Ali Doğan Gönültaş

Language is more than just a means of communication; it encompasses a unique universe of meaning and a unique way of expressing emotions. What I feel in the Zazaki language is precisely this sense of uniqueness. There are certain scents or images that make a person feel safe. Yet language occupies an even deeper place in our inner world of meaning than scents or images do. I realized that when I hear something in the Zazaki language, I experience a sense of security that is hard to describe.

The fact that the Zazaki language is on the brink of extinction is shattering this sense of security and belonging. As a musician who sings in Zazaki, there are moments when creating beautiful things in this language feels contradictory, even meaningless. A question constantly echoes in my mind: If this language is about to disappear, why do I insist on living it and keeping it alive? Why do I continue to create with it?

Today, in major cities, the elderly—the last remaining guardians of this language—carry within them the silent sorrow of witnessing the death of their mother tongue. Seeing this, bearing witness to it, adds yet another layer of despair.

Still, amidst all these dark thoughts, I continue to search for a glimmer of hope. Beyond this tragedy rooted in history and politics, I try to understand it from an existential perspective. My ancestors sang songs, said prayers, and gave meaning to life in this language. They told me stories in this extraordinary language and entrusted me with their way of seeing and understanding the world.

Despite everything, knowing this language, speaking it, and singing songs in it helps me resist that sense of emptiness. Practicing the art I believe in in my own native language means more than mere stubbornness. Even if I know a flower will die sooner or later, I won’t stop watering it. Because its very existence creates a hope that transcends everything else.

Stella Papalamprou

Singing in Pontic Greek is my way of preserving memory. Every song carries the voices, stories and resilience of people who lost their homeland but never their identity.

Xabi Aburruzaga

Why do I sing in Basque? Because it is the language in which I express myself best, the language in which I feel most truly myself. It is part of my identity and my roots; it is what makes me unique and unrepeatable. Moreover, Basque is the only pre-Roman language that has survived to the present day in Western Europe, a millennia-old language that was already spoken in these lands before the arrival of Latin.