I recently had dinner with a group of writers including Maxine Case and Marius Ivaskevicius, two authors who were writers-in-residence at City of Asylum/Pittsburgh by way of the University of Iowa International Writing Program. Marius, who is Lithuanian, mentioned that the Soviets would force Lithuanian school children to write in a Cyrillic alphabet. Rita Malikonyte-Mockus, a Lithuanian poet and North Side resident, added that it was like “trying to write English words with Chinese characters.”

Colonial and occupying powers have long recognized the connection between identity and language and have worked to eradicate indigenous languages. Perhaps the most famous historical example is the British attempt to destroy the Irish language. However, we don’t have to look to the past to find endangered languages. Globalization, economic pressure, and political turmoil are conspiring to create a mass extinction of languages. According to “Enduring Voices,” a National Geographic project to document dying languages, every 14 days a language disappears.

In order to protect native languages, the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Cultural Diversity, which  declares that everyone has the right to “express themselves and to create and disseminate their work in the language of their choice, and particularly in their mother tongue.”

The economics of the publishing industry present obstacles to exercising this right because publishing houses are less willing to take risks on works in translation. Maxine, who worked in publishing in her native South Africa commented, “The perception exists that markets for indigenous language books either do not exist or are not financially viable.” The same can be said of the American publishing market, one of the world’s largest. According to Emily Williams of Publishing Perspectives, there is a “translation gap” in the United States, meaning a paucity of books in translation are released here.

This can pressure writers to abandon their native language in favor of English. Maxine, who grew up speaking English and claims it as her mother tongue, said, “I have tremendous awe and respect for my friends who write in their second or third languages, but know that many of them feel compelled to write in English by the publishing industry.”

Some promoters and publishers are making commendable efforts  to provide opportunities for writers of under-represented and rare languages.

The Jaipur Literature Festival, India’s  major book fair, features such literary heavyweights such as Amit Chaudhuri, Vikram Seth, and Gulzar (the Indian poet who shared an Oscar for the song “Jai Ho” in Slumdog Millionaire.) Thanks to the efforts of co-founder Namita Gokhale, there are also panels of writers who work in Tamil, Bengali, and other lesser-known languages, as  well as writers who are Dalit, members of the lowest rung of the caste system. Gokhale also began Yatra Books, which, in partnership with Penguin Books India, publishes titles in Hindi, Marathi, and Urdu.

In February 2009, the South African Department of Arts and Culture launched a project through the National Library to underwrite the publication of indigenous works, and Maxine is hopeful the prize will help cultivate a wider audience for writers working in such languages.

In the United States, publishers such as Archipelago Books and  Open Letter, University of Rochester’s literary publishing house, are dedicated to cultivating a greater audience for international writers by publishing only works in translation. Open Letter also publishes Three Percent, an online literary website and blog about translation. (Check out the Open Letter’s Exclusive Book Preview in Sampsonia Way here.)

As an editor, I struggle to make literary works as accessible as possible without bowing to the idea that English is the “universal language.” That is why I try to run original text, whenever possible, along with English translations. I soon hope to  bring our readers literature from a greater diversity of languages. If you’d like to suggest a title of a recent work, please contact us here.

Click here to read Elizabeth’s bio.

I was sitting on the sofa one Sunday morning when the phone rang. I didn’t want to get up. I just wanted to do nothing. I finally grabbed the phone, and it was Ko Kyaw Shwe, a friend also lives in Pittsburgh.

“I’ve been so busy with my work and personal problems, that this is the first chance I’ve had to call,” he said.

His voice was indeed tired. I asked him whether he was sick; “Unhappy,” he said. “I had sent a video camera to Burma with a trustworthy person. My younger brother took the camera and shot video at a relative’s ahlu (a ceremony to collect offerings for monks). He was arrested because he didn’t have license to take video. Now he is in detention center!”

Oh my God! I thought. In Burma people even don’t have the freedom to take video at a relative’s ahlu? “Is the situation really that bad, Ko Kyaw Shwe?” My voice shook.

“I must tell you, it’s worse than that,” he voice was trembling, too. “My village in upper Burma has 70 or 80 houses. We typically plant bean and sesame, and after the harvest, we have ahlu. My small village used to busy the whole year. But now, the village is a ghost town. The farms have been seized; land owners are landless. My other younger brother is included in those who have had their land confiscated.

“As you know up-country is so hot you can’t farm after 10 a.m. People get up early and go to farm as early as 3 or 4 a.m. Before the sun becomes a torch at 9 or 10 a.m., the farmers come back home. At about 5 in the evening, when the heat relents, they go back and farm for another four or five hours, then call it a day…That’s how our lives have been forever.

“But these days, army units have been posted at villages. The Union Solidarity and Development Association’s Swan Arrshins (who are backed by the military government) harrass the villagers. Now, women who go to the fields early or come home late are raped. Rebellious men who respond back are reported or waylaid. The villagers don’t dare go to the fields. The village has become as a cemetery.”

I murmured “Oh God!” throughout the whole phone conversation. What was happening in Burma? People used to help others, and make friends so easily. The villages used to reverberate with the rhymes of saing (Burmese orchestra) and drums. Burmese used to say that blood is thicker than water, but now they are bullying each other, filing complaints against each other, becoming informants and sending their fellow villagers to jail.

Most Burmese are poor and uneducated. They don’t realize that the government is playing “divide and conquer.” In this situation, people are oppressed by government-created loathing and suspicion. If people are fighting among one another, they have no time to consider the issues facing the nation as a whole.

The inability to associate freely prevents people from looking at the real situation and agreeing on a response. People are adrift in a sea of trouble.

As I learn more about what’s happening in Burma, I yearn to change life for the people there, and end my pleasant, lazy Sundays here in Pittsburgh.

Click here to read Khet Mar’s bio.