How tourism can bring endangered languages back from the brink

It’s July and I’m singing with strangers. I can’t speak the language. I can, at least, recognise some of the voices. The Bostonian who flew thousands of miles to be here, voice husky from cigarette smoke. The German lady who fell in love with Ireland through its literature. The locals who have known this song since their youth. Together, they breathe new life not only into this ancient folk song, but also into a language facing disappearance – Irish, one of many minority languages under threat.

This is a normal evening at Oideas Gael, a cultural centre in Donegal, Ireland. Here, people come from around the world for intensive courses in the Irish language. By day they attend study sessions with expert tutors, in classes sorted by ability. By night students converge for cultural sessions, from live fiddle performances to film screenings. Tonight, the students sing ancient Irish folk songs, testing not only their pronunciation but the bonds they’ve forged in Oideas Gael’s classrooms. 

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Báidín Fheilimí, a song about a fisherman’s boat, is a fitting choice for two reasons. The first is its theme: Oideas Gael overlooks a quiet sandy beach, and the song rocks and sways like the ocean. The second is that the song is often taught to children in Irish schools. For some attendees, Báidín Fheilimí evokes memories of blackboard and chalk, rekindling their childhood enthusiasm. For others, this is their first taste of traditional song – one which the organisers hope will inspire lifelong passion.

When the song ends, the students disperse into the night. They walk to Glencolumbkille, a quiet, hilly village with two pubs and two churches. They return to holiday homes and hotel rooms, resting before tomorrow’s early start. Across the way, on the opposite cliff, an old watchtower overlooks the centre and the sea.

According to the 2022 Irish Census, 1,873,997 people in Ireland can speak Irish. Just 71,968 of them speak it daily outside of the education system – 2% fewer than the 2016 census. However, the overall number of people indicating an ability to speak Irish was up 6% over the same period.

Linguists have stated that half of the world’s languages could disappear by 2100, with Irish categorised as ‘definitely endangered’ by Unesco. When languages are lost, swathes of history, culture and knowledge vanish with them. Across the globe, linguists and locals collaborate to save languages through educational programmes, written records, and a passing down of language from generation to generation.

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The next morning, these apocalyptic visions are far from the minds of Oideas Gael’s students. One describes it as a holiday hotspot, returning each year to meet new people and have fun. Others share the sentiment, cherishing Glencolumbkille’s peaty mountain trails and chippy van. 

Though some have familial links to Irish – one mother is learning so she can speak with her children who attend an Irish-language school – many have no such ties. Those with no Irish ancestry were drawn here by their love of Irish letters and lyrics. One student from Dublin summarises it aptly: “We don’t think of this as saving a dying language. We’re just here for the craic, like.”

Ronan O Dochartaigh, the centre’s language director, shares this vision. “People do work hard in our classrooms, but we want them to have fun. We want them to go home associating the language with good times and positive feelings,” he says. “When people leave, we often point them to groups in their areas, so they can continue speaking Irish.”

He mentions how difficult it can be to practise speaking Irish, especially for international students. Over the course of a week, learners create communities that make practice easier. The centre hopes these communities will extend beyond its walls, carried across the sea and into online meet-ups. Though these are small groups, they can blossom into scattered enclaves of Irish culture. 

Many of the centre’s students wince when asked about mandatory Irish study in school. They remember pressure, tedium and hefty piles of homework. Now, though, the language is a valued part of their hobbies, personal lives and holiday plans. At Oideas Gael, tourism becomes part of a national effort to conserve the past while making Irish appealing to the modern world.

Ronan describes a “gradual, positive shift” in attitudes towards Irish, in part thanks to the centre’s work. But could other endangered languages benefit from similar programmes? Historically, tourism has done more to undermine than protect Indigenous cultures. In 2022, workers at a luxury hotel in Tulum, Mexico, protested when their bosses banned them from speaking Mayan. Elsewhere, hotels have banned staff from speaking Welsh and Tibetan. The relationship between tourism and minority languages is still developing, and it isn’t always as positive as at Oideas Gael.

We sing Báidín Fheilimí again on the final evening of the week. The singers are more confident and emotional after a week of study. Nerves have given way to excitement, and though this is a sort of farewell, it seems to point to a future of enthusiastic Irish study.

To wrap up the week, each class gives a group performance. Some sing songs. Others read poems. The last group stages a traditional wake. One man lies on a rickety desk, while a serene line of mourners pass, muttering tributes in impeccable grammar.

He lies still for a long time after the mourners have gone. He gets a few laughs, shifting, as time passes, into bemused concern. Finally, he stands. He bows, thanking the group. The students depart. Some drive to late flights; others gather in the pub. Though they won’t save the language on their own, they carry friendships, phrases and melodies that may help to keep it aflame. After all, Is fearr Gaeilge bhriste ná Béarla cliste (Broken Irish beats clever English).

Chris Poole is a member of The Big Issue’s Breakthrough programme.

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