More room for smaller languages

UNESCO documents 8,324 languages, of which around 7,000 are still in use. Some 40 per cent are considered endangered, and on average, one language is lost somewhere in the world every two weeks. 

Language is closely linked to one's own perception and sense of belonging. "Languages open up new perspectives for us. When we lose languages, these perspectives are lost too," says Eva Vetter, Professor of Subject Didactics and Language Teaching and Learning Research. Languages whose speaking communities have been shrinking over a long period of time are at risk. The situation becomes particularly critical when they are no longer passed on to the next generation. 

When does a language tip over into extinction?

Many assume that a language dies when the last native speaker passes away. To Vetter, this commonly held belief rests on many problematic background assumptions. A language that is no longer acquired or passed on does not disappear overnight. Something always remains in society. For instance, idiomatic phrases and forms of greeting may stay in circulation. 

One example is Cornish. The language's last speaker is famously said to have died in the 18th century. But in fact, it was never entirely gone; what remains is still enough for today's revitalisation to build on. And demonstrating that a language is still alive, despite having no native speakers, is important for those fighting to keep it and have it protected within the European legal system. A truly extinct language, after all, cannot be admitted for protection.

This is why linguists now use a new criterion of language extinction, one Vetter finds "very, very interesting." They now ask: are there still people who identify with a language and want to learn it and go on using it? "Only when that is gone – when no group constructs a sense of belonging around the language – does it count as genuinely extinct," explains Vetter.

Therefore, "the tipping point of a language is really whether there is still this feeling of belonging, this taking a language on as one's own identity," says Vetter. 

Why preserve an endangered language at all?

Some linguists seek to preserve endangered languages because they are drawn to structural rarities, for instance, a language that consists of a great many consonants and hardly any vowels. In this case, one would have assumed such a language to be impossible before encountering it in the real world. 

But that is not where Eva Vetter's own interest lies. Closer to it is the idea of a language as a connection to, or a representation of, other people and the world. This does not mean that we are imprisoned in a language, and thought can go beyond what a language expresses, she says, but languages open up perspectives, and they are often cultural. For instance, she argues that ecological knowledge, i.e. the knowledge of ecological relationships, is embedded in languages, which matters particularly in the context of the climate crisis.

On the one hand, Vetter is interested in how languages create social cohesion, which is highly significant for peace and democracy. "What's also interesting to me," she says, "is this richness of wellbeing – in research it has recently been called 'wellbeing through language maintenance' – which can be gained when you can keep linguistic diversity."

On the other hand, she is also invested in understanding the power dynamics that lead to language loss. "The endangerment of languages is often also the endangerment of the people who use those languages." Languages don't simply disappear. Mostly, it is power structures that favour the users of some languages and disadvantage those of others. "These power asymmetries lead to discord and conflict, and that is also the point that interests me."

Breathing spaces for minoritised languages

Vetter has devoted her life's work to understanding the long, gradual process of language loss and how it can be reversed. She led the Vienna group of the EU project RISE UP, with the goal of strengthening the visibility, use and transmission of five minoritised European languages: Aranese, Aromanian, Burgenland Croatian, Cornish and Seto. Rather than considering individual languages in isolation, Vetter's team focused on each language's context.

"Our approach was a language-ecological one. That is, we didn't just look at a language, but also at its ecological environment," explains Vetter, "we ask: which languages are still used in that area, what are their functions?" Language revitalisation is no longer understood as merely building up a language for someone to simply speak it. "I try to preserve the language's ecology and the linguistic diversity, in such a way that the minoritised language has a stable place within it," she says.

The problem is, then, when a language no longer has the opportunity to be spoken. In Burgenland, for example, it became apparent that such opportunities for Burgenland Croatian are lacking. If someone who does not speak the language joins the conversation, the others often switch to German so as not to exclude anyone. "How can we create 'breathing spaces' – safe spaces for speakers of minoritised languages?" asks Vetter.

To this end, RISE UP also turned to art and culture. Artists created poems, music and contributions for the project website and a travelling exhibition to raise the profile of their respective languages and strengthen a sense of belonging. 

Individual initiatives like these, including grassroots activism and educational projects, matter. "At least in Europe, we see that transmission within the family simply no longer works, and that in most cases it is running out. So education, both in and out of school, has an important part to play," she says.

Is multilingualism a problem in schools?

If schools and education are to open up new opportunities, multilingualism should not be treated as a problem, the former teacher argues, but rather as a source of richness and diversity, and as an opening up of perspectives – a foundation for democracy. Yet institutionally, she states, multilingualism is often met with compulsion and fear, which are antithetical to language learning. "Of course everyone has to learn German and English [in Austria], but German can develop in an open atmosphere where there is also room for other languages," says Vetter.

Monolingualisation, the focus on a national language, is gaining ground in Europe. "I remember an election poster from the last Viennese election: No good life without good German," she recalls. "Just imagine that – where the pleasure in using and developing a language gets completely lost and only compulsion remains, where language becomes a mode of survival." She argues that this is a "massive wrong turn" that can be steered against in school, so that children can experience joy in the development of their languages.

Will AI save endangered languages?

Vetter is more cautious when it comes to artificial intelligence. "Can we learn how to use AI with the interests of minoritised languages in mind?" she asks.

The current problem, she states, is that large language models are primarily trained on the vast amounts of text associated with major languages (their 'corpus'). "It simply won't work for minoritised languages to try to copy or build on these models," she says. There is a great deal of work right now on creating small language models that are correct for minoritised languages. "To that extent, I do think it can support language preservation. So I share the hope – but just as minority-language pedagogy is different from foreign-language pedagogy, minoritised languages must find their own path," says Vetter.

Hands-on practice in the 'language village'

And finally, although the RISE UP project has officially come to an end in January 2026, some ideas are still being pursued. One of these is the 'language village', which grew out of the experience of Icelandic villages. In Iceland, explains Vetter, people realised that they would like to preserve Icelandic even though everyone speaks English. "They then decided that there are specific places where Icelandic can be spoken. And people who are only just learning Icelandic can, for example, buy an entry ticket for a swimming pool in Icelandic while the person sitting at the counter answers slowly," says Vetter. "The people who are in these places have also been given training in how to deal with language learners."

The team is trying to implement the same kind of concept in Burgenland Croatian. They are trying to find places that are willing to take it on and people who are willing to train to become conversation partners for people who are learning the language. 

Minoritised languages cannot save themselves

Vetter has been watching this happen since long before she studied it. As an au pair in Quimper, Brittany, she noticed that the grandparents' generation spoke something the parents did not. The parents still understood a little. The children she was looking after understood nothing at all. The language was Breton, a Celtic language and nothing like French.

The pattern will be familiar to many people in Europe. Languages and dialects stop being passed on – because parents want their children to do well in the standard language taught at school, or because the children themselves drop it in favour of the language of their peers. Neither is really a free choice. It is what happens when one language carries opportunity and another does not.

"Minoritised languages cannot save themselves," says Vetter. "It doesn't work – the majority has to take responsibility for that."