only 1.54. The difficulties experienced with written Seto were also confirmed by the interviews:

op po r

y cit pa

ty ni tu

ca

nüüd võta setomaa lehte loe näet rassõ om hindäl kah seto kiilt lukõ ‘now take the Setomaa newspaper; (I) read (it), you see, it’s difficult even for me to read the Seto language’ (Koreinik, 2013a: 66–67)

1.77

0.48

2.18

0.26

0.48 0.60 0.49

0.49 0.48 0.04

2.10 0.26

1.19

lan ag

pr

ir e

gu

1.61

e

od

uc

de ts

Figure 8 EuLaViBar chart for Seto in Estonia

s

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The reasons for the poor written-language scores are obvious. The Seto written standard is very young, so that only the younger generations have had the opportunity to learn the standard at school, and in the case of Seto in particular, the new standard orthography has been a matter for heated debates. In a linguistic culture in which expert language planning is highly valued and deviations from the standard are strongly stigmatised, the fear of ‘mistakes’ presumably will reduce the language users’ confidence in their written-language skills. Moreover, the scores were negatively affected by the lack of opportunities to use Seto in public. Despite the superficially very similar societal framework, the ‘Opportunity’ scores for the languages in the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ were slightly better (2.151) for Võro than for Seto (1.768). The question-specific EuLaViBar scores underlying the result revealed some differences. Most notably, the possibilities for using Seto in public domains were experienced as slightly weaker than those of using Võro. Consequently, the need to develop Seto to make it more usable in all domains was evaluated slightly higher than the need to develop Võro. According to Kadri Koreinik, the author of the ELDIA Seto and Võro case studies (personal communication 23.4.2013), it is difficult to explain why the Seto experience the possibilities of using their own language in public as weaker than the Võro speakers experience theirs. The reasons may, however, include the fact that there is only one secondary school in the Seto area, and so not all ethnic Seto children continue their studies there. Furthermore, the Seto area is split by administrative borders, and the two counties in which Seto is spoken also form the core area of the Võro language. The Seto also differ from all other Estonians culturally and in being Orthodox by faith, and Seto activists typically emphasise the importance of the cultural inheritance; that is, Seto activism focuses on culture rather than on language. The scores for the dimension of ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors), in contrast, were very poor. This reflects the obvious fact that there is a lack of media supply in Seto. There are a couple of periodicals in Seto, but both are published rather rarely and lack daily news value. Seto appears sporadically in National Public Broadcasting. There is not much Seto-language content on the internet. This is also connected with the age of Seto speakers: Those who are fluent in Seto, the elderly generations, are not producing internet content – in fact, as stated above, since the written standard is very young, they have not even had the opportunity to learn it at school. In the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), the scores are also poor, as is typical of minority languages with a contested or problematic status. Even these scores are partly based on a misunderstanding of the legal situation. For instance, despite what some respondents seemed to believe, there are no laws or regulations concerning the teaching of the Seto language in Estonia.

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Seto also scored very poorly in the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors). The respondents are well aware of the fact that Seto has only recently been introduced into the education system, and even if it is taught, this means a few hours a week as a subject – or extracurricular cultural activities. For many older speakers, the school has been the locus of linguistic assimilation: inne sai seto kiil selges ja sis kuuli minneh sis sai eesti kiil selges ‘first (I) learned the Seto language and then, when (I) went to school, (I) learned Estonian’ latsõna jo olt siin kasunu ja elänü ja olnu ja inne mõistaki is kirjakiilt ku kuuli lätsi (.) inne es mõista ütski ‘as a child (I) grew up here and lived here and didn’t even understand the standard (Estonian) before I went to school; nobody did’ tuu oll sääne aeg et panti nurka ku kõnõlit seto keeleh koolih (--) tuu oll kuvvõkümnendatel säitsemkümmendatel ‘it was such a time that you were stood in a corner if you spoke Seto at school (...) that was in the 1960s, 1970s’ (Koreinik, 2013a: 90, 77)

3.5 Võro (Võru) in Estonia: A Minority Defying Definitions16 3.5.1 Dialect or language? Võro (part of the speakers use the form Võru, which is also used in standard Estonian) is a southern Estonian language variety linguistically very close to Seto, although there is a clear cultural and identity border between these two language communities. While the Seto – also due to the strong Russian cultural influences, their traditional Orthodox faith and some archaic features preserved in their cultural traditions – have an ethno-cultural identity which clearly deviates from Estonian mainstream, the Võro speakers, as a rule, see themselves as part of the Estonian nation. Despite their strong regional and linguistic identity, Võro speakers are usually not perceived as an ethnic minority distinct from Estonians. The Võro dialects (among which, linguistically, Seto can also be counted), together with the Tartu and Mulgi (Viljandimaa) dialects, form the southern Estonian dialect group. These southern language varieties are genealogically clearly distinct from northern Estonian. In fact, there is a consensus in Finnic linguistics (see e.g. Viitso, 2000, Kallio, 2006) that south Estonian (alongside Livonian) was the first Finnic variety to split

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away from Proto-Finnic, even before the protoforms of northern Estonian and other Finnic languages (such as Finnish or Karelian) were separated from each other. The deep genealogical division has been strengthened by administrative divisions; until Estonia became independent, its southern and northern parts belonged to the governorates of Livonia and ‘Estonia’, respectively. Thus, Võro (like Seto) deviates from the northern Estonian dialects and the northern-based standard language so much that mutual intelligibility is questionable at the very least. From the very beginning of Estonian-language literacy in the 16th century, two written variants of Estonian were in use: a north Estonian (the Tallinn tradition) and a south Estonian one, based on the dialects of the Tartu region. During the national awakening in the 19th century, the Tallinn variety gradually ousted the Tartu one and became the basis for the official standard Estonian state language. However, there was some poetic and artistic use of southern Estonian varieties throughout the 20th century, and in the late 1980s, a new emancipation movement led to the creation of a new southern standard. Although the new standard is no longer based on the traditional Tartu dialect but on the Võro-Seto varieties, which are even farther away from the northern standard, its activists often refer to the continuity of southern Estonian literacy and to the traditions of the Tartu written language. In southern Estonian rural regions around the town of Võru/ Võro, local varieties of the Võro language were typically used in spoken communication until the second half of the 20th century. In the post-war decades, urbanisation, internal mobility and the ‘dialecticidal’ practices of the school system began to endanger their maintenance and enforce the overall use of the northern standard. The aim of the new ‘Võro-Seto’ standard launched in the 1980s was explicitly to counter this development. The Võro written standard has since the 1980s been subject to endless language planning debates; even after diverse changes in the original orthography, some Võro speakers still have difficulties accepting it. It has been reported that the vocabulary of the new written language is perceived to be ‘Seto-like’ and its orthography looks ‘foreign’, or that the new standard as a whole is regarded as ‘artificial’ or as something that belongs to language activists rather than to the common people. Opinions of this type also surfaced in the ELDIA interviews: umma lehte tuud tuud ma piä hindä jaos ümbre tõlkma tuu om väega määndseski kohitsedu keeleh üldiselt kirotõdu ‘Uma Leht [= the Võro-language bi-monthly gazette], that, that I must translate for myself, it is very much written in a kind of castrated language in general’ (Koreinik, 2013b: 91)

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As Võro speakers have not been regarded as a separate ethnic group in censuses and demographic research, there are no official statistics nor even any clear criteria for defining a Võro speaker. In a sample survey from 1998, 86% of the inhabitants of the former Võro county (more than 70,000 in total) reported speaking the Võro language freely. In the all-Estonian census of 2011, in which for the first time respondents were asked about their knowledge of Estonian dialects, 87,048 people reported being able to understand and speak the Võro dialect.17 In the classification used in the census, the Võro dialect (group) also includes Seto; subtracting the selfassessed Seto speakers (12,549 persons) would yield 74,499 as the number of ‘real’ (self-declared) Võro speakers.

3.5.2 Regulation and public use of Võro As described in more detail in Section 3.4.2 above, Estonian legislation only recognises Estonian as the national language in Estonia and, accordingly, Võro and Seto are not acknowledged as languages – not even as ‘regional languages’. Instead, the new language act regards Võro and Seto – alongside other non-standard Finnic language varieties of Estonia – as ‘regional forms of the Estonian language’ and has launched a completely novel term for this: ‘dialectal language’ (murdekeel). According to the language act, these ‘regional forms of Estonian’ shall be supported by the state and can also be used, alongside standard Estonian, in official texts and signage in their traditional regions. In addition to traditional research institutions conducting linguistic research on Võro and other language varieties in southern Estonia, such as the University of Tartu, there is a state-funded Võro Institute whose tasks include linguistic (especially topo-onomastic) and language-sociological research, planning and support of Võro and the publication of educational texts. The Võro language can be taught and is taught as a (free) subject in some primary schools of the Võromaa area, and pre-school immersion playgroups have also been organised (see also Koreinik, 2007). However, these measures only reach a minor part of children and youth; in the study year 2005–2006, only 5% of pupils in compulsory education had the opportunity to learn some Võro at school, and the situation has essentially not improved since then. There are authors regularly writing and publishing in Võro, and the language has a sparse but regular media presence. Short (radio) and infrequent (TV) broadcasts and some print and new media are available in Võro. As also described above in Section 3.4.3, Võro-language minority media seldom tackle politically problematic issues and concentrate on local or regional identity building, while majority media seldom deal with Võro issues and typically present Võro speakers as part of the Estonian nation.

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3.5.3 Media analysis: ‘We are not a minority but normal people’ Due to the state’s cultural policy, media in the Võro language has been funded by the state program ‘Language and Culture of Southern Estonia 2000–2004’ and its follow-ups. In addition to print media, short radio news programmes and TV episodes are offered by the Estonian national publicservice broadcasting company. Võro is also used to some extent in blogs and in social media. Until the mid-1990s, Võro was used in all journalistic genres. With the newspaper Uma Leht – first published in 2000 – being an entirely Võro-language channel, other (local, county) newspapers have almost stopped using Võro. Moreover, with the support of the same program, eight Võro-language versions of Estonia’s oldest monthly magazine for children, Täheke (‘Little Star’), have been published between 2005 and 2011. Besides Uma Leht, there are two local newspapers – Võrumaa Teataja (‘Võrumaa Gazette’) (VT ) and Koit (‘Dawn’) – in Estonian, which are published in Põlva and Võru counties, which include Seto municipalities (Meremäe, Mikitamäe, Misso, and Värska) and cover the core area of Võro speakers. Both focus mostly on local affairs but also publish opinions on more general topics (e.g. parliamentarians publishing their political agenda, state-owned enterprises doing their PR). Moreover, two major all-Estonian daily newspapers, Eesti Päevaleht (‘Estonian Daily Newspaper’, EPL) and Postimees (‘The Postman’, PM) publishing in Estonian were also selected for the analysis. Both are the daily newspapers that represent the social mainstream and can be considered as fora wherein most policy claims have been discussed. Both are published six times a week, but online versions are constantly being renewed. In Estonia, the topics of Võro and Võro speakers are rather marginal in the public majority discourse. Mainstream media seems to cover them only when the status quo seems to be being changed or challenged, such as legal changes or the selection of a minority language song to represent Estonia in the Eurovision Song Contest. Otherwise the topic is brought in sporadically. Paradoxically, the minority newspaper avoids minoritizing topics and seems not to have an explicit political agenda. This can be explained by the position of the established majority of Võro speakers. Moreover, the coverage and attitudes of the local county paper in Estonian seem to depend on a small number of certain authors and their preferences and views. In minority media, on the other hand, locality building and identity building are represented by the community as re-inventing its heritage. It is often repeated that the Võro language is ‘our, one’s own language’.

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Võrulaste puhul on armastatud rõhutada, et neil on kaks emakeelt – eesti ja võru. “Võru keel on pigem ema keel”, teeb elava loomuga Anu käega õhus liigutuse, mis märgib sõnade kirjutamist lahku. Ta tunnistab, et temaealistes tekitas see segadust: kodus elati murdekeele keskel, koolis aga murret ei lubatud. ‘When speaking of the Võro residents, people love to emphasise that they have two mother tongues, Estonian and Võro. “Võro is rather the mother’s tongue”, the lively Anu [teacher of Võro language] makes a gesture in the air, indicating that the words are to be written separately [that is: ema keel, “the mother’s tongue”, rather than emakeel “mother tongue”]. She admits that for people of her age, this used to be confusing: At home, they lived amidst dialectal language, but at school the dialect was not allowed.’ ‘Keelt ja leiba läheb vaja kogu elu jooksul’ [‘Language and bread, that’s what you will need throughout your life’], VT 13.3.2004, Liina Valper In the Estonian press, Võro speakers are defined as ‘our minority’. That their cultural and language activities are funded by the Ministry of Culture is not seriously criticised anywhere. The Võru activists and the minority language press do have their own complaints and concerns, but they keep their demands moderate. There is no threatening of a majority, nor any serious conflicts expressed in the minority language discourse. They clearly do not want to labelled as troublemakers but instead seek harmony, even though it might cost them some rights or true realisation of their rights.

3.5.4 EuLaViBar results for Võro: A language ‘more for the mouth’? As can be expected, the EuLaViBar results for Võro resemble those for Seto in Estonia, with some slight differences, which have already been dealt with above in Section 3.4.4. The best scores – and even these are relatively weak – were reached in the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors in the following chart), while for all other dimensions, the scores indicate serious endangerment. As in the case of Seto, the fairly high scores reflect subjective fluency, especially in spoken language, while the scores are negatively affected by the relatively weak written use. The written standard of Võro is contested and young, not all speakers have had the opportunity to learn it in formal education, and even language activists may experience Võro as belonging more naturally to spoken interaction:

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y cit pa

op po r

2.15

0.20 0.22

1.86

ty ni tu

ca

84

0.47 0.60 0.37

0.37 0.22 0.07

1.87 0.20 1.26

lan ag

pr

ir e

gu

1.66

e

od

uc

de

s

ts

Figure 9 EuLaViBar chart for Võro in Estonia

pruugi küll ma suurõmbalt jaolt kirota iks (.) esiki mu teksti omma iks suurõmbalt jaolt iks eesti keelen -- (.) et et võru kiil om rohkem suu perrä ja sis kiräkiil om kirutamise perrä ‘I use, well, mostly I still write... even my texts are, for the most part, in Estonian... as, as, the Võro language is more for the mouth (for speaking) and the standard language is for writing’ (Koreinik, 2013b: 68) In addition to the scores for language use and interaction, a relatively high score in comparison with the very poor overall results was reached in the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors) for the focus area ‘Desire’. (This score was calculated on the basis of two questions inquiring whether the use of the minority language is supported or prevented by law.) Even this positive effect is due to perceived lack of explicit discrimination rather than proactive support. Only a tenth of the respondents believe that legislation in Estonia directly supports the use of Võro. Rather than directly protected by law, the language is perceived as having an unclear status, as also expressed by an interviewee:

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ütlemi et sis väga pikka aigu (.) õkva nigu es keeletä aga väga nigu ammetlikult es kiteta ka et noh siin om sääne küllaltki (.) khmhm määramada tsoon oll ‘let’s say that for a long time... (it) was not forbidden straight out, but not very much, like, approved officially either. Well, here’s such a, quite a... hmm, there was an indeterminate zone’ (Koreinik, 2013b: 87) For the dimensions of ‘Education’ (squared sectors) and ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors), the scores were very poor throughout all the four focus areas. As stated above, the EuLaViBar calculation method for media use may produce unrealistically low results; ‘elite’ culture and active text production (such as writing blogs or poetry), practiced by relatively few people irrespective of language, are given too much weight. Nevertheless, the media supply in Võro is sparse, and Võro speakers more regularly consume media in standard Estonian. Of Võro-language media, only the gazette Uma Leht was read regularly by the majority of the respondents. In contrast, two-thirds of the respondents never read Võro-language books! As for education, the poor scores probably truthfully reflect the weak presence of Võro in the education system. Moreover, it seems that for most speakers, Võro is a language that belongs to informal use – to the private sphere, rather than to schools and language classes. Many interviewees emphasised the role of informal language acquisition: ma arva meil ei olõ keski tedä opnu võru kiilt ei ole opnu võru keel om sündümisest saadik suun olnu ‘I think that nobody here has learnt it, the Võro language, hasn’t learnt it; they have the Võro language in their mouths since birth’ (Koreinik, 2013b: 92)

3.6 Veps in Russia: ‘There are laws, but we don’t see them in action’18 3.6.1 The easternmost Finnic minority The Veps are an autochthonous (traditional, regional) minority in north-western Russia, linguistically most closely related to the Karelians; the Veps language is particularly close to the Olonets (Livvi) and Lude19

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varieties of the Karelian language. Their traditional settlements were situated in a large area between the lakes Ladoga, Onega, and Belozero. 20 However, due to continuous assimilation and internal mobility, and also as a consequence of rural ‘development’ policies in the 20th century, which emptied many villages, the Veps population has shrunk into dwindling islets in three administrative areas: in the southern part of the Republic of Karelia, in the eastern part of the Leningrad oblast and in the westernmost part of the Vologda oblast. The ELDIA field study was conducted among the Veps in the Republic of Karelia and in the Leningrad oblast. The Veps area has probably been multinational for many centuries already, and there is no historical evidence that the scattered Veps villages would ever have formed an ethnolinguistically unified whole or that all the Veps would have shared a common ethnolinguistic identity. (It is true that the Veps were only ‘discovered’ by scholars in the 19th century and that prior to that, there is very little direct documentation of their history.) Traditionally, not even the ethnonym Veps was used by all Veps, and it seems obvious that the Veps identity in the modern sense is a product of the 20th century. During the 20th century, the number of Veps speakers as well as people identifying themselves as ethnic Veps has plummeted. While in the 1920s more than 90% of the more than 30,000 ethnic Veps were also native speakers of the Veps language, the census of 2010 found 5936 ethnic Veps (in all of Russia) and 1821 people who defined Veps as their mother tongue. Even in Veps settlements, Russian now typically dominates in the public sphere, as also noted by the informants of the ELDIA field study: no elos om ezisijal om venäkel’, völ vižkümne vot tagaze vepsän kel’ oli ezisijal, kaiktäna pagižiba vaiše, pagištihe vaiše ičemoi kelel ‘But in life Russian comes first. Still 50 years ago the Veps language used to come first, everywhere they only spoke, only our language was spoken.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 112) Not all speakers of Veps consider themselves ethnic Veps, nor do all speakers of Veps define Veps as their first language; 161 individuals who identified themselves as belonging to another ethnic group, mainly Russians, reported Veps as their native language, and 3613 individuals (more than twice the number of the native speakers!) claimed to know Veps.

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nügüd’ minun tatoi hän ei pagiže vepsäks, vaiše erasid sanoid, no hän kaiken sanub minä olen vepsläine, nimitte venälaine ‘Nowadays my father does not speak Veps, only a few words, but he always says “I am Veps, not Russian”’ a vot mikš hän sanub muga [Interviewer:] ‘Why does he say so?’ hänel om vepsläine harakter, taba - - hänen vanhembad oma vepsläižed, sikš hän om vepsläine ‘He has a Veps character, nature... his parents are Veps, that’s why he is Veps’ (Puura et al., 2013: 89–90)

The average age of Veps speakers is high, and the transmission of the language to younger generations is seriously endangered. Some informants of the field study explicitly stated that already for some time it has been customary not to speak Veps with children: vepsän kel’ nece oli miil kuti kel’ kudambal pagištas vanhembidenke, hän ičeze babanke pagiži vepsän kelel, hän ičeze anopinke, minun tatan mamanke minun babanke pagiži vepsän kelel, nu lapsidenke vot kuti, vot ei olend - mugošt harjoitust vot hargoituz miše pagišta vepsän kelel, enamban vot mamoi pagiži venekelel ‘The Veps language, for us it was a language which was spoken with the parents. She [mother] spoke Veps with her grandmother, with her mother-in-law, my father’s mother, my grandmother, she spoke Veps. But with children, well there wasn’t... that kind of habit, you see, the habit of speaking Veps. Mother spoke more Russian.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 93) The politically dominant language in the historical area of the Veps has been Russian throughout historical ages (alongside Church Slavonic used in the Orthodox church), and today’s Veps speakers, due to a Russianlanguage education system and the strong dominance of Russian in media, culture and administration, are all bilingual. Alongside Russian, some Veps people have also had contacts with the closely related Karelian and the somewhat more distantly related Finnish. For the Veps language, a literary standard based on the Latin script was first created in the 1930s. Some school textbooks appeared in this language,

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and it was used as a medium of education in some Veps schools for a few years (first in the Leningrad and Vologda oblasts, then, very briefly, in the Karelian Republic). However, outside the education system, no significant use of this literary language developed before the Veps standard, alongside many other small minority languages of the Soviet Union, was abolished in 1937 and Russian was reimplemented as the medium of teaching in Veps schools. After 1937, Veps only lived as a spoken language; the oral use of Veps, however, was researched by field linguists and folklorists, so that scholarly publications containing written Veps material did appear. A new written standard began to emerge in the late 1980s, in the last years of the Soviet Union, as many instances of the ethnic revival of minorities arose in Russia. Similarly to the literary language of the 1930s, this new standard is based on the central Veps dialect and uses the Latin script. (The choice of alphabet, motivated by traditions and the fact that all other Finnic languages also use Latin-script orthographies, is problematic for many elderly fluent speakers who are only literate in Russian. Moreover, it can be perceived as running counter to the idea of the 2002 amendment to the federal language law, according to which all regional state languages in Russia must use the Cyrillic script – even if Veps is not nor is likely to become a state language; see Section 3.6.2.) The new literary standard has mostly been the work of native-speaker experts based in the Republic of Karelia (especially at the Institute for Linguistics, History, and Literature of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Petrozavodsk). This work has involved not just regulating the orthography but also lexicon planning and composing glossaries. Some school books and other texts have appeared in the Veps literary language; there are a few authors who regularly write in Veps.

3.6.2

Legal and institutional position of Veps in Russia

During the 20th century, the laws and practices in Russia as regards the position of minority languages have vacillated between the active support of minorities (especially in the first decades after the October Revolution, as many new minority languages were standardised) and assimilatory policies favouring and glorifying the Russian language. Even today, with regard to matters of language and language diversity, the legal system of the Russian Federation is characterised by ambiguity and the absence of implementation measures and legal remedies. There is a good basic protective legislative framework, but it is considered ineffective and unreliable. This was also noted by some informants of the ELDIA study: Zakonad oma, elos em nähkoi. ‘There are laws, but we have not seen them in action.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 157)

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The national awakening within the Soviet Union and during its disintegration led to the adoption of the 1991 Law on Languages of the Nationalities. Thereafter, the main concern for the regime, however, has been to enhance what is defined as the internal cohesion and the territorial integrity of the country. In line with this trend, the aforementioned 1991 Law on Languages was changed in December 2002. According to this amendment, all regional state languages must use the Cyrillic script. This change was later on regarded by the Federal Constitutional Court (in 2004) to be in conformity with the Russian Constitution. The Russian language is regarded as a core uniting element for the federation. These aims and the perception of the Russian language as a general instrument for a more consolidated integration is further supported by the ‘Concept of federal comprehensive programme “Russian language” for the period 2011–2015.’ Language diversity on the societal and individual level is in principle guaranteed by the constitution. Furthermore, according to Articles 68.3 and 69, smaller minority languages, such as Veps, enjoy special protection. These provisions are made more precise in the 1999 law ‘On Guarantees of the Rights of Indigenous Minority Nationalities of the Russian Federation’. The scattered language legislation in the Russian Federation gives guidance to the authorities and provides an opportunity for the support of languages and of language diversity; this opportunity is, however, only rarely taken in practice and has not had any decisive supportive effect for the languages studied in ELDIA. The Veps as an ethnic group (‘nationality’, natsional’nost’ in the SovietRussian terminology) and the Veps language have been acknowledged already in the Soviet censuses, although in practice, Veps ethnicity was not always recognised by local authorities responsible for personal records. However, it was only at the turn of the millennium that the Veps were granted an official minority status in the Russian Federation. In 2000, they were added to the list of ‘Indigenous Small-Numbered Peoples of the Russian Federation’ (the Veps in Vologda oblast were added in 2009).21 In 2006, they received the status of ‘Indigenous Small-Numbered People of the North, Siberia and the Far East of the Russian Federation’.22 The latter status means in practice eligibility for special support coordinated by the Ministry of Areal Development of the Russian Federation. In the Republic of Karelia, a specific law on the state support of the Karelian, Veps, and Finnish languages was passed in 2004; for the oblasts of Leningrad and Vologda, no corresponding specific legislation exists. As in Russia in general (see e.g. Zamyatin et al., 2012), minority languages and multilingualism do not have a firm position in the education system in the Veps areas. Throughout the 20th century, school has been one of the instruments of linguistic assimilation. Older informants of the ELDIA study reported how, when Veps was still widely spoken in families and in everyday life, speaking Veps at school was explicitly forbidden:

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i völ školis-ki sanutihe miše ei pidä ei tariš pagišta školas vepsän kelel, minä äi kerdoid olin saumas čogas, sikš ku peremenoil - - lebukeskustal pagižin ičemoi kartte, i siloi sanutihe miše tule čogaha sikš ku školas ei tari pagišta ičemoi kartte ‘And even at school we were told that we should not, there is no need to speak Veps at school. I was made to stand in the corner many times, because during the break [uses a Russian word, then self-corrects], the break, I was speaking our language. And then I was told to come to stand in the corner, since you should not speak your language at school.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 137) There is no state-funded pre-school language education in Veps; there have been some attempts to organise children’s summer camps or language nests (preschool language immersion), but very little information about the results is available.23 All schools in the Veps areas use exclusively Russian as teaching medium. In some schools, Veps language classes (1–3 hours a week) are offered, in some cases (especially in the Leningrad and Vologda oblasts) only on an extracurricular and voluntary basis. A concrete problem, explicitly mentioned in the ELDIA study as well, arises from the closing of small village schools; for instance, in the Podporož’e area in the Leningrad oblast, all the schools in the small Veps villages were closed despite parents’ appeals, as it was cheaper and easier to bring all children to a boarding school in Vidl. In higher education, Veps as an academic subject is taught at the University of Petrozavodsk in the Republic of Karelia and at the Institute of the Peoples of the North at the Herzen University in St. Petersburg. Veps is not used in public administration – not even on regional level. There is no information available about whether Veps is actually used in public institutions. The Veps people traditionally belong to the Orthodox church of Russia, in which Russian and Church Slavic are used. Some texts, such as the New Testament, have been translated into Veps (these activities are typically coordinated by institutions operating in Finland), but no church services are held in Veps.

3.6.3 Veps in the media: Focus on identity and tradition The supply of Veps-language media is very sparse. Veps-language radio and television broadcasts are provided by the state-owned GTRK Kareliya, but only a few times a month (radio news twice a week) and only in the Republic of Karelia. The Veps–Russian bilingual gazette

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Kodima (‘Homeland’) appears once a month; moreover, the magazines Carelia and Kipinä (‘The Spark’, a children’s magazine) which appear in Petrozavodsk and mainly in Finnish, occasionally publish material in Veps or Karelian. The ELDIA media analyses in Russia were conducted jointly for Karelian and Veps. The Karelian and Veps newspapers analysed do not really provide an alternative to Russian-language media even though their contents are clearly minority oriented. They work for the strengthening of Karelian or Veps as well as Finno-Ugric identity and also as a channel of language development. In comparison to the Russian local papers, their news content is one-sided, but then again, they deal with such topics as language-rights issues more often than the local or regional Russianlanguage media. One should note that the Karelian and Veps language media in the Republic of Karelia is state owned, which may explain the similarity of contents in different media. Some discourses could be found in both Karelian and Russian media. These include a rather vague description of the linguistic situation with few concrete proposals of action, an affectionate way of describing traditional village life and the association of minority-language maintenance with the maintenance of traditions. In Veps-language discourses (and also in Karelian media), the importance of maintaining the Veps language is highlighted. Usually, it is the speakers of Veps who are portrayed as responsible for the language, and the authors urge them to use their language. Furthermore, teaching the Veps language to children is considered important, and students studying Veps at the university are revered as young people with an interest in their mother tongue. On the other hand, authors often lament that the students studying Finnic philology are generally not so interested in Veps but rather in Karelian and especially in Finnish. Festivals and other events where the Veps language has been used are covered in detail, and occasions where Veps people have been present, such as various kinds of congresses and so on, are presented with great pride. This reveals a major change from earlier times: The Veps ethnicity and language are nothing to be ashamed of any more. In the Russian press, the Finnic minorities of Karelia are dealt with quite regularly, but in a superficial way. Problems are not tackled in depth, if at all. In our data, the Finno-Ugric peoples of Karelia, especially the Karelians and the Veps, are given a role in constructing local tradition and colour. Their cultures are connected with traditional village life, which is highly nostalgised. The decline of villages and the battle against this decline was a frequent narrative in Karelian newspapers, and the same applies to the Russian media. In general, the tone is positive and encouraging, as the focus is on individuals acting for a brighter future, albeit against the social tendencies of urbanisation. Thus the Karelians,

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Veps and Finns are presented as a part of the Karelian Republic, but when references are made to the importance of culture maintenance, it is usually argued for from the point of view of maintaining the special character of the republic. Sometimes one could speak of folklorisation and underlining the importance of visible culture: dance, clothing, food and so on. The minority languages are often neglected or are considered just a minor part of the tradition. The other elements of Karelian culture seem to be closer to the heart of Russian authors and supposed readers, and the maintenance of the language is left for the Karelian, Veps and Finns to take care of. It is presented as a central task of Karelian organisations. Criticism towards the authorities in regard to language and culture maintenance is practically absent from the Russian texts, and no person or institution is explicitly made responsible for the decline in the situation at the present moment, although problems of the past are dealt with quite often. The Russian-language media analysed does not discuss phenomena of language maintenance, minority rights or the consequences of legislation changes for the minorities. There seems to be a certain distribution of work in which these topics are addressed in the state-owned minority media. However, considering the pace of language shift among Karelian, Veps and Finnish speakers in Karelia, it is obvious that not all members of the minorities can access the media contents that only appear in the heritage language of their ethnic group. This essentially diminishes the visibility of minority issues. The minority media may reach the elderly, language activists and perhaps students, but the young and middle-aged generations, including parents of young children who would form the target group of language revitalisation efforts, are left aside. They may have very little input about minority issues from the majority media. The same applies to the majority. Therefore, one can conclude that the majority media only presents minority issues in a marginal role and views them from a very narrow angle.

3.6.4 EuLaViBar results for Veps: Few real signs of hope amidst unwarranted optimism? The barometer results for Veps in Russia indicate serious endangerment in all areas. As with many other ELDIA case studies, the highest scores were reached in the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors), but even these were rather low. These results were probably brought down by numerous factors, such as language transmission; the score for the question as to whether the informant had tried to make his

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or her children learn and use Veps was only 1.62, while the question as to whether the informant’s parents had supported him or her in learning Veps scored 3.01. In fact, a majority of respondents stated that they did not encourage their children to learn Veps! Considering the future of the Veps language, this is perhaps the most disconcerting finding: The Veps language is losing its foothold in families and is often no longer transmitted to the next generation. It is true that there are exceptions. This young mother told the ELDIA interviewers how she attempts to teach Veps to her little daughter: minun tütrele om 1,5 vot, lujas tahtoin, miše hän mahtaiži vepsäks. Nügüd minä pagižen hänenke vepsäks, lugen hänele kirjoid vepsän kelel (sarnoid, runoid), pajatan hänele pajoid vepsän kelel, ozutan kuvid, sanun vepsäks mi kuval om. ‘My daughter is 1.5 years old, I truly want her to know the Veps language. Nowadays I speak to her in Veps, read her books in Veps (stories, poems), sing her songs in the Veps language, show her pictures and tell her in Veps what is in them.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 139)

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The scores were also affected negatively by the poor opportunities to use Veps in the public sphere. For instance, when asked in which domains the language should be used, most Veps respondents did not even wish Veps to be used in more formal contexts such as public administration. To some speakers, the idea of a more extensive use of Veps in the public sphere may even sound rather like a joke. (A fieldworker reports:) konz mö küzuim nene anketad sigä keskvepsän mal, no oliži hüvä, sigä oli, ku kävutaižiba vepsän kel’t tam sudas bolnicas parlamentas, i babad, ei parlamentas nece kus, ka vot televidenias sinei, meide ka politikad sanuiži midä-ni sinei vepsäks, ka oliži hüvä meide kelel, ka kut, a ka kirjuta, ka ka ka, okha pagižeb, ka, i nagroiba ‘When we were filling in those questionnaires in the Central Veps country [we asked whether] it would be good, there was [written], if the Veps language were used in court, in hospital, in the parliament. And the old women [said], not in the parliament. Well, [if] in the television our politicians said something to you in Veps, would it be good, in our language? Yes, write down, yes yes yes, let them speak, yes. And they laughed.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 118) Most respondents also reported experiencing Veps difficult to use in everyday life, which probably means that speakers lack practice, and perhaps even vocabulary, for using Veps in the public sphere or in connection with modern technology, culture or politics. Moreover, the Veps literary standard is fairly recent and still weakly established, and not all fluent speakers are literate in Veps. The respondents evaluated their skills in writing Veps as much weaker (score 1.17) than in understanding spoken Veps (3.03). The second highest scores were reached in the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors) in the focus areas of ‘Opportunity’ and ‘Desire’. This can be interpreted as reflecting the general but vague belief that there are laws supporting the use and maintenance of Veps – even if, as stated above, the laws and their implementation have hardly had any real effect. Moreover, the scores were affected positively by the results of the question that asked whether legislation prevents the use of Veps; obviously, Veps informants, even if they had doubts about the efficiency of the legislation, did not think that the laws are directly discriminative.

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Interestingly, the score for this dimension in the focus area of ‘Opportunity’ was clearly higher for Veps than for Karelian in Russia, although the legislative framework is basically the same for these two minorities. Perhaps Karelians, considering that Karelian is the titular language of the Republic of Karelia, would expect their language to have a particularly strong position, while the Veps are more content with the vague support provided by the general legislative framework. Similarly, the Veps informants of the study might have unrealistically optimistic views about the institutional support for Veps in schools. For Veps, the question asking whether there are laws regulating the instruction of the minority language in schools scored even higher (2.929) than, for example, for Meänkieli in Sweden (2.531). Yet, Swedish law states explicitly that children have the right to language classes in their mother tongue (even if this in practice is interpreted in different ways), while in Russia the law only vaguely allows for the use of Veps. This means that the Veps informants of the ELDIA study might in general show a more optimistic or confident attitude than many other minorities, and even the low barometer scores analysed here might be too optimistic. In fact, as shown by the survey, the Veps respondents were not very well informed about the actual legislation, and some of them erroneously believed that the relevant law texts were available in Veps translation. The scores for the dimensions of ‘Education’ (squared sectors) and ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) were very poor. Although there are some validity issues with the calculation of these scores, the general results correspond to what is known about the endangered state of the Veps language. The presence of Veps both in the education system and in the media is very weak. The traditional media supply (the gazette Kodima, radio and TV broadcasts) is very sparse, and electronic media are mainly used by educated youth, not by the elderly rural people who are typically the most fluent speakers. As with many other case studies, the low scores for media-related questions reflect poor supply rather than weak demand! The school instruction of Veps as a subject is a recent innovation, only present in a few schools, and most respondents had never had the chance to learn Veps at school. Moreover, the language is often taught in a ‘folkloristic’ framework, together with traditional culture, folk songs, dances and local lore, and the focus is not on developing real communication skills. The overwhelming majority of the respondents (90.1%) agreed at least to some extent that the Veps language should be used in the education system. Together with the finding that the use and transmission of Veps in families is severely endangered, this, too, seems to indicate a potentially false optimism and an unrealistically strong confidence in institutions and legislation. However, there were also Veps informants who emphasised the role of each individual:

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(Interviewer: Who should give help so that the future of the Veps language would be stronger? Who does it depend on?) kaikuččespäi vepsläižespäi ezmei kaiked, sikš ku vot tariš miše sinä tedaižid, ku minei anttihe necida kel’t, mamoi andoi baboi andoi, kut minä tegen, miše edemba kel’ ei mäne, - - ku sinei anttihe necida kel’t, sinun ezitatad, ka i sinä tege muga miše kel’ edemba eläiži, hot’ kelle-ni anda, no valdmehištospäi meil varastada, Venämal om jüged varastada abud, lujas jüged midä-se varastada ‘On every Veps, first of all. Because you should know, when I was given this language, mother and grandmother gave it. What should I do, for the language is not passed onwards. - - When you were given the language, your forefathers, so you should also do similarly for the language to live on. Give it at least to someone. But from the authorities, in Russia it is difficult to expect help, very difficult to expect something.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 132)

3.7 Karelian in Russia: ‘Where can we go with the Karelian language?’24 3.7.1 The elusive Karelia and its language(s) The historical province of Karelia (Karjala) has been both shaped and divided by the shifting border between (Novgorodian) Russia and Sweden (to which Finland belonged until 1809). The westernmost parts of Karelia had already come under Swedish rule by the 13th–14th century, and the language varieties spoken there are, for the most part, linguistically classified along with the eastern dialects of Finnish, not Karelian in the linguistic sense. (For Karelian speakers in Finland, see Section 3.8.) In today’s Finnish language use, ‘Karelia’ often refers to these eastern parts of (pre-World War II) Finland. The more eastern parts of historical Karelia have been under Russian rule during most of their documented history, and most of them now belong to the Republic of Karelia in the Russian Federation. The republic (until 1923, ‘The Karelian Labour Commune’) was created in 1920 from areas that had previously belonged to the governorates of Arkhangel’sk and Olonets. Not all Karelians of Russia live in the Karelian Republic, nor is the republic populated exclusively by Karelians. Amidst ethnically Russian areas south of Karelia, ethnic Karelian enclaves came into being in the 17th century, and especially in the Tver area north-west of Moscow, the Karelian language has been spoken up to the present day. Today, modern

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internal migration has dispersed Karelians to many parts of Russia and the former Soviet Union, and also partly to Finland (see Section 3.8). The Karelian Republic, in addition to the areas of the autochthonous Karelians and Veps, includes centuries-old Russian settlement areas. In modern times, industrialisation and other development policies have led to a massive immigration of Russians and other ethnic groups, including Finns. 25 Linguists usually divide the Karelian language into Karelian proper and Olonets (Livvi) Karelian (in Finnish also aunus). Karelian proper, in turn, is divided into the northern White Sea (Viena) Karelian and more southern Karelian dialects. These varieties, in practice, form a continuum between the sister languages Finnish and Veps: White Sea Karelian dialects are linguistically very close to Finnish, while Olonets Karelian is much closer to Veps. The Lude dialects, traditionally classified under Karelian but sometimes considered a separate language, are even closer to Veps and actually represent a transitional variety between Veps and Karelian. In the Soviet Union and Russia in the 20th and the 21st centuries, Karelian has been understood as an ethnolinguistic category comprising the traditional language-based communities of all varieties of Karelian. However, it is questionable whether such an ethnolinguistic supraregional identity ever existed before modern times (cf. Sarhimaa, 2000). The dialect differences within Karelian are so substantial that speakers of geographically distant dialects will not understand each other without difficulty, and so far no attempt to create a common standard language for all Karelians has been successful. The ELDIA field study in Russia was conducted among speakers of the Olonets Karelian (Livvi) variety for technical reasons: The speakers live in a fairly compact settlement area and were the easiest to reach. Russian census statistics show a rapid decrease in the numbers of ethnic Karelians and speakers of Karelian language varieties. From the 248,100 Karelians reported in the Soviet census of 1926 (more than half – 140,567 – of these lived in the Tver area!), the numbers have plummeted to 60,815 in the most recent census of 2010 (of these, 45,570 live in the Karelian Republic, which means that assimilation has been even faster in the Tver area). Only a minority of today’s Karelians define Karelian as their mother tongue; the 2010 census listed 12,369 native speakers of Karelian in the Republic of Karelia. Moreover, due to assimilation and immigration, Karelians have turned into a small minority in their own titular area. According to the census of 2010, ethnic Karelians only constitute 7.1% of the population of the Republic of Karelia. As already shown by many previous studies and confirmed by ELDIA research, the transmission of Karelian to younger generations is seriously endangered, and the most fluent speakers usually belong to the oldest generations:

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harvah vähän löüdüü semmostu nuortu ristikanzuo kudai vois paista karjalan kielel eri azijolois ‘Only rarely can one find such a young person who is able to speak about different things in Karelian’ (Karjalainen et al., 2013: 108)

3.7.2 Regulation and public use of Karelian in Russia: The legacy of exceptionally capricious language policies Throughout its history, Karelian has lived mostly as a spoken language of oral culture, despite occasional attempts such as the publication of religious texts in Karelian by the Orthodox church during the 19th century. After the October Revolution, new standard languages were developed for numerous minorities in the young Soviet Union, but the language policies in the Karelian Republic took a very different turn. The administration in Soviet Karelia was largely in the hands of ‘Red’ immigrants from Finland, and instead of developing a Karelian standard, they adopted Finnish alongside Russian as the language of education and administration. This solution was acceptable for White Sea Karelians, whose dialect is linguistically very close to Finnish, while speakers of more southern Karelian dialects, when given the choice between Finnish and Russian, often preferred Russian. (In the Tver area, in contrast, a Karelian literary language based on Latin script was developed and used in the 1930s.) In the years 1937–1939, the tide turned for a while, and a new Karelian standard language, meant for all Karelians and based on the Cyrillic script, was launched. This language, however, had little time to establish itself before it was given up again. From 1940 on, Finnish was reestablished as the second official language alongside Russian and was used to some extent in administration, in state-supported cultural and media activities and in the education system. For these peculiar political reasons and due to the pernicious closeness of Finnish, Karelian came to be the only ethnic language of an (autonomous) Soviet Republic that did not have any written standard nor official use. This situation only began to change in the late 1980s in the course of the ethnic awakenings that preceded and accompanied the collapse of the Soviet Union. Since 1989, written standards (based on the Latin alphabet) have been developed for both Olonets Karelian and (Southern) Karelian proper. White Sea Karelian, Tver Karelian and Lude are also used in writing to some extent. According to the constitution, the only official (state) language in the Karelian Republic is Russian. Moreover, the amendment made in

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2002 to the Law on the Languages of the Nationalities of the Russian Federation stipulates that state languages must use the Cyrillic alphabet. In principle, this would prevent Karelian from ever becoming a state language. It is true that policy makers in Karelia have also expressed their explicit concern for the endangerment of the Karelian language. In 2004, a law on the state support for the Karelian, Veps, and Finnish language in the Republic of Karelia was passed, and in 2009, a development plan for the Karelian language for the years 2009–2020 was published. This plan includes a number of concrete support measures for diverse cultural and linguistic activities. Nevertheless, the effects of this institutional support have been fairly modest, and the legislatory framework is often experienced as inefficient and uncertain. Similarly to the Veps informant quoted in Section 3.6.2, Karelian informants also confirmed that the existing institutional means of support are well intentioned but have very little real effect: Zakonad ollah, vaigu ei toimita. ‘There are laws, but they do not work.’ Annetah valdu käyttiä, ga ei avvuteta. ‘They give us the right to use [Karelian], but no help.’ pagizemas kieltä ei, ka ei rakkahal ni potakoija pagizemah, opastundua emmo ni mainice, libo kielen käytön levendämisty. ‘Speaking the language is not [prohibited], but speaking is not eagerly supported, not to mention teaching or widening the use of the language.’ (Karjalainen et al., 2013: 156–157) Above all, the legislation, as a rule, allows for Karelian speakers to use their language but does not oblige the Russian-speaking majority to learn and use Karelian. Since the 1990s, Karelian-language literature and press have been developing. Some Karelian-language signage has been introduced in Karelian areas, and there have been attempts to introduce the Karelian language into the academic world in seminars and conferences. As an academic subject, Karelian is taught at the University of Petrozavodsk. Similarly to the Veps areas and many other parts of Russia (and many other countries as well), the majority-language medium school seems to have been one of the main loci and means of linguistic assimilation in Russian Karelia. Many respondents of the ELDIA study, in whose childhood Karelian was still spoken in families and communities, reported that teachers did not allow Karelian to be used:

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[Informant from age group 50–64:] Školas: karjalakse ei annettu paista ka se mešaičči ven’an opastumizen. ‘At school one wasn’t allowed to speak Karelian, because it interfered with learning Russian.’ [Informant from age group 30–49:] sanottih, ei pia školas pagista karjalakse, pagiskoo kodis... ‘They said: one must not speak Karelian at school, let them talk at home...’ (Karjalainen et al., 2013: 135–136) Majority-language medium school has also been an important incentive for parents to refrain from transmitting the heritage language to the children, as confirmed by an ELDIA informant: minun vanhembat paistih keskenäh karjalakse a minun ker mällättih ven’ua, sildu gu ellendettih gu vahnin velli pahembi opastui školas, häi oli umbikarjalaine konzu lähti školah, häi oli ylen äijy vaigevustu oppijes, i hyö piätettih gu pidää minun ker paista ven’akse, sit opastus menöy kebjiembäh ‘My parents spoke Karelian with each other but with me they spoke Russian, because they understood that my eldest brother had difficulties at school. He didn’t know anything but Karelian when he started school, he had a lot of learning problems, and they decided that they’ll have to speak Russian with me, so that school will be easier for me.’ (Karjalainen et al., 2013: 102) At Karelian schools today, Karelian is not used as medium of instruction, but it can be taught as a subject within the so-called ‘ethnocultural component’ of the curriculum. However, this is realised only in some schools, and only approximately one out of four Karelian children can participate in this teaching. Moreover, it seems that this instruction, focusing on cultural heritage and folkloristic contents rather than practical language skills, does not suffice to create or support functional bilingualism. There have been some attempts at operating language nests (pre-school Karelian immersion), but these projects have faced practical and political obstacles (see also Pasanen, 2010).

3.7.3 Karelian and Karelians in the media Karelian has a regular but fairly thin media presence. The two Karelianlanguage newspapers, Oma Mua (‘Our Own Land’, published in Olonets Karelian) and Vienan Karjala (published in White Sea Karelian) have recently

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merged, and the renewed Oma Mua publishes material in both varieties. The magazine Carelia and the children’s magazine Kipinä (‘The Spark’) are mostly in Finnish but sometimes publish texts in Karelian or Veps, and local Russian-language newspapers in some municipalities occasionally contain articles or pages in Karelian. The state-owned broadcasting company GTRK Kareliya offers regular news broadcasts and cultural programmes in Olonets Karelian and also in Karelian proper. The role of new media seems to be rather marginal; among other things, this is because fluent speakers often belong to the oldest generations and typically do not use or even cannot access the internet. As shown in the media analysis for Karelian and Veps in Russia (see also Section 3.6.3), the Karelian media discourse presents folklore, history and traditions as the essence of being Karelian. These are given more attention than the language, and the language is rather seen as a part of them. The importance of maintaining the Karelian language is also addressed; usually the Karelians themselves are presented as being responsible for the maintenance of the language, but often it is not clearly identified who should take action. The discourse remains on a very general level and concrete advice or proposals of action are rare. Mostly the Karelians as a group are addressed and urged to use the language more in all domains of life. They are not encouraged to engage in political action, although the texts show that the resources for language maintenance depend on the authorities. The authorities are often blamed for the weak position of the language. The lack of resources is constantly criticised. When writing about the authorities, the Karelian media do not highlight the ethnicity of the civil servants and decision makers; however, persons of ethnic Karelian origin are presented as having more Karelian sympathies than those of other origin. Karelian language speakers are represented as if they basically live in villages, while the presence of Karelian in city life is neglected almost entirely. This leaves the Karelian language with a very narrow sphere of use. The young and the old generation dominate the articles. There are lots of articles that are inclined to nostalgia about the old way of life in the villages. There are also many stories about elderly people and their lives. On the other hand, news on children and students learning and using Karelian is frequently presented. This composition may reflect the composition of the readership, where the old are fluent speakers of Karelian and the young are learning it. Perhaps it is also an effort at bridge building intended to promote the transmission of the language from the older generations to the young. Especially in the earlier periods, this may have worked as a way of encouraging people to send their writings to the paper and giving them a sense of a republic-wide community. The middle-aged are less central, probably because many of them are not fluent speakers or regarded as potential learners. Among

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them, particularly active individuals, teachers and cultural workers are visible. The contents of the Karelian newspapers – Oma Mua and to some extent also Vienan Karjala – seem to have gone through a change between 2004 and 2010. In 2010, there were more critical tones and direct questions towards the government of the Karelian Republic, Moscow and other authorities. More attention is given to language teaching and the future of the language.

3.7.4 EuLaViBar results for Karelian in Russia: Being the titular language of an ethnic republic does not mean adequate support

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The EuLaViBar scores for Karelian in Russia show a situation fairly similar to that of Veps, except that the maintenance of Karelian in the dimension of ‘Legislation’ has been evaluated as even worse. The barometer indicates serious endangerment in all dimensions. As in the case of Veps, the best scores are reached in the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors), and even these are affected negatively by the same factors. The written standard is young and unknown to many older speakers, who might not even be literate in Latin script. Younger speakers, in turn, are less confident users of the language; when asked to evaluate their own language skills,

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only respondents over 65 years of age rated their knowledge of (spoken) Karelian as ‘fluent’. There are few opportunities to use the language outside the private sphere, and speakers may feel that the language is simply not adequate for these kinds of uses. True, Karelian respondents seemed to consider language planning more important than the Veps informants: The Karelian data yielded clearly higher scores for the question as to whether there is a need to develop the language to meet the challenges of wider public use. However, there were also informants who expressed a very pessimistic attitude towards the usability of the Karelian language: (Interviewer: What do you think, is there enough vocabulary in Karelian to speak about everything?) ei ole, ei voi olla. a miksebo pidäy, kunnebo myö menemmö sen karjalan kielenker, laukkah, bol’niččah? nuoret ei paišta, a nygöi bol’ničois da školis da joga paikas on nuoret ruavos kolmekymmenviiživuodiaat. kusbo, kenenkerbo sit pagižemmo? ‘No, there isn’t, there cannot be. And why should there be, where can we go with the Karelian language, to the shop, to the hospital? Young people don’t speak it, and nowadays in hospitals and schools and everywhere young people are working, 35-year-olds. Where, with whom should we speak it?’ (Karjalainen et al., 2013: 121) Cross-generational language use seems to be declining, as the scores for parental support show a negative trend: The answers to the question asking whether the respondent’s parents had supported him or her in learning Karelian scored 2.8, while the question whether the respondents themselves encouraged their children to learn Karelian only yielded the score 2.5. (Even this seems optimistic in the light of what is known of the situation of Karelian in Russia today.) The scores for the dimension ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors) were in general weaker than for Veps. As mentioned above (Section 3.6.4), a possible reason might be that Karelians compare the legal status of Karelian with the position of the ethnic languages of other titular republics. Similarly, the dimension ‘Education’ (squared sectors) got very low scores, for obvious reasons: Most of the respondents had received their education in a Russianmedium (or, in some cases, in a Finnish-medium) school, and more than 90% of them had never learned Karelian at school. For the dimension ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors), similarly, the scores indicated very poor maintenance and use of Karelian. As with all ELDIA studies, the scores are perhaps unrealistically low due to the calculation

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method, which assigns too much weight to types of media and cultural activities that are consumed or practised relatively seldom, irrespective of language. Moreover, here, as in the case of many other minorities, the poor scores may reflect poor media supply rather than a lack of interest in or desire to consume Karelian-language media. Yet, even traditional media were used on a regular basis by less than 40% of the respondents.

3.8 Karelian in Finland: Last-Minute Recognition?26 3.8.1 Karelian speakers in Finland: A minority that was never allowed to exist As explained in Section 3.7.1, historical Karelia was a border province divided throughout the ages between Sweden (from 1809 on, Finland) and Russia. While the westernmost parts of Karelia had already become part of Sweden in the Middle Ages and the Finnic varieties spoken there are now regarded as dialects of the Finnish language, the Karelian language in its modern linguistic sense evolved in those areas that belonged to the power sphere of (Novgorodian) Russia. However, as the border shifted back and forth in the endless wars between Sweden and Russia, historical Finland also came to include areas in which the Karelian language, in today’s linguistic sense, lived on. In the autonomous Grand Duchy of Finland from the early 19th century until 1917, and in independent Finland until World War II, three different varieties of Karelian (cf. Section 3.7.1) were spoken. Karelian speakers lived in Petsamo (the westernmost part of the Kola Peninsula, which belonged to Finland between the two World Wars) and along the eastern border in a few villages of Suomussalmi, Kuhmo and Ilomantsi. The most important Karelian-speaking area was the area known as Border Karelia (Raja-Karjala), the easternmost corner of pre-war Finland northeast of Lake Ladoga. Border Karelia comprised the municipalities of Salmi, Suistamo, Suojärvi, Korpiselkä, Soanlahti and Impilahti. By the time of World War II, Karelian speakers in Finland numbered 40,000–60,000. There were two different Karelian dialects spoken in Border Karelia, viz. the southern dialects of Karelian proper and the Olonets (Livvi) dialects. Furthermore, a third variety of Karelian has also been present in Finland: the northern or White Sea Karelian (Viena Karelian) dialects. These were spoken in a few villages along the eastern border even until the second half of the 20th century. Moreover, many White Sea Karelians from the Russian side came to Finland as refugees after World War I and the October Revolution. Of the more than 33,000 Karelian refugees from Russia (largely White Sea Karelians but partly also coming from other areas) who arrived in the

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years 1917–1922, many moved on to Sweden, but almost 20,000 remained in Finland. More recently, new speakers of Karelian have been emigrating from Russia to Finland: the Karelian Language Society has estimated that 3000 new Karelian speakers have moved to Finland since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. In World War II, Petsamo and the south-eastern part of pre-war Finland, including Border Karelia, were ceded to the Soviet Union. Following a detailed resettlement plan, the inhabitants of the ceded areas were evacuated and resettled to other parts of Finland.27 In some areas, such as Valtimo in the northern part of the Finnish province of north Karelia, there were considerable concentrations of Border Karelian evacuees, and regional Karelian-speaking communities continued existing even in the new, postwar circumstances. Mostly, however, the Karelian evacuee families and their descendants live scattered all over Finland, and today the speakers of Karelian tend to be centered in the major cities. Today Karelian is spoken predominantly with Karelian-speaking relatives and at home and to some extent with friends, at church (the Orthodox religion is perceived as an important part of many Karelian speakers’ identity) and at community events. Although there is still no unified literary standard, many Karelian speakers of different ages use their heritage language in writing, both for communication and for artistic expression and self-reflection. In the last few years, the use of Karelian in social media has visibly increased, and the growing internet presence of Karelian shows that also many young speakers are able and willing to use their heritage language and are actively looking for new opportunities to do so. As shown above, Karelian speakers in Finland are a very heterogeneous group, partly autochthonous, partly immigrant, living dispersed across the country and speaking all main varieties of the Karelian language. Their linguistic and ethnic demarcation from the Finnish-speaking population has always been problematic. Karelian speakers’ identity and status as a distinct ethnic group with a distinct language and culture has until recently not been recognised in Finnish ethnopolitics. As will be seen later in this chapter, the Finnish legislation puts Karelian in a clearly weaker position than the other autochthonous languages, and the language policies implemented regarding Karelian have until quite recently not supported its maintenance at all. Until recently, the Karelian language and its speakers in Finland have largely been neglected in research, and the existing research data and knowledge have been hidden, for instance, in studies that dealt with post-war evacuees in general. Many Finnish lay people do not know or understand the distinction between the Karelian language and those Finnish dialects that non-linguists often refer to as ‘Karelian’ (cf. Palander & Nupponen, 2005); they are often fairly uninformed as concerns the

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history and culture of Karelian speakers in Finland and cannot regard Karelian as a language or the Karelians as an ethnic minority. This was also confirmed by ELDIA interviewees. The speaker in the following quotation speaks Finnish here but is, despite being only in her 30s, a fluent speaker of Karelian as well: ei oo monta viikkoa kun, olikohan juuri kahvihuoneessa keskustelimme tästä ni, noh miten savon murre sitten, pitäähän senkin saada joku asema. ((naurua)) että lähettiin rinnastamaan sit niinku, Savon murteeseen, et siihen sellaseen, niinku saamelaisten, se kuitenki mielletään vähemmistökulttuuriks ja kieleks Suomessa, varmasti siihen on vielä pitkä matka. (FI-KRL-FG-AG3-16022011.) ‘Just a few weeks ago it was, I think it was in the break room [at work] that we were discussing this, well, [quotes:] how about the Savo dialect then, shouldn’t it have some kind of a position as well? ((laughter)) So they started comparing it [= Karelian] with the Savo dialect, I mean, in comparison to something like, like the Sámi [culture], it’s nevertheless understood as a minority culture and a [minority] language in Finland, certainly we’re still a long way from that.’ The ELDIA interviews revealed that, even today, Finnish politicians and civil servants are as ignorant about the Karelian-speaking population as an ill-informed layperson is. The ignorance of the authorities and decision makers partly derives from the above-mentioned lack of information and reliable research, but it also partly represents the legacy of those very conscious and forceful Finnicisation policies to which Karelian speakers in Finland have been subjected during the last two centuries. Since the national awakening in the 19th century, the Karelians were seen as part of the Finnish nation; their language was considered just a dialect of Finnish, not a minority language; and Karelian speakers in Finland experienced various forms of assimilation pressure. Consequently, Karelian was excluded from all official and public discussions concerned with the languages of Finland and only became an issue in societal discourses during the past few years. No official or standardised written use of Karelian could evolve, nor could Karelian achieve an official position in the education system. The Finnish majority’s attitudes towards Karelian used to be negatively affected by its perceived closeness to the Russian language and culture (Waris et al., 1952; Sarhimaa, forthcoming).

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Toiset opettajat sanoivat oppilaille, kun he puhuivat karjalan kieltä, että täällä ei puhuta ryssää. ‘Some teachers said to pupils when they spoke Karelian language, that here you don’t speak Russian’ [Ryssä is a pejorative name for the Russian language in Finland]. http://w w w.k a le va.f i /sun nunt a i n-pu he env uoro/m itenrajakarjalaisia-kohdeltiin/190663 (accessed July 19, 2015). ELDIA informants confirmed that these negative attitudes have even up to the present day led to discrimination and bullying. As illustrated by the following quotation, the Karelian language with its Russian loanwords and ‘Russian-like’ phonetic features, or even the Karelians’ Russian-like names or their Orthodox religion, were connected with negatively valued Russianness even in the 1980s: no mie liitän tän ehkä enemmän laajemmilti et en niinku kieleen vaan niinku uskontoon ja myös siihen kulttuuriin. ja meillä kyllä ala-asteella oli vielä ryssittelyä että, niinku tuossa mainitsinki että, luokkakaverin sukunimi oli Venäjälle viittaava vaikka hän oli Karjalasta kotosin, siis sukujuuret oli Karjalassa ni häntä ryssiteltii. ja sit myö muut tajuttiin, ketkä oli samalla uskonnon tunnilla, olla ihan hiljaa sen jälkee. ((nauraa)) ja siis tää tapahtu kaheksankymmentä luvulla. ‘Well, I connect this more, perhaps, in a wider sense, not just to the language but, like, religion and culture, too. And it did happen, this calling people ryssä [derogatory term for ‘Russian’], still when I went to primary school, as I just mentioned, my classmate’s surname pointed towards Russia, although s/he came from Karelia, I mean, the roots of his/her family were in Karelia, so they called him/her ryssä. And so the rest of us, who went to the same [Orthodox] religion classes, after that we realised that we had to lie low. ((laughing)) And I mean, this happened in the 1980s.’ (ELDIA interview: FI-KRL-FG-AG3-16022011). Due to the lack of recognition of Karelian speakers as an ethnic or linguistic group in Finland, there are no proper statistical data for the number of Karelian speakers. Moreover, there has until recently been very little solid research into the maintenance or loss of the Karelian language in evacuee and immigrant families. According to an often-quoted

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estimate (based on studies conducted by Matti Jeskanen and the Karelian Language Society), there could still be roughly 5000 fluent speakers of Karelian in Finland and up to 20,000 people who understand the language or even speak it to some extent. However, taking into account the high numbers of Karelian speakers until World War II (cf. Hämynen, 2013) and also the immigrant Karelians and the younger generations who may not have been sufficiently covered in earlier studies, the numbers of Karelian speakers in Finland today can be set significantly higher. While perhaps some 5000 Karelians in Finland use their language on a daily basis, we can estimate that there are roughly 11,000 speakers with good language skills, and up to 30,000 people who identify themselves with the Karelian language-based community (Sarhimaa, 2015; forthcoming). This means that Karelian speakers actually constitute one of the most numerous minorities in today’s Finland.

3.8.2 Legal and institutional position of Karelian in Finland: From assimilation to recognition Karelian, although since 2010 included in the list of minority languages protected by the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages, is not officially recognised as a national minority language in Finland – the concept of national minorities does not, actually, even exist in Finnish law. The constitution of Finland (Paragraph 17) only acknowledges two national languages (Finnish and Swedish) and specifically mentions the rights of the Sámi, the Roma and ‘other groups’ to maintain and develop their language and culture, again with a specific reference to sign-language users. While there already are language policy programmes for Romani, Sámi and the Sign Languages of Finland (and a specific Language Act to protect the linguistic rights of the Sámi), there are as of yet no equivalent state-funded programmes for Karelian. In Finland there is a long political and legal tradition in dealing with minorities and languages – but these discussions and measures focus on ‘old’ and acknowledged minorities. Karelian, for political and nationalistic reasons long regarded as merely a variety of Finnish, was until recently ignored in the language-political discourse. The first ever official discussion of the need to recognise and support Karelian took place in the Finnish Parliament in 2002 in the context of budgetary allocations. As a result, the University of Joensuu (now part of the University of Eastern Finland) was provided with funds for a study on the position of the language and the measures needed to develop and maintain it in Finland. Over the years, growing awareness and activism, especially on behalf of the Karelian Language Society (Karjalan Kielen Seura), led to the ‘recognition’ of Karelian in a certain sense. In late 2009, by the

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amendment made to the Decree on the Implementation of the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages, Karelian was added to the list of minority languages on which Finland obliges itself to report to the Committee of Ministers of the Council of Europe. By the time of finishing this manuscript (summer 2015), the decree amendment has not had any legislative consequences, although the Karelian Language Society has been lobbying for a constitution amendment that would add Karelian to the languages specified in Paragraph 17 of the constitution. In any case, this official recognition has brought more public visibility to the Karelian language; for instance, the Ministry of Justice has published some of its most recent election bulletins in Karelian as well as in other minority and immigrant languages in Finland. Although there have not been any legislative changes that would make Karelian more equal with the other autochthonous languages in Finland, the decree amendment in 2009 did made Karelian eligible for certain state subventions in the areas of education and media. As a consequence of its official recognition as a minority language in Finland, Karelian was added to the Decree on State Subventions to Newspapers (Fin. sanomalehtitukiasetus) in 2012. This means that from the beginning of 2013, newspapers in Karelian have been entitled to apply for the same 40% state subvention as newspapers in the other minority languages; these include newspapers published in Sámi, Romani, the Finnish and the Finland-Swedish sign language, and, somewhat surprisingly, also those published in Finland in the Swedish language, which has the status of a national language alongside Finnish. The public-service broadcasting company YLE promised in November 2012 to start news broadcasts in Karelian, and in March 2015, the weekly radio broadcasts finally began, although with a regular, major financial contribution by the Karelian Language Society. In general, the media presence of Karelian is, nevertheless, still very thin (see Section 3.8.3). The recognition of Karelian as a non-regional minority language gives Karelian-speaking children the right to Karelian language classes 2.5 hours a week and the possibility of obtaining a state subvention (Fin. valtionavustus) for such teaching. Despite some attempts, these possibilities have not yet been realised due to lack of interested children – Karelian-speaking families are too few and geographically dispersed. Karelian-language daycare for pre-school children was organised in Nurmes in Eastern Finland from 2009 to 2013, and currently the Karelian Language Society is planning new forms of pre-school language immersion. This means a late but dramatic reversal of earlier policies. For many Karelian speakers in the post-war decades, the Finnish school was the locus of language shift – or an incentive for the parents to refrain from speaking Karelian with their children.

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ka miun perehes ni, miun vahnin, velli on, roinu nelläkymmenseitsemän, da mie kuuskymme yks. a me-, muut eivät, eivät pagise karjalakse. mi oon se ainut. et, heidy on kiusattu koulus, minuu ei oo. et miul ei semmosta, semmosta oo. ((General murmur of agreement)) miul ei muamo da tuatto eivät, eivät pagissu karjalakse. kodis. ((General murmur of agreement)) ihan vai sen tagii et lapsie ei sit kiusattas. ((General murmur of agreement)) ne opastus suomen kieleh. ‘See, in my family, my eldest brother was born in 1947, and I was born in 1961. With us -, the others don’t speak Karelian. I am the only one. Because they were bullied at school, I wasn’t. That I don’t have such, such [experiences]. ((General murmur of agreement)). To me mother and father didn’t, didn’t speak Karelian. At home. ((General murmur of agreement)) just so that the children wouldn’t be bullied then. ((General murmur of agreement)) (That) they would learn Finnish.’ (ELDIA interview: FI-KRL-FGAG3-02f.) Despite the inclusion into the group of ‘acknowledged’, ‘Charterprotected’ minority languages and somewhat increased public visibility, Karelian in Finland still mainly lives in Karelian-speaking families and in the cultural and social activities organised by Karelian associations and clubs. Above all, the Karelian Language Society has taken a very active role in promoting the use and development of Karelian in Finland. In addition to the legacy of assimilationist ideologies, the geographic dispersal, fragmentation and heterogeneity of the Karelian-speaking community in Finland constitute a major challenge; Karelian speakers in Finland use all major varieties of the language, and the ongoing discussion on a common standard has not yet led to concrete results.

3.8.3 The Karelian language and its speakers in Finnish media: From folklorism and nostalgia to a more modern media presence? There has been some, mainly artistic (stories, plays, poetry, songs etc.) public use of the Karelian language throughout the 20th century, but practically no news media in Karelian. Karelian organisations in Finland publish their own newsletters and gazettes, mainly in Finnish but sometimes containing texts in Karelian as well; and Karelian activists and organisations have also created a number of Karelian-language online sources, websites and internet platforms. The only exclusively Karelianlanguage paper in Finland, the online journal Karjal Žurnualu, only began to appear in 2011 (and could therefore not be taken into account in the ELDIA media analyses). As mentioned above, the Finnish public service broadcasting company YLE started Karelian-language broadcasts in March

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2015; the radio news in Karelian, translated and read by a Karelian-speaking researcher from the University of Eastern Finland, is now broadcast once a week. However, having news broadcast in Karelian even once a week does not mean that Karelian is treated equally with other languages in Finland. While the daily news in Sámi and Russian are state financed, for example, the same does not apply to the weekly news in Karelian. The broadcasting company selects the news and offers a 6–10-minute airing time, but the Karelian Language Society pays for the translation of the news into Karelian as well as the salary of the news anchor. Unlike the media supply in Finnish, Swedish and Sámi, Karelian speakers still do not have any TV broadcasts in Karelian. In the ELDIA media analysis of Karelian and Estonian in Finland (cf. Section 3.9.3), two major Finnish newspapers, Helsingin Sanomat (published in Helsinki) and Kaleva (in Oulu), were investigated. In sum, the analyses revealed that minority languages and language issues are seldom dealt with in Finnish media, and whenever they are, minority languages are usually mentioned among other problems of minorities and immigrants. Karelians and the Karelian language(s) are mentioned even more seldom than Estonians and the Estonian language in Finland, and most of the articles deal with Karelians living outside Finland or Karelians who have recently emigrated. As for Karelians in Finland, it needs to be said, however, that the picture might have been a bit more positive had the media analyses also included the daily paper Karjalainen, published in Joensuu, the capital of Finnish north Karelia. This paper appears seven days a week and has a wide circulation in north Karelia, where there still are concentrations of Karelian-speakers; according to some interviewees of the ELDIA case study, Karjalainen has to some extent always paid attention to the Karelianspeaking population and its language as well.

3.8.4 EuLaViBar results for Karelian in Finland: Can the language shift be reversed? The results of the EuLaViBar analysis for Karelian in Finland show severe overall endangerment; generally, the overall scores were the second weakest in the whole ELDIA study, with only Kven faring even worse. The general reasons for this are easy to point out: The lack of support and the weak cultivation of the language and the lack of acknowledgment and assimilation pressure that has continued across generations and has also strengthened and maintained the false view that Karelian is ‘not a real language’ but merely a dialect of Finnish. Only in the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors) the barometer scores clearly exceed 1 or even 2 (for the focus area ‘Opportunity’). However, when related to the ELDIA language maintenance scale, even these scores are alarmingly poor. The

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Figure 12 EuLaViBar chart for Karelian in Finland

intergenerational transmission of Karelian has been severely disturbed. One third of the respondents of the questionnaire survey had not learnt Karelian in their childhood families; 29% had learnt only Finnish at home and Karelian not at all, while 4% had learnt Karelian only outside of home (on a language course or by way of self-study). Breaking the damaging habits of language use in the family sphere is difficult. As people belonging to the youngest two age groups (18–29 or 30–49) especially have often learnt Karelian from their grandparents, even those who have a good command of the language do not necessarily have any model of how to use Karelian at home. An interviewee in her early 30s reported how the attempts to use Karelian in her own family remained at the level of a ‘joke’: Kyllä mä kotona sitte, krhöm, niinku omien lastenki kanssa nii joitaki sanoja viljelen niinku suomen seassa karjalakse? muamoo ja kyly ja kaikki sellaset ihanat sanat ni; a sitte tuota, krhöm, iha just välillä, ja niinkun puhutaankin, et silleen (-) väärin mutta niinku si- sillee tavallaa ja, ja sitte joitaki sanoja mitä käyttää, ja tota, tuota tuota, () sitte miun lasten isä on kans Suojärve tausta ja hän itseasiassa aika hyvin sitä, livviä puhuu ni, sit joskus just tämmösiä et onks se kobracu vai mobikka niin niinku. ((All laugh)) tai kartosku vai potakka, ((Everyone laughs)) keskustelujä käyvää

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ja joskus on niinku huvikseen päätetty että puhutaan kotikielenä karjalaa, se oli aika hauskaa niinku yhen illan ajan. ((Everyone laughs)) siihen se sitten jäi. ((General murmur of acceptance)). ‘I do at home, ehm, like with my own children I “cultivate” some Karelian words in my Finnish, muamo [‘mother’] and kyly [‘sauna’] and all those beautiful words. And then well, only every now and then, we also speak, so that (-) wrong but like like in a way and, and then some words that one uses, and so, so so, then the father of my children also has a Suojärvi background and he actually speaks it quite well, Olonets Karelian, then sometimes just things like is it [a mobile phone] a kobracu or a mobikka like. ((All laugh)) Or [whether the word for ‘potato’ is] kartosku or potakka ((Everyone laughs)), we have discussions and at times we have like for fun decided that we’ll speak Karelian as our home language, it was like good fun for one evening ((Everyone laughs)). Then it was given up.’ (ELDIA interview: FI-KRL-FGAG3-03f.) Karelian speakers in Finland are generally not very confident about their own language skills, especially as concerns writing – this, of course, is understandable considering that many of them never had formal language teaching in Karelian. Moreover, it must be borne in mind that due to the sampling procedure – the respondents of the ELDIA survey were selected from the membership of Karelian organisations – the older generations were overrepresented in the data. However, in spite of the assimilation pressures, there are still Karelian speakers with good language skills, and there are even also young speakers who want to transmit the language to their children. Unlike in some other case studies, the scores for parental support indicate a very modest positive trend: The question about whether the informant encourages his or her children to use Karelian recieved a higher, although in itself rather low, score (1.22) than the question inquiring whether the informant himself or herself had received similar support from his or her parents in childhood (1.12). Some informants explicitly reported trying to transmit the language to children: miul on nyt viien kuukauen ikäne bunukka. da sille mie pajatan karjalakse da, da tuota, pagisen hänelle. ‘I have now a five-month old grandchild. I sing to him/her in Karelian and, and, well, talk to him/her.’ (ELDIA interview: FI-KRL-FGAG3-05f)

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Karelian speakers in Finland are also well aware of the existence of institutions and organisations that support the Karelian language, and they know about recent efforts to revitalise Karelian; the questions about these aspects recieved quite high barometer scores (around 3.6 and 3.7). The score for the question as to whether there is a need to develop Karelian for a wider use in public domains, however, was clearly lower (2.78). This might be due to the fact that Karelian was only recognised as a minority language in Finland in 2009, and the entire topic of the principal right to use Karelian outside of the most intimate domains is still new and has not really been thematised to any greater extent yet. Consequently, Karelian speakers – who, as a rule, know Finnish at a native level as well – may not see the question in the framework of maintaining and revitalising Karelian but rather as a practical matter of being able to cope without problems in Finnish as well. The weakest point in this dimension seems to be the question about the use of Karelian in various domains. Among the ELDIA case studies, this score, 0.37, is the second weakest after Kven, and probably truthfully reflects the fact that Karelian in Finland, as a language spoken by a small and dispersed minority and only recently acknowledged as a language, has practically no uses outside the family sphere and other in-group contexts. The weak scores for the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors) probably truthfully reflect the fact that Karelian has had no official position in the Finnish education system. Actually, even these scores may be unrealistically high, given that many respondents (in this particular case study as well as in the others) had difficulties in interpreting the questions about the role of the minority language as a subject or as a medium of education. Some respondents explicitly reported having been taught in Karelian, although Karelian-medium education never officially existed in Finnish school curricula. Respondents belonging to the oldest age group (over 65 years) may have been taught in Karelian in their early school years in Border Karelia before World War II (where some Karelianspeaking teachers, despite the prescriptivist standard Finnish ideology of the school system, reportedly did speak Karelian with the children). Another explanation for the responses indicating school education in Karelian might be that in the 1980s and 1990s in the municipality of Valtimo, where relatively many inhabitants had Border Karelian roots, the local teacher, Paavo Harakka, a Karelian activist, included Karelian in the teaching programme of the Finnish classes and also organised many Karelian-language activities. The barometer scores for the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors) are justly low, considering that the Karelian language is still not explicitly mentioned in Finnish language laws nor in the constitution. In fact, they could have been even lower, as the question as to whether

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the relevant laws are available in Karelian received some false positive answers; contrary to what some respondents seem to believe, no law texts have been translated into Karelian. The same applies to the question as to whether there are laws regulating the teaching of Karelian in Finnish schools; again, some respondents seemed to believe, erroneously, that such laws exist. To the question as to whether legislation supports the minority language, Karelian respondents in Finland gave even slightly more pessimistic answers (score 1.254) than, for example, Karelians in Russia (1.723). Moreover, while in most other case studies the scores in this dimension were positively affected by the perceived nondiscrimination – that is, the respondents did not think that legislation prevents the use of their heritage language – even here the Karelian respondents in Finland gave clearly more negative answers. In the light of the interviews, this can be understood as indicating that at least some of the Karelian respondents are well aware of the problems with the institutional support for their language. As in many other case studies, the low scores for the dimension ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) must be interpreted in the light of two facts. Firstly, the calculation method may have produced unrealistically low scores by assigning too much weight to ‘elite’ cultural products (concerts, theatre), electronic media or active text production (writing blogs, poetry or song texts), activities that many respondents do not practice in any language. Secondly, the poor scores probably reflect poor media supply rather than a lack of interest in Karelian-language media products. This is supported by the fact that many Karelians in Finland also consume Karelian-language media products from Russian Karelia, such as the newspaper Oma Mua.

3.9 Estonian in Finland: A Numerous but Inconspicuous Minority28 3.9.1

The long and short history of Estonians in Finland

As in Germany (cf. Section 3.3), the Estonians in Finland today mainly represent fairly recent ‘EU mobility’. However, there have been migrations between Estonia and Finland throughout the documented history of both sister nations, facilitated by their geographic and linguistic proximity. (Estonian and Finnish are not quite mutually intelligible but are closely related, and thanks to the shared basic vocabulary and grammar, acquiring a functional knowledge of Finnish is very easy for Estonian speakers.) Obviously, these migrants were quickly assimilated linguistically, and the effects of these early migrations have hardly been researched so far. During the late 19th century, as Finland and Estonia both belonged to the Russian empire, small Estonian communities came into being

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in Finland, especially in the major cities in the south. Many of these Estonians were small entrepreneurs or workers, but during the first decade of the 20th century, some Estonian intellectuals also temporarily moved to Finland to escape the politically suppressive atmosphere at home. The number of Estonians in Finland was estimated to be around 2000 in 1917 and around 1500 in the 1930s. After that, the Estonian communities rapidly shrank due to remigration or assimilation, so that in 1944 there were only 277 Estonian citizens living in Finland. The annexion of Estonia to the Soviet Union in 1940 severed the connections between the two sister nations. During World War II, some Estonians escaped to Finland – in particular, more than 3000 Estonian men served in the Finnish army as volunteers. After the war, most of them either migrated further to other Western countries or were returned to Sovietised Estonia. In the post-war decades, emigration from Soviet Estonia to Finland was practically impossible except in a few individual cases (typically Estonians who married a Finnish citizen). Estonian community activities in Finland practically ceased, perhaps not only because of the small numbers of Estonians; considering the explicitly political, antiSoviet stance of Estonian diaspora organisations in the West, expatriate Estonian public activities could have strained Finland’s relations with the Soviet Union. The contacts between Finland and Soviet Estonia, especially tourism from Finland to Tallinn, which resumed in the 1960s, were strictly regulated and controlled by Soviet authorities. The connections between Estonia and Finland were normalised after the restoration of Estonia’s independence in 1991. Already in the 1990s, Finnish immigration policies changed: Ethnic Finns from the former Soviet Union were granted the right to repatriate. As many Ingrian Finns29 had in the aftermath of World War II settled down in Estonia, many of these ethnic Finnish repatriants actually came from Estonia and had an Estonianlanguage background and education. A more large-scale immigration from Estonia to Finland began in the spring of 2006, when workforce mobility from the new EU member countries was no longer restricted. Today, the Estonians of Finland are the second largest immigrant group in Finland by language (after Russians), the largest immigrant group by citizenship, and the fastest growing, perhaps also soon the largest, Estonian community in the Western diaspora. By the end of 2013, Statistics Finland reported 42,936 residents of Finland speaking Estonian as their mother tongue, and 40,990 residents of Finland with an ‘Estonian background’ (that is, first- or second-generation immigrants).30 Unofficially, even larger numbers have been estimated in Finnish and Estonian media. Most Estonians in Finland are people of working age who are employed especially in medical and care professions, in construction work or in the transportation sector. Many of them commute between Estonia and Finland on a regular basis.

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Estonians in Finland, mainly residing in urban centres, are an inconspicuous immigrant group, giving the impression of remarkable passivity in the public practice of their culture. The role of the Estonian language in Finnish public life, in the media or in the education system is very marginal beyond the institutional support guaranteed for all immigrant languages in Finland, such as the right to limited mothertongue teaching.

3.9.2 Legal and institutional position of Estonian in Finland: An immigrant group among others? In Finland, language diversity as a goal at a societal level is implicit in the constitutional notion of two national languages (Finnish and Swedish) and the collective constitutional right of linguistic groups to maintain and develop their own languages and cultures. (Interestingly enough, the policy of two national languages was also perceived as discriminative by some Estonian respondents in our study. Knowledge of Swedish is often a prerequisite for employment, especially in state office; Estonian immigrants, especially highly educated Estonians with more ambitious career plans, may experience this as an unfair disadvantage or even as discrimination.) Minority language policies in Finland traditionally focus on the languages of autochthonous and regional minorities. In addition to the less widely used national language of Swedish, language legislation and government policies provide for the rights of Sámi, Romani and the Finnish Sign Language, and in 2009 an explicit provision concerning Karelian was added to the government decree on the ratification of the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages. Concerning the languages of immigrant minorities such as Estonian, no language-specific legislation or explicit language-specific government support policies exist. There is no government policy that explicitly stresses multilingualism or language diversity as a goal. Multilingualism at the individual level has long been implicit in the education system, where learning the other national language in primary school has until now been obligatory, as has the learning of foreign languages. According to the national curriculum, parents of immigrant school children have the right to demand the school to organise teaching of their mother tongue as a subject for at least two hours a week; in practice, however, this depends on whether a group of at least four children and a qualified teacher can be found. Currently, one school in Helsinki, the Latokartano Comprehensive School, has introduced a bilingual, FinnishEstonian curriculum for Estonian-speaking children (from grades 1 to 9), and the school also offers classes in Estonian as a foreign language. There is also an Estonian-language kindergarten operating in Helsinki.

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Alongside a few other languages of major immigrant groups, information in Estonian is also provided by many Finnish authorities and organs of public administration such as Kela (the Social Insurance Institution of Finland), the City of Helsinki, the Ministry of Employment and the Economy, or the website vaalit.fi, which informs citizens about elections. Despite the fact that most Estonians in Finland have a good functional command of Finnish, Estonian is thus included in the practical multilingual arrangements by which authorities and administrative organs react to the presence of immigrant languages in Finland.

3.9.3 Estonians of Finland in minority and majority media: Silent and invisible? Estonians in Finland are in a position very similar to that of Hungarian immigrants in Austria. They are not expected to be active regarding their language rights and language use; this might also be due to the fact that Estonians, thanks to the close relatedness of the languages, learn Finnish easily and often have high confidence in their Finnish language skills. (Almost half of the ELDIA respondents had learnt Finnish only informally, without ever taking Finnish language classes. However, more than 90% of the respondents rated their skills in understanding and speaking Finnish as ‘fluent’ or ‘good’.) Estonian-language media in Finland is almost non-existent. It seems that Estonians in Finland are content with Estonian media from the ‘motherland’, which can easily be accessed by way of the internet. Between 1997 and 2004, an Estonian-language gazette published by an Estonian organisation appeared a few times a year; from 2005 on, Estonian media activities in Finland have concentrated on internet-based and social media (blogs, Facebook groups, etc.). There are no Estonian-language TV services in Finland, and at the time of the ELDIA field study and analyses, there were no radio broadcasts either. Since then, however, in 2013, a commercial Estonian-language radio sender (Finest FM), operating in the internet and on air in the capital region, has been launched. Both Helsingin Sanomat and Kaleva, the majority media targeted in the ELDIA media analysis for Finland, write frequently on minorities, minority education, new laws and language use. However, Estonians are seldom dealt with in these media. Most of the articles that address minority languages or language minorities deal with Swedish-speaking Finns, Sámi communities in the north or immigrants – sometimes Estonians are included into this group, too, but without any special attention to the specific issues of Estonian in Finland. Very few articles deal with the Estonian language and its maintenance in Finland. Despite their strong and numerous presence, the thousands of Estonians who live in Finland on a permanent basis and raise their

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children in Finland are regarded in the majority media as being on a par with any other immigrant community and seldom receive specific attention. While, for example, the Russian minority in Finland demands a higher status for Russian, Estonians, even though similar in numbers, are silent on their own agenda.

3.9.4 EuLaViBar results for Estonian in Finland: Practical accommodation or assimilation?

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The EuLaViBar results for Estonian in Finland resemble those for Estonian in Germany and, to some extent, Hungarian in Austria – that is, the other migrant minorities investigated in ELDIA. Despite fairly strong scores for language skills and language use, they indicate an overall endangerment of the language. The best scores are reached in the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors). However, as with Hungarian in Austria and Estonian in Germany, these results are deceptive. Most respondents being firstgeneration immigrants, the results based on their experiences do not reflect the situation in their current host country (Finland) but in their country of origin (Estonia) where they have received their language education.

0.98 0.50

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Figure 13 EuLaViBar chart for Estonian in Finland

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The scores for the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors) are also fairly good, especially in the focus areas of ‘Capacity’ and ‘Desire’. This, of course, reflects the fact that most Estonians in Finland are first-generation immigrants who have spent their formative years in an Estonian-language environment and received their education in Estonian. Moreover, only a small number of them (11%) do not consider it necessary to transmit the Estonian language to their children. Considering this, in fact, one could have expected even higher scores. Probably, the negative effect of poor opportunities to use the language outside the private sphere plays a role here. Moreover, Estonians in Finland are not very well aware of the institutions that cultivate Estonian, and they also reported difficulties in using Estonian in many situations – or, rather, they found it difficult to understand why Estonian should be used in the public sphere in Finland at all. (Is it easy to use Estonian in most everyday situations?) ‘No, because one must speak Finnish (and Swedish and English) in Finland.’ ‘No, because to live in Finland, immigrants should be able/have to speak Finnish.’ ‘No, because one must accept the language of this state (Finland).’ (Praakli, forthcoming a) For the dimension of ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors), the scores are poor, although (as in the case of all migrant minorities) better than for the old minorities with a recently or weakly standardised language. As mentioned above, these results may be unjustly low due to the calculation method, which assigns too much weight to fairly marginal types of media consumption. Partly, however, the low scores probably truthfully reflect the fact that in central and traditional forms of daily media consumption (newspapers, TV and radio news), Finnish-language media dominate, since localised media supply in Estonian is practically non-existent. For example, 93.3% of the respondents read Finnishlanguage papers at least once a week, while the corresponding figure for Estonian-language papers is only 49.1%. For the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), the scores are similarly low. This might, as in the other case studies as well, partly result from the method, which assigns a lot of weight to the knowledge of whether legal texts are available in the language at issue; this was a question that many respondents found rather irrelevant. It seems that many respondents had very little knowledge of Finnish legislation; this, of course, is also due to the fact that many of them have immigrated fairly recently.

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Only 30% of the respondents believe that Finnish legislation supports the use of Estonian (whereby ‘support’ has been understood in a variety of ways), while only a tenth of them explicitly stated that Finnish legislation prevents them from using their language. Thus, in this case as well, the low scores are due to ignorance, indifference or a perceived lack of support rather than perceived explicit discrimination. Moreover, most informants, instead of expecting support from Finnish authorities, rather see the maintenance of Estonian in Finland as the personal responsibility of Estonians themselves. Eestlased ise vastutavad oma emakeele säilimise eest. ‘Estonians themselves are responsible for the maintenance of their mother tongue.’ Ei saa eeldada, et riik teeb kellegi eest midagi ära. ‘One should not assume that the state would do it for somebody.’ (Praakli, forthcoming a)

3.10 Meänkieli in Sweden: From ‘Our Language’ to Official Minority Language31 3.10.1

Strong democracy = weak minority protection?

Meänkieli, also known as Tornedal (Torne Valley) Finnish, is traditionally spoken in northernmost Sweden, west of the Torne River, along which the border between Sweden and Finland was drawn (for the first time in history) in 1809. Historically and linguistically, thus, Meänkieli belongs to the Far North dialects of Finnish, but since 1809 the language and identity of the Meänkieli speakers have developed in separation from the modern Finnish national identity and the modern Finnish standard language, both of which only emerged in Finland during the 19th century. However, since 1809 and up to the present day, intensive contacts between Meänkieli speakers and speakers of related dialects on the Finnish side have persisted. For instance, marriages across the border have been fairly frequent. Meänkieli speakers in Sweden have been using not only Meänkieli but also Swedish and standard Finnish and in some cases even Sámi languages. Traditionally, trilingualism has been common in some villages (Helander, 1984). There are no official statistics for the number of speakers of Meänkieli, but estimated numbers range between 30,000 and 75,000. Due to internal migration, Meänkieli speakers now live all over Sweden, especially in major urban centres.

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Meänkieli is a severely endangered language. Today, most children do not learn Meänkieli at home. The reasons behind this situation are the processes of assimilation and modernisation. Harsh assimilation policies evoked by nationalism were implemented in Torne Valley from the 1880s to the 1970s. Swedish-only education was the main method of assimilation. Crossborder cooperation and contact with Finnish were discouraged. At the same time, modernisation arrived in the area (Elenius, 2001) and changed the traditional livelihoods of northern minorities and the contexts in which the minority languages had been traditionally used (Lindgren, 1999: 161–166). Kläpit häätyvä saa’a tuntea ett’ heän kieli oon tärkeä, se on osa heän itenttiteettikasvusta. Jos jos meän pittää huolehtia heän tarpheesta niin met häätymä nostaa minuriteettikielitten staattystä ja sen met tehemä opetyksen kautta. ‘The children need to feel that their language is important; it is a part of their identity-making process. And if we are to cater for that need we have to increase the status of the minority language and that we can do by way of education.’ (Regina Veräjä “Meänkieliset oppilhaat isossa nousussa”, Met-avisi, 2010: 09). From the 1980s on, a revival movement in the Swedish Torne Valley started promoting the written use and standardisation of the local vernacular under the name Meänkieli, literally ‘our language’, to highlight its autochthonous character (as a language that has ‘always’ been spoken in the north of Sweden) and its role as a full-scale language (rather than ‘just a dialect’ of the language of the neighbouring state). 32 In 2000, after lengthy discussions, Meänkieli was acknowledged as a minority language in Sweden. This means, in principle, the right to pre-school education and elderly care in Meänkieli and the right to use Meänkieli with authorities. However, these rights are not always realised. The public presence of and support for Meänkieli remain modest despite continuous criticism from minority NGOs, the Council of Europe 33 and the Lutheran Church of Sweden34. The Meänkieli administrative area, where the special institutional support for Meänkieli is available, comprises the municipalities of Haparanda, Övertorneå, Pajala, Kiruna, Gällivare and Kalix, but – as already noted – many Meänkieli speakers have moved to more southern parts of Sweden. As no population registers that included data about language of ethnicity were available, the ELDIA survey was conducted by mail with the help of address registers obtained from organisations of

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Meänkieli speakers (the Association of Swedish Tornedalians, STR-T and the Meänmaa organisation) and the University of Umeå. A majority of the respondents, 60.6%, live outside the traditional Meänkieli area. This may have had a negative effect on the results as concerns the public use of and institutional support for Meänkieli, as only a minority of the respondents live in the area where special support measures apply. However, this also makes the results of the ELDIA study particularly interesting, as the use and maintenance of Meänkieli outside the traditional area have hardly been researched so far.

3.10.2

Legal and institutional position of Meänkieli in Sweden

The Tornedalians have since the 1970s been recognised as a nonimmigrant linguistic minority in Sweden.35 In the same decade, the first attempts to introduce mother tongue instruction in the northern Swedish municipalities took place, using standard Finnish in educational material and as the language of instruction.36 While the initiative managed to raise interest at first, the number of interested students soon decreased. At the time, the lack of success was perceived to be caused by the fact that the distance between the regionally spoken variety and standard Finnish was too large. In order to lower the drop-out rates, the local school authority decided that the home-language instruction had to start from the local Finnish variety before later moving on to standard Finnish. Vaikka oon menny niin monta vuotta ko meät tunnustethiin minuriteettinä ja vaikka viranomhaiset määräthiin yhteistoiminthaan meän kansa ni ei ole monessa hallintokunnassa vielä tapahtunnu niin paljon mitä tullee yhteistoiminthaan meänkielisten kysymyksissä. ‘Even if so many years have passed since we were acknowledged as a minority and even if the authorities were ordered to cooperate with us, in many municipalities not much has happened when it comes to this cooperation in the issues of Meänkieli speakers.’ (Tore Hjorth “Taas on yksi toimintavuosi kohta päättyny”, Met-avisi, 2010:10). This local language variety was later recognised in 2000 in connection with the Swedish ratification of the Framework Convention and the Minority Language Charter of the Council of Europe37 together with Finnish, Sámi, Romani chib and Yiddish singled out as domestic minority languages in 1988.38 The new legislation enacted in 2009 also provides that municipalities may opt to become part of any of the administrative

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regions for Finnish, Meänkieli or Sámi.39 The right to receive public preschool services and elderly care in Finnish, Sámi or Meänkieli, however, is applicable across each respective administrative region. Minuriteettipolitiikale oon ensimäiseksi sääetty laki, ja niinku mie ymmärrän se ei ole se tavallisin menetelmä, mutta tässä taphauksessa se oon niin. Ja se tosiasia antaa meile maholisuuksia jos met vain ymmärämmä mitä se tarkottaa. Mie meinaan ette se tarkottaa sitä ette meän häätyy tehhä yhtheistyötä, met häymä käsittää mikä arvo niilä lakipykälillä oon, ja ette se tosihaan oon laki, (lakihan oon paljon voimakhaampi ko esimerkiksi ehotus eli suositus) mutta met häymä ennen kaikkia ymmärtää ette met se häymä itte ehottaa, vaatia ja selhvään ja yksimielisesti nostaa vaatimukset framile. ‘The minority policy has first received laws, and as I understand it, this is not the most common way to do it, but in this case: this is the way it is. And that fact gives us possibilities if we just understand what it means. I think it means that we have to work together, we have to understand the value of the law paragraphs, that it really is a law (laws are much stronger than, for example, suggestions or recommendations) but most of all we have to understand that it is we who need to make proposals and demands and clearly and unanimously bring forth the demands’ (Kerstin Johansson ’STR-T ja sen uuet haastheet’, Met-avisi, 2008;01,) Neither Sweden Finnish nor Meänkieli are mentioned in the Swedish constitution. The 2 § of the Instrument of Government mentions, however, that the opportunities of linguistic minorities, among others, to preserve and develop their own cultural and social life shall be promoted. This phrasing formulation was strengthened in 2010, the same year as the national minority-language legislation was revised and the administrative area for Finnish was geographically expanded to the capital region. The minority-language legislation has introduced several new language rights for national minority-language speakers before administrative authorities and courts, as well as with respect to pre-schools and elderly care. With respect to education in general and the media, the impact of the new minority language legislation is limited; in particular, despite continuous criticism from NGOs and the Council of Europe, minorities have no right to minority language–medium education. The Swedish minority language reform may be characterised as a careful, almost hesitant, step-by-step revision of the position of Finnish and Meänkieli in the Swedish legal and institutional framework.

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Education legislation has not been decisively revised in connection with the national minority legislation; it still emphasises the learning of Swedish and English and promotes bilingualism in these two languages. With respect to other languages, the educational framework of Sweden has included possibilities for mother-tongue instruction since the 1970s, but these always depend on the availability of suitable teachers. The education of mother-tongue teachers in Sweden Finnish and Meänkieli has not been prioritised, and in some cases students have been denied mother-tongue instruction in Finnish or Meänkieli due to lack of teachers or even when teachers have been available (e.g. in Malmö for pre-schools in 2015). In general, of the students entitled to mother-tongue instruction in Meänkieli or Finnish, only a small percentage actually participates in such instruction. The Swedish education legislation allows for bilingual education in Swedish and another language, but only a few independently run schools offer bilingual education in Finnish and Swedish or Meänkieli and Swedish. This means that most Sweden Finnish and Meänkieli students are taught primarily in Swedish. Public media companies in Sweden are obliged by their licenses to take the needs of linguistic and ethnic minorities into account and to ensure that Sámi, Finnish, Meänkieli and the Swedish Sign language have a particular position in their programme activities. TV programmes in these languages thus run on public TV channels, but they are always subtitled in Swedish. The visibility of national minorities in other channels is very limited. Similarly, there is a public radio channel that broadcasts in Sámi, Finnish and Meänkieli, but on other radio channels, the national minority languages are only heard exceptionally rarely. As for print media, however, there are no public media companies, only private enterprises, that are eligible to receive public subsidies for their newspaper-publishing activities. Newspapers in minority languages are entitled to public subsidies on an equal basis with Swedish-language newspapers as long as they have their main editorial office in Sweden and distribute 90% of their issues in Sweden. The range of printed media in Finnish and Meänkieli is limited to one weekly Finnish-language newspaper and a number of local bilingual newspapers in the municipalities of Haparanda, Kalix, Överkalix or Övertorneå, all of which receive public subsidies.

3.10.3 Poor media supply in Meänkieli, controversial images of Meänkieli in majority media The media supply in Meänkieli is scarce. Most of it comes from the Swedish public-service TV and radio companies. The radio channel Meänraatio is a part of the Finnish channel Sveriges Radio Sisuradio; within it, Meänkieli has a fairly good position with five employees. It

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broadcasts daily for 3–4 hours. On TV (SVT), Meänkieli has no regular editorial staff. There are a few hours of children’s programmes (Fieteri) and few hours of documentaries for adults. In total, they broadcast 25 hours yearly, including repeats. There are no daily newspapers in Meänkieli. The largest and most regularly published newspaper with Meänkieli content is Haparandabladet, which is a trilingual newspaper with Swedish as its main language. There are columns and smaller articles written in Meänkieli, often published once a week. There also are some newsletters or membership leaflets published in Meänkieli, one of them, Met-Avisi (met means ‘we’), being published by STR-T (the organisation of Swedish Tornedalians). Between 1981 and 2008, Met-Avisi appeared four times per year, and since 2009 it has appeared once a month as an insert to Haparandabladet and in cooperation with Haparandabladet’s editorial staff. The articles are either written by the journalists of Haparandabladet and translated to Meänkieli or are written directly by Meänkieli activists. For the analysis of the majority language media, the material comes from various sources such as the largest nationwide newspapers Svenska Dagbladet, Dagens Nyheter (morning papers), Aftonbladet and Expressen (evening papers). In addition to this, other more regional newspapers were analysed: Göteborgs-Posten, Nerikes Allehanda, Syd-Svenskan and Haparandabladet. According to the ELDIA media analysis, there are a few underlying assumptions that recur throughout the media material of Sweden. The first is the Swedish oppression of Meänkieli speakers. There are no articles in which someone would try to deny, tone down or belittle the oppression that occurred through assimilation policies. This leads to the second general unchallenged starting point: the positive attitude towards bilingualism or multilingualism and the maintenance of the heritage language. In this material, there are no comments on the importance of learning Swedish or on the possible negative effects of the maintenance of Meänkieli, for instance, on the children raised bilingually. From these articles a discourse emerges of a unanimous Swedish society where everyone is encouraged to use their mother tongue. The majority media discourse stresses the Swedish responsibility for the fate of Meänkieli and unanimously condemns the assimilation policies of the past. At the same time, issues of revitalisation and language use are left for the Meänkieli speakers themselves. It can also be said that the farther away the newspaper from the minority region, the more positive it is towards the minority. The difference between the regional Haparandabladet and the nation-wide Svenska Dagbladet, for example, is that the former reports within the minority-language region and has to maintain a careful balance between Swedish and Meänkieli speakers. The picture of a Meänkieli speaker is both active and passive. The passive picture consists of a story about an oppressed group that has been

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treated harshly by the majority population. It is still suffering from shame and language loss as a result of this. There are in the articles no stories about people resisting the prohibition of Meänkieli language or revolting against this. In these articles, Meänkieli speakers are never portrayed as a group particularly interested or involved in the educational, legislative or the media questions. On the other hand, there is a picture of an active group in the north (sometimes combined with a more or less romantic view of the life in the north), which, in spite of oppression, has kept on producing literature, poems, theatre, songs, and so on; and that these cultural products will also be the keystone to the future of the language. The Meänkieli presence in the Swedish media is fragile; many of the articles revolve around the same people (Mikael Niemi, Bengt Pohjanen, Mona Mörtlund, Bengt Niska, etc.) or are written by the same writers or journalists (Olle Josephsson, Ingegärd Waaranperä, etc.).

3.10.4 EuLaViBar results for Meänkieli in Sweden: Weak presence, poor opportunities

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As shown in Figure 14, the EuLaViBar scores for Meänkieli mostly remained below the critical level of 2.0.

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Figure 14 EuLaViBar chart for Meänkieli in Sweden

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The Meänkieli scores for the dimension ‘Education’ (squared sectors) were extremely low: For the focus area ‘Language Products’ it was only 0.05 and for ‘Opportunity’ 0.37. These results indicate that there is a severe and urgent need for educational materials in Meänkieli language. The low mean score for ‘Language Products’ under the dimension of ‘Education’ indicates that members of Meänkieli minority do not get enough information about their rights or about the existence of the legal documents relevant for them. Similarly to the other languages investigated in ELDIA, Meänkieli received very low ‘Opportunity’ scores for the dimension ‘Education’. The school has been the place of assimilation for the respondents of this study. Practically no one has received education in Meänkieli and very few have even received mother-tongue instruction in Meänkieli.40 In the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors), the scores suggest that there are very few possibilities for using Meänkieli in the public domain: The score for Meänkieli in the question about domains of use of Meänkieli was 1.27. Only very few respondents told that their parents had encouraged them to use Meänkieli, and even fewer reported having tried to make their own children learn and use the language. Most of the speakers who are now in child-bearing age have not spoken Meänkieli with their parents, which means that they have no experience of parenting in Meänkieli. As with many other minorities, breaking the habit of speaking the majority language with children is difficult, as also reported by this ELDIA interviewee: Mullahan on pieni lapsi ja sen kans mie en puhu en paljo mithään meänkieltä. Kyllähän mie koitan mutta en mie tiä miksi siittä ei oikein tule mithään. Ja kunka sen tekis. En tiä. ‘I have a small child and with her I don’t speak Meänkieli almost at all. I do try but I don’t know why it’s not really working. And how one should do it. I don’t know.’ (ELDIA interview: SE-FIT-FG-A-08f) While the scores for self-reported skills in understanding the (spoken) language were 3.21 for Meänkieli, the scores for writing were only 1.72. This is symptomatic for other recently standardised languages, too. The reason is obvious: The written and standardised Meänkieli has not been used in education. Moreover, in a linguistic culture in which expert language planning is highly valued and deviations from the standard are strongly stigmatised, the fear of ‘mistakes’ presumably will reduce the language users’ confidence in their written-language skills. A young interviewee (age group 18–29) reports a typical situation:

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Kyllä solis ollu hyvä homma niinko oppia [koulussa meänkieltä tai suomea], ko mie en ossaa, en mie yhtään mie en ossaa kirjottaa suomeksi. Mie yritän mutta se tullee niinkö, en mie grammatiikkaa ossaa niinkö suomeksi. En mole koskaan sitä ajatellu niin paljon. Se olis ollu hyvä jos olis saanu koulussa heti alussa. Saman niinkö englanninki. ‘Well it would have been a good thing to learn [Meänkieli or Finnish in school], because I can’t, I can’t write in Finnish at all. I try but it comes like, I don’t know the Finnish grammar. I’ve never thought about it that much. It would have been good if one had got [to learn it] in school right in the beginning. In the same way as English.’ (ELDIA interview: SE-FIT-II-AG1m) The mean score of dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ in the focus area ‘Language Products’ was 1.78. The main finding under this dimension is that there are more people who think that Meänkieli should be used in different types of domains (such as hospitals and police stations or on TV) than those who believe that Meänkieli actually is used in those domains. The largest differences are in the domains of hospitals and parliament: 40% think that Meänkieli is used in hospitals, while almost 70% stated that it should be used in hospitals. Only eight survey respondents (out of a total of 567) thought that Meänkieli is used in parliament, whereas 30% answered that it should be used there. Meänkieli speakers supported the idea that there is a need to develop the minority language for a wider use: The score for this question was 2.68. This indicates that Meänkieli respondents were clearly somewhat more willing to see the opportunities of using the Meänkieli language increasing than the members of other minorities investigated in ELDIA. The scores for the dimension ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) are very low due to the fact that there is almost no media supply in the Meänkieli language. At the same time, the results show that Meänkieli speakers actually do use all the Meänkieli-language media to which they have access. The score is a clear sign that there is a need for more media in the language. In the dimension ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), the Meänkieli results for the focus area ‘Language Products’ were the highest in the whole ELDIA survey (2.06 for Meänkieli). Similar results are reported with regard to the dimension of ‘Legislation’ in the focus area ‘Desire’: the average score of 1.67 is surprisingly high in view of the fact that roughly half of the respondents did not know whether legislation supports the use of Meänkieli or thought that legislation does not support the use of Meänkieli; and only 4% of respondents thought that legislation actually supports Meänkieli. This illustrates the situation in which public support for and the visibility of minority languages have dramatically

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increased during the last few decades and minority rights have gained an increasingly prominent position in public discourse. This means that the laws that concern the officially acknowledged national minorities and the status of their languages are available in Meänkieli. However, although translations of law texts in Meänkieli exist, most (70%) of the respondents are not aware of them. Moreover, respondents mentioned that there are such language products available as official texts and forms issued by authorities. These are, however, not as important for the respondents as products such as educational materials, films or literature – which are not available – would be. In the survey questions about whether legislation supports the knowledge and use of many languages, most ELDIA respondents in general chose the option ‘don’t know’; among Meänkieli respondents, the share of the ‘don’t know’ answers ranges from 30% to over 70%. However, a third of the respondents think legislation supports the knowledge of many languages, and only 10% think it does not. Over 76% did not know if legislation supports the use of many languages in the labour market. Only slightly more respondents (13%) answered that the legislation supports the use of languages, while 10% said it does not. Only 10% think that different languages are treated in a similar way. All in all, many respondents of the Meänkieli survey, especially those living outside the Meänkieli area, are fairly ignorant about the institutional and legal support for the language. Although the level of knowledge about minorities’ linguistic rights is somewhat better among the Meänkieli community than in the Swedish control-group study (where almost 70% of the respondents did not know whether legislation in Sweden supports knowing and using many languages), it is still very low.

3.11 Kven in Norway: A Real Language or Just a Variety of Finnish?41 3.11.1

National or immigrant language?

The Kvens are descendants of people who migrated to northern Norway from today’s northern Finland and Sweden between the 16th and the late 19th century. Thus, the Kven language, like Meänkieli, belongs linguistically to the Finnish dialects of the Far North, but the traditional Kven identity has developed in separation from Finland. The Kvens have been acknowledged as a national minority in Norway since 1996, and their language was officially recognised as a language in its own right in 2005. Some speakers, however, contest the independent status of Kven and would rather regard it as a variety of Finnish. The ethnopolitical position of the Kvens is further complicated by the fact that their traditional area is also home to the indigenous Sámi and more recent immigrants from

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Finland. This means that the Kven language sometimes competes for resources with standard Finnish. This is also tangible in the interviews as Kven speakers feel insecure when Finnish speakers contest their language and language skills. […] miehän opin, opin sen verran että ( ) että mie saatoin puhua kvääniä. ( ) miehän sa- täytyy sanoa kvääni ko että ( ) mi- meillähän on yksi vaimo joka, Sirpa hän tuli Suomesta, joka oli, ( ) joka puhu oikeaa suomea hän se sano meille että ettehän te puhu oikeaa suomea. ‘I learned, learned so much that... that I could speak Kven... I say— must say Kven because... we have a woman, who, Sirpa, she came from Finland, who was... who spoke real Finnish, she was the one who told us that you don’t speak real Finnish.’ (Räisänen, forthcoming) From the 19th century to the post-World War II years, the Kvens were subject to harsh nationalist Norwegianisation policies. An ethnic revival began in the 1970s. By that time, language transmission in most Kven families had already been seriously disrupted. Estimates of the number of ethnic Kvens (no official statistics exist) range between 10,000 and 60,000, while the number of those who are able to actively speak Kven is estimated to be much lower, possibly around 1500–2500. Most of the fluent speakers belong to the older generations. The Kven language is in the process of being standardised, but so far, its use in the education system, in the media and in the public sphere generally has been very modest.

3.11.2

Legal and institutional position of Kven in Norway

The Norwegian legal system is not unfamiliar with language diversity. The Norwegian standard has two written forms of Norwegian, Bokmål and Nynorsk. According to the Language Use Act, these two official forms are equal and official languages of the country. The current focus in the language debate is rather on the increasing use of the English language in more and more domains of societal interaction than on old national minority languages. For 100 years, from around 1850 on, the Kven were subjected to a Norwegian assimilation policy (see Skogvang, 2009: 29). This policy of Norwegianisation (fornorskningspolitikk), systematically oppressing the cultures of minorities, was adopted by the Norwegian parliament (Stortinget). It started with the areas of school and language but soon came to encompass all fields of society (Niemi, 2006: 407–408), including the Sale of Land Act of 1902, which made the acquisition of land in

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Finnmark dependent on the command of the Norwegian language.42 According to an instruction issued by the directors of Troms diocese in 1880 to teachers in ‘transitional districts’, Sámi and Kven children were supposed to speak, read and write Norwegian. Smaller changes to these instructions were made in the so-called Wexelsenplakaten from 1898, which was only abolished around 1960, with the introduction of the system of nine years of schooling (Niemi, 2006: 417). From around 1870 until the inter-war years, the Kven were regarded as immigrants from Finland, and towards the end of the 1960s they were already described as ‘descendants of Finnish immigrants’. It was not until the 1990s and the ratification of the minority conventions that the awakening and struggle of the Kven themselves led to national minority status (ibid.) However, upon the Norwegian ratification of the FCNM on 20 March 1999, no new legislation was introduced, since Norwegian legislation was considered to be in accordance with the convention already. Despite the Norwegianisation measures and the fact that it had an immigrant-language status in Norway until the inter-war years (Niemi, 2006: 413), the Kven language did not die out completely in northern Norway thanks to its settlement basis in remote villages and to the Laestadian religious revival movement, in which lay people and their Finnish/Meänkieli/Kven vernaculars played a decisive role. A minority white paper from 2001 marks the first attempt to a comprehensive minority policy in Norway. The white paper was written as a follow-up to the ratification of the FCNM in 1999 and the Plan of Action for Human Rights 1999–2000, where national minorities were a focus area. This is of high relevance to the Kven policy in Norway but not to Sámi policy, since the latter is dealt with separately as part of the indigenous policy. Since the ratification of the EChRML, the denomination of the Kven language has been a matter of discussion, revolving around whether to call it Kven, Norwegian Finnish or just simply Finnish. The Kven language gained the status of a language in its own right by a Royal Decree of 24 June 2005. The new Kven status is reflected in other legislation, for instance in the 2005 change to the Place Names Act, which replaced ‘Finnish’ with ‘Kven’ in the purpose section of the act. The Place Names Act fulfils an important symbolic role in that it enables the visibility of language diversity through road signs and place names. For instance, the municipality of Porsanger/Porsáŋgu/Porsanki became officially trilingual in 2003. The trilingual road signs have been the topic of much debate and even sabotage in places. The effect on the language communities has, however, been an increased awareness of the law and a desire to have further signs in Sámi and Kven. There is no explicit provision in Norwegian legislation pertaining to Kven children in kindergartens, but the general stipulation in the Day

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Care Institutions Act that kindergartens shall respect a child’s ethnic and cultural background applies to Kven children as well. The right to learn Finnish as a second language in the counties of Troms and Finnmark was first introduced in schools in 1997 through a regulation. When the new Education Act entered into force in 1999, this right was lifted to the level of law. Thus, Kven is not mentioned as a language in the Education Act, but Finnish is. The Kven language is considered part of the curriculum for Finnish as a second language.

3.11.3

Media and Kven

In Norway, the majority newspapers report on a regular basis on minority topics. The nation-wide Aftenposten, due to its geographical distance from the Sámi and Kven domicile area, concentrates on the most burning minority issues, whereas the regional Finnmark Dagblad follows the ongoing situation in all fields. In Aftenposten, the articles report mostly on themes regarding education and legislation, and in Finnmark Dagblad the most discussed topics are education and language use. The Kven minority complain that they are underrepresented in the majority news. In the ELDIA media analysis, the examined issues of the Finnmark Dagblad contained only few news items regarding the Kvens. In the debate sections of the majority newspapers, the Sámi and the Kven minorities are often compared, especially in those articles that discuss the status of the Kvens and the Kven language in the legislation. Mostly, the debate concerns the question of whether the Kvens should be considered an indigenous people, like the Sámi, or as immigrants from Finland. In most of these discussions, it seems that the state of Norway is expected to provide the funds and means for language revitalisation. On the whole, the majority media presents minorities and minority languages, in this case the Sámi and the Kvens, as natural parts of society that need to be protected and enhanced. Common to all texts is the message that minorities should be given all means to retain their language and culture. The actual revitalisation – the use of language – is then, according to the majority discourse, in the hands of the minority itself. Because the Kven newspaper Ruijan Kaiku is the only newspaper that regularly publishes articles about the Kvens and in Kven since 1995, it is obvious that it is a strong advocate of minority rights. The main topics of discussion in the paper were connected with the current situation of Kvens and Finnish people in Norway. In the analysed data, there is a strong emphasis on the ratification of the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities and the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages. In accordance with these themes, the paper wrote actively about the recognition of the Kvens as a national minority and the Kven language as an independent language. In these

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contexts, where the Kvens are characterised as a national minority, they are depicted as a part of Norwegian society. In this way, the authors of the paper emphasise the responsibility of Norwegian authorities for the protection and support of the Kven language. Focusing on the minority status, the Kvens are presented in a positive light, while Norwegians are often portrayed negatively as ‘Them’ – those who hold the power. Ultimately, the texts in Ruijan Kaiku often plead to the majority, focusing as much as possible on the critical situation of the Kven minority in order to make clear that financial investments and funding are needed to maintain the minority and prevent its total assimilation. Another recent problem widely discussed in the news has been the poor availability of health care and other social services in the Sámi language; in the trilingual municipality of Porsanger, the same problem also concerns Kven.

3.11.4

EuLaViBar results for Kven in Norway

op po r

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All EuLaViBar scores for Kven are alarmingly low. The Kven language clearly is severely and critically endangered. Under the dimension ‘Education’ (squared sectors), the scores for the Kven language are extremely low. The reason is the same as for Meänkieli and Seto: Kven is a language with a contested status (traditionally

1.53

0.78

0.05 0.10 0.76

0.27

0.10

0.10

0.67

0.78 0.01 0.05 0.90

1.55

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pr

ir e

lan e

od

uc

de ts

Figure 15 EuLaViBar chart for Kven in Norway

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regarded as merely a dialect of a state language) and has been standardised only very recently. Consequently, Kven has hardly been present in the education system, and it is not used as a medium for teaching. The lowest mean score, in the focus area of ‘Language Products’, only amounts to 0.01. None of the respondents have received instruction in any subjects in school in the Kven language, and only few have had it as a subject (obviously equivalent to the Finnish language). The ‘Education’ score for the focus area ‘Opportunity’ for Kven (0.1) was the lowest among all investigated languages. Under the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors), the mean score for Kven in Norway was 0.90, which means that the use of Kven is very rare in most of the domains mentioned in the survey questions. The result is also clearly the weakest among all ELDIA case studies. While the scores for ‘Capacity’ in the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ range between 2.71 and 2.99 for the Estonian- and Hungarian-speaking groups and between 1.05 and 2.18 for all others, for Kven the score in this dimension was 0.27. In the light of what is known about the situation of Kven today, the reasons are obvious: Intergenerational language transmission has in many cases already begun to fail between the grandparents and the parents of the present respondents, so that many respondents have been raised monolingually in Norwegian, and there has been (until recently) no formal education in Kven. Thus, the majority of respondents have simply not been able to acquire even basic communicative skills in Kven. Most respondents did not define Kven as their mother tongue, and the scores for self-reported language skills ranged between 0.73 (understanding Kven) and 0.20 (writing Kven). Furthermore, the Kven respondents are clearly less inclined to see the opportunities for using the Kven language increasing than were members of all but one of the other minorities investigated in ELDIA. Considering the Kven respondents’ poor (self-assessed) command of the Kven language, their negative attitudes may be due to disinterest, which, in turn, arises from the inability to use the language at all. Another reason might be that Kven – as shown by interview data – is seen as a language of the elderly, and the attitudes towards its use in any other than the most intimate domains were negative all through the line. Against this background, the entire idea of Kven being used in formal contexts may seem unnatural or strange. The low scores under the dimension ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) reflect not only the community’s weak language skills but also the fact that almost no media content is available in Kven. Only one print paper and a short weekly radio broadcast are available in the Kven language. As explained earlier, most of those who identify themselves ethnically as Kven do not speak or read the language. This may also explain the fact that the focus area ‘Desire’ also gets low scores (0.05).

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The poor media supply in Kven has also been explicitly commented on in Norwegian media: Slakter tilbudet til kvenene Norske Kveners Forbund krever styrking av avisen Ruijan Kaiku og et utvidet tilbud i NRK. Forbundet er skuffet over Kulturdepartementet og mener kvener blir nedprioritert. I et brev til departementet skriver leder Rune Sundelin at mediesituasjonen for kvenene i Norge er på et uverdig nivå samelignet med situasjonene i Sverige og andre sammenlignbare land. Blant annet viser han til at Sveriges Radio har 137 timer på meänkieli og finsk i uka, mens NRK bare har 12 minutter. “Dette viser i all tydelighet hvordan Norge prioriterer kvenene i media, og det vekker stor forundring i internasjonale fora når denne forskjellsbehandlingen i to naboland dokumenteres! Norge har internasjonale forpliktelser bl.a. i henhold til Rammekonvensjonen for beskyttelse av nasjonale minoriteter på lik linje med Sverige”, heter det i brevet. ‘Butchering the [media] supply for the Kvens Norske Kveners Forbund [Association of the Norwegian Kven] demands more support to the newspaper Ruijan Kaiku and enhanced media supply by NRK [the Norwegian public-service broadcasting company]. The organisation is disappointed with the Ministry of Culture and claims that the Kvens are undervalued. In a letter to the Ministry the president Rune Sundelin writes that the media situation for the Kvens in Norway is on an unworthy level compared to the situations in Sweden and other comparable countries. Among other things, he points out that the Swedish Radio broadcasts 137 hours of Meänkieli and Finnish every week, whereas NRK only broadcasts 12 minutes. “This shows clearly how Norway prioritizes Kvens in the media, and it will arouse great astonishment on international fora when this difference between two neighbouring countries in treating minorities is documented! Norway has international responsibilities, for example with respect to the Framework Convention, to protect national minorities in line with Sweden”, the letter says.’ (Finnmark Dagblad 12.11.2010) Under the dimension ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), the scores for Kven are actually surprisingly low, the fact being that Norwegian legislation does state that the pupils of classes 1–10 in comprehensive schools in Tromsø and Finnmark have the right to study the Kven/Finnish language as a second language. The condition is that at least three pupils demand

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it (classes 1–7) and the request is to be made by the parents (in the 8th grade, the pupils must themselves choose Kven/Finnish). According to Anna-Kaisa Räisänen (personal communication on 23 May 2013), the Kven respondents may even perceive the legal protection of their language slightly too negatively; although the official status of Kven as a national minority language does not imply full legal protection for the language (Kven is protected as a minority language at Level II of the European Charter of Regional and Minority Languages), the Education Act actually does seek to support Kven to some extent, for example, by regulating the instruction of the Kven language at schools.

3.12

North Sámi in Norway: A Hopeful History43

3.12.1

Indigenous in the North

The Sámi (also spelled Saami and Sami – the spelling Sámi reflects the North Sámi orthography) are an indigenous people traditionally inhabiting the northern part of Fennoscandia from Norway and Sweden through Finland to the Kola Peninsula in Russia. They share a common ethnonym and traditionally speak a number of closely related Sámi language varieties. Of the Sámi languages, all of which are endangered, North Sámi (in older literature also called ‘Norwegian Lapp’ or ‘Fjell Lapp’), spoken in Norway, Sweden and Finland, is the most vigorous. The North Sámi language is mutually intelligible to some extent with the neighbouring Sámi varieties, especially Lule Sámi; towards the eastern sister varieties (Skolt and Inari Sámi), the border is much steeper. A much more distant relatedness is still perceivable between Sámi and Finnic (Finnish, Meänkieli, Kven, Karelian) varieties. Sámi and Finnic varieties are not mutually intelligible, but there are structural similarities that bilingual speakers can discern. These similarities facilitate language learning and the adaptation of loanwords or even morphological elements. Consequently, in the course of centuries of contact, the Sámi languages and the Finnic varieties of the Far North have deeply influenced each other. Before the assimilatory Norwegianisation policies in the 19th and 20th centuries, trilingualism (Sámi-Kven-Norwegian) was frequent in many parts of the North Sámi speech area in Norway. Today, practically all North Sámi speakers in Norway are fluent in Norwegian, while knowledge of Kven or Finnish, in the light of the ELDIA data, also seems to be much less usual. The number of North Sámi speakers is estimated to be around 20,000 (no official statistics exist). The ELDIA field study was conducted in the Sámi administrative area in northern Norway, in the municipalities of Kárášjohka (Karasjok), Guovdageaidnu (Kautokeino), Unjárga (Nesseby), Porsáŋgu (Porsanger)44 and Deatnu (Tana) in the county of Finnmárku

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(Finnmark), and in the municipalities of Gáivuotna (Kåfjord) and Loabát (Lavangen) in the county of Romsa (Troms).45 In Guovdageaidnu, Kárášjohka, Deatnu and Unjárga, ethnic Sámi and Sámi speakers form the majority of the population over 18 years of age. Considerable numbers of Sámi also live in other parts of Norway, especially in urban centres. The North Sámi people in Norway inhabit a multinational area. Alongside the Sámi and the Kven populations (see Section 3.11), there has been a sparse Norwegian settlement in the north of Norway since the Middle Ages. However, the ethnic composition of the region changed drastically in the 19th century as ethnic Norwegians became the majority in large parts of the traditionally North Sámi speaking area. From the 19th to the late 20th century, the Sámi were subject to Norwegianisation policies. The administration and the education system aimed at assimilating the Sámi (and the Kven) into the Norwegian-language majority culture, sometimes by drastic methods such as the Land Sales Law of 1902, which prohibited the sale of land to people who did not speak Norwegian. Especially in the coastal regions, Sámi families often shifted to Norwegian and gave up speaking Sámi with their children. Even today, traces of negative attitudes towards the Sámi language can still be perceived. An ELDIA interviewee in the age group 50–64 remembers the attitudes of her parents in her childhood: [...] muhto mun muittán eadni ja áhčči láviiga lohkat na maid dainna sámegielain. ‘[...] but I remember mother and father used to say, well what’ll you do with that Sámi language.’ (Marjomaa, 2014: 146) Due to the assimilation policies, the Sámi language was lost in many families. There are many ethnic Sámi who, despite their selfidentification with the Sámi indigenous people, do not speak any of the Sámi languages, while some have only learnt the language as adults. After decades or even centuries of assimilation policies, an ethnic revival of the Sámi began to gain momentum in the second half of the 20th century. From the late 1960s on, Sámi issues were increasingly the focus of political discourse. Since the 1980s, new legislation and institutional frameworks have been created that strongly support the maintenance and revitalisation of Sámi language and identity. Many Sámi families have succeeded in reversing the language shift, even despite the wellknown fact that changing patterns of language use within the family can be very difficult. One ELDIA interviewee who had shifted to Sámi with his parents noted

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hirbmat hirbmat váttis hállat sámegiela mu áhčiin ja maiddái mu eatniin, joo, ja vaikko mun, álgán sámegillii de, de, dat dat ii mana máŋga minuhta ovdalgo, aa dat lea ee joatkašuvvo suomagillii dahje dárogillii, suomagillii mu áhčiin ja dárogillii mu eatniin. ‘Very very difficult to speak Sámi with my father and also with my mother, yes, and even though I start in Sámi, well, it takes no more than a few minutes before, ehm it is, ehm it goes on in Finnish or Norwegian, in Finnish with my father and in Norwegian with my mother. ’ (Marjomaa, 2014: 107) North Sámi has been used in writing since the Reformation. An original written literature in North Sámi started developing at the turn of the 20th century. However, it was not until 1979 that a common orthography for the North Sámi language in all three countries – Norway, Sweden and Finland – was finally established. This reform was followed by literacy campaigns that aimed to make all North Sámi speakers fluently literate in their own language. Nowadays, North Sámi in Norway is already fairly widely used in literature, in the media and in the education system.

3.12.2 Legal and institutional position of North Sámi in Norway: A paragon for many indigenous peoples? The Sámi as a separate ethnic group were mentioned in Norwegian state policy and legislation as early as the Middle Ages. In 1751, the ‘Lapp Codicil’ (Lappekodisillen), an addendum to the peace treaty of Strömstad between Denmark–Norway and Sweden (to which Finland also belonged at that time), acknowledged the Sámi as a nation. After the Norwegianisation policies of the 19th and 20th centuries, from the 1960s onwards the ethnic revival of the Sámi and increasing minority rights activism brought about a change in Norway’s ethnopolitics, and gradually a new, effectively supportive framework was built. The Sámi Act (Sameloven) was ratified in 1987, and in 1988 an article about the rights of the Sámi was added to the Norwegian Constitution. The Sámi parliament (Sámediggi), a body of Sámi representatives elected to monitor the situation of Sámi languages and culture and to promote the interests of the Sámi, was established in 1989. The Sámediggi also maintains an office for Sámi language planning and standardisation. In 1990, Norway ratified the ILO Convention No. 169, recognizing the Sámi as an indigenous people. Norway also ratified the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (ECRML) in 1993 and the Framework

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Convention for the Protection of the National Minorities (FCNM) in 1999. The FCNM covers Jews, Kvens, Roma/Gypsies, the Romani people/ Travellers46 and the Forest Finns47. The Sámi would also meet the criteria of its requirements, but the Sámediggi has stated that the Sámi do not wish to be covered by Norway’s policies towards national minorities since Sámi rights pursuant to ILO Convention No. 169 go beyond those of the Framework Convention. According to the Sameloven, users of public services in the Sámi administrative area have the right to services in the Sámi language in speech and in writing. This act regulates translations of central acts, regulations and forms into the Sámi language; and the right to receive a reply in Sámi when in contact with public authorities in the administrative area. It also provides for the right to the use of Sámi in court, with the police, in prison, in the health sector, and in church; and a right to educational leave to learn Sámi for employees of municipal or regional authorities in the administrative area. The municipalities concerned receive grants for bilingualism from the state for the implementation of the provisions for the Sámi administrative area, distributed by the Sámi parliament. North Sámi has a relatively strong position in the education system, although there are still problems, for instance, in the availability of adequate teaching material or in finding qualified teachers. The right to learn Sámi is understood as an individual right within the administrative area and a group right outside the area. In the Sámi administrative area, the Day-Care Act (Barnehageloven) obliges municipalities to organise daycare based on Sámi languages and culture, while according to the Education Act (Opplæringslova), all pupils have the right to Sámi-medium teaching and the use of Sámi in subjects other than language teaching. Outside the Sámi domicile area, daycare must be organised so that Sámi children can maintain their language, and in schools, Sámi language classes must be offered if there are at least 10 Sámi pupils who require it. In higher education, Sámi languages and culture are represented especially at the University of Tromsø and the Sámi University College (Sámi Allaskuvla) in Guovdageaidnu/Kautokeino. The public visibility of the Sámi language is also guaranteed by the Place Names Act, which requires that Sámi (and Kven) place names also be visible in public signage. As noted above in Section 3.11.2, road signs in Sámi (and Kven) have provoked debates and even acts of vandalism, but they have also increased citizens’ awareness of the law.

3.12.3

North Sámi and its speakers in Norwegian media

Compared with most other minority languages in the ELDIA sample, North Sámi has a relatively strong media presence. There is one completely North Sámi–language newspaper, Ávvir (‘Attention’), which appears five

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times a week,48 and there are some other periodicals as well. The Norwegian public service broadcasting company NRK, in cooperation with the corresponding companies in Finland (YLE) and Sweden (SR/SVT), offers Sámi-language news broadcasts on a daily basis and also children’s and cultural programmes. There are also some local radio senders broadcasting in Sámi. For the ELDIA media analysis, two Norwegian-language newspapers were chosen to represent majority media. The nation-wide Aftenposten, due to its geographical distance to the Sámi domicile area, concentrates on the most topical headlines in the minority issues, whereas the regional Finnmark Dagblad follows the ongoing situation in all fields. In Aftenposten, the articles report mostly on themes regarding education and legislation, and in Finnmark Dagblad the most discussed topics are education and language use. It seems that the relationship between the Sámi and the majority media is more fair and open than in the case of the Kven; the debate sections in majority papers often explicitly refer to Sámi newspapers and opinions, and the Sámi are much more clearly represented (cf. Section 3.11.3). In the debate sections of the majority newspapers, the Sámi and the Kven minorities are often compared and their unequal status is commented on. Some texts also point out that the Sámi parliament should be given more responsibility in administration and decision making. On the whole, the majority media presents minorities and minority languages, in this case the Sámi, as a natural part of society that needs to be protected and enhanced. The support, mainly financial, is expected primarily from the state, but some text samples refer to other occasional supporters, such as political parties and particular ministries. Common to all texts is the message that minorities should be given all means to retain their language and culture. The actual revitalisation of the language, according to the majority discourse, will be in the hands of the minority itself. The most often discussed issues in the Sámi newspapers pertain to (i) reindeer herding, (ii) education and language use in public services and with authorities, and (iii) ongoing events in the Sámi Parliament; all of these are discussed mostly from a Norwegian perspective, even though the Sámi-language newspapers are also published or distributed in Finland and Sweden. In discussions about education the most recent articles report on how the worsening quality of education and lack of teachers has meant that many parents have decided to home-school their children. Another recent problem widely discussed in the news has been the poor availability of health care and other social services in Sámi. Comparing news from majority and minority media reveals a difference in how the responsibility for language maintenance and revitalisation is seen. In the majority media, the state of Norway is portrayed as the source of funding and as the decision maker in the legal sense. The Sámi media, however, often stress the collective responsibility of the Sámi

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community for preserving and transferring the inherited language to the children. Practical issues, such as lack of financial support, are not stressed as much as the challenge of winning the motivation of parents and children to learn and use the Sámi languages. Interestingly, however, when reporting about recent developments and events in the field of the Kven language, the Sámi media highlight the responsibility of the state of Norway much more than in their own case.

3.12.4 EuLaViBar results for North Sámi in Norway: Uneven successes The overall EuLaViBar scores for North Sámi in Norway are among the best in the whole ELDIA study. Yet, there are massive differences between the individual dimensions and focus areas. Partly, these reflect problems in the EuLaViBar tool, but partly, the surprisingly weak results in some dimensions may be symptomatic of real problems, despite the overall successes of Sámi language policies in Norway in the last few decades. Moreover, it must be kept in mind that situations can be very different in different parts of the North Sámi area – not to mention the numerous Sámi living outside the Sámi administrative area who were not covered by this study. Unlike most other ELDIA minorities but similarly to the acutely endangered Kven and the relatively well-protected Hungarian in Slovenia, North Sámi in Norway gets the relatively highest EuLaViBar scores in the dimension of ‘Legislation’ (dotted sectors), and in contrast to Kven, the scores are also absolutely high, always above 2. This indicates both strong institutional support and the speakers’ strong awareness of their linguistic rights. For example, in Norway all laws, statutes and regulations relevant for the Sámi must be available in Sámi, and most informants were aware of this. However, in comparison with Hungarian in Slovenia, the North Sámi informants more often expressed distrust of legislation, even claiming (9.1% ‘yes’, 18.2% ‘partly’) that legislation prevents the use of Sámi. Thus, the protective intention and content of the law in Norway is not known or is not believed in by the respondents. The respondents may not be reached by what is or is perceived to be the complicated and bureaucratic provisions of legislation. Or possibly, while respondents are more or less aware of the content of the law, they do not believe that its implementation is correct or that it is adequate to protect the North Sámi language. It is also to be noted that while nearly half of the respondents think that legislation supports the use of North Sámi, only half of the respondents think that the legislation actually does not prevent the use of North Sámi. The scores for the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’ (horizontal striped sectors) were relatively high as well. The highest score, 2.70, was reached in the focus area of ‘Language Products’, which indicates

y cit pa

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Figure 16 EuLaViBar chart for North Sámi in Norway

that there is a relatively good supply of Sámi-language material and services. In contrast, the scores in the focus area of ‘Capacity’ may have been affected negatively by the fact that the current North Sámi orthography was only introduced 35 years ago and that the oldest respondent groups did not learn it in their youth. The self-assessed writing and reading skills of the informants were clearly weaker than their skills in speaking and understading spoken Sámi, and only 28.4% of the respondents claimed to be able to write Sámi fluently. (Yet, the respondents do write in Sámi; almost 40% of the respondents reported writing text messages in Sámi at least once a week.) Some interviewees in the older age groups (over 50 years of age) told of their difficulties with writing Sámi: ...muhto čállit dan mun gal ee, dat lea veháš váttis, go ii ee, čálán mun gal muh- in mun ee, mun lean šadd- šaddan nu eahpesihkkar, ahte čálángo riekta. Danne mun in ane de, dan čállin-, vuogi oppanassiige sámegillii. ‘[...] but to write it, well I’m ehm, it’s a bit difficult, as no, ehm, well I do write but I don’t ehm, I have become so uncertain as to whether I write correctly. Therefore I don’t use that writing system at all in Sámi.’ (Marjomaa, 2014: 121)

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Comparisons between two questions about supporting children’s language acquisition indicated a clear increase in ‘transmissionconsciousness’. While the question as to whether the respondents had been encouraged by their parents to learn and use Sámi yielded a score of 2.97, the score for the question as to whether the respondents themselves encouraged their children to use Sámi was 3.32. This positive development, which is almost unique in the ELDIA material (in most other case studies, the difference was either very weakly positive or clearly negative), indicates that the language policies aimed at reversing the language shift have been at least partly successful. Perhaps this result also reflects the linguistic culture in northern Norway in general: the ideas of the importance of language skills and multilingualism and a general confidence in the power of education. The informants reported using Sámi in all domains, and most of them showed a positive attitude towards the use of Sámi in public domains, even in the most formal ones, such as the parliament. This means that they agreed with the statements that Sámi should be used in different areas of the public sphere. Moreover, the respondents were fairly well aware of the institutions and activities for the revitalisation of Sámi. The attitudes towards the public use of Sámi have certainly become more positive in the last few decades. According to the interviews, in settlements with a Sámi majority such as Guovdageaidnu/Kautokeino, it may be possible to use Sámi practically everywhere: ...ja mun dieđusge barggan eanemusat, sámegillii dan dihte go, eanas bargoskihpparat dat hupmet sámegiela. Ja ja juos eai huma dat ipmirdit, nu ahte olles dan hálddahusdálus gos mii čohkkát doppe leat várrá vihguhta, geainna bargogiellan, dehe geat hupmet dárogiela ja, ja mii earát leat sámegielagat, ee muh- muhto dáppe guovdageainnus lea nu ahte go manat báŋkui don humat sámegiela dope. Danin dat leat sámegielagat ge- geat barget, go manat dohko navai dohko, doppe maid sámegielagat, go don coopai dehe remai? doppe maiddái leat sámegielagat. ‘[...] and I of course work mostly in Sámi because most of my fellow workers speak Sámi. And if they don’t speak it they understand it, so that in this entire administration building where we sit there are probably five or six who have [Norwegian] as a working language, or who speak Norwegian, and we others are Sámi speakers, ehm, but here in Guovdageaidnu it’s so that when you go to the bank you speak Sámi there. Because they who work there know Sámi, when you go there to NAV [The Norwegian Labour and Welfare Service], they also know Sámi. When you go to Coop or Rema [names of stores] they also know Sámi.’ (Marjomaa, 2014: 131)

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However, when asked whether North Sámi is easy to use in most situations of life, the vast majority of the respondents, somewhat surprisingly, selected the option ‘No’. The questions about the respondents’ self-reported language use revealed that Norwegian still dominates in the more public and more formal domains. Obviously, there are major differences between individual experiences and between different areas and settlements, and North Sámi has still not established itself very firmly in all public domains. The reported difficulties in using Sámi may be connected with the multilingual social contexts in northern Norway: the presence of Kven, Finnish and particularly Norwegian means that in many situations not all interlocutors will be able to communicate in Sámi. Moreover, Sámi speakers are aware of their linguistic rights and the high legal protection of Sámi, and they probably have higher expectations of the usability of their language than speakers of less well protected languages. The scores in the dimension of ‘Media’ (vertical striped sectors) are weaker than in the others, and probably unjustly so. As already noted, the calculation method assigned too much weight to active text production and to some cultural activities that are not practised very often in any language. Moreover, the scores were clearly influenced by the relatively poor results in electronic and new media, whereas the Sámi-language media consumption of the informants was dominated by traditional media (newspapers, radio and TV broadcasts). In the dimension of ‘Education’ (squared sectors), the scores are remarkably low compared with the generally fairly positive results. As in the case of Hungarian in Slovenia (Section 3.1), these low scores are due to the fact that for most of the respondents, education in their heritage language has not yet been available. Sámi-medium education – that is, teaching subjects other than the Sámi language in Sámi – throughout primary and secondary school is now only offered in Guovdageaidnu and Kárášjohka, and even these opportunities have been created only recently.

3.13 A Note on Finnish in Sweden According to the original plans, the ELDIA project should have included a case study on the Finns in Sweden, a migrant group that largely emerged from the major immigration waves of the 1960s and 1970s and is now the largest ethnic minority of the Nordic countries. This study would have been conducted by a research team at the University of Stockholm. However, after the context analysis (for an abridged version see Nieminen Mänty, 2012) and the first stages of the data collection were finished, it turned out that due to various problems, the lead researcher who would have been responsible for this case study would not be able to carry out his task. The University of Stockholm had to leave the project, and because of the tight time frame, already strained

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by delays, it was impossible to find another research institute that could have shouldered this part of the project. Thus, the case study on Finnish in Sweden could not be finalised, and no case-specific report or a EuLaViBar analysis were prepared. However, the analysis of the legal and institutional framework for Sweden was produced (Öst, 2012). The Sweden Finnish data are stored in the ELDIA-DATA database together with the data from the other case studies and are now available for research purposes under the same conditions as the other ELDIA data.

Notes (1)

Due to one project partner institute leaving the project, the case study on Finnish in Sweden could not be finished. The case study on Seto in Russia turned out to be impossible to carry out, as the speaker group on the Russian side of the border is very small in number and difficult to reach; moreover, there was no supporting research infrastructure available for fieldwork among this group. (2) For practical reasons (administration of EU funds in another large-scale study in Russia would have been impossible), the project failed to cover at least one very interesting type of language situation: that of the ‘large’ Finno-Ugric minorities of European Russia. These languages (Komi, Udmurt, Mari, Mordvin) have hundreds of thousands of speakers each. In principle, they enjoy institutional support, which, however, has in practice been unable to reverse the ongoing language shift (for a recent analysis, see Zamyatin 2014). This omission is all the more deplorable as the highly endangered state of the Finno-Ugric minority languages in Russia is little known in the West, and even experts may take the official statements about support and endorsement of minority languages at face value (e.g. Yağmur & Extra, 2011: 1186). Yet, support measures in reality are implemented very weakly if at all (see e.g. Salo, 2005; Zamyatin et al., 2012: 130–131; Zamyatin, 2014; Fogelklou, 2014; Toivanen & Saarikivi [eds], 2016; Sarhimaa, forthcoming). Moreover, in the current political situation, the Russian authorities seem to be increasingly suspicious of the alleged ‘separatism’ of minorities. (3) This chart was created by Kari Djerf; the EuLaViBar radar charts presented in the following chapters were made by Katharina Zeller and Eva Kühhirt. (4) According to the UN Human Development Report 2014 (http://hdr.undp.org), all Nordic countries belong to the group ‘Very High Human Development’, with Norway hitting the top position, Sweden ranked 12th and Finland 24th. (5) Economist Intelligence Unit 2011, Democracy Index 2011 ‘Democracy Under Stress’. The index uses both expert assessments as well as a wide range of surveys as its background, including the World Values Survey, and it covers the following core aspects: electoral process and pluralism, functioning of government, political participation, political culture and civil liberties. (6) This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Hungarian in Slovenia (Kolláth & Gróf, 2013) and on the legal and institutional framework analysis for Slovenia (Roter, 2012). For Slovenia, unlike most other case studies, no separate media analysis was conducted. (7) This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Hungarian in Austria (BerényiKiss et al., 2013, including an extensive analysis and summary of pre-existing research by Rita Csiszár) and the legal and institutional framework analysis for Hungarian in Austria (Zwitter, 2012). The media analysis for Hungarian in Austria was conducted by Rita Csiszár.

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(9) (10)

(11)

(12)

(13) (14) (15) (16)

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According to the statistics of the Austrian social security services (www. hauptverband.at), in February 2013 there were 55,090 Hungarian citizens employed in Austria; in January 2015, their numbers had risen to 68,845. This figure probably includes numerous commuters from western Hungary but does not include other residents whose employment does not suffice for health insurance in Austria. Furthermore, to this number we must add the numerous ethnic Hungarians who are Austrian citizens (Burgenland Hungarians, naturalised immigrants) or have the citizenship of another country (e.g. Romania or Slovakia). Downloadable at http://www.coe.int/t/dg4/education/minlang/Report/#Austria (accessed 25 May 2015). This chapter is based on the case study by Kristiina Praakli (2011, forthcoming b) and the legal framework analysis by Sarah Stephan (2012). Due to the extremely marginal public presence of Estonian(s) in Germany and in German public discourse, no media analysis was carried out for this case study, nor was a control group study with representatives of the majority conducted. This chapter is based on the case study on Seto in Estonia (Koreinik 2013a), which includes the results of the media analysis on Võro and Seto in Estonia, also conducted by Kadri Koreinik, and on the legal and institutional framework analysis on Estonia (Meiorg 2012). Kadri Koreinik has also authored a detailed study on the position of the Southern Estonian varieties in public discourse (Koreinik 2011). After the restoration of Estonia’s independence, Estonia officially only acknowledged the border drawn in the peace agreement of Tartu 1920. The contested border of 1944, however, remained de facto in effect and was recognised in an agreement signed by the foreign ministers of Estonia and Russia in 2014. Seto communities have also existed in Siberia, where thousands of Seto emigrated in the 19th century in search of arable land. The oldest generations in these settlements can still speak Seto. http://www.stat.ee/sab-uuendus?db_update_id=13544 (accessed 14 February 2013). https://www.riigiteataja.ee/akt/118032011001 (accessed June 5, 2015); see also Meiorg 2012. This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Võro in Estonia (Koreinik, 2013b). The media analysis by Kadri Koreinik, included in this study, and the legal and institutional framework analysis for Estonia (Meiorg, 2012) pertained to both Seto and Võro and have largely been presented in the preceding Section 3.4. http://www.stat.ee/sab-uuendus?db_update_id=13544 (accessed June 5, 2015). This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Veps (Puura et al., 2013), which includes the results of the media analysis conducted by Santra Jantunen and Outi Tánczos. For the legal and institutional framework for minorities in Russia, see also Fogelklou (2014). Lude, a transitional variety between Karelian and Veps, is sometimes considered a separate language. To some extent, the Veps have also dispersed to other parts of (northern) Russia. In Siberia, a small ethnic enclave that came into being in the early 20th century has persisted to the present day. The Law on the Rights Guaranteed for Indigenous Small-Numbered Peoples of the Russian Federation was passed in 1999. To these groups, two specific federal laws apply: the ‘Law on General Principles of Organising Communes among the Indigenous Peoples of the North, Siberia and the Far East of the RF’ (2000) and the ‘Law on the Territories of Traditional Land Use among the Indigenous Peoples of the North, Siberia and the Far East of the RF’ (2000).

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(23) The website kelpeza.vepsia.ru (kel’peza means ‘language nest’ in Veps) offers some information about summer-camp projects and seminars but seems not to have been updated since 2010. (24) This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Karelian in Russia (Karjalainen et al., 2013). The media analysis and the legal and institutional framework analysis (cf. Fogelklou, 2014) were conducted together for Veps and Karelian in Russia, and their results are presented in Sections 3.6.2 and 3.6.3. (25) The Finnish language, although not autochthonous in the Republic of Karelia, is in principle supported by law alongside the autochthonous Karelian and Veps, and during most of the 20th century, Finnish (instead of Karelian) has had an official position in the republic beside Russian. In the 1920s and 1930s, immigrant Finns (often ‘Red’ emigrants who left Finland in the aftermath of the civil war of 1918) played an important role in the administration of the Karelian Republic. Ethnic Finns from America (in the 1930s) and Ingria (cf. Section 3.9.1) also settled down in Soviet Karelia. (26) This chapter is based on the case study on Karelian in Finland (Sarhimaa 2015) and the legal and institutional framework analysis by Grans (2011). The media analysis for Finland was conducted by Niina Kunnas and Sonja Laitinen. (27) The population evacuated from the ceded areas numbered more than 400,000 in total and amounted to 11% of Finland’s population. By estimation, 15% of them were speakers of the Karelian language, the rest being speakers of the southeastern dialect of Finnish (Sarhimaa, forthcoming). (28) This chapter is based on the case study by Kristiina Praakli (forthcoming) and the legal and institutional framework analysis by Lisa Grans (2011). The media analysis for Karelian and Estonian in Finland was conducted by Niina Kunnas and Sonja Laitinen. (29) Ingria (Finnish: Inkeri, Swedish/German: Ingermanland) is the historical province around St. Petersburg, from the Estonian border in the west to the old Finnish border on the Karelian Isthmus. In addition to two autochthonous Finnic peoples, the Ingrians and the Votes, Ingria has been home to a large Finnish population. The ancestors of the Ingrian Finns mostly migrated from historical Finland in the 17th century, as Ingria temporarily belonged to Sweden. In the 20th century, war, terror, evacuations and deportations decimated the original Ingrian Finnish communities, and many Ingrian Finns moved to other parts of the former Soviet Union (including Estonia and the Republic of Karelia) and from the 1990s on also to Finland. (30) http://stat.fi/til/vaerak/2013/02/vaerak_2013_02_2014-12-10_tie_001_fi.html, (accessed 5 June 2015). (31) This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on Meänkieli (Arola et al. forthcoming) and the legal and institutional framework analysis by Heidi Öst (2012). The media analysis for Sweden was conducted by Nadja Nieminen Mänty. (32) The name Meänkieli, instead of ‘(Tornedal) Finnish’, thus had an emancipatory motivation with respect to the continuity of the language in historical Sweden as opposed to Finnish nation building. Recently, however, many speakers of historically the same language varieties on the Finnish side of the border have started to call their own dialect Meänkieli (or ‘Meänkieli of the Finnish side’) as well, thus highlighting the special character of their language variety (as opposed to standard Finnish or more widely used colloquial varieties of Finnish) and its close connections to the vernacular spoken on the Swedish side. (33) See, for example, the letter of minority NGOs from 2014 to the Advisory Committee of the Framework Convention and the Expert Committee of the European Charter on ‘Continued Lack of Initiatives in the Implementation

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(35) (36) (37) (38)

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of Minority Rights in Sweden’, with references to the criticism addressed to Sweden by the European Council, http://www.sverigefinne.nu/julkaisut2014/ L etter %2 0to%2 0 Counci l%2 0 of %2 0Europe%2 028%2 0M ay %2 02 014.pdf (accessed 18 July 2015). See e.g. the open letter from 2011 signed by representatives of the Church of Sweden and linguists working with minority languages, published on the website of the Church of Sweden: http://www.svenskakyrkan.se/default.aspx?id=827654 (accessed 18 July 2015). Regeringens proposition om riktlinjer för invandrar- och minoritetspolitiken, 1975:26, 27 February 1975. Wande, E., “Finska i Sverige – ett inhemskt språk” Utbildningsdepartementet, Ds 1994:97:30 – 31. Lag om rätt att använda samiska hos förvaltningsmyndigheter och domstolar (1999: 1175), Lag om rätt att använda finska och meänkieli hos förvaltningsmyndigheter och domstolar (1999: 1176). See 5 §, 1988:655 Compulsory School Regulation (SFS 1988:655 Grundskoleförordning). The regulation stipulated that children for whom Tornedalian Finnish, Sami or Romani was a living element in the home would continue to be eligible for home language instruction. For other children, the home language had to be used on a daily basis in order to allow them to receive home language instruction. Recently, the School Act (Skollag, SFS 2010:800, Chapter 10, 7 §) has been amended: the right to receive mother-tongue classes in a national minority language applies also to children for whom the language is not the language of habitual use at home. The new regulation entered into force in July 2015. 7 §, Lag om nationella minoriteter och minoritetsspråk (2009:724). The right to use Finnish before the court, however, is still only applicable within the municipalities of Gällivare, Haparanda, Kiruna, Pajala and Övertorneå. Mother-tongue instruction in Finnish was unfortunately not counted in in this calculation, although ‘Finnish’ has been the name of the subject taught in the area as a mother tongue for a longer period of time (and, in fact, at least some teachers of Finnish also used the local vernacular in teaching alongside standard Finnish). 10% of the respondents had received mother-tongue instruction in Finnish. This chapter is based on the context analysis by Räisänen and Kunnas (2012), the ELDIA case study on Kven (Räisänen, forthcoming), and the legal and institutional framework analysis by Granholm (2012). The media analysis was conducted by Mari Keränen and Anna-Kaisa Räisänen (2011). Such conditions were that only Norwegian speakers were allowed to buy land. However, Section 2 of the act itself merely stipulated that conditions could be set up for such acquisition, such as being ‘against the public interests’, while the actual Norwegian language condition was implemented in practice. See Ot.prp. nr.20 (1901-1902), p.11 and NOU 2001: 34, para.1.9.2. This chapter is based on the ELDIA case study on North Sámi in Norway (Marjomaa, 2014), which also includes the results of the media analysis by Mari Keränen. The legal and institutional framework analysis for Norway was conducted by Petra Granholm (2012). Due to a sampling error by the company from which the addresses of informants for the ELDIA survey were ordered, addresses from Porsáŋgu were not delivered, and no respondents there could be contacted within the time frame of the project.

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(45) The Sámi administrative area also includes Divtasvuodna/Tysfjord in the Lule Sámi area and Snåase/Snåsa in the South Sámi area. These municipalities were not taken into account in the ELDIA study. (46) The Framework Convention for Norway mentions two distinct Roma minorities. Romanifolket (‘the Romani people’), dei reisande (‘the travellers’) or taterane is the term used for the old Roma minority in Norway; their numbers have been estimated at a few thousand. The group now called rom or sigøynarar (‘Gypsies’) consists of a few hundred people in the Oslo region, obviously Roma who have immigrated to Norway more recently. (47) The Forest Finns (skogfinner) are descendants of eastern Finnish slash-and-burn farmers who immigrated in the 16th–17th century to the largely uninhabited peripheral forest areas of central Sweden and Norway. They were mostly linguistically assimilated by the 19th century, but many of their descendants still maintain a separate cultural identity. (48) Ávvir is the successor of two previous Sámi-language newspapers, Min Áigi (‘Our Time’) and Áššu (‘Glow’), which merged in 2008. For the ELDIA media analyses in the earlier time periods, these two were used.

4 Analysis Great! Now we know what the case-specific barometers show about the current state and needs of the investigated Finno-Ugric minorities. But can any generalisations be made about the cases we studied, or is there something to indicate where the problems of language minorities primarily lie in Europe or even worldwide? In this chapter, we will compare the results of the European Language Diversity for All (ELDIA) case studies. We will show how the European Language Vitality Barometer (EuLaViBar) tool works, and we will suggest some ways how it could, and sometimes even should or must, be improved. As we assume that experts in European legislation and in minority legislation in general may also be interested in the results of our work, we will make an effort to contextualise the ELDIA legal and institutional framework analyses, seeking to reflect on their relationship to the tradition of law research in issues relevant for language diversity. As we also assume that our work may be of interest to sociologists as well, towards the end of the chapter we will elaborate on the sociological dimensions of language diversity in relation to our media analyses.

4.1 What the Results of the EuLaViBar Analyses Tell Us In the previous chapter, we briefly presented some of the most interesting or relevant EuLaViBar results for each case study. More detailed analyses are presented in the case-specific reports. The overarching goal of ELDIA was not just to produce new data and information about the language situation with each speaker community; beyond that, we wanted to create a method that can not only assess the situations of individual endangered languages but also allow for comparisons between different speaker communities. In Section 2.4, we very briefly described how the results of the questionnaire survey were turned into numerical values on the EuLaViBar scale. More detailed descriptions of how the EuLaViBar scores were calculated can be found in the ELDIA Comparative Report (Laakso et al., 2014) and in the case-specific reports; an amended version of the EuLaViBar tool (the EuLaViBar Toolkit) is available at http://phaidra.univie. ac.at/o:301101. As we already saw in the previous chapter, there are some validity issues and problems to do with how the EuLaViBar scores reflect the reality behind the numbers. There also were problems in sampling

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the respondents for the questionnaire survey in some of the ELDIA case studies. The universal problems connected with the reliability of selfassessed data were, naturally, experienced in the ELDIA case studies as well. We will come back to these questions in Section 4.1.5. The current chapter presents a brief overall comparison of the most important EuLaViBar results for all the investigated minorites. As Figure 4 at the beginning of Chapter 3 shows, the sums of the EuLaViBar scores place the languages we studied in a clear order of endangerment or maintenance. As will be shown in what follows, the same order, with just few exceptions, is evident in the comparisons for each focus area as well: The best barometer scores were reached by the four kin-state minorities (Estonians in Finland and Germany, Hungarians in Austria and Slovenia) and the North Sámi in Norway. The other autochthonous minorities formed an in-between group, while Kven in most dimensions was an outlier, with its results being clearly weaker than the others. As already noted, the poor scores for Kven in Norway, Meänkieli in Sweden and Karelian in Finland demonstrate that the widely praised Nordic tradition of democracy, with its noble principles of nondiscrimination and inclusion, does not yet suffice to guarantee the maintenance of endangered minority languages or compensate for the effects of assimilationist policies in the past. Another important aspect worth remembering while reading the following analyses is that the EuLaViBar scores are complex; most of the values are based on the results of more than one survey question. This means that superficially very similar scores may reflect completely different situations, and in order to really understand the EuLaViBar results, one must know the details and the background of the answers.

4.1.1 Capacity: Cultivation, standardisation and institutional support make a difference – but can we really know ‘how well these people speak their language’? ‘Capacity’ as a focus area of the EuLaViBar refers to subjective capacity, that is, a person’s confidence in using a specific language. In a surveybased, large-scale project like ELDIA, it is not possible to test the language skills of thousands of informants; just creating comparable tests for speakers of languages with very different backgrounds and contexts of use would have been a massive project in itself. As in most surveybased projects concerned with data collected in over 20 languages in total, we had to trust the answers that the informants gave to questions about their productive (speaking, writing) and receptive (understanding speech, reading) language skills. These assessments, of course, are subject to individual errors and biases. For instance, migrant speakers often overestimate their ‘language loss’ (‘I’ve completely forgotten how to speak

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X...’, a phenomenon well known in language attrition studies; see e.g. Tseng, 2010: 37, with further references). In contrast, speakers of minority languages tend to ‘over-report’ their use of their language (‘of course I always speak X at home’) and may have an overly confident view of their language skills. Or, on the contrary, respondents’ subjective assessments may be negatively influenced by external factors such as the poor prestige or weak institutional support of a language. In addition to the subjective evaluations of language skills, and in order to compensate for the subjective character of these results, we included in our calculations some further indicators: •

•

•

•

patterns of language use (questions about language use in diverse private and public domains and about the use of media and cultural products in the language at issue): It is probable that a speaker feels more confident in a language that she or he uses more often and across a wider range of domains, including in the public sphere, and in which she or he uses a broad range of media; family background (questions about language use within and between generations in the respondent’s family, questions about parental encouragement in language use): It is probable that a speaker who has used or still uses the language in his or her core family has more confidence in his or her language skills; ‘mother tongue’ status and early acquisition (self-defined mother tongue, questions about language use in the respondent’s family): It is probable that a speaker who defines the language as his or her mother tongue and has learned the language first in early childhood will have more confidence in his or her language skills; subjective assessment of the ‘usability’ of the language (questions as to whether the language is easy to use in diverse situations and whether law texts are available in the language): If a speaker states that the language is not easy to use in all contexts or that the language cannot express all kinds of contents, she or he probably has less confidence in his or her own language skills.

For most ELDIA case studies, the ‘Capacity’ scores were highest in the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’. The only exceptions were the three northern Scandinavian minorities (Kven, Meänkieli, North Sámi) and Hungarian in Slovenia, all of which enjoy high-level legal protection and score highest in the dimension of ‘Legislation’. However, the scores for self-assessed language skills were typically affected negatively by less fluency in written language use (reading, writing). In the case of the very recent immigrant minorities (Estonians in Finland and Germany, a considerable number of Hungarian ELDIA informants in Austria who were first-generation immigrants), it must

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be noted that first-generation immigrants as a rule have acquired their language skills and language education in their countries of origin. Consequently, the ‘Education’ scores tell us little about what the societies in their host countries contribute to the maintenance of these minority languages. The role of the dimension ‘Legislation’ for language capacity is the most problematic and the most difficult to evaluate. This is also reflected in the strikingly great variance in the scores, which varied between 0.05 (Estonian in Germany) and 3.32 (North Sámi in Norway). The values for this dimension were calculated on the basis of the results for only one question in the questionnaire: whether law texts that support multilingualism (the use of many languages) are available in the language at issue. One problem was that many respondents obviously found it difficult to understand the relevance of this question, as also shown by high shares of ‘don’t know’ answers. The comments to the answers revealed that respondents in general were not very well informed about the availability of law texts. However, many respondents, it seems, also did not quite understand the difference between legislation and other policies or practices (for instance, the presence or absence of discriminatory practices in workplaces). There also is a problem with grading the survey question at issue in terms of capacity at all, as the availability of legislation in a given language relates to the confidence of using the language only indirectly. In general, of course, we can assume that the existence of law-text translations may increase the speakers’ confidence in the usability of their language. It also indirectly necessitates the availability of professionals who can deal with concepts of law and administration in the language at issue. However, law-text translations in themselves do not necessarily indicate a higher level of language skills among the community at large. The question whether the availability of law texts in a given language can be used as an indicator of ‘Capacity’ at all is controversial (in general, there are very few direct, perceivable connections between legislation and language capacity), and it was discussed within the ELDIA team at the time as well. Despite these general and serious validity issues, the general trends indicated by the scores for ‘Legislation’ within the focus area Capacity seem plausible. The highest scores were reached in Sweden (2.06 for Meänkieli) and Norway (3.32 for North Sámi, the highest result in this dimension), where the public support and visibility of minority languages has dramatically increased in the last few decades; and in Slovenia (2.37 for Hungarian in Slovenia), where institutional minority protection is taken very seriously and the Hungarian minority displays a strong awareness of and confidence in the role of legislation. The lowest scores were typical of (small) immigrant minorities and minority languages

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with a contested or problematic status. Interestingly, the strong legal support that Norway offers to its minority languages was not reflected in the Kven score, which was only 0.78. The scores for ‘Capacity’ in the dimension of ‘Media’, ranging between 0.05 (Kven) and 1.02 (Estonian in Germany), remained on a low level throughout all the case studies. This, however, does not necessarily reflect poor capacity in terms of language skills but rather insufficient media supply. For instance, as noted in the Meänkieli case study (Arola et al., forthcoming), Meänkieli speakers actually do use all the Meänkielilanguage media they have at their disposal. For kin-state migrant groups, in turn, there is a lack of localised media: Hungarians in Austria and Estonians in Germany do have access to a wealth of Hungarian- or Estonian-language news services from the ‘motherland’, in particular by way of internet-based news channels and websites. But if they want to follow the news of their current region of residence, they must resort to German-language media. Thus, the vast majorities of both groups read predominantly Germanlanguage newspapers. Again, a closer comparison of the results across minority groups reveals a problem in the EuLaViBar calculation method itself. In all target groups, traditional media (newspapers, radio, TV) were much more popular than electronic or new media, especially considering that in many target groups the youngest generations – the most avid users of new media – were underrepresented. However, the method assigned a lot of weight to internet-based media and entertainment (e.g. playing interactive games) as well as to ‘elite’ culture (theatre, concerts) and active production (writing poetry or blogs, composing songs, acting in an amateur theatre group). The latter forms of media consumption and culture activities are generally practised much more rarely, irrespective of language. This has probably contributed to an overly negative picture of the media use of the minority. The relative order of the language communities investigated, however, corresponds to the results in the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’, and, in fact, in most focus areas: the top-five group of Estonian and Hungarian minorities and North Sámi in Norway, the in-between group of other autochthonous minorities, and Kven with the poorest results. As noted repeatedly above, there are validity issues connected to the method of calculating the barometer scores. Moreover, the EuLaViBar view on ‘Capacity’ is necessarily holistic, as different types or aspects of language skills – academic versus communicative-interpersonal (cf. e.g. Cummins, 2008) – in different modalities of language use are mostly not assessed separately. Yet, by and large, the major features shown by the calculated ‘Capacity’ scores correspond to what is known about the general level of language skills among the target populations. Languages with well-established literary standards, a strong media presence and/or

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a good legal and institutional support – Estonian, Hungarian, and North Sámi – received clearly better scores than less well supported and less widely cultivated languages. The minority language with the weakest scores, viz. Kven, is characterised by a long-time lack of acknowledgment and support (remedied only very recently), which in its case had already led generations ago to serious problems with intergenerational transmission. Given all the above, it can be concluded that our study has once again confirmed the importance of institutional support, standardisation and intergenerational transmission.

4.1.2 Opportunity: Lack of explicit discrimination rather than proper institutional support? ‘Opportunity’ as a focus area of the EuLaViBar refers to those institutional arrangements (in legislation, education etc.) that allow for, support or inhibit the use of languages. This definition refers only to factually existing regulations, not the wish for such (which belongs to the focus area ‘Desire’). These regulations and arrangements typically depend on the policies of societies and public authorities rather than speakers, their organisations or private networks. ‘Opportunity’ includes, for instance, the officially regulated use of the language in the educational system or the right to use the language with public authorities. As the EuLaViBar is designed to serve as a tool for identifying areas where a given language should receive especially effective societal support, we have consciously concentrated on opportunities offered by institutional arrangements. The border between ‘Opportunity’ in this institutional sense and private or semi-private contexts of language use (which belong to the focus area of ‘Capacity’ in its dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’) is not always clear for language users. The same applies to the border between ‘Opportunity’ and ‘Desire’. For instance, some Hungarian respondents in Austria claimed to always use Hungarian in the public sphere, which in Austrian circumstances is practically impossible; the most plausible explanation is that they have interpreted the option always as whenever possible, and the answer rather expresses their desire to use Hungarian. Furthermore, the opportunity to use a language is also difficult to distinguish from the existence of media, literature or applications of language technology – that is, ‘Language Products’ – in the language at issue. Thus, our definition of ‘Opportunity’, simple as it seemed from a researcher’s point of view, is anything but clear from the language user’s point of view and might need further elaboration in further studies. While the context analyses and the legal and institutional framework analyses tackled the existing institutional arrangements directly by analysing existing laws and regulations, the EuLaViBar scores for ‘Opportunity’ were based on survey data. This means that they mapped

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the perceptions and understandings among respondents concerning the existence (or the lack) of institutions that offer opportunities to use different languages. Even if members of a given minority are not aware of their opportunities of being taught in or about their heritage language, for example, it may still be so that the society at issue actually offers some. If so, the society at issue is facing a structural problem different from that of the lack of institutional arrangements, viz. problems in the information flow from institutions to citizens, and these are then the problems that need to be tackled in order to intensify the support to the maintenance of the minority language at issue. The EuLaViBar scores for ‘Opportunity’ were based on questions about •

•

• • •

•

the support and inhibition of language use: whether there were attempts to prevent the use of the language with children in the respondent’s childhood, where these attempts took place and whether such attempts are still being made1; language planning and revitalisation: whether there are institutions or persons who develop the language, whether attempts ‘to save the language’ are being made, and whether there is a need to develop the language to fit social and public needs; public use of the language: whether the language is easy to use in most situations and whether it is used in a number of public domains (e.g. police offices, hospitals, parliament, etc.); language education: where and from whom the respondent first learned the language, what languages had been used and taught2 in the respondent’s education; institutional support: whether legislation in the respondent’s view supports or prohibits the use of the language, and whether there is legislation regulating the teaching of or about the minority language in schools;3 media.4

The highest overall ‘Opportunity’ scores were characteristic of Hungarian in Slovenia (2.273), North Sámi in Norway (1.957) and Hungarian in Austria (1.956). The second highest scores were received by Estonian in Germany (1.62), Veps in Russia (1.479) and Estonian in Finland (1.463). All the cases except Veps have in common that the ‘Opportunity’ score for the dimension of ‘Education’ is notably higher – between 1.2 for North Sámi and 2.9 for Estonian in Germany – than for the rest of the investigated languages; for these, the overall scores range between 0.1 for Kven and 0.59 for Veps. This observation is analogous to our findings for the focus area ‘Capacity’, that is that the better the score for ‘Education’, the higher the overall language vitality score. The lowest overall ‘Opportunity’ scores were characteristic of Kven (0.825), Karelian

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in Finland (1.037), Seto (1.048), Võro (1.101), Meänkieli (1.184) and Karelian in Russia (1.336). All these languages along with Veps received especially low scores for the dimension of ‘Education’ (0.1–0.6) but also for ‘Media’ (0.1–0.6), whereas the scores for ‘Legislation’ were slightly higher, ranging between 0.5 for Karelian in Finland and 1.35 for Veps. However, the overall ‘Opportunity’ scores may actually hide fairly varying importance of the involved factors, and the scores need to be read with due consideration of all the background data. For instance, Estonian in Finland and Veps and Karelian in Russia have quite similar overall ‘Opportunity’ scores (between 1.5 and 1.6) but very different scores for the individual dimensions: In the focus area of ‘Education’, Estonian in Finland received a much higher (2.18) score than Veps (0.59) or Karelian (0.53), but the score for ‘Language Use and Interaction’ was remarkably lower for Estonian (1.74) than for Veps (2.29) or Karelian (2.35). With the exception of Estonian in Germany and in Finland, all the languages investigated in ELDIA received their highest ‘Opportunity’ score for the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’. This suggests that ‘old’ minorities are aware of the opportunities to use their language in interaction (that is, they seldom experience explicit discrimination or prohibition) but may experience less support in terms of legislation and opportunities for education. Obviously, speakers of these minority languages feel very strongly that either the existing legislation does not provide enough support for actual use of the minority language in the society, or that the laws and regulations are not implemented in a proper or effective enough manner. What makes the alarm even more acute is that the scores for ‘Language Use and Interaction’ are the absolutely highest of all the ‘Opportunity’ scores that these languages received, and thus with respect to all other dimensions, the languages are all currently doing even worse. On the other hand, ‘new minorities’ – represented in ELDIA by Estonian in Finland and in Germany – may well be institutionally supported to some extent; for example, there may be some educational opportunities such as the legal right of immigrant Estonian children in Finland to receive mother-tongue-as-a-subject instruction two hours a week. Nevertheless, the institutional support for the everyday use of Estonian as a heritage language in Finland is found to be very weak and unsatisfactory in general. The highest ‘Opportunity’ scores for the dimension ‘Education’ were received by Estonian in Germany (2.942), Estonian in Finland (2.177) and Hungarian in Austria (1.863). The results are, however, deceptive. As pointed out for ‘Capacity’, the vast majority of Estonians in Finland and Germany and a clear majority of the Hungarian respondents in Austria are first-generation migrants and have received at least a part of their education in their country of origin. Consequently, the high scores reflect the situation there rather than in the country where they now live. The

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second group of ELDIA languages, with clearly lower scores, consists of North Sámi in Norway (1.187) and Hungarian in Slovenia (1.392); here, the scores are influenced negatively by the insufficient availability of minority-language-medium education. The majority of the languages investigated in ELDIA received very low ‘Opportunity’ scores for the dimension ‘Education’: The score for Kven (0.1) was as close to zero as possible, with the rest ranging between 0.37 (Meänkieli) and 0.59 (Veps). A common reason for the utterly negative results is that for the majority of the survey respondents, there was absolutely no possibility of learning their heritage language at school. All these languages also are only in the process of being standardised, which naturally also directly affects the opportunities for school instruction (availability of teaching material, teacher training, etc.). The highest ‘Opportunity’ scores for ‘Legislation’ were characteristic of Hungarian in Slovenia (2.06) and Northern Sámi in Norway (2.05). As noted earlier, these languages are already relatively well anchored in the state-level legislation, especially in regard to education, and the respondents were quite well aware of the existing institutional support. In general, however, the scores for this dimension were low. The second highest scores were those for Meänkieli (1.138), Veps (1.35) and Hungarian in Austria (1.31). The result is especially striking for Hungarian in Austria, which in general was revealed to be one of the best-maintained of all the languages that were investigated in ELDIA. In all these cases, the very low score was affected positively only by the questions concerning legislative support and the lack of discrimination: The question whether legislation, in the respondent’s opinion, prevents the use of the minority language yielded high scores (between 3.319 and 3.541) for all these three languages. This suggests that the positive effect of the actual legislation is seen in the lack of discrimination rather than in active support. The rest of the investigated languages all received less than one point for the dimension ‘Legislation’: the score for Karelian in Russia was 0.80, for Kven 0.76, for Võro 0.60, for Seto 0.60 and for Karelian in Finland 0.51. All these scores show the positive effect of the answers to the questions as to whether legislation supports or prevents the use of the language. That the scores lie in the realm of the positive at all reflects, in other words, the perception of legal support by the survey respondents rather than the actual existence of supportive legislation in reality. With the exception of North Sámi and Hungarian in Slovenia, the ‘Opportunity’ score for ‘Legislation’ was all through the line affected negatively by the results of the question as to whether relevant legislation is available in the minority language. In the case of Meänkieli, the score for this question was 2.058, showing that the respondents were to some extent aware that relevant laws must be translated into their language. Otherwise, the scores ranged between 0.906 (Hungarian in Austria) and

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0.138 (Karelian in Finland). As already implied above, even these low scores were, in fact, too positive; contrary to what some respondents believed, there is absolutely no legislation available in any of these languages. All the investigated minorities proved to be quite well aware of the existence of language-cultivating institutions and of current revitalisation efforts. As the better scores in general were characteristic of languages that also are well supported, or supported to some extent, by legislation, especially in the realm of education, it can be concluded that there seems to be a direct correlation between better prospects for language maintenance and a stronger presence of the language in the education system. However, even in the case of Hungarian in Slovenia, the language that received the best ‘Language Use and Interaction’ scores, the positive effect of legislation was due to a perceived lack of discrimination rather than active legislative support. The EuLaViBar results for absolutely all the investigated languages were affected negatively by the restricted opporuntity, or lack of opportunity in practice, to use the minority language in public domains. However, a comparison of the different cases showed that minorities with varying societal statuses may perceive their own opportunities very differently and sometimes against expectations. For example, the Kven respondents found it significantly more often easy to use their language in all situations than the Sámi respondents, although the use of Sámi, objectively seen, is better supported. The Veps perceived their language to be better supported by law than the Karelians, although the legislative framework is identical for both languages (in the Republic of Karelia; for the Veps living in other areas, support is even weaker). In all case studies, the support to minority-language-medium education is experienced as insufficient and rightfully so. In general, small and ageing minorities tend to be especially vulnerable as concerns the opportunities provided by the education system. The low supply of opportunities is often explained in financial terms – ‘the society cannot afford to invest in education in a language spoken by a small number of people’. However, providing opportunity through education is not just a simple financial question but a matter of life and death for endangered languages. Our results indicate that members of minority groups whose language is anchored in legislation are quite well aware of the existence of legislation that regulates the use of their language in the realm of education. Members of those minorities whose language does not enjoy legislative support (or where the support is slurred over with very general formulations such as ‘language X may be used in schools’) tend to have a fairly unrealistic view of the state of affairs and may sometimes assume that there is more support than there actually is (Veps, Seto, Võro) or be unaware of the modest opportunities that are available, at least in principle (Kven). Altogether, the results indicate that members

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of language minorities often do not get enough information about their rights or about the existence of the legal documents relevant for them. This was the case, for instance, with legislation concerning the use of Meänkieli in education. Despite a couple of unfortunate gradings of survey questions and the lack of context sensitivity of some questions, which turned out to provide false information about immigrant languages, it can be concluded that the data that was gathered for ‘Opportunity’ as well as the way they were processed into EuLaViBar scores succeeded in producing feasible results. The outcomes not only correspond to what is known about the state of the investigated languages otherwise but also help in systematising and deepening the understanding of the role of the various factors in the current state of a given language.

4.1.3 Desire: ‘What can one do with this language?’ ‘Desire’ as a focus area of the EuLaViBar refers to the wish and the willingness of people to use a certain language. In the ELDIA study, ‘Desire’ was understood to cover attitudes and emotions connected to a specific language and its use, while general opinions and assessments were excluded. ‘Desire’ also includes the wish for institutional and legal arrangements (‘language X should be used in...’). This fusion of individual attitudes and societal norms or attitudes is better understood from the viewpoint of a discourse-analytical paradigm: Attitudes can be regarded more as evaluative norm-creating processes and as social phenomena rather than as strictly individual psychological phenomena. The scores for ‘Desire’ were calculated on the basis of a wide range of survey questions, often overlapping with the focus area ‘Capacity’. The questions concerned • • • • •

•

the respondent’s self-reported mother tongue and self-reported skills in the minority language at issue; language use in the respondent’s family (within and between generations); the respondent’s experiences of language encouragement or prohibition (in his or her childhood and now); the respondent’s perceptions of whether the language is used in various domains and how easy it is to use; the respondent’s ideas of the attitudes towards social interaction with the speakers of the language (whether it is ‘easy’, for instance, to work together or make friends with them) and whether adults or young people of different genders are expected to use the language; the respondent’s perceptions of the role of the language in the labour market;

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the respondent’s knowledge of ongoing revitalisation activities and the need for language planning, and the respondent’s opinion whether legislation supports or prevents the use of the language; the respondent’s use of the language for diverse types of media and cultural products.

There were a number of potentially relevant questions in the survey that were not scaled adequately from the outset or were found to be impossible to fit in the ELDIA scale of maintenance. Furthermore, there are questions revealing various attitudes towards language(s) that were not included in the above list. For instance, the questionnaires included a question as to whether there is a correct and ‘pure’ version of the minority language at issue, and the answers to this sometimes revealed negative attitudes towards dialectal or nonstandard language use, typical of prescriptivist linguistic cultures such as Hungarian (see e.g. Berényi-Kiss et al., 2013: 157). The focus area of ‘Desire’ included questions structured under three dimensions, namely (self-reported) language use, legislation and media. As in the focus area of ‘Capacity’, the dimension of ‘Education’ was left out, to avoid comparing well-established and cultivated languages (such as Estonian and Hungarian) with recently standardised languages that have little or no presence in the education system. However, needs and aspirations in the field of education often form a core of claims and expectations of the speakers of lesser used languages, as is also pointed out in many ELDIA case studies. For instance, even before the case study on Estonian in Finland, it was known that 54% of Estonian speakers residing in Helsinki and the surrounding area have expressed a desire for bilingual education, while 27% would prefer an Estonian-medium education for their children. In the ELDIA survey, nearly half of the respondents (44%) found that the use of Estonian in the Finnish education system should be provided for (Praakli forthcoming [b]). The overall mean scores for the focus area ‘Desire’ range between 2.525 (Hungarian in Slovenia) and 0.686 (Kven); the gap between the best and the poorest results is considerable. Again, the Hungarian and Estonian minorities, closely followed by North Sámi in Norway (mean score 2.124), form a top-five group; the midfield consists of the other old minorities (between Seto, with a mean score of 1.931; and Karelian in Finland, with a mean score of 1.29); and Kven remains an outlier with a clearly weaker mean score. Even for the top-five group, the ‘Desire’ scores indicate serious problems in the willingness to use and transmit the language. As already noted, it is remarkable that the three poorest scores were received by minority languages spoken in the Nordic countries, viz. Kven in Norway, Karelian in Finland and Meänkieli in Sweden. There are major differences between the ‘Desire’ scores for the different focus areas. The scores for ‘Media’ are clearly the lowest, ranging between

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1.02 (Estonian in Germany) and 0.05 (Kven). However, as in the case of the focus area ‘Capacity’, the poor scores often also reflect a poor media supply rather than a lack of demand. As also noted above, the calculation method may have assigned too much weight to modern (electronic) media, ‘elite’ culture or active text production (writing literary texts or blogs), which are only practised by a minority, irrespective of the language. Moreover, for some case studies, the scores are also affected negatively by a biased sample; for instance, in the case studies on Hungarian in Austria and Karelian in Finland, the older generations – less active consumers of electronic and new media – were overrepresented. It is noteworthy that even the relatively best scores in this group, reached by Estonian in Germany, are rather low and indicate a deficit rather than availability of Estonian digital media. However, as there is an ample media supply in Estonian available on the internet, the mere access to online resources without other supportive measures, obviously, does not suffice. On the dimension of ‘Language Use’, the ‘Desire’ scores vary considerably, ranging between 0.67 for Kven in Norway and 2.61 for Hungarian in Slovenia. As noted above in Section 3.11, the conspicuously poor results for Kven reflect the consequences of a long-lasting trauma of denial. In general, the scores for ‘Desire’ in this dimension are affected positively by self-reported good language skills and strong identification with the language. In contrast, the scores are often brought down by poor opportunities to use the language, especially in the public sphere and in more formal domains. To paraphrase the almost identical words of a Karelian interviewee in Russia and the parents of a North Sámi interviewee in Norway: ‘What can one do with this language?’ For Estonian in Finland, for instance, the score for ‘Desire’ in the dimension ‘Language Use and Interaction’ is 2.39, clearly lower than the capacity score in the same dimension (2.74). The case of Estonian shows that the overall desire to use the language (across all domains) does not directly depend on the numbers of speakers; Estonian speakers are the third greatest linguistic minority in Finland today. The desire to use the language is eloquently shown by the comparisons between the answers to two questions: where (from a list of a number of domains) the minority language is used, and where (from a list of a number of domains, also public and formal ones) it should be used. For Karelian in Russia, for instance, the wish to widen the spheres of language use for Karelian is rated much higher (3.59) than the spheres of actual use (2.61). This seems to indicate a positive attitude – the wish that Karelian be developed to fit all social needs and different domains – but this result also shows that the present policies do not correspond to the possibilities and expectations of Karelian speakers in Russian Karelia. For the dimension of ‘Legislation’, the highest ‘Desire’ scores were calculated for Slovenia (2.99) followed by the North Sámi in Norway (2.42) and Hungarian in Austria (2.09), while the poorest results were

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for Karelian in the Russian Federation (1.06) and Karelian in Finland (1.10), together with Seto in Estonia (1.19). Even for the top-three group with scores over 2.00, this result indicates that there are problems with the respondents’ confidence in the protective legislative framework. In the case of North Sámi in Norway, for instance, less than half of the respondents (49.5%) explicitly stated that legislation does not prevent the use of North Sámi, and less than half (47.5%) believed the legislation does support the use of the language. This means that the respondents either do not know the protective intention and content of the law in Norway or do not have confidence in it. It is also noteworthy that in most case studies, the survey questions relevant for this dimension retrieved a high percentage of ‘I don’t know’ responses. All in all, the responses with regard to legislation indicate three things: (1) The overall score is low, and it is most remarkable that it is very low even when the formal legislative protection can be described as positive and high (as in Norway, Slovenia and to some extent for Karelian in the Russian Federation). (2) The low overall scores can be explained by the informants’ poor knowledge about the content and efficiency of laws and regulations; this means a pedagogical and communication challenge for states, governments, local authorities, parliaments, lawyers and academics. (3) This phenomenon can also possibly be explained by the low level of trust felt by respondents towards the actual implementation and efficiency of the law. Naturally, the mere existence of legislation is not enough for the protection and promotion of a particular language and for an appropriate support to its users in their efforts of maintaining the language. Laws and regulations must be implemented in the everyday lives of language users. In sum, the barometer results concerning the dimension of ‘Legislation’ within the focus area ‘Desire’ testify to the significant influence of negative experiences that the investigated language communities have had with the institutional arrangements within the mainstream society and the ways that language legislation has been implemented in them. In their severest forms, these have led to very concrete and extreme forms of forced assimilation policies (hence, e.g. the Norwegianisation trauma of the Kven and the Sámi). The legal traditions and political cultures in the different countries also have created varying expectations and understandings concerning the role of law in managing multilingualism as well as the potential of law to protect and promote minority languages.

4.1.4 Language products In ELDIA, the analyses of the three focus areas ‘Capacity’, ‘Opportunity’, and ‘Desire’, inspired by the work of François Grin and

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others (e.g. Grin, 2005; Grin & Vaillancourt, 1998), were complemented with a fourth area. ‘Language Products’ refer to the existence and availability or the demand of language products (printed, electronic, ‘experiential’, e.g. concerts, plays, performances, etc.) as well as to the wish to have products and services in and through the language at issue. As the latter part of the definition shows, the focus areas ‘Language Products’ and ‘Desire’ intertwine to some extent. Our choice of ‘Language Products’ as one of the focus areas within the barometer was inspired by Strubell’s idea of language products as an indicator of the vitality of a language-based community. Strubell’s Catherine Wheel model (Strubell, 1999, 239) illustrates the interdependence of the supply and the demand of language products. The model also was very applicable in ELDIA as it ultimately rests on the same functional relationships as Grin’s COD model, viz. language competence (cf. capacity), the social use of language (in our view, combining aspects of opportunity and desire) and the motivation (i.e. desire) to learn and use that language. As explained in Section 2.2, Strubell conceptualised his model as a wheel, a dynamic circle, wherein the fulfilment of the first requirement enforces the second and so forth. However, he also stresses that mere language learning will not automatically increase the use of the language, nor does mere availability of language products necessarily increase the intergenerational transmission (Strubell, 2001: 241; also see Nelde et al., 1996). By emphasising the need for a functional relationship between the stages of language revitalisation, Strubell avoids the fallacies of a simplistic, cumulative view. Jeroen Darquennes (2007: 73–74) has criticised the wheel model for its ‘linear’ character. In his view, the wheel fails to visualise the postulated interdependency between language competence, social language use, the presence and demand for products and services in or through that language, and motivation to learn and use that language. Darquennes (2007: 74) has proposed that these gaps in Strubell’s model could be bridged by creating socio-profiles of the language situations, that is, a thorough study of the social context of the minority language. Exactly this was done in ELDIA all through the line. The project work began with the structured context analyses of each investigated language-based community, and the interdependency of factors was acknowledged and taken into account all through the project, even though it could not be systematically embedded in the creation of the barometer itself. In brief, the overarching ideology in ELDIA was that no language can be studied without a ‘thick description’, that is, a thorough, multi-layered account of the context in which it is used. The scores for the focus area ‘Language Products’ were calculated on the basis of questions concerning

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language use and interaction: whether the language in the respondent’s opinion should be used and whether it is really used in a number of public domains based on language products such as television, radio and digital devices; legislation: whether relevant law texts are available in the minority language; media: whether and how often the respondent uses diverse types of media and cultural products in the minority language; education: whether the minority language was used (as the teaching medium) or taught (as a subject) in the respondent’s education.

The mean scores for the focus area of ‘Language Products’ range between 1.717 (Estonian in Finland) and 0.299 (Kven). Again, the results allow for distinguishing three groups: the top-five group of the Estonian and Hungarian minorities and North Sámi (the poorest score in this group was for Hungarian in Austria at 1.459); the midfield, consisting of other autochthonous minorities (scores ranging from 0.515 for Karelian in Finland to 0.718 for Karelian in Russia); and Kven with by far the weakest mean score. In the case of the immigrant minorities, the relatively high mean scores are, again, partly deceptive as they reflect the education that first-generation immigrants received in their own language in their country of origin. The results for the Estonian and Hungarian minorities also show the effect of a rich supply of media and language products available from the kin-state, especially by way of the internet. In this respect, North Sámi, a language without a patronage state, stands out; the relatively positive results show the effects of strong legislative and institutional support. The comparison of the results for ‘Language Products’ with the other focus areas of ‘Capacity’, ‘Desire’ and ‘Opportunity’ shows a clear discrepancy between ‘Language Products’ and all the other focus areas: The mean score drops among all language-based communities and dramatically among the unrecognised or only recently recognised minorities. For the kin-state minorities (that is, the two Estonian and two Hungarian minorities) and the North Sámi in Norway, the difference is much smaller. In general, it is obvious that the supply of language products for all the communities under study is insufficient. In the dimension of ‘Language Use and Interaction’, the scores for Language Products ranged between 0.50 (Estonian in Germany) and 2.70 (North Sámi). Estonian in Germany received a particularly low score as did Estonian in Finland (1.11). The results show how limited the possibilities for using Estonian outside home are, thus underlining the low number of Estonian speakers in Germany and their geographical dispersal in both countries at issue. Even in Finland where Estonians today are numerous and clearly concentrated in the urban areas of southern

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Finland, the respondents of the ELDIA survey saw few opportunities for using Estonian language products in the public sphere. As almost a quarter of the respondents had chosen the option ‘I don’t know’, they either did not have a clear stance on the importance of using Estonian for communication in the form of the public-domain media or did not know how to answer the questions in the first place. Interestingly, Karelian in Finland, which scored quite poorly in the other dimensions, has its highest ‘Language Products’ score (1.52) in this dimension; even this score, however, is alarmingly low. The question as to whether Karelian should be used in diverse public domains divided the respondents fairly equally into the half that did not consider the public use of Karelian necessary and the other half, who would welcome Karelian in the investigated domains. However, in those questions where the opinions were not divided equally across the entire continuum of options, the negative ones usually formed the majority. The negative effect of such answers was reinforced by the fact that in the question as to whether Karelian really is used in certain public, language product–based domains, a notable share of respondents had chosen the ‘I don’t know’ option. The barometer scores for the dimension of ‘Legislation’ showed a huge variance from 0.05 (Estonian in Germany) to 3.32 (North Sámi). With the exception of North Sámi and Hungarian in Slovenia (score: 2.37), in most case studies the scores were very low. Moreover, sometimes even the low scores were based on false assumptions; for instance, some Estonian respondents in Germany, some Karelian respondents in Finland (score: 0.14), some Veps in Russia (scores: 0.15), some Kvens (score: 0.78) and some Hungarians in Austria (score: 0.91) believed that there is relevant legislation available in their heritage languages, which is not the case. The non-response rates and the rate of ‘I don’t know’ answers were high. On the other hand, although law translations in Meänkieli do exist, most (70%) of the Meänkieli respondents were not aware of that. 5 The relevance and validity of the question inquiring about the existence of laws in the minority language as well as the answers to it may have been problematic (cf. the discussion in Section 4.1.1); nevertheless, it is obvious that the respondents in general are not very well informed about the existence of language products in the area of law. The scores for the dimension ‘Media’ ranged between 0.10 (Kven) and 1.65 (Estonian in Finland). The same three groups of languages can be discerned again: the four kin-state minorities and North Sámi received scores higher than 1.30, the other autochthonous minorities between 0.37 (Võro) and 0.64 (Meänkieli), and Kven gained, again, the clearly poorest score. However, even for the top-five group, the scores were actually alarmingly low. In the case of the Estonian and Hungarian minorities, the scores might have been somewhat better had the EuLaViBar really reflected the use of internet-based media from the kin-state. (Knowing

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that internet-based media from Estonia and Hungary is amply available, we must assume that either its use is not properly reflected in the EuLaViBar scores or that the low scores are due to sampling, at least in the case of Hungarians in Austria; here, older age cohorts, probably less eager users of new media, were overrepresented among the respondents.) For the other minorities, the alarmingly low scores testify to a poor supply of media products. The majority of the language-based groups that we investigated do not have any daily news, and often not even any regular news, provided in their heritage languages. Often the supply is the weakest in the area of traditional and print media, while internet-based media do not properly reach the older generations (who often are the most fluent language users). In sum, the results, as it seems, truthfully reflect the reality: The problem is in the supply, not in the demand. Within the focus area ‘Language Products’, the scores for ‘Education’ range between 2.66 (Estonian in Finland) and 0.01 (Kven) and assign the investigated languages into three groups in much the same way as the previously discussed results did. However, the difference between the top-five group (the weakest here being North Sámi, 0.94) and all others (between 0.01 for Kven and 0.15 for Veps in Russia) is even more dramatic. As already noted in Section 4.1.2, the high scores for the recent immigrant languages (Estonian minorities in Finalnd and in Germany and the major part of the Hungarian respondents in Austria) are deceptive, as they only reflect the education that first-generation migrants received in their country of origin. In their present countries of residence, the supply of educational resources in immigrant languages is often very poor or practically non-existent. In Finland, for instance, Estonianspeaking school children are entitled to Estonian language classes (two hours a week), provided that a sufficient number of interested children and a qualified teacher can be found; in Germany, even these resources are usually not available. Against this background, the scores for the indigenous North Sámi and the autochthonous Hungarian in Slovenia (1.64) appear relatively good. Yet, even their actual situation is problematic. Although North Sámi in Norway now enjoys high-level institutional protection, a proper Sámimedium education throughout primary and secondary school has been implemented only recently and is still only available in two municipalities of the North Sámi area. For Hungarian in Slovenia, as noted in Section 3.1, the officially bilingual school system obviously does not suffice to create and support real functional bilingualism. For the rest of the languages investigated in ELDIA, the education scores truthfully reflect the sad fact that there are no or very scarce educational resources available in these languages, or that the resources have only recently become available, so that most of the respondents have not profited from them or are not even aware of their existence. Many

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of these languages are only marginally present in the education system. They are not used as medium of education, and if they are taught as subjects, the teaching may be part of the ‘local lore’ (as in south Estonia) or the ‘ethnocultural component’ of the curriculum (as in the case of Veps and Karelian in Russia). This, then, usually means focusing on history and the preindustrial traditional culture and folklore instead of developing real communication skills in the language. There is also a general shortage of adequate teaching material or adequately trained teachers. In general, the ‘Language Products’ scores, also compared with the scores for ‘Desire’, show a general shortage of language products in all relevant areas. In reality, the truth is even more alarming than can be discerned from these figures. As noted repeatedly above, the education scores for migrant minorities do not reflect the situation in their current country of residence. Moreover, the survey questions about language teaching were sometimes misunderstood by respondents.6 The real contents and effects of language teaching behind the labels could not be assessed; as noted above, minority language classes may not be focused on creating or supporting language skills in the proper sense of the word, and ‘bilingual’ education programmes do not always guarantee a functioning bilingualism. Considering that language products play a key role in language revitalisation, including language learning and transmission, these results indicate a serious and urgent problem.

4.1.5

Can we really trust the EuLaViBar results?

In the course of our analyses, it became obvious that the EuLaViBar tool – especially its first version, applied in the ELDIA case studies – has a few inherent problems and needs to be developed further. A considerable part of the problems result from the circumstances under which the tool was created. According to the original plan, the survey questionnaire was to deliver the input data for the dimensions and focus areas of the EuLaViBar. This plan was hampered by certain problems in cooperation and communication within the project and especially with the lead researcher in charge of the questionnaire design, coupled with the technical challenge of having the questionnaire translated into a great number of languages. The requirements that the following stage – that is, the data analysis phase – would set for the questionnaire design should have already been thoroughly thought through and discussed project-internally before and during the planning of the questionnaire. Due to the above-mentioned cooperation problems, which resulted in major delays and heavy time pressure, this could not be done in time. Hence, the data analyses could only be planned after the questionnaire data already had been collected, and the barometer, too, had to be built upon the material that we had available.

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Moreover, the pilot studies we had planned could be conducted only in part and too late to be taken into account in the questionnaire design. This meant, among other things, that the barometer could not be calibrated as accurately as we would have wished; the language maintenance scale and the formula that processed the questionnaire data into scores on the scale were created without checking whether calculated scores from pilot data would really correspond to reality. As we now know, they do; the EuLaViBar scores give a credible picture, consistent with what we already knew about the languages investigated. All the above-mentioned cooperation problems and delays resulted, among other things, in overlaps between different focus areas and dimensions and in certain difficulties in grading the data being used in the calculation for the barometer. Some of these problems have already been discussed in the sections above. That the focus areas overlap is not so suprising, since the phenomena that we investigated intertwine and interact in reality as well. Most problematic was the fact that the original scoring of survey questions for the barometer failed to some extent in taking this into account. As a corrective measure, we sought to refine the scoring system after the ELDIA case studies were closed; the revised version is included in the Barometer Toolkit.7 As the following example – question 40 inquiring about media consumption in different languages – illustrates, in the revised version of the barometer tool, questions providing information for several focus areas received different scaling depending on the focus area: Question 40–1: Q40: Opportunity, Language Products (Media) Barometer-Scale 0

1

2

3

Criteria No (→ not available in language x)

4 yes

Question 40–2: Q40: Capacity (Media) Barometer-Scale 0 Criteria

Yes, never

1

2

3

4 Yes, regularly/ sometimes

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Question 40–3: Q40: Desire (Media) Barometer-Scale 0 Criteria

Yes, never

1

2 Yes, sometimes

3

4 Yes, regularly

Moreover, the results in some dimensions and focus areas required information that could in ELDIA only be conjectured or indirectly inferred. For instance, the scores for ‘Capacity’ were based, among other things, on the respondents’ self-reported language use with their grandparents. In many cases, it is probable that language use with grandparents is only of very marginal importance for an individual’s language skills. However, in some cases, further analyses revealed that the minority language at issue had often been transmitted to the respondents not by their parents but by their grandparents. When estimating the reliability of the ELDIA results, we also have to take into account that despite all our attempts to create as representative samples as possible, it was in many cases not possible to reach out to all members of the language-based community equally. In some cases, it was even unclear how the language-based community should be defined. As there were no reliable registers of the target population available for many of the groups we investigated, or such data were not accessible due to privacy protection legislation, the only way to create a stratified sample was to use the membership data of minority organisations. This, in turn, often led to a certain ‘activist bias’; such potential members of the target group who were not interested in the activities of cultural organisations and clubs could not be reached, and thus in some samples older and/or more highly educated respondents are overrepresented.8 As minority organisations in many cases turned out to have mainly elderly members, in some case studies – Karelian in Finland, for example – the results actually reflect the reality only in regard to the oldest generations of speakers. It needs to be pointed out that the barometer does not capture any apparent-time trends, such as in the case of intergenerational language use: using the language with parents or grandparents versus with children. In principle, it would have been possible to take into account the age structure of the respondents in the barometer calculations. Capturing such trends was not set as an aim mainly due to the tight projet schedule; it would have required a very different approach in the entire creation of the barometer itself, and an inductive approach simply was not doable within the timeframe of the 36-month project for which we had received EU funding.

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What bothered us most in retrospect was that in the form implemented in the ELDIA case studies, the EuLaViBar template was not age sensitive in regard to intergenerational language transmission. In ELDIA, we measured the degree of the use of a given minority language in families at the group level. A group-level analysis is, naturally, also indicative of the situation. However, considering that the crucial importance of intergenerational language transmission has been proven by a plethora of research, and that it also is one of the decisive criteria employed to distinguish between different degrees of language endangerment within the ELDIA language maintenance scale, we wanted to refine the barometer in this respect. In principle, the possibility of measuring the degree of transmission across four generations was in-built in the survey questions. As a corrective action for the barometer calculation, we developed a revised operationalisation plan after the project was closed. It is specifically the revised version that is published on the project website as a part of the EuLaViBar Toolkit. The questions about language use within family are yielded to a multivariate analysis of variance in which age is the the independent variable and the EuLaViBar mean scores are the dependent variables. The problems we experienced in sampling also mean that we could only approach the dimensions or focus areas of language use in terms of individual speakers rather than in terms of whole language-based communities. For instance, the focus area ‘Capacity’ might in principle be investigated at the level of the community. In this way, it might be possible to point out the lack of health-care personnel who speak the language or the lack of capacity in the middle generations while language revitalisation is already underway with children (cf. e.g. Olthuis et al., 2013). The questions to be posed would map, for example, whether there are competent speakers in all generations and in all social strata or all professions; or whether there are potential problem areas. One of the major challenges for the whole ELDIA project was the issue of ‘metadiversity’ (cf. Laakso, 2016): the diversity of diversities. We compared languages spoken in very different sociopolitical contexts, and the informants probably interpreted many key concepts in the questionnaire – such as ‘supporting the use of the language’ or whether the language is ‘easy to use’ – in a variety of ways. A specific challenge that also affects the reliability of the barometer results for the ELDIA minorities arose from comparing strongly standardised languages that are widely used in education systems (such as Hungarian or Estonian) with languages that are still little used in writing and are even less present in formal education (such as Karelian, Meänkieli or Võro). One can become a fluent and confident speaker (that is, one can have the capacity) or have the wish and determination (the desire) to use a language even if there is no formal language education available. In order to do justice to this fact, we excluded the dimension of

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‘Education’ from the focus areas of ‘Capacity’ and ‘Desire’. This decision, of course, can be disputed. Our results indicate a correlation between formal teaching and the capacity to use the language. Moreover, the EuLaViBar scores for language capacity were also calculated on the basis of indicators connected with standardisation and written cultivation – the use of various media, for instance – and one could even claim that in today’s world, capacity must include written and formal modalities of language use. To sum it all up, the most obvious problems with the EuLaViBar as a tool for measuring the degree of language maintenance were amended in the version that is now publicly available (the EuLaViBar Toolkit). Despite its obvious shortcomings, the EuLaViBar proved in the end, in its corrected version, to be a suitable instrument for assessing the maintenance of the languages under investigation. When the results of the EuLaViBar are interpreted in conjunction with the other research conducted during the project, especially the interviews, media analysis and legal and policy analysis, they can provide new insights into how language diversity and multilingualism could be promoted in Europe and elsewhere. We invite interested and knowledgeable language practitioners to apply the barometer in the study of other language-based communities and to develop the tool further.

4.2 Law, Language and Multilingualism The ELDIA project included extensive analyses of the legal and institutional frameworks for each country at issue. As their results have been published separately, this chapter will not present a systematic summary of all ELDIA law analyses. Instead, we shall look into the overall legal context concerning minority languages and language policies in Europe from the point of view of academic legal research and the implementation of language-policy regulations in general. Starting with a theoretical discussion of linguistic rights, linguistic justice and the legitimation of language legislation, we shall proceed through general questions of nationalism in relation to minorities, egalitarianism and non-discrimination to some relevant issues of language-related case law. Together with the results of the ELDIA law analyses, this overview shows that language diversity is nowhere an explicit, operational goal of legislation but rather that minority language issues are framed as general issues of non-discrimination and equality. Furthermore, the analysis reveals a paradox: The maintenance of vulnerable languages requires more detailed knowledge, research and also regulation, but increased regulation may unduly intrude into the private spheres of individuals, and these issues will need further monitoring and clarification in the future.

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4.2.1 Language legislation, linguistic justice, and legal analysis: On the theoretical background of the legal studies in ELDIA 4.2.1.1 Language legislation can be a tool of oppression but also of emancipation Language is both an object and a communicative tool of legal and judicial activity. Law may regulate choices about languages at state and regional levels. Law may also regulate the languages to be used in specific contexts such as administrative and court proceedings; in specific institutions, such as parliaments and schools and in the media; in public; and in some cases also in private, for instance in business or in private workplaces. In other words, the relation between law and language is intimate and two-directional. On one hand, language defines who may participate in the creation and implementation of legislation as a citizen, a parliamentarian, a public official or as a judge; only people who have the necessary skills in the language at issue can be involved, while those who have not mastered the language (for instance, immigrants who are not fluent enough in the state language of the host country) are threatened by exclusion. On the other hand, legislation may restrict or widen the space available for different languages and thus create language hierarchies and power differences or imbalances in terms of symbolic recognition, available resources and different domains that are open or closed to different languages. Language legislation has been a tool of control and domination in former and present-day colonies. Its power has been experienced by colonised indigenous peoples but also by various traditional minorities and recently evolved, migration-based minorities all over the world. In Europe, too, historical memories of direct linguistic discrimination and prohibitions of public language use are still alive, even among speakers of languages that, during the 20th century, have established themselves as official languages of nation-states, such as Latvian, Lithuanian or Finnish. And yet even today in all these nation-states, minorities or at least some minorities experience problems with recognition and the right to support. Furthermore, in Europe there are still countries – such as France, Greece and Turkey – that are very reluctant to even recognise the existence of linguistic minorities in their own territory. A vivid example of this is how the Conseil Constitutionnel in France declared the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages of the Council of Europe (the Language Charter) incompatible with constitutional principles: the indivisibility of the French Republic and the equality under the law and the unity of the French people.9 Language may also be a vehicle of emancipation and empowerment. The emancipation of the Sámi in the Nordic countries in recent decades

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has been closely connected with language revitalisation projects. These, in turn, have been supported and enhanced through legislative projects and protection such as the Sámi language acts in Norway, Sweden and Finland (Vikør, 2001; Todal, 1999).

4.2.1.2 Language legislation, language rights and ‘linguistic justice’: ‘Moralism’ versus utilitarian arguments Law and legal theory is often regarded as irrelevant or as simple ‘moralism’ by non-lawyers, who often complain about the insufficiency of language-rights theory and arguments. As Grin has argued, ‘establishing the relevance of minority language protection and promotion as part of “diversity management” generally requires more than the moral justifications that usually serve as a basis for the standard rights-based arguments.’ (Grin, 2005: 451). In Grin’s conclusion, the provision of minority-language protection must meet the tests of technical feasibility, allocating effectiveness and distributive fairness. However, utilitarian cost-effectiveness argument apparently misses two points. First of all, it confuses language legislation with language rights as individual or collective rights. Language legislation is a concept much broader than simply language rights. By language rights, we can understand the legally recognised and entrenched claims that can be invoked by an individual or a group; however, invoking language rights does not mean using them as a universal trump card that overrides all other concerns of fairness and appropriateness. Because of this confusion around language legislation and language rights, a debate has emerged concerning ‘linguistic justice’. In this debate, it has been pointed out that language legislation and language policies have an impact not only on the conditions of social cohesion or of economic efficiency, that is, as instrumental tools, but also on the legitimacy of societal and political structures and on the perceptions of fairness and inclusion among all speakers of different languages and with different individual and collective identities (de Schutter, 2007). Furthermore, the utilitarian criticism of rights theories – more generally, of legal theories – concerning language protection also misses a second point: the actual weight and raison d’être of legislation, at least in reasonably democratic societies, as well as in international affairs. Firstly, legislation results in the fact that society recognises legitimate expectations and those who hold them. This is the recognition effect of legislation, which may render individuals, groups and their claims visible and accepted. Consequently, legal recognition in itself has an empowering effect as it renders such claims and their bearers visible to society at large. If law refuses to ‘see’ the claims, their bearers may perceive themselves as invisible and disempowered. Secondly, legislation

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aims at institutionalising the outcomes of deliberation, contestation and compromise concerning the allocation of resources and of reasonable accommodation amongst competing interests. Such institutionalisation of decisions on accommodation and resources also takes place with regard to languages and their status and protection in different legal orders. Through its two aspects of importance (recognition and regulation of functional allocation of resources), law is important both for the expressive dimension of language (language shows how we define ourselves) and its functional (communicative) dimension. Therefore, these two aspects of law affect directly the language speakers’ opportunity and their desire to use their language (cf. Section 4.3). As argued by Tuori, in Habermasian thinking, law is connected to morality through the fundaments of its justification, but it is not exhausted by its moral aspect. The fundamental connection between positive (enacted and valid) law and morality is established through rational discourse (Tuori, 2002: 84; Habermas, 1996: 107–109), which is the essence of democratic deliberation and decision making. It is in deliberation, in particular in parliamentary deliberation and in the preparatory stages of new legislation, that arguments concerning effectiveness, feasibility and fairness are found. The primary function of (positive) law is to stabilise reciprocal expectations of conduct in society, says Tuori. The primary function of language rights is not to create trump cards that disregard all other societal needs and interests but rather to recognise and promote legitimate and reasonable expectations of protection by the speakers and users of a wide range of languages. In fact, in this sense, law and academic legal analysis are much less concerned with the philosophical foundations, moral justifications and argumentative strings of legal rules than, for example, political theory (Patten, 2009).

4.2.1.3 From details of language regulation to more general discussions on justice and fairness: The ELDIA approach to law and to debates on law In the discussion on how language regulation and language rights are to be legitimised, many possible options have been pointed out. Between these and wider societal debates about fairness and justice in the field of language regulation, there is still a gap, which some researchers have attempted to bridge by way of legal analysis (Spiliopoulou Åkermark, 1997, 2010; Mowbray, 2012). Robert Dunbar noted some years ago that the growing interest in linguistic rights has been accompanied by a growing debate as to the nature and theoretical underpinnings of such rights as human rights (Dunbar, 2001: 93).

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In addition to the general recognition of certain (human) rights, reasonableness, legitimacy and proportionality are inbuilt aspects of legislation. For instance, documents that guarantee the rights of persons belonging to minorities may include clauses such as ‘where numbers so warrant’, ‘when living traditionally in the region’, ‘whenever necessary’, or ‘where appropriate’.10 If used too extensively, such clauses can in practice annul the protective function of the provisions concerned. In legal theory and practice, however, restrictions of recognised rights are to be implemented as narrowly as possible and should not make the concerned provision void of any meaningful content. Another common critique of legal analysis and theory concerning language matters is that it is heavily oriented towards institutions and institutionalism. This pertains to the interest of lawyers in looking at how parliaments, governments, public authorities and courts create, shape, use and apply the law. However, such critique underestimates the fact that law itself is an institution that is constantly created (however slowly), reassessed and, occasionally, even rejected in parliament, by courts or by public opinion and practice. This is the reason why looking through the multiple institutions involved in the shaping of law allows for the adoption of multiple angles of evaluation and interpretation of societal practices and trends. Even within such institutional strands of legal analyses, it is thus fully possible to find sociological or critical approaches to language matters (Riddell, 2004; Mowbray, 2012). Today the terms ‘language law’, ‘language rights’ and ‘linguistic justice’ are all used among legal scholars. ‘Language law’ or ‘linguistic regimes’ are, for instance, most often used in the analysis of domestic solutions to language issues, as for instance by Suksi with regard to multiple parallel regimes for different languages in Finland (Suksi, 2008). Finland is constitutionally bilingual (Finnish and Swedish), while Sámi languages enjoy protection through special legislation (the Sámi Language Act); the needs of smaller groups, including the Karelian minority and the more recently evolved Estonian community, which were investigated in ELDIA, are only partially accommodated through fragmented legislative provisions (Grans, 2012). For Suksi, these different regimes prove that ‘one single country, even a small country, may have different linguistic regimes in place at the same time for the benefit of a multitude of groups’ (Suksi, 2008: 238). This is also an argument in favour of nuanced and varied solutions that are based, on one hand, on the needs of the individuals and groups concerned; and, on the other hand, on wider societal considerations and needs, and which are preceded by balancing deliberation. For authors like Dunbar and de Varennes both the foundation or justification as well as the contents of specific linguistic

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rights require further analysis (Dunbar, 2001; de Varennes, 1999) and need therefore to be looked at within a broader context of comprehensive language policies and regulations. This is exactly what has been done in the legal and institutional analyses of the ELDIA project. For the ELDIA research, the questions arising from the relationship between language rights and human rights in general have prompted an interest in and focus on constitutional human-rights guarantees, on legislation already in force, on litigation (i.e. the outcomes of court proceedings) and on non-discrimination theory and practice in the countries examined. Even more importantly, we have tried to look at the overall systemic features of the legal and institutional settings in the countries that have been examined from two perspectives: that of the minority languages at issue and that of the individuals who use these languages (see Section 4.2.7 on the results of the law analyses). In other words, ELDIA researchers have tried to look at legal and political debates about the law as much as the law itself (see Section 5.5 and the ELDIA legal analyses in the bibliography). This effort was complemented by the media studies conducted within the project. The ELDIA media studies were also essentially connected to legal issues, as they focused on limited periods of time during which specific minority-relevant legal projects were debated in and through minority-language and majoritylanguagage media outlets (for a summary of the media discourse analyses, see Section 4.3.5).

4.2.2 Historical background: Language and nationalism through law The close link between language legislation and the creation and conceptualisation of the idea of a ‘nation state’ is often underlined in legal analysis (Ruiz Veytez, 2001). As May (2003)11 has shown, this naturalistic nationalism, which was criticised heavily for its deterministic and essentialist thrust, was succeeded by the sociological and constructivist accounts of linguistic nationalism; this newer nationalism emphasised that language and other cultural aspects of ethnic or national identities must be recognised as a contingent factor in such identities (May, 2001: Chapters 1 and 2). This strand was represented by sociologists, in particular Max Weber and Ernest Renan, who in the late 19th century developed the idea of a nation as a spiritual principle (May, 2003: 141). This idea is expressed in the modern ways of thinking of identity as a construct; such thinking can also be found in contemporary legal documents such as the recent Third Thematic Commentary on Language Rights of the Advisory Committee on the Framework Convention on National Minorities. It says under the heading ‘Language rights and identities’:

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Language is an essential component of individual and collective identity. For many persons belonging to national minorities, language is one of the main factors of their minority identity and identification. However, language, like identity, is not static but evolves throughout a person’s life. The full and effective guarantee of the right to use one’s (minority) language(s) implies that authorities allow free identification of persons through language, and abstain from constraining personal identities into rigid language categories […] (Council of Europe, 2012, Commentary on Language Rights). Moreover, a person might wish to identify herself or himself with several groups, as also became evident in the ELDIA survey. The phenomenon of multiple affiliations is in fact quite common due to mixed marriages, for instance, or in cases of state succession when borders and states change names and shape over time. A person may also identify himself or herself in different ways for different purposes, depending on the relevance of identification for him or for her in a particular situation (Council of Europe, 2012: paras. 13 and 17).

4.2.3 Language policy through law: The societal vs. the individual perspective The aforementioned considerations concerning language as a core but contingent aspect of individual identity also provided the basis for the law analyses in ELDIA. In their analyses, the law researchers endorsed both the individual as well as the social and collective expressions of language use and of language choices. Choices in matters pertaining to language are made by individuals in their everyday lives, and language can be a central factor in important life choices regarding place of residence, education, marriage, the raising of children, relations with friends, and so on. But language choices are also made by collective actors such as the government, responsible authorities and civil society organisations that represent language communities or work with issues of human rights, migration and integration. This wide spectrum of language-relevant decisions, ranging from the private and individual sphere to the government or even international organisations, is based on an underlying assumption that was also made in the ELDIA project: It is assumed that policy interventions in different fields – the factors influencing the capacity, opportunity and desire to use a certain language, as well as the availability of language products – are not only possible but indeed both important and feasible. The use of the methodological and analytical tool comprising ‘Capacity’, ‘Opportunity’,

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‘Desire’ and ‘Language Products’ allowed us to conceptualise and structure the parameters and areas where policy intervention is feasible, efficient and thereby needed in order to maintain languages and promote individual as well as societal multilingualism. The interplay between the individual and the collective dimensions of language and language use was in-built in the model used by the ELDIA project. The survey questionnaire focused on individual experiences and practices, while the structural context analyses, the legal and institutional analyses and the media analyses as well as the group interviews infused this individually oriented data with knowledge and insights from the interactive and collective spheres in which languages are used, discussed and conceptualised. Thereby, the lengthy legal discussions of language rights as individual rights or collective rights pass into a secondary place of order. In a similar manner, the European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages provides for measures to support ‘regional or minority languages’ and certain ‘non-territorial languages’ (Dunbar, 2001: 97). While the charter explicitly excludes immigrant languages – as well as dialects of the official language(s) and sign languages – from its regulation and protection, the ELDIA project included cases of languages in a migrant position, such as Estonian in Germany and Finland and the Finnish language spoken in Sweden. Furthermore, ELDIA investigated some languages whose formal status – whether dialect, variety or separate language – is very much under debate domestically as well as internationally. Such cases are Kven in Norway, Meänkieli in Sweden, Karelian in Finland, and Seto and Võro in Estonia, all of which are traditionally regarded as dialects of a nation-state language. And, finally, some cases represent a mixed situation: The users of a language in a country include both people with longstanding ties to the country where they now live (often referred to as ‘old minorities’) and more recent immigrants or commuters. This applies to Finnish in Sweden and Hungarian in Austria (see above the discussion on ‘old’ and ‘new’ minorities in Section 1.3.4). The ELDIA legal research thus had to some extent to deal with integration and migration law, in particular as regards Germany and Finland, where the Estonian migration is quite recent and there is no ‘old language group’ to fall back on as in the case of the Finnish minority in Sweden and Hungarians in Austria. The idea that law can be used as a tool for the protection and promotion of languages and language speakers was considerably widened after World War I, when, in the framework of the new international order and with the League of Nations as the institutional umbrella, an innovative system of protection was established (Spiliopoulou Åkermark, 1997: 101– 118). Such older, even century long, systems of language regulation are still of importance and are in some cases still legally valid, as shown in particular in the ELDIA legal and institutional analysis regarding Austria

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(Zwitter, 2012). The challenge in such cases is to ensure that these old and well-established legal systems are able to adapt to the new realities of mobility and globalisation affecting also the European continent.

4.2.4 Non-discrimination and the heritage of the egalitarian tradition The principle and right of non-discrimination forms part of the broader egalitarian tradition of contemporary legal thinking concerning languages and language rights and is thus also part of the ELDIA research. The idea and ideal of ‘perfect equality’, utopian as it sounds to some ears, has been an explicit goal of legal developments at least since the early 20th century and can be understood as part of the lengthy processes of democratisation in the European continent over the past four centuries. The term ‘perfect equality’ was as such already used by the Permanent Court of International Justice (PCIJ) in its advisory opinion regarding the case of the Minority Schools in Albania in 1935.12 The case concerned the right of the Greek minority to establish its own schools in Albania. In this advisory opinion, the PCIJ established the twofold idea that is also pertinent to the minority treaties of today: firstly, to permit minorities to live ‘peaceably’ alongside the rest of the population; and secondly, to preserve the characteristics and the distinct identity of the minorities protected. Furthermore, the Permanent Court argued that it is not sufficient to aim for ‘perfect equality’ but that there is a need to actively support minority cultures.13 As we shall see below, this is a general trend in the legal, case-law driven approach wherein the emphasis is more on the reactive control of what is possibly wrong or missing rather than on pronouncing upon what is needed in terms of positive measures. This can, perhaps, be seen as the cautious position of courts when it comes to trespassing into policy making and political deliberation. The prohibition of discrimination is found in all human-rights instruments. Language is recognised as a prohibited discrimination ground in a great number of international legally binding agreements, in particular the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (Articles 2 and 26), the International Covenant on Economic, Social and Cultural Rights (Article 2.2), and the European Convention on Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (Article 14). In Article 22 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union, linguistic diversity is established as a core value and principle of action for the EU and its member states. This is one of the first explicit legal recognitions of linguistic diversity and multilingualism in the EU. Commentators have emphasised that this cannot be understood only as a commitment to preserve diversity as such and in the abstract, but that it is also an indirect commitment in favour of all languages used in Europe (Urrutia & Lasagabaster, 2008). This principle

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is adjacent and complementary to Article 21 of the Fundamental Rights Charter of the EU, which provides that ‘any discrimination based on any ground such as sex, race, colour, ethnic or social original, genetic features, language, religion or belief, political or any other opinion, membership of a national minority, property, birth, disability, age or sexual orientation shall be prohibited’ (emphasis added). However, the reactive rather than proactive nature of nondiscrimination legislation gives limited redress and does not allow for the forward-looking design of language policies. Moreover, a nondiscrimination paradigm does not necessarily support multilingualism as such. On the contrary, it could be argued that the way nondiscrimination thinking always requires a comparison – and thereby a polarisation – between two situations and languages compared to each other actually accentuates conflict and competition between languages and their speakers, instead of allowing for the insight that individuals may themselves be using a high number of different languages and that societies need to adopt different policies and measures adequate for different needs and changing circumstances. For the above reasons, ELDIA legal and institutional research did not limit itself to non-discrimination legislation. This was particularly important in countries such as Sweden, where positive measures for language minorities are regarded as problematic and language is not explicitly and directly recognised as a ground of prohibited discrimination (see Öst, 2012).

4.2.5 Language-related case law at an international level Below follows a summary of core decisions and areas of jurisprudence (i.e. knowledge produced through court decisions) by international courts and monitoring bodies in matters of language. This knowledge forms part of the background against which ELDIA knowledge was produced. The purpose is to capture the essence of such international jurisprudence on language issues, since it influences the development and implementation of domestic legislation, either directly for the state immediately concerned or indirectly by representing an authoritative interpretation of how legal rules concerning languages and their users should be implemented. Such court proceedings (litigation) will thereby also influence legal understandings in the countries examined in the ELDIA research project. The purpose of the review below is to highlight the types of issues that have been most frequent in international litigation and thus to look at how far the international legal debate has come in the field of court pronouncements. One reason for including such a review in this study is to enhance knowledge about and interest in the content of such legal implementations and, most importantly, to underline its

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impact on how we think about languages and the role played by law in their recognition and status (see also Skutnabb-Kangas & Dunbar, 2010). The review below shows a number of findings: (a) Reinforcing the monolingual paradigm First of all, we can see that court proceedings address at best the vulnerability of individuals and of languages, looking at one language at a time. They reinforce therefore the impression of the dominance of the monolingual paradigm, even though in reality the persons and societies involved are highly multilingual. Such case law has not dealt head on with the issue of multilingualism. On the contrary, the cases below show that various governments have over time consciously imposed systems of monolingualism as a tool of control and dominance over minority language speakers. Therefore, court cases often show us glimpses of societal struggles and sometimes of pain for the persons concerned, even though such cases do not of course give any information as to whether minority speakers and minority language-based communities themselves would necessarily be more inclined towards linguistic fairness and multilingualism than majorities often are. (b) Selective focus on a limited range of languages The review also shows that there are certain languages that are most often the object of international litigation, most importantly French in Belgium and Kurdish in Turkey. There is no such comprehensive litigation reported with regard to the Finno-Ugric languages examined in ELDIA. This may be partly due to the fact that was also shown in most legal and institutional analyses in ELDIA: Informants in general had a rather weak knowledge of the legal protection that their languages enjoy. (c) A sceptical outlook on litigation In addition, it seems to be the case that among the situations examined in the ELDIA research, litigation on language matters is not considered to be a fruitful avenue. This may be due not only to constraints relating to human and financial resources but also to negative experiences of the conduct and outcome of domestic litigation and language protection efforts. The importance of such international language litigation is, however, considerable, since it draws attention to the everyday experiences – and violations of linguistic rights – of language speakers around the world. Simultaneously, it highlights areas of general concern where such language rights may be violated with regard to any non-dominant language. Issues of languages in and of education and the language limitations imposed upon citizenship as well as upon political participation are perhaps the two clearest examples in this regard, and these areas have both formed part of the

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legal and institutional analyses of the ELDIA legal and institutional analyses. The review below aims at identifying some of the ‘soft spots’ of the international discourse on linguistic justice. Language is widely recognised as a ground for discrimination around the world. Consequently, language has a considerably stronger legal position than, for instance, citizenship (wherein a number of exceptions are considered legitimate with regard to political rights or enjoyment of economic and social rights) or belonging to a minority. Discrimination on the basis of language has regularly appeared in international litigation since the Minority Schools in Albania case, even though it is still difficult to say how far the discrimination prohibition goes towards the direction of a need of positive measures for the protection and promotion of languages. Below, there is a brief overview of European relevant case law that has reached the level of an international adjudication and examination. This is then only the tip of the iceberg when it comes to legal issues concerning language rights in Europe. Nearly five decades ago, the European Court of Human Rights dealt with the issue in the Case relating to certain aspects of the laws on the use of languages in education in Belgium (hereafter the ‘Belgian Linguistic Case’). The case concerned a French-speaking group in Belgium, and the applicants wanted their children to be educated in French despite living in a region defined by Belgian law as Flemish-speaking.14 In its 1968 judgment, the European Court of Human Rights did not find any violation as regards the territoriality principle (i.e. that each major linguistic region used one language in education), nor as regards the recognition of certifications or the withdrawal of subsidies from public schools providing French classes in a Flemish region. The court considered that the European Convention and its First Protocol (which recognises the right to education) do not recognise a right to be educated in a special way or in a special language. By avoiding both the grounds of language and of association with a national minority, the court found that there was discrimination only insofar as Flemishspeaking pupils from Flemish-speaking regions had free access to education in the municipalities surrounding Brussels, while French-speaking pupils did not have such access. This was then based, by the court, on discriminatory treatment on the ground of residence. In 1993, the European Court was confronted by another type of language case, this time concerning the Slovene minority in Carinthia. It had turned out that setting up and operating private Slovene-language radio and television stations in Austria was impossible because of the monopoly of the Austrian Broadcasting Corporation.15 Since no explicit right to language or media is mentioned in the European Convention on Human Rights, the claimants argued that the situation violated the freedom of expression of the convention and was in conjunction

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with the prohibition of discrimination. The court found in this case a violation of the freedom of expression, since pluralism in information is a fundamental element in a democratic society. The court did not, however, pronounce on the issue of the alleged discrimination against the Slovene minority as such. The issue of language in electoral processes returned to the forefront in the judgment of the court on Podkolzina v. Latvia, decided in 1992.16 In its Chamber Judgment, the court found that the procedure followed in the applicant’s case – how her language proficiency was determined for the purpose of eligibility for being a candidate in elections – was incompatible with the requirements of fairness and legal certainty. As a consequence, the court held – unanimously – that there had been a violation of Article 3 of Protocol No. 1 of the European Convention on Human Rights (the right to election). The court did not proceed to examine whether the harsh language requirements in Latvian electoral legislation had indirect discriminatory effects, nor did it examine whether the legislation had been used in a discriminatory way in this particular case. Instead, the court noted that it had serious doubts as to the distinction made between Ms Podkolzina and other candidates, but did not find it necessary to examine a possible violation of Article 14 (prohibition of discrimination). Furthermore, the court did not address the argument made by the applicant that the requirement of excellence (so-called ‘third-level knowledge’) in the Latvian language was disproportionate to the aim it pursued, namely the well functioning of the parliament. While this argument is at the very heart of the whole issue of language requirements with regard to minorities – that is, what is a legitimate level of knowledge in the official language to be required in different spheres – the court nevertheless chose not to address it. In line with previous jurisprudence, the court accepted the theory of a ‘wide’ margin of appreciation of states and their government in electoral and parliamentary matters. In Ignatane v. Latvia, decided a few years later (in 2001) by the UN Human Rights Committee, which receives complaints concerning alleged violations of the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, it was found that there was a violation of the prohibition of discrimination in a situation when the state party had refused to let the applicant stand for local elections on the basis of a language proficiency test.17 The European Court of Human Rights has repeated the views it originally iterated in the Podkolzina case in a more recent case concerning the language of regional parliamentary assemblies. In its decision on Birk-Levy v. France, concerning the quashing by the French Conseil d’État of a resolution passed by the Assembly of French Polynesia allowing the use of a language other than French (namely Tahitian) in the regional assembly, the court concluded that even though language may be ‘an essential element of cultural identity’, its use in institutional settings of

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a parliamentary character lies outside the framework of protection of the European Convention for Human Rights.18 A somewhat different approach was taken by the European Court of Human Rights in a case concerning the role of language in education. The case Cyprus v. Turkey19 is reminiscent of the case of Minority Schools in Albania from the PCIJ discussed above. Also, in this more recent case, the issue concerns the closure of a secondary school in the Turkey-controlled northern part of Cyprus, a school that offered education through the medium of Greek. The Court found that the interruption of Greek-medium education at the secondary level in these circumstances amounted to a denial of the core substance of the right to education. Some commentators have emphasised that, since this was a case about an occupied territory, this judgment hardly can be seen as guaranteeing a generalisable right to minority-language education (Dunbar, 2006: 189). However, it may be taken to indicate that it is problematic and may be violating the ECHR to force children who do not speak the language of the school to join majority-language education. Dunbar has thus argued that ‘given […] the adverse effect of such a policy, the denial of minority-language education could now arguably constitute a violation of Article 2 of Protocol One of the European Convention on Human Rights which guarantees the right to education.’ Recently the court was called upon to rule on the restrictions on Moldovan/Rumanian-language schools imposed by the separatist and Russia-controlled authorities in the Moldovan Republic of Transdniestria (“MRT”) with the aim of using the Cyrillic script when writing in Moldovan. This is the case of Catan and Others v. Moldova and Russia.20 The court also found in this case, as in the Cyprus v. Turkey case, a violation of the right to education and explained that: ‘…it appears that the “MRT”’s language policy, as applied to these schools, was intended to enforce the Russification of the language and culture of the Moldovan community living in Transdniestria, […] Given the fundamental importance of primary and secondary education for each child’s personal development and future success, it was impermissible to interrupt these children’s schooling and force them and their parents to make such difficult choices with the sole purpose of entrenching the separatist ideology’. European Court of Human Rights, nos. 43770/04, 8252/95 and 18454/06, 19 October 2012, para 144. The spelling of names according to minority languages falls under the jurisprudence of the European Court of Human Rights Article 8, which

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guarantees the right to respect for private and family life. The court has had a rather restrictive approach in this field.21 However, in Güzel Erdagöz v. Turkey, the court found a violation on the grounds that the Turkish courts had refused the applicant’s request for rectification of the spelling of her given name according to its Kurdish pronunciation.22 The case law within the EU and by the European Court of Justice (ECJ) has also been obliged to deal with matters of language and even with specific measures aimed at protecting minority languages. This has always been done in the context of free movement, access to the labour market and non-discrimination. The Groener case concerned the requirement of knowledge of the Irish language for persons who wanted to be employed as teachers in Ireland, where most of the education takes place in English.23 The ECJ found such a requirement to be legitimate since Irish is an official language under the Irish Constitution and the government has adopted policies aiming to promote this language as an expression of national identity and culture. Similarly, in the Bickel case, the ECJ found that rules designed to protect the language of a minority, such as German in South Tyrol, are legitimate.24 However, access to language rights in German should not be unduly restricted only to persons resident in South Tyrol. Thus, with regard to the use of German before courts in South Tyrol, residents of other EU member states should also be allowed to use German in criminal proceedings. The court found discrimination on the basis of nationality rather than of language.

4.2.6 Remarks on the limitations of litigation and case law studies As is evident through the sketchy overview given above, litigation (court proceedings) and its outcomes can give but fragmented glimpses of the experiences and problems encountered by language speakers in individual countries and around the globe. Such high-level court decisions may nevertheless highlight and draw attention to particular sets of issues and unveil the everyday struggles of language speakers in many parts of the world. As they are by nature and definition reactive rather than proactive or forward looking, such pronouncements cannot offer any comprehensive guideline on whether there are comprehensive and long term language policies and language related legislation in place, nor do they show how to address and support language maintenance or language diversity concerns. Such comprehensive descriptions and prescriptions are found in normative documents such as those mentioned above and in interpretative documents linked to them, such as the three thematic commentaries under the Framework Convention on the Protection of Persons Belonging to National Minorities dealing with education (2006), participation (2008) and most notably linguistic rights (2012).

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For those reasons, the research of the ELDIA project on the legal and institutional frameworks of the languages examined has not confined itself to the wording of legislation or the rather few and limited court cases in this field but has also covered the interpretation, analysis and critique of the law in academic work. ELDIA was interested in how law is implemented not only by courts but also by administrative authorities, as well as in the ongoing dynamic evolution of language legislation influenced by the language speakers themselves and their representative organisations.

4.2.7 Novel normative approaches to language matters A more recent normative approach shall be summarised here as it offers new directions for further research and discussion concerning languages and language policy. Mowbray (2012: 201–206) has examined the contours of the engagement of international law with matters of language and has argued, on the basis of the theoretical frameworks established by Bourdieu, that international law does not pay sufficient attention to questions of context and complexity. It does not account for processes of change, does not look at the systematic nature of the disadvantages particular linguistic groups may face, does not appreciate the political dimensions of identity and culture and, finally, accepts rather than challenges key assumptions regarding language use. On this last point, Mowbray also shows how in international legal debates and case law, assumptions exist about the ‘impracticality’ of using multiple languages or a different set of languages to those currently used in different settings. The ELDIA research project proposal as envisaged in 2009 and as designed with regard to the legal and institutional analyses in 2010 (ELDIA, Manual for Legal and Institutional Analysis 2010) was precisely an effort to find new methodological and theoretical avenues in doing legal analysis, which moreover cannot limit itself to the separate boxes of domestic and international regulation and practice. The Third Thematic Commentary on language rights (Council of Europe, 2012) by the Advisory Committee of the Framework Convention on National Minorities is of particular interest, as it addresses some of the above concerns and criticisms among language experts and lawyers alike and reveals new understandings that appear in global debates about languages and multilingualism. The commentary, which follows the paths opened up by the First Thematic Commentary on Education (Council of Europe, 2006) and the Second Thematic Commentary on Effective Participation (Council of Europe, 2008) addresses six core fields of concern: language rights and identities, language rights and equality, language rights and media, the public and private use of languages, language rights

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and education and, finally, language rights and participation. The Third Commentary notes (para. 7): ‘Increasing mobility and migration are current social phenomena that have also diversified means of communication. As a result, sociolinguistic approaches to the notion of language, which was long considered intimately linked to static concepts such as territory and belonging to a group, are changing as well. The Framework Convention is based on an individual rights approach. It is thus not focused on language itself, nor on a language community, but on the speakers. Their communicative repertoire, which may encompass a range of linguistic resources (standard and non-standard forms of languages, dialects, etc.) often develops throughout life as a result of interaction and mobility.’ The ELDIA project has combined the language-oriented approach with the individual oriented approach in its methodology as well as through the theoretical underpinnings influencing the project. One of those underpinnings is the understanding of all researchers involved that language policies require a conscious and proactive approach towards a wide range of different situations. The Third Thematic Commentary notes in this regard (para. 24) that ‘The Advisory Committee notes that preventing assimilation requires not only abstaining from policies clearly aimed at assimilating persons belonging to national minorities into mainstream society. It also implies, as stated in Article 5.1 of the Framework Convention, positive action in order to ‘promote the conditions necessary for persons belonging to national minorities to maintain and develop their culture, and to preserve the essential elements of their identity’, including their language. With regard to numerically smaller minorities in particular, this obligation requires the active promotion and encouragement of the use of minority languages, and the creation of an overall environment that is conducive to the use of these languages, in order to prevent their disappearance from public life.’ Finally, with regard to linguistic diversity in education, the Third Thematic Commentary notes (para. 82) that

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‘School education should offer a fair reflection of the linguistic and cultural diversity of society and thereby promote the values of tolerance, intercultural dialogue and mutual respect. In addition to teaching in and of minority languages, the mandatory curriculum should therefore also include information on the history and contribution of minorities to the cultural heritage and the society of the State Party. Such teaching should not be limited to areas traditionally inhabited by national minorities, so that awareness of and respect for the linguistic diversity of society is promoted throughout the country from an early age onwards.’ Legal research within the ELDIA project has thus offered new insights that feed into these recent normative approaches. Neither research nor the thematic commentaries of the Advisory Committee are binding legal pronouncements. However, they show us how understandings concerning languages and multilingualism in Europe today prevail and change.

4.2.8 Conclusions of ELDIA legal studies ELDIA legal research as a whole shows that language diversity is not an operational and implemented goal in itself of the legal and political systems examined. When it is referred to in legislation and policy, it is seen in an instrumental manner as a precondition for the strengthening of the official language in the state concerned or as a precondition for the ‘full’ integration of others, that is, of minorities and immigrants. All the countries examined have introduced non-discrimination legislation. For the EU member states, EU legislation has been an important impetus in this development. At the same time and as mentioned above, in several case studies, languages are not approached in a proactive way, and we have observed a lack of coherent and longterm policies concerning the maintenance and development of specific languages and of multilingualism and language diversity. To the extent that there is any case law concerning linguistic matters, it is often framed as a non-discrimination issue (see e.g. the language-related cases mainly concerning Sámi of the National Discrimination Tribunal in Finland; Grans, 2011: 34). This is particularly the case in Nordic countries. The prevalence of the non-discrimination paradigm is accompanied or perhaps also explained by the above-mentioned absence of comprehensive longterm programmes and strategies to address the needs assessed and the measures to be taken with regard to the different languages coexisting in the legal orders examined in the ELDIA project. It is therefore not so surprising that respondents in ELDIA surveys are to a large extent unaware

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of the equality challenges for different languages and their speakers as well as the legislative measures pertaining to different languages. Most of the legal orders examined start off from the assumption that there is an a priori bond between a certain language and a certain territory. The result of this assumption is the rather automatic normative conclusion that this language should also be affirmed and promoted only within the borders of this ‘traditional’ or ‘historic settlement’ region. The clearest expression of the principle of territoriality is perhaps found in Germany, where the very definition of a minority requires direct linkage to a specific territory. Germany sets the following criteria for minority status25: • • • • •

their members are German nationals (i.e. having German citizenship); they differ from the majority population insofar as they have their own language, culture and history – in other words, they have their own identity; they wish to maintain this identity; they are traditionally resident in Germany; they live in the traditional settlement areas.

It should be noted that from the perspective of international law, the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities only includes reference to ‘traditional areas’ in very few of its provisions, thus indicating that most linguistic rights and corresponding obligations are not dependent or conditional upon a link between a language and a territory. Only Article 10(2) refers to ‘traditionally or in substantial numbers’ (in relation to the use of languages with authorities) and a similar alternative is included in Article 14(2) with regard to access to opportunities to receive teaching of or in the minority language; Article 11(3) refers to ‘traditionally inhabited by substantial numbers’ with regard to minority language toponyms, street names and signs. However, all other provisions of the Framework Convention are not qualified by any requirement concerning traditional settlement. The case studies exposed an uneasy legal situation with regard to the borderline between the private and the public spheres and the regulation of language matters. This is most prevalent in the case of Estonia, where the existence of a comprehensive and detailed language act regulates both the public as well as to some extent the private sphere (Meiorg, 2012). The ELDIA case studies testify to a worrying political atmosphere in which imposing restrictions on the use of languages in an ever expanding field of private life – in school yards, in coffee rooms, in private media and so on – seems to be gaining popularity. This is most likely an area that will need clarification and critical observation in the coming years. We are, thus, confronted with a paradox. On one hand, there is a need for legal

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regulation and comprehensive long-term strategies in order to address the challenges posed for the maintenance of vulnerable languages. On the other hand, increased regulation may intrude unduly into what is effectively the private sphere of individuals, and therefore it needs to be examined carefully and on a case-by-case basis. Overall, ELDIA research has shown that there is a remarkable absence of detailed legal academic research concerning the status of the smaller languages in the different countries studied, but also of not-sosmall language communities such as Finnish in Sweden. There is also considerable regional variation in the way languages and their speakers are dealt with within one and the same country. Such variations can compensate for the passivity of central authorities and lead to innovative approaches for the affirmation, maintenance and revitalisation of languages. A downside of this phenomenon can also be observed in many countries, both federal and those with a developed and strong system of local authorities. Notably, regional disparities put at risk the principle of equal treatment of all persons across the territory of a country and can only be accepted when they constitute conscious and carefully designed responses to particular needs.

4.3 Language and Society: Have We Been Able to Overcome the Idea About the ‘Survival of The Fittest’? “[…] a language is best understood when the habits, customs, institutions, philosophy – the subject-matter of thought embodied in the language – are best known. A student of language should be a student of the people who speak the language […] (Powell, 1880: xi, cited in Saville-Troike, 2003) Languages emerge, spread, change, weaken and disappear together with social contexts and through human actions. Sociology of language is interested in society and investigates languages with respect to the effect of language on society – as opposed to sociolinguistics, which is interested in the effect of society on language. Sociologists and sociology as a discipline, in contrast to sociolinguistics, have also often been unwilling to give language a prominent role in explaining minorities’ claims to ethnic and national identity (May, 2001: 8). In sociological studies, language often figures as yet another marker of identity. At the same time, sociologists have shared a deep interest in subordinated languages (Grillo, 1989: 174) when discussing issues relating to institutionalised power imbalance (Hall, 1992).

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In this section, we will explain how the sociological and ethnographic approach contributed to the interdisciplinary efforts of the ELDIA research project. First, we will discuss sociology and its interest in the study of languages. Then, we will present an overview on ethnography, and a sociological approach to power relations will pave ground for a discussion of why media discourse analysis was considered a necessity. After a subsection addressing the general role of the sociological point of view for the ELDIA research design and data analysis, the comparative results of media discourse analysis will be presented.

4.3.1 Sociology and language studies Sociology as a discipline emerged at a time of rapid change, which also affected language diversity, and its basic questions – concerning the role of institutionalisation and its consequences in an emerging modernity marked by capitalism, urbanisation, secularisation, standardisation and rationalisation – included language-relevant aspects as well (Saarikivi & Toivanen, 2015). Whereas it is fair to say that sociology was always interested in language, signs and expression or forms of communication and their effects on society and societal change, language minorities did not play a key role in early sociological theories. Early sociologists of the 19th century, such as Herbert Spencer in his social Darwinist theorisation, described the ‘survival of the fittest’ as the natural model of human development. Thus, minority protection was far from the research agenda. The first full department for sociology established at the University of Chicago took another departure: Chicago sociology became famous for its endeavour to study how cultural and societal settings form people and ideas. The influence of such scholars as Max Weber, Emile Durkheim and Karl Marx drew researchers’ attention to how power relationships ‘allow for’ or restrict human diversity and how they can diminish equality between people. The role of minority languages was, however, in no way central to the emerging grand sociological theories. The task of describing these vanishing cultures was left to anthropologists. Sociology’s engagement with languages was for a long time dominated by the so-called Sapir-Whorf hypothesis. The strong form of this hypothesis described language as the central determinant of a culture and defined languages as part of the cultural expression of any society. Furthermore, according to this hypothesis, language provides the categories for thinking through which social reality is experienced, described and constructed. Language ‘forces’ people to perceive the world in a distinct manner, and the categories available in a language also dictate how ‘a culture’ perceives the world (Sapir, 1921; Whorf, 1956). Whorf (1938), for example, used the case of Hopi Indians to show how

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the concept of time is different in English and in Hopi culture and argued that linguistic constructions of time determine how these two different cultures think about time and also how they think about reality. The idea that each language is a central part of a culture also played a central role in the processes of nation building. It was emphasised that each nation has (and must have) its own culture and language. Language was understood as a central resource for culture, even a dominant one, because it reflects cultural meanings (Sapir, 1921: 207; Dorfmüller-Karpusa, 1993: 19). This implies that all the concepts central to one culture can be expressed in the language attached to that culture, and that when new cultural concepts arise, language changes (Sapir, 1921: 193). At the same time, language was understood as the central resource through which new experiences can be introduced to the culture (Linell, 1982: 49). A weak form of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis is reflected in the language-sociological ‘school’ of Joshua Fishman. On the relationship between culture and language, Fishman says: ‘[there are] three major ways in which language is related to culture: language itself is a part of culture, every language provides an index of the culture with which it is most intimately associated, and every language becomes symbolic of the culture with which it is most intimately associated’ (Fishman, 1985: xi). Joshua Fishman has in his writings shown how languages define social groups and has pointed out that this is true also of such languages that are no longer actively used in everyday communication. Language marks belonging both inwards and outwards (Fishman, 1973). This belonging is a central element in identification with a social group. Several decades ago, Fishman had already claimed that the quest for authenticity among speakers of minority languages should not be considered ‘a vestigial remnant of nineteenth century thinking’ but instead as a very central feature of modernity (Fishman, 1973: 83). Similar arguments have been made by Erik Allardt (1979), who stressed that linguistic minorities in Europe do not, in the first place, struggle against socioeconomic subordination and discrimination. They, as modern Europeans, ask rather for recognition of their self-categorisation. In his analysis of the future of multilingual Europe, Peter A. Kraus (2008) discusses, in Humboldtian and Herderian tradition, the concepts of the expressive dimension of language in contrast to its instrumental dimension. The importance of the instrumental dimension is obvious: We have to be able to use the language that is understood in each specific context, and our life

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chances depend on our ability to do so. The expressive dimension, often ignored, is about authenticity – the need to be recognised as who we are, together with our culture, social ties and identities. Kraus points out that if the cultural bases that underlie our personal development are institutionally ignored or even repressed, our self-esteem – which is important for our individual autonomy – will be severely hampered (Kraus, 2007: 64). The ELDIA interviews showed that people can fight vigorously for the recognition of their languages even if in their own families, as it seems, they do not consider it worth transmitting to the next generation. The reason for this is, at least to some extent, that language has become an important or maybe even the decisive marker of ethnicity or ‘commodified authenticity’ (Heller, 2006: ix) – and thereby authenticity can best be addressed through language arguments. kaiken-se ristitud sanutas miše meiden vanhembiden kel’, meiden dedoiden i baboiden kel’ oli vepsän kel’, sikš nece om minun kel’, kodiman kel’, minun kanzan kel’, - - kacu, minä en teda om-ik nece mugoine genetine mugoine mušt, vai midä nece om, nu ezisijal vepsläižil om kel’, sikš ku uskond oli venälaine, ‘People always say that the language of our parents, our grandfathers and grandmothers, was Veps, therefore it is my language, the language of the homeland, of my people, - You see, I do not know whether it is a genetic memory or what it is, but the Veps give preference to language, because the religion was Russian.’ (Puura et al., 2013: 88)

4.3.2 Ethnographic studies on languages and language minorities Anthropology as a discipline is interested in the cultural variations in human life and focuses extensively on humans as social beings. Language as a means of social interaction has therefore been one of its central interests. As a sub-discipline of anthropology, linguistic anthropology studies language use in a social context, investigating how languages and language use shape communication and form social identity and group membership, but also how language plays a role in organising cultural beliefs and ideologies. Linguistic anthropology has its roots in the late 19th century; the term was launched by scholars who were affiliated with the American Bureau of Indian Affairs and collected Native American folklore. In the 1960s, it became a cover term for the study of language in social life and the role of social context in shaping linguistic structure and its use (Gal, 2006: 172).

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The ethnographic method that is central to anthropology can be characterised by its commitment to the people investigated. This means that the subjects under study play a substantial part in the theory making and thus in the whole research design. In ELDIA, the ethnographic methods were used only to a small extent in the focus group and in individual interviews. At the same time, many of the ELDIA researchers have long-term experience in ethnographic fieldwork among the languagebased communities under study. This is apparent in the case-specific reports that now have been published in the series Studies in European Language Diversity; not only the interviews but also the survey data were analysed against the background of deep commitment to the study of the selected communities. This commitment is visible in this present book, especially through our effort not to value certain commitments to language maintenance over others; instead, the effort is made to describe the diversity in interpretations and identifications of languages among each language-based community. At the same time, our analysis had, from the outset, paid extensive attention to power relationships.

4.3.3

Language and power

After World War II, the critical school in social sciences challenged the prevailing traditions by encouraging research that would not only describe ‘things as they are’ but also critically induce change. The concept of power, one of the most central conceptual tools in sociological research tradition, was re-introduced to analysis in social sciences. This implied rethinking the meaning and role of such terms as ethnicity, language and minority. In this framework, the new interest in language minorities led researchers to question or criticise the conditions under which some ethnic groups became seen as a state enemy or, at the very least, as an anomaly. Sociologists, anthropologists and sociolinguists became interested in the relationship between power and dominance and sought answers to the question of how these relate to language diversity. One of the central questions was, who can use a given language with whom and on which conditions? The question must be continued: whose version of the language gets institutionalised, and who are allowed to call themselves real speakers? All these questions are connected to ethnicity studies; these studies investigate ideologies that contribute to language attitudes, and language attitudes in turn support or weaken the status of a language and thus the speakers’ motivation to use it (May, 2009). Grillo (1989) has used the concept of minoritisation in order to describe the processes in which, throughout the history of democratic nation states, minorities are made non-dominant in all societal spheres. In the process of minoritisation, the languages spoken by minorities are also ranked in hierarchies of power, whereas the state dominant languages become

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naturalised as the normal languages, and the non-dominant languages are linked with ethnic identities that constitute a potential threat for the very idea of a neutral state. Fishman (1989) writes that this process implied a general vilification of those languages and ethnicity movements that were not state forming. Later he noted that this idea continues to live in today’s understanding that confuses (perhaps on purpose) ethnicity (‘live free with one’s kind and let others live’) with racism (‘bondage or death to the other defined as the inferior ’) (Fishman, 1997: 337). The relationship between ethnicity and racism is indispensable in studies on language ideologies. Language ideologies often function or take effect on a level that does not have to be overt and conscious; instead, ideologies work on something that Lukes has defined as the third level of power. He calls this, the ideological-hegemonic level of power, radical power (2005: 28): ‘Is it not the supreme and most insidious exercise of power to prevent people, to whatever degree, from having grievances by shaping their perceptions, cognitions, and preferences in such a way that they accept their role in the existing order of things, either because they see it as natural and interchangeable, or because they value it as divinely ordained and beneficial?’ Using Lukes’s radical theory on power, Toivanen (2001, 2007) has criticised the way minority languages are discussed in current minorityrights discourse. She argues that the minority rights created in order to provide emancipation and recognition for minorities’ languages have also produced a constraining framework that forces minority activists to claim one unified and homogeneous language identity. Minorities that are not able to identify a single ‘true language’ for themselves risk falling outside the whole project of international minority-rights protection (Toivanen, 2007). Both sociology and anthropology share a deep interest in endangered language communities, and researchers have played an important role in collecting and documenting so-called ‘vanishing’ (obsolescent) languages. At the same time, researchers in both disciplines have also – through research on the revitalisation efforts of certain language and cultural communities – played a role in reifying and re-inventing these communities.

4.3.4 The sociological dimension in ELDIA In the ELDIA project, the role of sociology and the methods it offers was to study those factors that facilitate or impede linguistic

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diversity. It was hoped that a more sociological and even ethnographic approach would deepen our understanding of the social and cultural roles of languages, and that through these methods we would be able to contribute at least a hermeneutic comment on the other analyses. Thus, the sociological approach was an innovative effort to not only study the level of maintenance of minority languages in Europe, especially the rather underexplored Finno-Ugric languages, but also to understand the societal and cultural factors and power balances that affect the endangerment or vitality of these languages in today’s Europe. The sociological approach was integrated in the ELDIA research framework following the idea that language diversity should not serve as a yardstick for measuring equality but that instead it represents the very basis of equality (Wendel & Heinrich, 2012: 145). This means that a truly equal society is based on a language ideology and praxis in which people are encouraged to maintain and develop their languages and also their cultures, histories and livelihoods instead of promoting a uniformity that subordinates everyone to the dominant language, culture and history. (ibid.: 157). In particular, the work on Context Analyses on each language-based community in the first phase of the project (published in the electronic series Studies in European Language Diversity) underlined the fact that minority languages and the languages of minorities have often been conceived in terms of traditional collectivities, and that studies on folklore, songs, costumes and ancient forms of livelihood have dominated the field (Nelde et al., 1996: 60). In glocalised societies – meaning that global economic and cultural structures are assumed locally and anchored in the structures of local communities – research has to overcome its ‘folkloric’ bias. For example, the Finno-Ugric language minorities in this research project, as different as they are from each other, are all modern, part of global macrostructures and dependent on global economies, but they are also subjects in global political and cultural processes. The sociological analysis in the ELDIA project meant that power factors, global and local – resulting in language ideologies and thereby in language shift and language loss but also offering opportunities to reverse language shift – gained central attention. This was reflected in the questionnaire and its analysis as well as in the analysis of interviews and media discourse analysis. In our study the focus was on multilingualism, while the majority– minority relationship was seldom straightforward. Speakers of Kven do not only relate their status position to that of Norwegians but also to North Sámi, to speakers of Finnish, to speakers of all other languages used in northern Norway and to those who refuse to recognise Kven as a separate language. The multiple status positions and networks of power relationships are difficult to study without direct participant observation

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and in-depth interviews. The focus interviews but also the media discourse analysis gave a qualitative commentary on the actual situation, the positioning of languages and the language attitudes in place.

4.3.5 Comparing ELDIA media discourse analyses The media discourse analysis revealed some common features in all the studied countries but also some major differences. Both minority media and majority media avoided discussing minority relevant matters. For example, in the case of Austria, the minority is considered to be so integrated that it does not need special attention in the majority media. At the same time, the minority media refrains from addressing the downsides of being a silent minority – obviously, in order to avoid being identified with lower-status and low-prestige immigrant groups, which sometimes figure in majority media as ‘troublemakers’ or a potential source of problems. Being silent and being invisible fits better within the ‘mutual gratitude’ discourse that is very strong in the Austrian majority press. In Russia, the Veps and Karelian media is state owned and controlled by the same organs as the majority media, and this may to some extent explain their inability to appear as claim makers in the area of minority politics. In Estonia, Võro and Seto are defined as ‘our minorities’ in the Estonian press. The implications of the fact that many cultural and language activities of these minorities are funded by the Ministry of Culture are not seriously discussed anywhere. The Võro and Seto activists and the minority language press do have own complaints and concerns, but they keep their demands moderate. There is no threatening of the majority nor any serious conflicts expressed in the minority-language discourse. Similarly to Hungarians, they do not want to be labelled as troublemakers but seek harmony, even though it might cost them some rights or true realisation of their rights. Meänkieli and Kven also used to be silent and invisible. In both countries, Sweden and Norway, it was the other minority, the indigenous Sámi, who first started claiming visibility and political relevance. In both countries, these smaller Finnic minorities are in a certain competition relationship not only with the majority but also with the other local minority, the Sámi. The wrongdoings of the past and assimilationist policies have led to the current situation in which many of the minority language speakers have lost their heritage language and may even be ashamed of their ethnic roots. The majority media reflects on this and puts the responsibility on the majority. At the same time, the Kven and Meänkieli media are complaining about their own forces: Now that there are opportunities to re-learn the heritage language and to use it again, people are not motivated.

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The Sámi in Norway appear in this material as the best example of how the majority and minority media have managed to come closer, refer to each other and actually take common points of view on important questions. While the majority media, especially the regional press, does also print critical articles questioning the legitimation of Sámi land rights, a common tone is found in issues regarding mother-tongue education, language revitalisation, cultural activities and funding issues: In both the majority and minority media discourse in Norway, language rights are seen as a compensation for Norwegianisation policies in the past, and the state is portrayed as being responsible for optimising the conditions for Sámi language maintenance and cultural life. The Sámi on their part are seen as responsible for the contents of the cultural and language policies but also for motivating the members of the language community to use the language actively. The Karelian and Estonian minorities in Finland are very different in their backgrounds. The first is a minority language with an established minority community. This community, however, has only few speakers (perhaps around 5000) who actively and regularly use the language, and many of these speakers are already very old and do not necessarily actively follow any media any longer. The results of the ELDIA questionnaire survey among the Karelian minority in Finland suggest, however, that the Karelian media probably is also followed, at least to some extent, by people who do not have an active command of the Karelian language. The media expresses wishes and concerns regarding language revitalisation, but it seems to be a discourse that is not taken very seriously in the Finnish majority media. They remain rather invisible, and the common knowledge of average Finns about Karelians and their concerns remains correspondingly low. Karelians are seen as a part of Finnish established society, and members are assumed to be more fluent in Finnish than in the minority language. Estonians in Finland are in a position very similar to that of Hungarian immigrants in Austria. They are not expected to be active regarding their language rights and language use. The Estonian media in Finland is almost non-existent and the assumption is that an Estonian can easily maintain his or her knowledge of Estonian by reading Estonian newspapers or watching Estonian TV on the internet. Many Estonians are also commuting between the countries, at least during certain periods. Despite their strong and numerous presence, the thousands of Estonians who live in Finland on a permanent basis and raise their children in Finland are regarded in the majority media – as shown by the ELDIA media analyses – as on a par with any other immigrant community and seldom receive specific attention. While, for example, the Russian minority in Finland demands a higher status for Russian, the Estonians are, even though similar in numbers, silent on their own agenda.

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When looking at the whole material from a perspective of capacity, opportunity and desire for language maintenance and revitalisation, no clear common traits can be detected. Maybe the only important thing to mention is that all of the language minorities analysed in this report have problems in all of these areas. The capacity for language maintenance is sometimes higher (Sámi, Võro), sometimes lower (Meänkieli, Kven, Karelian in Finland, Seto, Karelian in Russia and Veps), and sometimes we do not really know about the level of capacity to act on behalf of language maintenance and revitalisation (Hungarians, Estonians). The opportunities are available for all, but to different degrees; whereas the state guarantees at least a certain minimum of funding for cultural activities in the cases of Hungarians in the Burgenland region, Sámi, Võro, Seto and Meänkieli, others are still fighting for stable funding and organisation of activities, such as the Karelians in Finland, the Karelians and the Veps in Russia and the Kvens. Desire is a problem for all minority language groups in this analysis. For example, Kven, Meänkieli, Karelian and Veps parents sometimes seem to play with the idea that learning Finnish instead of their own minority language would bring their children more benefits. Another important thing to mention is that the majority media seems to address minorities more benevolently, the greater their distance from the minority region. Majority media published in the regions where minorities actually live are more critical but also more pluralist in terms of the views they express in their media. At the same time, both nationwide and regional majority media publish too little on the real concerns of minorities, and, in so doing, avoid conflicts. The Sámi organisations held a conference together with the Norwegian media to educate each other on how to write on minorities. This is lesson to be learned in all countries: The representatives of minorities are too seldom interviewed and their own opinions are not adequately represented. ‘Old’ (indigenous and autochthonous) minorities – in particular, Burgenland Hungarians, Võro, Seto, Karelians and Veps – seem to be often reduced to the role of ‘regional colour’, used as illustrations of the cultural diversity of the region, instead of getting their political claims and agenda heard in the majority media. In Sweden and Norway, however, political minority issues are better represented in majority media. The analysis of the material indicates that cultural activities, folklore, literature and theatre in minority languages are the activities that gain the attention of majority media, if anything. Even developments in minority legislation or changes in policy are not so attractive topics that the media would devote time to analysing the concrete outcomes for the minority and also bring the minority’s view into the public discourse. Also, the minority media repeats the similar pattern and uses the newspapers to advocate the colourful traditions of its people instead of using more space to discuss politics. Could one conclude that reporting on cultural activities

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and folklore as ‘harmless’ themes is easier for both the majority and minority media? And that language-maintenance and revitalisation issues easily become political because money, resources and changes in attitudes are required in order to organise them.

Notes (1)

(2)

(3)

(4)

(5) (6)

(7) (8)

(9) (10)

In the original questionnaire, the question as to whether some people still attempt to hinder the use of the minority language with children was worded in a way that was almost impossible to interpret. This has been corrected in the revised version in the EuLaViBar Toolkit. In the survey questionnaire, we attempted to distinguish between the teaching of the minority language at issue as a subject (mother tongue or second language; the border between these two can also be unclear in the practice of many minority schools) and the use of the minority language as the teaching medium. However, as noted above, many informants did not understand this distinction. The idea was to find out whether there were language classes in the minority language (‘teaching of...’) and whether the existence and the presence in the area or the characteristic features of the minority language were systematically present in the contents of other subjects (‘teaching about...’). The distinction between these two, however, did not come through in all translations of the questionnaire. In the grading of the question about the use of various media in the minority language, an error happened: The most relevant answer option, ‘not available in the language at issue’, was not graded at all. Consequently, the results included in the case-specific barometers do not really reflect opportunity. This error has been corrected in the revised version of the EuLaViBar tool. The calculated score 2.06 for Meänkieli in this dimension is not reliable, as the numerous ‘don’t know’ answers were not counted! As already noted, despite our attempts to distinguish between the minority language as a medium of education and the minority language as a subject in language classes, this distinction was not understood by all respondents, and some of them reported having been taught in languages (for instance, Karelian) that certainly have not been used as a medium of teaching. See https://fedora.phaidra.univie.ac.at/fedora/get/o:301101/bdef:Container/get/ Attachment_1_Revised_Questionnaire.pdf. Naturally, there can be major differences between different countries in this respect. In Finland, Karelian speakers’ activity in societies and associations did not seem to correlate with their education; that is, less educated Karelians are also active in organisations and clubs. In contrast, in the case study for Hungarians in Austria, the respondents sampled from the membership lists of Hungarian associations and culture clubs were conspicuously highly educated on average: Almost half of the respondents had tertiary education (of all Austrians between 25 and 64 years of age, this is the case with only a little more than a quarter; BerényiKiss et al., 2013: 94). Conseil Constitutionnel, Décision No 99-412 DC, 15 juin 1999. Recueil p 71 JO 18.6.1999, p. 8974. See for instance, a wide range of different such terms in Articles 10, 11 and 14 of the Council of Europe Framework Convention for the Protection of Persons Belonging to National Minorities and similarly in the European Language Charter e.g. Article 8 referring to education, where ‘the Parties undertake, within the territory in which such languages are used, according to the situation of each of

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(11) (12) (13) (14)

(15) (16) (17) (18)

(19) (20) (21) (22)

(23) (24) (25)

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these languages, and without prejudice to the teaching of the official language(s) of the State’ a scale of different legal obligations. For the idea of ‘one nation, one language’ (‘the ethnolinguistic assumption’) in social studies and linguistics, see also Sections 1.2.3, 1.3.4. Permanent Court of International Justice, Series A/B, No. 64, 1935, p. 17. However, the PCIJ did not elaborate on what it considered to be the means for the preservation of minority identities, nor did it elaborate on the substantive content of the right of minorities to have their own educational institutions. European Court of Human Rights, Belgian Linguistic Case, Judgment of 23rd July 1968, Series A, No. 6. The judgment of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) had been preceded by a long series of applications by French-speaking Belgians all the through the early 1960s where the commission (which at that time was functioning as a first instance to the court) expressed the opinion that ‘linguistic freedom’ as such was not guaranteed in the European Convention (Spiliopoulou Åkermark 1997:205). European Court of Human Rights, Informationsverein Lentia and Others v. Austria, Series A, No. 276, 1993. European Court of Human Rights, Podkolzina v. Latvia, Application No. 46726/99, Judgment of 9 April 2002. UN Human Rights Committee, Application No. 884/1999, decided on 25 July 2001. European Court of Human Rights, Application No. 39426/06, decided on 21 September 2010. As regards issues of restrictions in the use of languages in elections, the latest relevant case by the European Court of Human Rights concerns the use of the Kurdish language in a pre-elections speech by a candidate during her electoral campaign in Turkey European Court of Human Rights, Application No. 49197 and others, decided on 22 January 2013. European Court of Human Rights, Cyprus v. Turkey, Application No. 25781/94, Judgment of 10 May 2001. European Court of Human Rights, nos. 43770/04, 8252/95 and 18454/06, 19 October 2012. See, European Court of Human Rights, Mentzen v. Latvia, no. 71074/01, ECHR 2004-XII; Bulgakov v. Ukraine, no. 59894/00, 11 September 2007; Baylac-Ferrer and Suarez v. France, no. 27977/04, 25 September 2008. European Court of Human Rights, No. 37483/02, 21 October 2008. For a similar case, see European Court of Human Rights, Kemal Taşkın and Others v. Turkey, Application No. 30206/04, 2 February 2010. However, in September 2013, Turkish Prime Minister Erdogan announced that the ban on the letters q, x and w would be lifted as part of a democratisation package. European Court of Justice, Anita Groener v. Minister of Education and the City of Dublin Vocational Committee, C-379/87. European Court of Justice, Hans Otto Bickel and Ulrich Franz, Reference for a preliminary ruling: Pretura circondariale di Bolzano, sezione distaccata di Silandro – Italy, C-274/96. See also Haim, C-424/97 (2000). Council of Europe, Second Report submitted by the Federal Republic of Germany under Article 25, paragraph 2, of the Council of Europe’s Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities, received on 13 April 2005, ACFC/SR/ II(2005)002, p. 8.

5 Implications and Recommendations: What Should We Do to Maintain Language Diversity in Europe? As a keen reader must have noticed, all the minority languages investigated in ELDIA are endangered, although to different extents in different dimensions. Hence, the languages all need case-specifically tailored support measures. The keen reader may also have concluded that mere general non-discrimination policies or high levels of human development and democracy are not enough to guarantee the maintenance of minority languages. But what does guarantee the safeguarding of language diversity in general, or at least contribute positively to efforts to achieve this? In this last chapter of our book, we will sum up the theoretical and practical implications of our studies. Which aspects of multilingualism and minority-language maintenance are, in our best understanding, still in need of further research, and what can policy makers and stakeholders do to help preserve language diversity in Europe and in the world?

5.1 Supporting the Diversity of Diversities: Common Directions For European and National Language Policies? Although language diversity is an acknowledged part of European cultural heritage, and multilingualism has repeatedly been proclaimed a central goal of European language and education policies, strategies for supporting the maintenance of language diversity are created on local, national or regional levels. As a result, supportive measures have largely remained inefficient and isolated from other aspects of managing multilingualism, in particular the general goals of European languageeducation policies. Linguistic diversity, individual and societal multilingualism, as a traditional characteristic of European societies still tends to be forgotten. Despite paying lip service to minorities’ rights, policy makers and the

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media often tend to portray minorities and diversity as something new (and potentially threatening), as opposed to the allegedly homogeneous ‘authentic’ past. Purportedly multilingual policies often remain at the level of ‘parallel monolingualisms’, implicitly confirming the monolingual bias. This is also shown by one of the most essential results of the ELDIA law research team: The legal protection of minority languages is seldom if ever understood as the protection of multilingualism. Yet, under the circumstances created by globalisation, nationwide monolingualism in the national language becomes less and less viable; even speakers of major European national languages such as German or French will increasingly need knowledge of English or some other international vehicular language. Moreover, issues of linguistic diversity and multilingualism can seldom if ever be described with a few parameters only. Questions such as ethnic affiliation or mother tongue cannot always be decided in terms of simple yes or no questions, and, in case of doubt, the more differentiated approach will always be the better choice. Consequently, maintaining linguistic diversity means supporting a functional and stable multilingualism involving both (one or more) native/ heritage languages and (one or more) vehicular languages – for majorities and minorities alike – and developing more differentiated strategies for this. We must learn how languages can coexist. All through the line we have criticised in this book the prevailing ideology of multilingualism as parallel monolingualisms. As we have also stressed, European language management still does not have any commonly accepted goals. Our case study revealed a striking lack of systematic policies supporting the maintenance and the development of heritage languages as a true European cultural and economic asset. This suggests that European policy makers have hardly paid any attention to the fact that multilingualism is not only part of our cultural and historical heritage, but also an area in which our continent stands out (see also Lewis & Simons, 2014).

5.2 Visibility, Publicity, Empowerment and Identity Building While some of the languages investigated in ELDIA enjoy a high degree of institutional support and a strong presence in public discourse, many of them suffer from ‘societal invisibility’. The languages are only or mainly used in the private sphere or in explicitly in-group contexts (such as ‘ethnic’ cultural events). Outsiders and the general public as well as decision makers, authorities, language or service professionals and so on are hardly aware of the presence and historical importance of these languages in their societies, let alone of the fact that these languages might be in need of specific

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support. Furthermore, authorities are often not sufficiently informed of the history and effects of assimilationist policies in their countries. In some cases, the majority’s attitudes towards the minority at issue were also characterised by frustration or resentment stemming from the political history of the area. As pointed out in the case study on Hungarian in Slovenia, understanding that Hungarian is an organic part of the cultural and historical landscape of the region would help in fighting prejudices and could possibly bring about positive changes in the work culture of officially bilingual environments such as the school system. Societal invisibility is especially typical of very small and dispersed minorities (such as Estonian immigrants in Germany), but also of minorities that are culturally close to the majority population. Some members of national minorities wish to emphasise their ‘integration potential’. By doing so, they want to distinguish themselves from certain other minorities, especially immigrant groups, that often figure in public discourse as potential sources of problems. This ‘strategic invisibility’ surfaced in the case studies about Estonians in Finland and Hungarians in Austria. This implies that in order to improve the status of the language at issue, awareness-raising not only among the majority but also among the minority itself is needed. The most extreme example of societal invisibility is probably Karelian in Finland, which has only recently been acknowledged and is poorly known among outsiders. The case study (Sarhimaa, 2015) recommends enhancing the available information about Karelian and its presence in Finnish society (for instance, TV or radio programmes, articles, etc.) as well as the supply of information and directives in Karelian (for instance, public authorities should offer more of their services and texts in Karelian as well). Moreover, it is vital that minority-language speakers be encouraged to use their language in as many domains as possible and that their networking and profile-raising activities be supported. As seen both in ELDIA and in numerous other studies on endangered and minority languages, speakers often attach great value to their heritage language as a carrier and symbol of identity and cultural values and readily express their wish to maintain the language and transmit it to their children; yet, in practice, the same speakers often fail in these aspirations.

5.3 Revitalisation, Intergenerational Transmission and Empowerment With most if not all of the minority groups investigated in ELDIA, institutional support is clearly inadequate and often hardly extends beyond a general principle of non-discrimination and hypocritical praise of ethnocultural diversity. Merely allowing for the use of the language

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and forbidding language-based or ethnic discrimination is not enough to ensure that the language is really used and acquired by younger generations. The former OSCE High Commissioner on the Rights of National Minorities, Max van der Stoel, has stated that protection of minorities rests on the two pillars of human rights: non-discrimination rights (so-called negative rights) and affirmative rights (so-called positive rights) (van der Stoel, 1999: 8–9; see Skutnabb-Kangas, 2006: 283). In many cases, an explicit revitalisation programme to support the use, maintenance and transmission of the language at issue would be urgently needed, as suggested, for instance, in the case studies on Karelian in Finland and Meänkieli in Sweden. As pointed out in the Meänkieli case study (Arola et al., forthcoming) and in the ELDIA-based first-ever monograph concerned with Karelian speakers in Finland (Sarhimaa, forthcoming), breaking old patterns of language use is very difficult, and families often need special encouragement to start using the heritage language with children. Or, as pointed out by Koreinik (2013a, 2013b) in the case studies on Seto and Võro, parents often delude themselves into imagining that ‘the children will freely decide which language they will use later in life’ and do not understand that by speaking the majority language to their children, they have already decided on their children’s behalf and deprived them of their heritage language. When designing policies and programmes of support to specific languages, responsible authorities at all levels should ensure that there is at hand a proper needs assessment developed in consultation with those concerned and with academic expertise. Introducing measures simply because they look nice on paper or conform to the expectations of international actors (such as international organisations or donor agencies) imposes patterns of revitalisation that are not necessarily the priorities of the language speakers and which will probably not result in sustainable revitalisation. In this regard, the importance of language education and multilingual education in preschool and in the early school years is crucial. It is also of urgent importance to offer activities for young adults and families in order to achieve a sustainable approach to language maintenance. A successful explicit revitalisation programme does not only mean allocating more public funds for revitalisation projects but also encouraging NGOs and grassroots initiatives and recruiting the human resources already available among the speaker communities. Respecting speaker agency and empowering and encouraging language speakers to act and to become organised is of crucial importance. Despite the existence of legislative and institutional support, in many of our case studies it became obvious that speakers were not sufficiently informed of their rights and the opportunities offered by legislation. Speakers need more knowledge of their rights and encouragement to claim them.

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In the case of recently standardised languages and languages whose standardisation is in progress, creating language products (both traditional and new media, teaching material, services, etc.) is essential. As the resources are often very limited, these activities may call for coordination, and involving the best available experts in the planning may be needed. As pointed out in the case study on Seto (Koreinik, 2013a), for example, in a normative and puristic linguistic culture the standardisation of a minority language may meet with heavy resistance and/or lead to a triple stigma: belonging to a minority group, not meeting the majority-language standard and not even meeting the new minority-language standard. A practical issue surfacing in many of our case studies is that while minority language policies are often organised on a territorial basis and apply to the traditional regions of old minorities, substantial numbers of speakers (for instance, of Meänkieli, Sámi, Võro or Seto) now live outside these regions due to internal mobility. The same applies for Karelians in Finland who, after the loss of the geographical core area in World War II, turned from a regional minority into a minority scattered all over the country, with very restricted possibilities for maintaining active speech communities locally. There also are almost no support measures specially planned for small-numbered and dispersed minorities such as Estonians in Germany. Small minority populations also suffer from a lack of continuity and long-term planning; for Estonians in Finland, for instance, practically all support measures are short-term projects that must be repeatedly re-planned and re-applied for.

5.4 Language Skills, Mobility and Sustainable Multilingualism European and national education policies either practically ignore the multilingualism of minorities or fail to deal with it in a productive way. Firstly, while acquired multilingualism (the learning of vehicular languages) is defined as a central goal of education policies on both European and national level and is generally conceived as an important investment, the multilingualism of minorities is still seen and treated in decision making as an item of extra expenditure. Secondly, the current minority (language) policies no longer correspond to reality. Modern European minorities are usually multilingual, mastering their heritage languages to varying extents, and are often mobile or dispersed. Thus, the traditional means of supporting language maintenance do not meet the needs of contemporary minority language speakers. Languages can, in principle, be learnt and mastered even if they are completely absent from the formal education system, and the desire to use a language is, in principle, independent of whether the language can be

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studied formally or not. In practice, however, it seems that formal education often does promote the use of a language and the speakers’ willingness to use it. This is particularly important for several of the languages studied in the ELDIA project wherein language transmission in the family is not an option due to a generational gap, that is, because the parents of small children have poor or no knowledge of the heritage language. Like institutional support in general, the support offered by the education system to the languages investigated in ELDIA is often inadequate and insufficient to provide speakers with functional language skills. The problem does not concern only the position of minority languages in national (or regional) curricula but also teacher training policies and the availability of up-to-date and adequate teaching material. Moreover, the teaching of minority languages should be extended from daycare and pre-school (essential for effective language acquisition) up to the university level. In some of our case studies (especially with recently recognised and small minority languages such as Meänkieli in Sweden, Karelian in Finland, Kven in Norway), the highest level of language education is lacking, inadequate or only very recently implemented and still in need of development. All speakers, including adult language users, need special support in developing their written language skills. Some of the languages at issue are not taught in the school system at all (or their teaching has been introduced only very recently). Others are taught as (optional) subjects, but the teaching commences too late. As pointed out in the case study for Meänkieli (Arola et al., forthcoming), for example, the most efficient teaching policy for revitalising an endangered language would be early (day-care and pre-school) total ‘revitalization immersion’ (Skutnabb-Kangas & McCarty, 2008). This, however, is unavailable in most of the cases investigated in ELDIA. Similarly, CLIL (content-language integrated learning) programmes are generally lacking. CLIL programmes have been implemented in many of the countries at issue. However, the aim of these programmes is usually to teach a major international vehicular language such as English or to support the acquisition of a national language (such as Estonian among the Russian speakers in Estonia, or Swedish in Finland). Teaching of endangered minority languages is practically never involved in these initiatives. Several ELDIA case studies (for instance, with Estonian speakers in Finland or with Meänkieli speakers in Sweden) revealed that many minority children who would be legally entitled to instruction in their heritage language, at least as an optional subject, do not make use of this option for a variety of reasons that would deserve further investigation. In some cases (for instance, in the case of Hungarians in Vienna), teaching in the heritage language is only organised as an extracurricular activity. Sometimes lessons are offered outside regular school hours or in another place. This requires special commitment and effort on the part of parents.

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These issues deserve more systematic attention by policy makers. Moreover, even officially bilingual education programmes, as in the case of Hungarians in Slovenia and in Burgenland, Austria, do not necessarily succeed in supporting really functional bilingualism. In practically all ELDIA case studies, the informants both expressed their wish to maintain their heritage language and acknowledged the importance of mastering the majority language (as well as further languages, especially English as lingua franca). The obvious implication is all too seldom formulated explicitly: In order to respect citizens’ wishes and their linguistic human rights, strategies for sustainable bilingualism and multilingualism, ensuring functional skills in two or more languages, must be created and implemented.

5.5 Legal and Institutional Support In all cases investigated in the ELDIA project, new language legislation or revisions of older language legislation have been introduced in recent years. This results partly from the increased awareness and the everincreasing activeness of the speakers of the languages and European minorities in general. Another trigger is the renewed emphasis on the importance of the official, state or majority languages, which are perceived as being under threat from global languages, in particular English. For the languages of more recent migrants, such as Estonian speakers in Finland and Germany, there is still little legal recognition and support, even though there seems to be great variation at the local level where much of the language legislation is implemented, in particular within the field of education. The outcomes of such new legislation introduced shall need further studies in years to come. Legislation needs to be adopted in cooperation with those concerned and implemented in practice both nationally and locally. While legislation alone is not sufficient in order to encourage and guarantee the value of language diversity and multilingualism at an individual and at a societal level, it is an important starting point and a precondition for such affirmation. Less commonly used, migrant and regional languages form a significant part of the language diversity in Europe today. Due to the variety of the situations and the needs of language-based minorities, legislation needs to be adapted; unified models applied for all cases need to be abandoned. Law and rights must be implemented and made known to those concerned. As shown by several of the cases studied in ELDIA, in particular the Sámi, the content and intention of legislation, even when it is protective, is not known or alternatively is not trusted by the speakers of the language concerned. While this aspect deserves further

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scientific investigation, it is important that draft and enacted legislation is thoroughly and regularly discussed with the persons and groups concerned in order to overcome any deficit in trust or misunderstandings as to the purpose and effects of legislation. Regional approaches should complement nationwide legislation and policies. Nationwide legislation and policy offers a general framework for the use of languages and needs to be implemented regionally and locally, in particular within the sphere of basic education. While regional legislation and implementation should not fall below the level of the basic guarantees provided in such legislation, they can certainly promote wider acceptance of and support for regionally used languages. ELDIA research has shown that regions around Europe are shaping their own approaches to multilingualism and language diversity.

5.6

Research Implications

The research done in ELDIA adduced ample evidence supporting the point we make in the introductory chapters of this book: The monolingual bias is still visible in research. Even when the focus is on multilingualism, languages are often investigated as separate systems, as if they were best described in terms of a fictitious monolingual speaker or speech community. Research into most if not all of the minority languages studied in ELDIA has often focused on issues of authenticity, attempting to filter out language contact phenomena. Conspiring with the ethnolinguistic assumption and its political applications in national/ethnic emancipation projects, this tradition has led to gaps in data assessment and research: The languages of ‘old’ (indigenous/autochthonous) minorities (for instance, Karelian in Russia, North Sámi, or Hungarian in Burgenland, Austria) have usually been described from the point of view of the ‘authentic’ language variety – the ‘original dialect’. In contrast, the language varieties spoken by migrant and diaspora groups (such as the descendants of Border Karelian evacuees now living everywhere in Finland or Sámi speakers outside the Sámi domicile area) are seriously underrepresented in traditional research. With few exceptions, there are no detailed, up-to-date descriptions of multilingual patterns of language use, code-switching or code-mixing. ELDIA fieldwork was able to fill these gaps only to a modest extent, and work remains to be done, including further analyses of the empirical data collected by ELDIA, now available upon request from the ELDIA-DATA database stored at the University of Mainz. The teaching and learning of minority languages is seriously underrepresented in applied-linguistic research – and even where there is research, it is heavily concentrated on a few Western European regional minority languages. The fatal dualism of ‘multilingualism as resource’ (teaching and learning of major vehicular languages such as

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English) and ‘multilingualism as handicap’ (multilingualism involving minority languages) has affected not only European language policies but also the state of research. In applied linguistics, major efforts are focused on the teaching and learning of ‘important’ vehicular languages, especially English, as well as the national languages of European states. The lack of adequate research is also reflected in the problems identified in the ELDIA case studies (cf. Section 5.3 above), that is, major deficiencies in teacher training, teaching material and the implementation of minority languages in the education system. The ELDIA project could only identify and confirm this problem; filling the gap will be the task of future research. Research into legislation pertaining to the languages studied in ELDIA has been highly limited. In law studies, there is a strong tradition of research into general issues of non-discrimination, but the content and implementation of language legislation, which ultimately define the legal position of languages (especially in crucial fields such as education), have received far less attention. As shown in Chapter 3 and Section 4.2, in all our case studies the same finding recurred: If language legislation concerning minor(ity) languages is violated, there often are no proper legal redress mechanisms. Even where such mechanisms exist, court decisions are not always respected and implemented accordingly. The efforts of minority language speakers to maintain their languages are thus often dealt with at administrative level and are less known and transparent and thereby less easy to conduct research upon. There is by consequence an absence of legal studies concerning the vindication of the rights of minority language speakers that needs to be addressed in future research. Minorities and minority languages are typically researched in a narrow, territorially based national or regional framework with few comparisons in space or time. Recently, there have been more and more attempts to bridge the gap between Finno-Ugrian studies and other fields of linguistic inquiry; alongside sociolinguistics, linguistic typology in particular has brought more and more attention to the FinnoUgric minority languages. Yet, especially in applied linguistics, there is still very little international cooperation. In the traditional dialectologicalethnographic framework characteristic of Finno-Ugric studies at large, the Finno-Ugric minority languages, too, are often investigated in isolation from each other and from other languages of Europe. Alongside the EuroCORES (EuroBABEL) project on the documentation of Ob-Ugric languages,1 ELDIA represented the first ever large-scale European-funded research project in the area of Finno-Ugric studies. Networking between scholars investigating minority languages with those engaged in the study of multilingualism still needs to be intensified. ELDIA was successful in its efforts to bring together

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scholars from different countries and research traditions, from linguistics as well as social studies, law and statistics, and consciously network them – especially the early-career researchers who constituted the major part of each local ELDIA team. We hope to have shown the way to further research and networking of scholars from different countries and different disciplines. However, although ELDIA has shed light on the endangerment of some Finno-Ugric minority languages across Europe, this type of detailed, systematic and empirically based comparative research on FinnoUgric languages is still limited. The situation of the Finno-Ugric minorities in Europe and particularly in Russia is still in urgent need of impartial research. More contacts and cooperations between researchers in the Russian Federation and in other countries are needed in order to offer more adequate knowledge and to efficiently provide support for the languages concerned. ELDIA was an interdisciplinary and international research project co-financed by the European Union (EU). Despite the rather impressive history of EU-funded projects concerned with the educational and other aspects of multilingualism and their rather evident deficits as discussed in detail in Chapter 1, today EU research policies are clearly slipping into an ever deeper ‘let’s-pretend-we-cherish-multilingualism’ mode. The current Horizon 2020 framework program for research fails critically as a financing tool for innovative multilingualism research. So far, there has been no call to thematise multilingualism as a topic in a broad sense nor in the principal, hermeneutic sense that investigating linguistic diversity implies in the humanities. Goals such as developing multilingual digital tools or maximally effective modes of learning foreign languages are important economically as well as socially. Yet, in the view of all the results we had in ELDIA, it is self-evident that it makes very little if any sense at all to boast about EU support for such work as the very means of promoting linguistic and cultural equality or maintaining European language diversity. As long as the mere understanding of the diversity of diversities is not fully internalised and taken into account in policy making as well as in terms of research funding, declarations concerning multilingualism and linguistic and cultural diversity as European assets are bound to remain empty wordmongering.

5.7 Concluding Recommendations One key finding of ELDIA was that minorities tend to regard themselves, their situation and their problems as something unique and generally display fairly little knowledge of or interest in other multilingual speaker communities in other countries or regions. Yet, already within our sample of 14 case studies, numerous similarities and parallel issues across Europe are gradually becoming visible.

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The basic tenet of all recommendations given on the basis of ELDIA research is that the maintenance of linguistic diversity and equality of languages and ethnic groups requires resources and proactive efforts. Mere permissive policies and nondiscrimination are not sufficient. It should also be emphasised that supporting sustainable multilingualism is the only possible solution if citizens’ needs and rights are to be respected; generally, the minorities under study want both to retain their heritage language and to learn the state language and other languages. As already shown by a wealth of research and confirmed by the ELDIA case studies, the key factors for the maintenance and vitality of a language are intergenerational transmission, active language use across a wide range of contexts and functions and institutional and societal support. This implies that •

•

• •

• •

language transmission in families, if possible, and early language learning (for instance, pre-school language immersion) must be supported and parents informed of their responsibility as language educators – without new speaker generations, all other efforts for language revitalisation will be in vain. explicit, officially recognised, state-subvented or state co-financed revitalisation programmes for the most endangered minority languages are urgently needed, and efficient teaching of minority languages at schools (including also teacher training and teaching material) should be developed and reorganised. This means setting sustainable multilingualism as the goal and also implementing methods beyond traditional foreign-language teaching – language immersion, content-language integrated learning etc., especially for language communities where there is a generational gap in language transmission (i.e. whole speaker generations have been lost, often as a result of past repressive practices); the multilingualism of migrants, especially small-numbered and more recent migrant groups, needs to be affirmed explicitly and supported; language users need encouragement: support for families in transmitting the language to children (breaking habits of familyinternal communication is very difficult), more opportunities to use the language also in the public sphere without the ‘fear of being impolite’ towards outsiders who do not understand the language; language users must be better informed of their rights, the role of legislation and public institutions in supporting language diversity and the possibilities of every European citizen to influence policy-making; non-discrimination frameworks need to be complemented by effective equality efforts encompassing appropriate measures that

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need to be developed in close contact with the language communities concerned; minority media needs more resources, more supply and a wider coverage.

For dispersed minorities, especially small-numbered migrant groups or old minorities now living outside their traditional areas, new solutions for supporting language maintenance must be found, in particular by creating more opportunities to use the language. Small-numbered minorities in general also need long-term support measures that enable long-term planning – currently, public funding for the languagemaintenance activities of these groups often comes in the form of shortlived projects that must be repeatedly re-planned and re-applied for. The media representations and public images of minorities need updating. Both minority and majority media should highlight the role of minorities as an integral part of the local ethnocultural landscape and avoid reproducing the ‘extinction narrative’: depicting minority languages and cultures as something that belong to the past and will inevitably die out. Instead of focusing on elements of ‘otherness’, traditional culture and folklore and reproducing stereotypical images, the majority media should make explicit efforts to reflect the real-life experiences and concerns of minorities. In our foreword to this book, we addressed the reader directly by inviting her to check what she thinks she knows about European language policies and how minority languages are doing in Europe today. Now that we have shown what we show and discussed what we discuss, it is high time to close the book of ELDIA and say what the answers are in the light of all the work we did on the project. Are language minorities taken good care of in Europe? No, they most certainly are not! The needs of language minorities are by no measure adequately catered for in the EU. Even the Nordic countries, often praised for their records in minority protection, fail profoundly in living up to their reputation when it comes to supporting Meänkieli, Kven, Karelian and Estonian. Is the EU genuinely siding with multilingualism? No, it definitely is not! True, EU has set promoting multilingualism as one of its political goals. Simultaneously, however, it has not been able to come up with a common policy to protect minorities. The EU has required that the new member states of the union ratify treaties such as the Framework Convention protecting national minorities and the European Charter protecting regional and minority languages. Nevertheless, the results of ELDIA show that minorities and their languages are not protected by appropriate legislation in the areas of education and media, not even in the old member states.

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Do we know enough about smaller languages and everyday use of multiple languages? No, no and no! There is a growing body of academic research on language minorities, but nevertheless, there still is an urgent need for interdisciplinary studies covering the linguistic, legal and sociopolitical as well as ethnographic layers of language diversity as an organic part of the human diversity in Europe. Is the diversity of languages and cultures important for our future? Yes! Yes! Hundreds of millions of Europeans are multilingual. Multilingualism is natural. It has always been an essential part of European cultural heritage; since ancient times, Europeans have spoken other languages, local and international, alongside their own languages. Maintaining the diversity of linguistic diversities is vital for the future of Europe. What is more, the diversity of diversities in Europe will not only consist of the traditional languages of European ethnic groups, autochthonous or migrant, such as those investigated in ELDIA. In the era of global super-diversity, accommodating new language-based communities from other parts of the world as well will be a central concern. But that is already another story to be told in another book.

Note (1)

The project Innovative descriptive resources for the Ob-Ugric languages (http://www. babel.gwi.uni-muenchen.de/), part of the EuroBABEL (Better Analyses Based on Endangered Languages) project complex funded by the European Science Foundation, ran almost parallel to ELDIA in the years 2009–2011, sharing two of the core participant institutions.

6 Afterword: Disendangering Languages Miklós Kontra, M. Paul Lewis and Tove Skutnabb-Kangas

We are grateful to the authors for their thoughtful overview of the conceptual and terminological confusion that complicates the analysis and description of both language vitality and of policy development and implementation. Below, we add to this complexity by suggesting a couple more definitions, especially of the much debated concept of ‘mother tongue’. The multiplicity of terms and the variation in their definitions reflects the complexity of the phenomena themselves. This reveals very clearly where our understanding of what we are observing has not, even yet, fully reached the point where we can say that we know how language acquisition, use, endangerment, loss and maintenance (and the relationship of all of that to identity, education and policy) really works. In addition, the reflexive analysis of the ideological perspectives and ingrained assumptions of both linguists and sociolinguists and language users alike is a useful effort to peel back the surface appearances so as to help us get closer to the roots of the interactions between and dynamics of language, identity and policy. In this afterword, we present a few observations on some of those larger ideological themes, in addition to some examples and smaller additions to them.

What Happens to Survivors of Nation-State Formation? One of us has hypothesised elsewhere (Lewis, 2015) that the colonial past in Europe is at a much greater time depth than that of the European colonies in the New World (and beyond), and so the patterns of language maintenance and use – the remaining survivors of nation-state formation – that are described in this volume may well represent the longer-term outworking of those monolingual assimilatory policies. In addition, new waves of immigrants, bringing with them hundreds of languages not

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traditionally considered to be languages of Europe, further complicates the linguistic ecologies that policy makers must consider. Though the authors make mention of the growing diversity of diversities, the ELDIA study made no attempt to go beyond the Finno-Ugric heritage minorities. By providing depth in the study of the situation of those languages, it is to be hoped that similar methodologies might prove useful in understanding the situation of and guiding policy development for the ‘new’ minorities. The effects of more recent policies, however, are yet to be seen, and they may in fact be too little, too late for some of the heritage languages of Europe. Consider, for instance, Hungarian in Slovenia, a country that ‘has fulfilled all formal requirements for minority protection’; nevertheless, ‘the maintenance and future of the Hungarian language in Slovenia are endangered’ (Section 3.1.1). According to the 1921 census, 14,065 persons reported Hungarian as their mother tongue in Prekmurje (15.2% of the total population of the region), but by 2002, their number had decreased to 6,609 (8% of the total) (see Kocsis, 2005). While the decrease in the number of speakers of Karelian in Russia is much greater (248,100 in 1926 down to 60,815 in 2010, Section 3.7.1), Karelian in Russia may be less endangered than Hungarian in Slovenia because there are about 10 times as many speakers in Karelia as in Slovenia. In some cases, the time when a heritage language will die can be predicted with a good deal of certainty. For instance, the speakers of Hungarian in Croatia (a European Union [EU] member state and a signatory of the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages [ECRML]) have shown a steady decrease since 1921. As the trend line shows in Figure 17, 90000

The number of Hungarians in Croatia since 1921

80000 77523 70000 60000 50000 40000 30000

69540

64431 51399

47725 42347 35488 25439

10000

22355 16595

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1921 1931 1941 1948 1953 1961 1971 1981 1991 2001 2011 2021 2031

0 census in

Figure 17 The decrease of the number of Hungarians in Croatia between 1921 and 2011 (based on Kocsis & Bognár, 2003)

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the census in 2021 will show a few speakers left, but that in 2031, there will be none. The disappearance of the now 14,000 Hungarian speakers in about the next decade – that is, the death of this heritage language in Croatia and other similar heritage-language communities in Europe – could only be forestalled if ‘the European Union genuinely sided with multilingualism’ (Section 5.7) and if ‘strategies for sustainable bilingualism and multilingualism’ (Section 5.4) were to be created and implemented; if empty wordmongering (the authors’ precise phrase, Section 5.6) were to be replaced with real proactive measures.

Is Legal Protection of Languages Enough? or Just ‘Wordmongering’? The ELDIA team presents due criticism of the lack of legal protection for the language rights of minorities. In some contexts, they seem to be, in our view, somewhat optimistic about how ‘nice’ states are in interpreting legal provisions, however. When discussing clauses such as ‘whenever necessary’, ‘where appropriate’, and so on, which abound in the Council of Europe’s Framework Convention for the Protection of Persons Belonging to National Minorities, they admit, ‘If used too extensively, such clauses can in practice annul the protective function of the provisions concerned’ (Section 4.2.1.3.). Still they continue (ibid.), ‘In legal theory and practice, however, restrictions of recognised rights are to be implemented as narrowly as possible and should not make the concerned provision void of any meaningful content.’ This should be compared with law professor Patrick Thornberry’s, 1997 comments on the framework convention. He quotes the Parliamentary Assembly of Council of Europe, which issued strong criticism of the framework convention: The convention is weakly worded. It formulates a number of vaguely defined objectives and principles, the observation of which will be an obligation of the Contracting States but not a right which individuals may invoke. Its implementation machinery is feeble and there is a danger that, in fact, the monitoring procedure will be left entirely to governments. (Thornberry, 1997: 352) In Thornberry’s view, ‘The preamble wavers in its terminology of purposes and objectives’ (ibid.: 351). Thornberry also notes that the vagueness is intentional, and that the Explanatory Report on the Convention in fact makes it clear that the provisions are not to be interpreted as real provisions: ‘The Explanatory Report on the Convention states…that “the purpose of this last recital is to indicate that the provisions

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of this…Convention are not directly applicable…”.…The effect is to lend a remote, indirect and programmatic element to the Convention, a reading borne out in other areas of the text. The substantive text…already gives the States a great measure of discretion on their reading of obligations’ (ibid., 352). This also means that individuals have no right to complain if the provisions are not being met. In Thornberry’s words, ‘There is no place in such a scheme for a system of applications by individuals’ (ibid., 352). After a thorough critique of its details, Thornberry’s general comment on the convention (here about local names) is as follows: In case any of this [provisions in the Convention] should threaten the delicate sensibilities of States, the Explanatory Report makes it clear that they are under no obligation to conclude “agreements”, and that the paragraph does not imply any official recognition of the local names. Despite the presumed good intentions, the provision represents a low point in drafting a minority right; there is just enough substance in the formulation to prevent it becoming completely vacuous (Thornberry, 1997: 356–357). At the same time as indigenous/tribal, minority or minoritised people (ITMs) are working for the right to mother tongue–based multilingual education, in which the mother tongue/s is/are defined by self-identification, claims for compensation for mother-tongue loss should be raised in courts. This loss is often a result of (linguistic and cultural) genocide, as Skutnabb-Kangas and Dunbar (2010) have shown, using the United Nations International Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide (E793, 1948) as the starting point. In Canada, the language loss in residential schools has recently (April 2015) been officially called cultural genocide by the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (2015). The introduction to the 382-page report starts as follows (p. 1): For over a century, the central goals of Canada’s Aboriginal policy were to eliminate Aboriginal governments; ignore Aboriginal rights; terminate the Treaties; and, through a process of assimilation, cause Aboriginal peoples to cease to exist as distinct legal, social, cultural, religious, and racial entities in Canada. The establishment and operation of residential schools were a central element of this policy, which can best be described as ‘cultural genocide’. Physical genocide is the mass killing of the members of a targeted group, and biological genocide is the destruction of the group’s reproductive capacity. Cultural genocide is the destruction of those structures and practices that allow the group to continue as a group. States that engage in cultural genocide set out to destroy the political and social institutions of the targeted group. Land is seized, populations

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are forcibly transferred and their movement is restricted. Languages are banned. Spiritual leaders are persecuted, spiritual practices are forbidden and objects of spiritual value are confiscated and destroyed. And, most significantly to the issue at hand, families are disrupted so as to prevent the transmission of cultural values and identity from one generation to the next. In its dealing with its Aboriginal people, Canada did all these things. When trying to understand why the languages of several of the northern minorities in the book (at least the Sámi and the Kven in Norway, Meänkieli speakers in Sweden, the Karelians and the Veps in Russia and maybe also Karelians in Finland) have become endangered in the first place, it would be useful to check which traits from the Canadian report might fit their history too. At least for the Sámi in all Nordic countries and Russia, it is very clear that both cultural and linguistic genocide have been committed in fairly recent history, and physical and biological genocide has been attempted historically. As the Canadian report shows, many of the consequences still linger on, even down to the third and fourth generation of residential-school victims. Similar consequences of cultural and linguistic genocide might also partially explain some of the attitudes in the northern groups described in this book, as Skutnabb-Kangas and Dunbar (2010) have illustrated in some of their examples.

The Monolingual Bias – do Languages and Mother Tongues Exist? The monolingual bias as a fundamental feature of structural and Chomskyan linguistics is an important ideological perspective of those approaches to the study of language. As the authors point out, it was (and in some cases, remains) the dominant research paradigm. And, as the authors also remind us, it is largely the ideology held by most users of languages, in spite of the facts that surround them in their multilingual and super-diverse daily life. While the focus of the ELDIA project is on the heritage FinnoUgric languages of Europe, the dynamics described are not confined to Europe alone. Language polices based on the monolingual assumptions as described in this volume are typical of almost all post-colonial nationstates as well, and the effects of those policies are very clearly seen in Latin America, the United States, Canada and Australia in particular. This volume provides a valuable service to language policy developers and heritage-language users by making them aware of the monolingual bias and by attempting to guide both research and its application in policy formation in a more well-informed direction.

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Table 1 Short definitions of mother tongue(s) CRITERION ORIGIN IDENTIFICATION (a) internal. (b) external COMPETENCE FUNCTION

DEFINITION the language(s) one learnt first (a) the language(s) one identifies with (b) the language(s) one is identified as a [native] speaker of by others the language(s) one knows best the language(s) one uses most

(Skutnabb-Kangas 1984, 18; parentheses around ‘native’ added)

But addressing the issue of monolingualism inevitably leads one (as it did the authors) down the path of language identification and into the complexities of fuzzy linguistic boundaries and linguistic variability. Here again, as the research paradigm shifts, the popular perspective can be seen as lagging behind – or it is simply different. As a result, as linguists increasingly question the usefulness of the concept of autonomous languages (language as particle, cf. Lewis, 1999; Pike, 1959), many users of heritage languages claim ever more strongly a linkage of ‘their language’, ‘their mother tongue’, to ‘their identity’. First we add some definitions of what these users might mean when they claim these linkages; then we come back to ‘language as particle’. Some of the definitions that the ELDIA book uses (or, often, does not really give) could be usefully added to. ‘Mother tongue’ is one of the concepts that could be defined in more detail, thus avoiding some of the challenges that the authors have had. Here we use definitions by Skutnabb-Kangas. Skutnabb-Kangas has also presented several theses about the definitions (below are extracts from her 2008: 86–88; 2000: 105–115, with very minor changes): (1) The same person can have different mother tongues (MTs), depending on which of the definitions in Table 1 is used. (2) A person’s MT can change during her lifetime, even several times, according to all other definitions listed in the table except the definition by origin. (3) A person can have several MTs, especially according to definitions by origin and identification, but also according to the other criteria, depending on the domain discussed. (4) The MT definitions can be organised hierarchically according to their degree of linguistic human-rights awareness. This degree in a society can be assessed by examining which definition(s) the society uses in its institutions, including laws, explicitly and/or implicitly.

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For linguistic majorities (e.g. speakers of Norwegian in Norway, or speakers of Russian in Russia) all the definitions usually converge. They have learnt Norwegian/Russian first, they identify with Norwegian/ Russian, are identified by others as native speakers of Norwegian/ Russian, know Norwegian/Russian best and use Norwegian/Russian most. Thus, a combination of all the definitions can be used. If linguistic minorities live and work where the majority language dominates, the majority language usually becomes their most used language in most formal domains and often also informally. Therefore it is not fair to use a mother-tongue definition by function – they have not chosen freely to use the majority language most. The expression ‘not fair ’ here means that the definition does not respect linguistic human rights, and here especially the right to choose freely what one’s mother tongue is. If linguistic minorities get their education in submersion programmes, that is, through the medium of the majority language, the majority language often becomes the language they know best in most more formal domains. Therefore, it is not fair to use a mother-tongue definition by competence either. If a school, for instance, says that the MT of an ITM child is the dominant language because that is the language the child uses most or knows best, this use of the definitions of competence or function shows little awareness of the fact that an ITM child in most cases cannot choose which language to use most or learn best in formal contexts such as school and other institutions. Schools often fail to consider that lack of proficiency in the original mother tongue/s (= mother tongue/s according to the criterion by origin) is a result of not having been offered the opportunity to use and learn the original mother tongue/s well enough in those institutional settings where many especially Western children spend most of their day (daycare centres, schools, organised after-school activities). Lack of use leads to lack of competence, especially with children. A ‘poor’ competence in the original mother tongue/s (which is a result of the neglect of the mother tongue/s in institutions earlier on, i.e. a result of earlier oppression) is then often used to legitimate additional oppression. The child is labelled as a majority language speaker or she is denied teaching in the original mother tongue/s on the grounds that she does not know it/them well enough or because she knows the majority language better and therefore does not ‘need’ mother-tongue teaching. Many indigenous people (Sámi in the Nordic countries, Aborigines in Australia, etc.) may officially not always be counted as members of the group if they no longer know the original mother tongue (which they have been prevented from learning), or if their parents or grandparents did not know it. The dwindling numbers can then be used to legitimate the lack of services offered in the indigenous language (see e.g. Aikio,

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1988 for the Sámi), which then leads to still less use and competence. The same numbers game is used to deny services in immigrant minority languages. Often denying language rights to both children and adults (in the case of adults, e.g. the right to information, to vote, or to use the mother tongue in the workplace) is implicitly based on a definition of function or competence. Often a combination of mother-tongue definitions by origin and by internal identification is a good mother-tongue definition for linguistic minorities. But there are exceptions where not even this is a good, fair and respectful definition. One important exception is forcibly assimilated ITM children. If the forcible assimilation has taken place already in the parent or grandparent generation, it is not fair to use a mother-tongue definition by origin either, because the parents have not spoken (or have not been able to speak) the mother tongue (e.g. Sámi, Maliseet, Ainu, Veps or Meänkieli) to the children. In this case, a mother-tongue definition by internal identification can be the only possible fair definition. Another important exception is the deaf. 90–95% of deaf children are born to hearing parents. If the children were to get a good education, they would learn sign language early on and receive most of their formal education through a sign language. In this case, children and parents do not have the same mother tongue. For most deaf children, the fairest mothertongue definition is the language that they identify with (often, at least later on, also in combination with an external identification: the language that they are being identified as [native] speakers of by others). For deaf children, a sign language is the only language in which they can express themselves fully. They cannot do this in any spoken language, except in writing. Therefore we can, for them, also add a modified definition by competence: The mother tongue is the language that they identify with and in which they can express themselves fully. But what if a deaf child or an indigenous child is not one of those fortunate ones whose parents have used the mother tongue by identification from the very beginning and where the child has had most of her education through this mother tongue? What if the child does not know the mother tongue by internal identification? Our claim is that it is possible to identify with a language that one does not know. It is possible to have a mother tongue that one does not have (any or ‘full’) competence in (see e.g. the quote from a Karelian speaker in Finland, introduction to Chapter 3 in this book). If this were to be accepted in international law (and it has not yet been tried in court), those few rights that exist for mother tongue–medium education and for learning the mother tongue as a subject would also apply to ITM children in various revitalisation programmes. When forcible assimilation has led to a language being seriously endangered (‘dying’, ‘moribund’, in need of revival) or ‘neglected’

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(endangered, in need of revitalisation), the strategy could (or should?) be to only use a mother-tongue definition by internal identification when demanding full linguistic human rights for individuals and collectivities, regardless of whether the individuals are receptive or productive users or non-users. The external identification criterion has become more prominent with the various ITM revitalisation movements. ILO 169, the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP), the UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues, and many local indigenous organisations emphasise the group’s/people’s collective acceptance of individuals as members of the indigenous/tribal group/people. The Sámi Parliament in Finland has had major debates as a result of not accepting people on their voting rolls who have Sámi ancestors and identify as Sámi, often having relearnt the language; the parliament’s criteria are fairly strict. The non-status ‘Indians’ in North America face similar challenges. In Africa, there is a continuum from ‘we are all indigenous’ to only those groups being seen legally as indigenous who are members of the UN Permanent Forum. With these definitions, there is no ‘Mother Tongue Mystique’ (Section 1.4.1 in this book). Many of the discussions of what somebody’s mother tongue/s is/are may become clearer, and multiple affiliations and changing identities (e.g. Section 4.2.2 in this book) more natural, in the way the authors of the present book really seem to have wanted. Back to whether concrete languages and thus also the mother tongues of minorities exist. Albert Einstein, Max Planck and Niels Bohr showed already at the beginning of the 1900s with their experiments that light could behave both as waves and as a particle. Likewise Einstein showed that space and time are not unchanging, and the same for everybody; they can vary on the basis of, for instance, the movement of the observer. My both/and view is that one has to be able also to see languages as something that can be captured, counted, learnt, even written down, also in dictionaries – even if languages are never stable; they change all the time, as do the hierarchising relations between languages; these are processes. Sociolinguists might be able to learn from physics. There is no contradiction between treating languages as processes and, at the same time, as concrete. Claiming that it is only one or the other is illogical and unhelpful either/or thinking, in a world of both/and/ and. People must also be able to claim languages: ‘X is MY language’, or ‘X and Y are my mother tongues’. Claimants of languages/mother tongues must have the right to agency; it is speakers (and signers) who decide whether they ‘have’ languages/ mother tongues, and what these are. No outside researcher has the right to do this. It is thus

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also linguicist behaviour to deprive ITMs of their agency if outsiders decide whether they (can) have a mother tongue (or two) and then to proceed to hierarchising the languages and their speakers on the basis of language, all at the same time as claiming that languages do not exist. (Skutnabb-Kangas, 2015) Another contribution of this volume, particularly for policy makers, is the identification and discussion of what the authors have labelled as ‘the ethnolinguistic assumption’. This is the belief that ‘there is a simple one-to-one relationship between a normal, monolingual and monocultural subject’s language use and his or her ethnic identity’ (Section 1.2.3). In a super-diverse world, the ethnolinguistic assumption must be examined carefully. While it is clear that there is some relationship between language and identity, that relationship is hardly simple and rarely one-to-one. Stephen May’s latest articles (e.g. May 2014a, 2014b, 2015) discuss this relationship in an enlightened and respectful way, showing that there is more to it than many linguists and political scientists admit. But what is more, the notion of a monolingual and monocultural person must be understood to apply to a very small and unrepresentative sampling of the general population in most contexts. The challenge this presents is how to retain what is true – that language and identity are indeed intertwined and interrelated phenomena – while rejecting what is clearly not so: Just as the monolingual bias must be rejected, so must the notion that a person participates in only one culture, has only one identity, is either this or that. Just as with mother-tongue definitions, identities are social constructs, not inherited givens; they are ever changing and dynamic, not static, they are hybrid and nomadic; people may claim several of them at the same time and be multilingual and multicultural, and ‘multi-ethnial’, or ‘bicountrial’. Members of minority communities clearly recognise that the maintenance of their communal identity is closely associated with and highly dependent on at least some level of maintenance of their heritage language. They believe they can identify what that language is and define its boundaries (some more inclusively, some less so). For researchers and analysts to deny that linkage would be to take a step back to the decontextualised analysis of language competence without reference to its use in real-life performance. In discussing what terms to use (pp. 20, 22–23) – minority (vs. majority); ‘language minority’; ‘language-based community’ or ‘speech community’ – the authors try to avoid what they call ‘the ethnolinguistic assumption’ because, according to them, it falsely homogenises a group. This could possibly be avoided by extending Erik Allardt’s criteria for and his theses about an ethnic group to ‘language-based groups’. Allardt’s criteria for an ethnic group are

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(1) self-categorisation (self-identification); (2) common descent (factual or mythical); (3) specific cultural traits, for example, the capacity to speak a specific language; (4) a social organisation for interaction both within the group and with people outside the group (Allardt & Starck, 1981: 4; see also Allardt et al., 1979). According to Allardt, there are no criteria for inclusion in an ethnic group that all the members of the group have to fulfil. But it is necessary that some members fulfil all the criteria, and every member must fulfil at least one criterion. Often most members fulfil all the criteria, but there are also some ethnic lukewarms and ethnic self-haters who do not categorise themselves as members despite fulfilling all the other criteria except selfcategorisation and despite being categorised as members by others. There is ‘a firm and a stable nucleus’ where (reminding us of Barth, 1969) ‘the stable features in an ethnic group are not the boundaries but rather the existence of mechanisms which maintain and regulate them’ (Allardt & Starck, 1981: 12). One could add here ‘and reproduce them’ – that is one of the important reasons why minority education issues are so decisive and why there is so much resistance to schools that use other mother tongues as media of education. Mother tongue–medium education enables the group to continue to exist as a group. At the same time, the realities of super-diverse contexts with languages and identities in complex and hybridising relationships means that we must also avoid an ideological bias that the authors mention briefly: what might be called multilingual idealism. This ideology is, in fact, a corollary of the monolingual bias in that it sees multilingualism as two or more completely parallel monolingualisms. It is the expectation that a multilingual person will, in daily life, talk about any topic, in any situation, with any interlocutor in any of the languages in their linguistic repertoire. Such multilingual idealism is often assumed to be the goal of positive, open and progressive language policies. But just as monolingualism is rare in the real world, so such completely balanced multilingualism is rarely encountered and is an oddity in the daily life of multilingual, multicultural people who live in situations marked by a diversity of diversities. Just as the monolingual bias divorces language competence from performance, multilingual idealism divorces language performance from the functions that languages perform in society. This volume addresses that issue somewhat tangentially by acknowledging the hierarchical arrangement of more ‘useful’ global and vehicular languages in contrast to the ‘less useful’ languages used by minority communities. From a policy perspective, multilingual idealism raises the bar very high for nondominant languages in terms of official recognition and even in terms of

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their visibility. The cost of developing languages that have traditionally been primarily an oral means of communication to the level where they can be used for any function, including the proverbial ‘rocket science’, is prohibitive and leads to the categorisation of vehicular languages as resources and heritage languages as burdens. In addition, if reducing oral languages to writing is not done extremely skilfully, this process may not only reinforce existing inequalities but even create new ones, also by losing some of the benefits that orate people have as compared to literate people (see the part Oracy and Literacy in Nurmela et al., 2012: 166–169).

On Languages of Contested Status The ELDIA research deals with a number of ‘languages of contested status’. For instance, in Norway, Kven was ‘traditionally regarded as merely a dialect of a state language’ (Section 3.11.4) that has been standardised very recently. In Estonia, the Võro and Seto communities advocate adopting the term ‘regional languages’, but the Language Act uses ‘regional varieties of the Estonian language’ (Section 3.4.2). Karelian is not officially recognised as a national minority language in Finland, but in 2009 ‘it was added to the list of minority languages on which Finland obliges itself to report to the European Council’ (Section 3.8.2). We also learn that ‘Generations of Karelian speakers have been taught to consider their language just a dialect of Finnish, and Karelian had until recently no chance of achieving an official position in the Finnish education system or in the media’ (Section 1.2.3). When discussing some of the problems that ‘roofless’ language varieties such as Karelian in Finland face, the authors mention that languages that have a ‘linguistic homeland’ or a ‘kin-state’ seem to be in a stronger position than those without one; ‘However, the statuses of languages may change and be contested, and kin-state support can also turn out to be politically problematic and counterproductive’ (Section 1.3.4). One notoriously difficult such question is posed by the Csángós in Romanian Moldavia. They are a ‘Hungarian or “Hungarian” speaking minority in Moldavia’ (Trudgill, 2003: 32) who are rapidly going through a language shift to Romanian due to the harsh assimilation policies of the Roman Catholic Church and the Romanian state. In 2001, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe adopted Recommendation 1521 on ‘Csango minority culture in Romania’. The assembly recommended that the Romanian government ratify and implement the ECRML and support the Csángós, particularly in instruction in the Csángó language, in providing Roman Catholic services in the Csángó language, in the correct registration of Csángós in the next census, in setting up specific programmes to promote Csángó culture and so on. It has been a matter of scholarly and political debate for quite some time whether Csángó is a dialect of Hungarian or a language different

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from Hungarian. (Mutual intelligibility between ‘Hungarian’-speaking Csángós and Hungarians in Hungary varies to a great extent and can sometimes approach zero.) Some have argued that it is an archaic dialect of Hungarian, while others have claimed that it is a language different from Hungarian. In these debates, historical linguistic claims clash with politically motivated arguments based on intelligibility problems. As any sociolinguist knows, this is a case of comparing apples and oranges; furthermore, calling something a language or a dialect is always a political decision. However, the linguistic problem ‘Csángó language or dialect?’ also has an important political consequence – as Tytti Isohookana Asunmaa, the Finnish rapporteur of the Council of Europe regarding the Csángó minority, explained to leaders of a Csángó organisation in 2002: The Council of Europe can provide legal protection for the Csángó language but not for a dialect of Hungarian. Csángó can certainly be an endangered language and hence deserving of protection, but the Hungarian language or Hungarian dialects are safe and sound and need no protection. ‘A language spoken by fifteen million and a large national culture doesn’t need any protective measures’ (Tánczos, 2012: 270). The ELDIA researchers deserve credit for their discussion of roofless language varieties (and also of migrant languages), but more research is needed to disentangle the complex web of linguistic, political, educational and human-rights aspects of such varieties.

Minority Language Rights or Universal Language Rights? In the last three decades, we have witnessed significant changes concerning the desirability of protecting minority languages and their speakers. In 1984, Edwards advocated ‘transitional bilingual education’ as a reasonable activity (i.e. he promoted linguistic assimilation) and said that ‘maintenance’ education was ‘not so easy to defend, from an all-society point of view’ (1984: 301). A decade later, several linguists disagreed with Edwards (1994) on how he presented ‘ethnolinguistic pluralism and its discontents’. For instance, with regard to the Irish case of language shift, Dorian (1994: 118) criticised him for raising ‘a misleading image of a freedom of choice that people in such a position can scarcely be said to have.’ Romaine (1994: 182–183) showed that the Sámi in Sweden, rather than exercise their freedom of choice in weighing the decision to assimilate or not as Edwards suggested, were only officially Sámi if they engaged in reindeer herding. Then, since Krauss (1992), the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (1992/1998), the Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities (1995), Skutnabb-Kangas (2000) and other important publications, the pendulum seems to be swinging towards maintaining

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endangered minority languages. But Trudgill’s (2000: 58) hope that in the 21st century there would be no more ‘failures to attempt to defend the rights of linguistic minorities’ by academic linguists still has not been realised. The authors of this book have made a significant contribution to researchers, politicians, NGOs, and, last but not least, to the many speakers of European and other heritage languages. They have made available rich research findings on a dozen little-known Finno-Ugric minorities, which, without exception, show the insufficiency of non-discrimination rights and the absolute necessity of affirmative or positive rights. In Section 4.1.2, the authors discuss minority-language education and correctly state that ‘The low supply of opportunities is often explained in financial terms – “the society cannot afford to invest in education in a language spoken by a small number of people”. However, providing opportunity through education is not just a simple financial question but a matter of life and death for endangered languages.’ While we cannot but agree with ‘a matter of life and death’, we would strongly disagree with the widespread suggestion that a majority society cannot afford to invest in minority education. It can if it does not regard minority-language rights as a privilege but regards both majority and minority rights explicitly as human rights, without discrimination. In other words, if language rights are Universal Language Rights (see e.g. Andrássy, 2012 and Kontra, 2009), then mother tongue–medium education is within any country’s economic means. Skutnabb-Kangas (2012: 239, building on Kontra et al., 2010: 362– 363) illustrates such an attempt in the following paragraph: Linguist-philosopher Sándor N. Szilágyi (1994) has presented a suggestion for a ‘Bill on the Rights Concerning Ethnic and Linguistic Identity, and the Fair and Harmonious Coexistence of Ethnic and Linguistic Communities.’ In principle, it is a non-discrimination bill, but it defines rights for both majorities and minorities. Minorities are defined demographically, as consisting of minimally 8 per cent of the population of a local administrative district. His definition of ‘equality of chances’ means that a minority must, for instance, have the same chance as the majority to use its own language in administration, as a teaching language in school and at university, etc., without needing to bear extra costs. Otherwise the minority is forced to finance majoritylanguage-medium services for the majority through their taxes, without getting the same services for themselves–and this is the most common situation today. This would specify majority LRs and make minority LRs equal to them. An important lesson to be learnt from these observations is that in the formation of policy and in the preservation of heritage identity, the recognition and promotion of the functional assignment of the

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languages in question is an important activity. Multilingualism is good, without a doubt, but the important question for every heritage-language community is ‘What is our heritage language good for?’ Too often, policy makers focus only on the instrumental value of a language – its ability to facilitate communication, to increase participation in a global economy, to foster the peace and tranquillity of a nation-state both politically and socially. Just as important a consideration is the role of heritage languages in the social, psychological and spiritual wellbeing of those who associate their identity with them. These less tangible and non-utilitarian features of language represent another kind of value that rarely gets taken into account when cost–benefit analyses are carried out. But in addition, the many benefits of multilingualism should also be added to the considerations. Despite the impressive multidisciplinarity of the ELDIA team, it seems that the authors might strengthen their arguments by adding some psycholinguistic literature about these benefits. In Section 1.2.2, under the subtitle ‘New insights from research: Multilingualism is good for you, and it is natural – in fact, everybody is multilingual’, the authors write: In fact, in recent years, several studies have been published that indicate that multilingualism is beneficial for the individual. Knowing many languages may have positive effects on an individual’s creativity (Ricciardelli, 2011) and language-learning abilities (Errasti, 2003; AbuRabia & Sanitsky, 2010), perhaps even on the individual’s cognitive abilities in general (or, at least, no overall negative effects can be shown; cf. Bialystok and Feng, 2010). It has even been claimed that multilingualism can delay the onset of dementia or Alzheimer’s disease (see e.g. Chertkow et al., 2010; Alladi et al., 2013). In the light of this evidence, multilingualism cannot be considered detrimental or even an anomaly but rather as the normal state. The oldest reference here is to 2003. In fact, the turning point was Peal and Lambert’s, 1962 article showing that bilinguals consistently performed better than monolinguals when social class was held constant. This was over 50 years ago! This cannot be called ‘recent’ or defined as ‘New insights’. There are literally thousands of articles and hundreds of monographs showing the cognitive and other benefits of bilingualism and multilingualism. The references here seem completely haphazard. The ‘perhaps even’ and ‘at least no overall negative effects’ disregard the research completely. Obviously one has to be careful, but there is no doubt whatsoever about the positive effects of many different kinds and in many areas. The best summary account of this that one of us (TSK) has seen is in Chapter 3 of Ajit Mohanty’s book (forthcoming).

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Mohanty also corrects the Western biases in research, both in the new book and in his PhD (1995). Mohanty has been able to control factors that in Western research have been impossible to control (social class, cultural differences, the impact of literacy, the impact of formal education). In most Western research, the monolingual and bi/multilingual groups have represented different social classes and had different cultural backgrounds. Mohanty’s extremely thorough long-term studies in Odisha (earlier called Orissa), India, compared hundreds of people from two groups (young children, youth, adults), using dozens of tests and participant observation. One group is bilingual in Kui, the mother tongue; and in Odia, the official language of Odisha. The other group is monolingual in Odia (but they say Kui is their mother tongue). Both have the same culture, rituals, traditions, festivities and so on. Both groups are extremely poor and have similar occupations. Some could read or write, some could not. Some had no formal schooling while others had some years, so the effect of formal education could be controlled. Likewise, some of those who were literate in Odia had learnt it in school, whereas some who had no formal education had learnt to read on their own without ever having attended school. In almost all tests, the bilinguals did better than the monolinguals, and most results were statistically significant. After a really thorough examination of earlier literature from more than 100 years, including his own, Mohanty concludes in his book, in short, that ‘There is now robust evidence of positive benefits associated with experience of multiple languages in respect of cognition, creativity, development of metalinguistic awareness, reading and literacy related skills’. For all these, he gives detailed examples of various subcategories. Thus the hesitancy in the ELDIA book about the benefits of multilingualism represents clear understatements. Likewise, the claims about delayed Alzheimer’s and other types of dementia are based on thorough longitudinal research. Ending on an additional positive recommendation, we note that the authors mention many times how difficult it is for minority parents to start speaking the minority language to their children, even if many express the wish to do so. Their recommendations to individual parents include (p. 198): ‘language transmission in families, if possible, and early language learning (for instance, pre-school language immersion) must be supported and parents informed of their responsibility as language educators’; ‘language users need encouragement: support for families in transmitting the language to children (breaking habits of family-internal communication is very difficult)’; ‘language users must be better informed of their rights’. We would like to add one practical recommendation. One of us has held literally hundreds of ‘parent evenings’ (from the late 1960s onwards; often teachers and politicians were present too) in two of the field-work areas of the ELDIA project (Sámi in Norway and Finns

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in Sweden). What seems to have motivated parents most in starting to use Sámi with their children was partly a stick but mainly a carrot. The stick was the shock that Sámi parents experienced when the long-term consequences were made clear: The language would disappear if they did not start using it with the children. Similar efforts aimed at motivating ongoing and increased use of nondominant languages (in this case, Catalan and Basque) is reported on by Suay (2005). He describes workshops in which the aim is to increase the ‘willingness to communicate’ (MacIntyre, 2007). These workshops allow participants to analyse their own language use and then help them develop more assertiveness, reducing their discomfort and increasing their satisfaction with the use of their heritage language. The goal is to increase assertiveness while maintaining respect for all languages and their users. This book gives the so far most sophisticated tools globally for appreciating the sticks. The carrot was – and should be – to thoroughly discuss and inform parents of the research results on individual and group-level benefits of bilingualism and multilingualism. What parent would not like to support their children in becoming more cognitively advanced and flexible, as well as more capable of divergent thinking, more creative, more metalinguistically aware, better focused, better in interpreting non-verbal feedback and better in learning additional languages? Once parents are motivated, networking starts, practical strategies are exchanged, and demands for more facilities and linguistic human rights start growing too. Reading this book offers, in addition to rich research results, both the sticks and the carrots needed.

About the Authors

Johanna Laakso defended her PhD thesis at the University of Helsinki in 1990. After working as a research assistant, an acting professor and a project researcher in Helsinki, she has since 2000 held the chair of FinnoUgric Studies at the University of Vienna. Her main research interests include historical and contact linguistics, morphology (word formation) and gender linguistics. In the ELDIA project, she led the dissemination work and the case study on Hungarian in Austria. Anneli Sarhimaa has been a professor of Northern European and Baltic languages at the Johannes Gutenberg University Mainz in Germany since 2002. She received her PhD in linguistics from the University of Helsinki in 1999 and has studied and worked in Finland, Russia, the Netherlands and Germany. Her linguistic expertise lies in the fields of sociolinguistics and contact linguistics, with a focus on languages of northwestern Russia, language policies and discourse linguistics. She was the instigator and coordinator-in-chief of the ELDIA project and was also specifically in charge of the data-analysis work package and the case study on Karelian in Finland. Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark, iuris dr., is associate professor in international law and director of the Åland Islands Peace Institute (Finland). She has published extensively on international law, minority rights and indigenous issues. She has been twice an expert member of and served as the president of the Council of Europe Advisory Committee on the Framework Convention on National Minorities (2012–2014). In the ELDIA project, she was the leader of the legal and institutional framework analyses. Reetta Toivanen is an adjunct professor for Social and Cultural Anthropology and a Finnish Academy Research Fellow at the Erik Castren Institute of International Law and Human Rights at the University of Helsinki. She is also a non-resident senior research fellow at the European Centre for Minority Issues (Flensburg). She defended

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her PhD on minority rights and Sorbian minority in Germany and Sámi in Finland in Ethnology/Anthropology at Humboldt University Berlin in 2000. In the ELDIA project, she was the leader of the media-sociological analyses.

Afterword authors Miklós Kontra is a sociolinguist and educational linguist. Between 1985 and 2010, he was head of the Department of Sociolinguistics at the Research Institute for Linguistics of the Hungarian Academy of Sciences. Currently, he is professor of Hungarian Linguistics at Károli Gáspár University of the Reformed Church in Hungary, Budapest. He is the author and editor of several books on variation and change in Hungarian, the sociolinguistics of Hungarian outside Hungary and (educational) language rights. For his publications, see http://www.kre.hu/btk/index. php/oktatoink/1179-kontra-miklos.html M. Paul Lewis is the general editor of Ethnologue: Languages of the World and a senior consultant in sociolinguistics for SIL International. He did fieldwork in Guatemala, Central America, from 1975 until 1996. He was the International Sociolinguistics Coordinator for SIL International from 1996 to 2003 and again from 2007 to 2009. From 2009 to 2013, he did sociolinguistic consulting and training in Asia, primarily in India, Indonesia, Nepal, the Philippines and Thailand. He holds a Ph.D. in Linguistics from Georgetown University. Tove Skutnabb-Kangas has written or edited around 50 monographs and over 400 articles and book chapters in 48 languages about minority education, linguistic human rights, linguistic genocide, the subtractive spread of English and the relationship between biodiversity and linguistic diversity. He is the recipient of the Linguapax Award 2003 and the California Association for Bilingual Education (CABE) Vision Award 2013. For publications, see www.Tove-Skutnabb-Kangas.org.

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Attachment 1: ELDIA Institutions and Research Teams

Johannes-Gutenberg-Universität European and Baltic languages •

• • • • • • • •

Mainz,

Germany:

Northern

Professor Anneli Sarhimaa: Coordinator-in-chief of ELDIA, leader of Work Package 5 (Data Analysis), Work Package 9 (Coordination and Management), lead researcher in the case study and author of casespecific report ‘Karelian in Finland’, co-author of Comparative Report Katharina Zeller, M.A.: Coordination secretary; questionnaire layout, EuLaViBar planning Claudia Reitz, M.A.: Coordination secretary Eva Kühhirt, M.A.: Database administrator, co-author of Data Analysis manual Suna Önder, M.A. (2012–2013): translation of the case-specific report ‘Karelian in Finland’ into Finnish Leena Joki, M.A. and Dr. Kati Parppei (based in Finland): assistance in the fieldwork and data analysis for the case study ‘Karelian in Finland’ (2010–2011) Student assistants: Annika Emmert, Maren Gockel, MarieChristine Klös, Iwana Knödel, Adina Nix Dr. Jeremy Bradley (Vienna): programming of the Joomla template for the ELDIA website (2010; 2013) Freelance and volunteer assistance (translations, transcriptions, interviews etc.) for the case study ‘Karelian in Finland’: Paavo Harakka, Professor Marja Leinonen, Kenneth Meaney, M.A., Professor Pirkko Nuolijärvi, Sampo Nuolijärvi, Sanna Nykänen, M.A., Professor Martti Penttonen, Professor Lea Siilin (all based in Finland).

250

Attachment 1: ELDIA Institutions and Research Teams

251

Helsingin yliopisto, Helsinki, Finland, Department of Finno-Ugric and Nordic Languages and Literatures • • • • • •

• • •

•

•

Professor Riho Grünthal: leader of Work Package 2 (Context Analysis), leader of the case studies ‘Karelian in Russia’ and ‘Veps in Russia’, leader of fieldwork and co-author of the corresponding case-specific reports Dr. Reetta Toivanen: leader of the media analysis team, co-author of the Comparative Report Kari Djerf, resource person for statistics Dr. Nina Zajceva (Petrozavodsk): co-author of the context analysis of Veps, coordinator of fieldwork in Russia Heini Karjalainen (Hienonen), M.A.: participation in the case studies on Veps and Karelian in Russia (fieldwork in Russia, data analysis), co-author of the case-specific reports on Veps and Karelian Ulriikka Puura, M.A.: co-author of the context analysis and casespecific report for Veps, co-author of the case-specific report for Karelian; participation in data analysis of Karelian and the control group; participation in the planning of the questionnaire Santra Jantunen: data analysis, transcription Dr. Konstantin Zamyatin: co-author of the context analysis and contributor for the case-specific report on Karelian Media analysis team (largely based at other universities, led by Reetta Toivanen): Rita Csiszár (Hungarian in Austria), Kadri Koreinik (Seto and Võro in Estonia), Niina Kunnas and Sonja Laitinen (Karelian and Estonian in Finland), Mari Keränen and Anna-Kaisa Räisänen (North Sámi and Kven in Norway), Nadja Nieminen Mänty (Finnish in Sweden), Santra Jantunen and Outi Tánczos (Karelian and Veps in Russia). Fieldworkers based in Petrozavodsk: Olga Zhukova, Nataliya Ankhimova, Olga Mironova (Veps), Svetlana Pasyukova (Veps and the control group survey), Nataliya Antonova, Tatyana Boyko, Svetlana Kovaleva, Olga Ogneva, Aleksandra Rodionova (Karelian), Svetlana Plyukhina (control group survey) Assistance in statistics: Antti Mattila

The Åland Islands Peace Mariehamn, Åland, Finland •

Institute

(Ålands

fredsinstitut),

Associate professor, Jur. dr. Sia Spiliopoulou Åkermark: leader of Work Package 7 (Comparative Report and EuLaViBar), co-author of the comparative report; leader of the law research team (analysis of legal and institutional framework), co-editor of legal reports and author of the legal comparative report

252

Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

Authors of legal and institutional analyses (in alphabetical order, in parentheses the country of responsibility): • • • • • • • •

Professor Anders Fogelklou (Russia) Petra Granholm (Norway) Lisa Grans (Finland) Marianne Meiorg (Estonia) Heidi Öst (Sweden) Associate Professor Petra Roter, University of Ljubljana (Slovenia) Sarah Stephan (Germany), in addition: project assistant and co-editor of legal reports Deva Zwitter with support from Dr. Emma Lantschner (Austria)

Univerza v Mariboru, Maribor, Slovenia, Department of Hungarian • • • • •

Professor Anna Kolláth: leader of the ELDIA team of Maribor, co-author of the context analysis and case-specific report ‘Hungarian in Slovenia’ Dr. Annamária Gróf: co-author of context analysis, engaged also in the planning and reporting of the fieldwork and data analysis, co-author of the case-specific report Livija Horvat, M.A.: data analysis and background work for the fieldwork report and the case-specific report, co-author of context analysis Judit Gasparics, M.A.: fieldwork, co-author of context analysis (2010–2011) Žužana Kerčmar Furjan, M.A.: assistance in report writing and translation, data analysis and other project tasks (2012)

Oulun yliopisto, Oulu, Finland, Department of Finnish • • • • • •

Professor Helena Sulkala: leader of Work Package 1 (Methodological Synergy) Laura Arola, M.A. (2010, 2012): lead researcher for the case study on Meänkieli, lead author of the case-specific report Marko Marjomaa, M.A. (2010–2012): lead researcher for the case study on North Sámi, author of the case-specific report Anna-Kaisa Räisänen, M.A. (2010–2012): lead researcher for the case study on Kven, lead author of the case-specific report Dr. Niina Kunnas (2010–2011): co-author of the case-specific reports on Kven (context analysis) and Meänkieli, media analysis for Karelian Elina Kangas, M.A.: Meänkieli fieldwork and interview data analysis, co-author of the case-specific report on Meänkieli

Attachment 1: ELDIA Institutions and Research Teams

• •

253

Minna Pelkonen, B.A.: assistance in data analysis (control group data) and the Meänkieli case study Fieldwork and technical assistance: Anu Alanko, Merethe Eidstø Kristiansen, Ellen Oddveig Hætta, Riikka Kolehmainen, Sierge Rasmus, Verena Schall, Mihail Voronov, and others.

Stockholms Universitet, Sweden, Institutionen för baltiska språk, finska och tyska (until April 2011) • • •

Professor Jarmo Lainio: leader of Work Package 3 (Data Sampling and Methods) Nadja Nieminen Mänty, M.A.: Empirical research (desk research and survey) on Finnish in Sweden Barbro Allardt Ljunggren, M.A.: Assistance in the planning of the survey questionnaire, survey on Finnish in Sweden

Tartu Ülikool, Tartu, Estonia, Department of Estonian and General Linguistics • • • • • •

•

Professor Helle Metslang: leader of Work Package 6 (Case-Specific Reports), supervision of the case studies on Estonian in Germany and Finland Professor Karl Pajusalu: leader of Work Package 4 (Fieldwork), supervision of the case studies on Võro and Seto Dr. Kadri Koreinik: context analyses, case-specific reports and case studies on Võro and Seto, co-author of the Case-Specific Report Manual Dr. Kristiina Praakli: context analyses, case-specific reports and case studies on Estonian in Germany and Finland Sarah Bast, M.A. (Mainz): assistance in the context analysis of Estonian in Germany (2010) Assistance in fieldwork: Tiina Hakman (interviews in Helsinki), Evelin Laaniste (interviews in Germany), Triinu Ojar (interviews for Võro and Seto) and Sulev Iva (Jüvä Sullõv) (translation of materials); Lilian Freiberg, Kaile Kabun, Ene Laube, Talvi Onno, MaikeLiis Rebane, Nele Reimann-Truija, Õie Sarv and Aino Suurmann (survey in South Estonia) Assistance in transcription and data entry: Dr. Andriela Rääbis, Helen Türk, Helena Teemets, Laivi Laanemets (Estonian), Nele Reimann-Truija, Helena Kesonen, Liina Tammekänd, Valev Laube, Monika Eichenbaum, Liisa Koreinik (Võro/Seto).

254

Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

Universität Wien, Vienna, Austria, Department of Finno-Ugric Studies • • • • •

Professor Johanna Laakso: Leader of Work Package 8 (Dissemination), co-author of case-specific report ‘Hungarian in Austria’, co-author of Comparative Report Angelika Parfuss, M.A.: (2010–2012): coordination and data analysis of empirical research on Hungarian in Austria, co-author of case-specific report Dr. Rita Csiszár (2010–2011): context analysis for the case study on Hungarian in Austria, media analysis in Austria Hajnalka Berényi-Kiss, M.A.: dissemination; assistance and participation in the empirical case study and data analysis, co-author of case-specific report Assistance in fieldwork, transcription, data entry, dissemination, editing publications: Patrícia Pataky, Hajnalka Veress (2011), Michaela Pasterk (2013), and others

Attachment 2: ELDIA Workshops, Conferences, and Seminars

ELDIA Internal Workshops and Work Seminars • • • • • •

8–9 March 2010, Mainz: Kick-off event and context analysis workshop 19–20 August 2010, Oulu: Fieldwork workshop 4–6 October 2010, Võro: Law analysis workshop 24–26 January 2011, Maribor: Content analysis workshop 12 September 2011, Helsinki: Meeting on data analyses 1–2 March 2012, Haparanda: Workshop on case-specific reports

ELDIA Dissemination Events, Conferences and Seminars Open for External Audience • • • • •

25 September 2012 in Vienna: Dissemination event presenting the results of the case studies on Estonians in Germany, Hungarians in Slovenia and Austria 27 September 2012 in Mariehamn: ELDIA Conference ‘Changing Linguistic Landscapes’, focusing on the legal component of the project. 25–27 October 2012 in Võru: The yearly conference of the Võro Institute with special focus on ELDIA and the presentation of the case studies on Võro in Estonia, Seto in Estonia and Russia 12 November 2012 in Oulu: Dissemination event presenting the results of the case studies on Sámi in Finland and Norway, Meänkieli in Sweden, Kven in Norway 30 November 2012 in Helsinki: Dissemination event presenting the results of the case studies on Karelian in Finland and Estonian in Finland

255

256

• • •

Towards Openly Multilingual Policies and Practices

23 January 2013 in Petrozavodsk: Dissemination event presenting the results of the case studies on Karelian and Veps in Russia 10–11 June 2013 in Vienna: Closing conference 28 June 2013 in Brussels: Dialogue conference

Index activist bias 69, 171 Albania 181 anthropology 195–196 assimilation 2, 59–60, 79, 87–88, 97, 107, 116, 122, 131–132, 138, 189, 217, 224 attitudes 29, 47, 59, 76, 107–108, 161–162, 206 attrition (of language skills) 152–153 Austria 57–65, 184–185, 199, 209–210 authenticity 5–6, 194–195, 211 autochthonous minorities 16

education system 2–3, 8, 20–22, 53, 57, 59, 67, 70–71, 75, 81, 89–90, 99–100, 109, 117, 123–125, 132–133, 140, 141, 159, 162, 168–169, 190, 207, 209–212, 227 EGIDS (Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale) 35–36 English 13, 20–22, 131–161 Estonia 72–96, 191, 199, 209 Estonian (in Finland) 115–121, 166–167, 200 Estonian (in Germany) 65–72, 155, 166 ethnography 195–196 ethnolinguistic assumption 10, 211, 226 ethnolinguistic vitality 36 EuLaViBar 33–42, 151–173 European Charter for Regional and Minority Languages 16, 61, 75, 108–110, 117, 123, 132, 133, 137, 139, 174, 180, 215, 218, 229 European Court of Human Rights 184–187 European Union 7–8, 190, 213, 215

Belgium 183–184 bilingualism: see multilingualism Canada 220–221 Capacity (in the EuLaViBar model) 38, 152–156 case law 182–188 Catherine Wheel model 39, 165 Chomskyan linguistics 3–4, 221 correctness see language correctness cost–effectiveness 175 Csángós 228–229 Cyprus 186 Cyrillic script 88, 98–99, 186

fieldwork 43–44, 46–47 Finland (see also: Nordic countries) 42, 104–121, 177, 200, 206, 209 Finnish (in Sweden) 123, 145–146, 192 Finno–Ugric studies 5–6, 49–50, 212–213 Forest Finns 140 Framework Convention for the Protection of National Minorities 55, 123, 132, 133, 136, 139–140, 178–179, 187–189, 191, 215, 219, 229, 235 France 174, 185–186

Desire (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 156, 161–164, 176 dialect (or language?) 9, 73–75, 79–81, 105–106, 123, 130–131, 180, 228 discrimination (vs non–discrimination) 9, 10, 52, 56, 64, 74, 107, 115, 117, 152, 156, 159, 174, 178, 181–182, 184–187, 190, 194, 206, 207, 212, 214, 230 diversity 24, 172, 190, 198, 204–205 domains of (language) use 22, 34, 35, 42, 44, 78, 94, 114, 128, 129, 144 domain loss 22

German (in South Tyrol) 187 Germany 65–72, 191 GIDS (Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale) 34–35 glocalisation 198 Greek 181, 186

Education (in the EuLaViBar model) 38–39, 57, 65, 70, 79, 85, 95, 103, 114, 119, 128, 134–135, 145

257

258

Index

heritage language (see also: mother tongue) 12–13, 22, 226 human rights 176–177, 182–184, 207 Hungarian (in Austria) 22, 24–25, 57–65, 155, 156, 180–181, 209–210 Hungarian (in Croatia) 218–219 Hungarian (in Slovenia) 22, 52–57, 154, 206, 210, 218 Hungarian studies 5 identity 10, 23, 58–59, 66, 68, 73, 74, 79, 86, 178–179 indigenous peoples 15–16, 137–140 interethnic marriages see mixed marriages intergenerational transmission of language 34–36, 69, 93, 103, 113, 120, 128, 144, 172, 195, 207, 214 Internet 65, 70, 71, 78, 101, 105, 110, 118, 155, 163, 166–168, 200 invisibility of minorities 206 Irish 187 Italian(s) (in Slovenia) 54–55 Italy 187 Jews (see also: Yiddish) 140 Karelian (in Finland) 10, 24–25, 104–115, 167, 177, 200, 206 Karelian (in Russia) 24–25, 95, 96–104 kin–state (minority) 16, 152 Kurdish 183, 187 Kven 10, 130–137, 140, 155, 156, 198, 199 Laestadianism 31 language correctness 25, 53, 162 language maintenance 33, 40–42, 201 language nests 90, 100 Language Products (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 70, 164–169 language rights 175–178, 187–189, 229–230 language shift (see also: assimilation) 33 Language Use and Interaction (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 56, 62–63, 68, 77, 83–84, 92–93, 102–103, 111–113, 120, 128–129, 135, 142–145, 153–154 languageness 5, 18 Latvia 185 law 29–31, 59–60, 66–68, 73–74, 81, 88–89, 98–99, 108–110, 123–125, 131–133, 139–140, 158–161, 164, 173–192, 210–212, 219–220

Legislation (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 56, 64, 71, 78, 94–95, 103, 114–115, 120–121, 129–130, 136–137, 142, 154 linguistic genocide 220–221 Livvi Karelian, see: Olonets Karelian Lude dialects/language 97 Meänkieli 10, 121–130, 154, 155, 199 media 26–28, 60–62, 76, 82–83, 90–92, 100–102, 109–111, 118–119, 125– 127, 133–134, 140–142, 184–185, 199–202, 215 Media (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 56, 64–65, 71–72, 78, 85, 95, 103–104, 115, 120, 135–136, 145 migration 23, 58, 62, 72, 97, 105, 116–117, 130, 153–154, 158–159, 168, 180, 189, 206, 214 minoritisation 196–197 minority 14–16, 54–55, 108, 123–124, 130, 193, 196–197, 212 mixed marriages 34, 121, 179 mobility 7, 23, 34, 55–59, 65, 80, 115, 132, 181, 189, 208 Moldovan 186 monolingual bias 1–11, 183, 205, 211 mother tongue 11–12, 50–51, 68, 153, 222–226 multilingual (bilingual) education 22, 53, 57, 59, 65, 67, 117, 125, 162, 168, 169, 206, 210, 229 multilingual language policies 7–9, 117–118, 131, 177, 188–190 multilingualism 2, 8–9, 18–21, 30, 55, 60, 117, 137, 198, 204–205, 231–232 national language policies 22, 73, 117, 174, 209, 217 nationalism 2, 5, 108, 122, 131, 178 Native Americans 195 NGOs 70, 108, 122, 124, 207, 230 non–discrimination: see discrimination non–territorial minorities 16, 55, 68, 191, 208 Nordic countries 52, 162, 190, 215 North Sámi see Sámi Norway (see also: Nordic countries) 130–145, 198–200 Olonets Karelian 97, 104 Opportunity (in the EuLaViBar model) 39, 156–161, 176 orthography 73, 80, 88, 143

Index

patronage state 16 power relations 26–28, 192 place names (regulation of) 75, 132, 140 plurilingualism 19 psychology 1 recognition effect (of legislation) 175 refugees 61, 65, 104–105, 116 religion 31, 72, 90, 105, 107 revitalisation 12, 34, 39–48, 62, 92, 114, 126, 133–175, 192, 197–202, 206–216 Roma minorities 67, 108–109, 123, 140 roofless language 16 Russia 72, 85–104, 107, 199 Russian language 73, 86–88, 90–92, 99–100, 106–107, 200, 209 Sámi (in Finland) 24, 108–109, 175, 177, 190 Sámi (in Norway) 130, 134, 137–145, 154, 175, 198, 199–200 Sámi (in Sweden) 121, 123, 175, 199, 229 Sapir–Whorf hypothesis 193–194 Seto 10, 72–79, 199 sign languages 108–109, 125, 180, 224 Slovenia: see Hungarian in Slovenia Slovenian in Austria 184–185

259

sociology 178, 192–199 South Tyrol 187 standardisation of language 73, 80, 87–88, 98, 110, 122, 139, 155–156, 172, 208 super–diversity 22–23 Sweden (see also: Nordic countries) 121–130, 145–146, 199 Swedish in Finland 42, 108, 117, 177, 209 Tahitian 186 territoriality 55, 67, 184, 191 transmission of language see: intergenerational transmission of language Turkey 183, 186, 187 Turkish (immigrants) 64, 67 Universal Grammar 3 UN Human Rights Committee 185 vehicular language 13–14, 19–20 Veps 20, 21, 85–96 Võro 10, 79–85, 199 White Sea Karelian 97, 104–105 World War II 65, 72, 104–105, 116 Yiddish 4, 123