Language loss is often regarded as a natural result of modernisation or globalisation. It is said that communities simply ‘advance’, leaving behind their native languages for those that promise economic and social advantages.
Such rationales are deeply unconvincing. They obscure the historical and political forces that determine linguistic hierarchies. Researchers and theorists like American linguists Joshua A Fishman, Lenore A Grenoble and Lindsay J Whaley, and M Paul Lewis and Gary F Simons have introduced important methodologies for understanding language loss and endangerment. However, when these are read through a decolonial perspective, particularly through the work of American scholars Eve Tuck and K Wayne Yang, Canadian theorists Glen Sean Coulthard and Canadian indigenous scholar Taiaiake Alfred, it becomes clear that languages do not simply disappear naturally but are pushed to the margins by systems of power.
Fishman states in his book ‘Reversing Language Shift’ that the survival of a language mostly depends on “intergenerational transmission”. Fishman asserts that once a language ceases to be spoken in the home its decline accelerates rapidly.
Fishman’s framework, however, leaves an important question unanswered: why does this transmission break down in the first place? Why do parents choose not to speak their own language to their children? Fishman identifies the decline but does not fully explain its deeper causes.
Hence, the work of Tuck and Yang becomes critical. They argue in their article ‘Decolonization is Not a Metaphor’ that colonialism is not merely a symbolic or cultural phenomenon. It is a material structure rooted in control, power and land. When applied to language, this reveals that language loss is not merely about choice or preference. Rather, it is shaped by economic pressures, state policies and education systems that privilege certain languages over others. What appears as ‘natural’ is often the result of deeply unequal conditions.
Grenoble and Whaley, in their book ‘Saving Languages: An Introduction to Language Revitalization’, move closer to this theory by proposing an ‘ecological’ model of language loss and endangerment. They state that language loss cannot be understood in isolation but rather is the product of many interacting factors such as political power, demographic shifts, education systems, economic change and social attitudes. Their method is especially useful because it situates language within a broader ecological framework.
Even this ecological model, however, requires further digging. As Tuck and Yang remind us, the “environment” in which languages exist is structured by power. Similarly, Coulthard states in his book ‘Red Skin, White Masks’ that colonial domination often persists through the “politics of recognition”. States may recognise and celebrate minority cultures and languages, but this recognition is often superficial, failing to challenge the underlying structures that maintain inequality.
This means that a state may promote cultural diversity rhetorically while continuing to operate its schools, courts, and bureaucracies exclusively in dominant languages, as is the case in Pakistan, where Urdu and English are the dominant languages. Indigenous languages are thus confined to the private sphere and are deprived of institutional power. Coulthard helps us understand that such arrangements are not unintentional. They are part of a broader system that sustains colonial hierarchies while masking them under the language of inclusion and equality.
Lewis and Simons, in their article ‘Assessing Endangerment: Expanding Fishman’s GIDS’, provide another important contribution through the Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (EGIDS). This model helps researchers classify languages by their level of vitality – from vigorous to nearly extinct. It is a useful tool for documentation, comparison and policy planning.
Yet, EGIDS remains largely descriptive. It tells us where a language stands, but not how it got there. A decolonial perspective would caution against relying too heavily on such classifications. This way, as Tuck and Yang suggest, there is a danger in turning living, breathing languages into objects of measurement while ignoring the structures that have endangered them. Similarly, Coulthard argues that recognition of a language’s endangered status does not necessarily translate into meaningful change.
Taiaiake Alfred offers a more transformative perspective, stating in his book ‘Peace, Power, Righteousness: An Indigenous Manifesto’ that true Indigenous ‘resurgence’ cannot be achieved through mere inclusion within dominant systems. Instead, it requires a fundamental reclamation of indigenous ways of being, knowing and relating. Language is not simply a tool of communication; it is the foundation of identity, ethics and worldview.
Alfred’s argument pushes us beyond the idea of language ‘preservation’ towards the more powerful concept of language ‘resurgence’. Preservation often means keeping a language alive in limited, controlled contexts. By contrast, resurgence implies restoring the language as a living and dynamic force within the community. It involves reconnecting language with land, culture, memory and collective dignity.
By bringing these perspectives together, a more complete understanding of language loss emerges. Fishman explains the mechanism of decline, particularly the breakdown of intergenerational transmission. Grenoble and Whaley explain the ecological conditions that contribute to this decline. Lewis and Simons provide tools for measuring the extent of language endangerment. But Tuck and Yang unfold the colonial structures underlying these processes. Coulthard exposes the limitations of symbolic recognition. And Alfred directs the entire discussion toward Indigenous resurgence and self-determination.
In contexts such as northern Pakistan, this integrated perspective is essential. Language use here is not merely a matter of individual choice. It is shaped by historical and structural forces: colonial legacies, centralised state policies, educational systems that exclude local languages and economic pressures that reward linguistic assimilation. These forces build a hierarchy in which some languages are associated with progress and power while others are seen as backward and irrelevant.
Understanding this reality reshapes our fundamental question. Instead of asking how to save endangered languages, we must ask why these languages became endangered in the first place. We must also ask what kinds of political, social and educational transformations are necessary to create conditions in which these languages can thrive.
Fishman’s emphasis on the family remains foundational. Without transmission at home, no language can survive. But without addressing the broader structures identified by Grenoble and Whaley, and without confronting the colonial dynamics argued by Tuck and Yang and Coulthard, such efforts may remain limited. And without Alfred’s notion of resurgence, revitalisation merely becomes a technical and academic exercise rather than a transformative and dynamic process.
Languages do not die naturally. They are marginalised, devalued, displaced and often deliberately undermined. To support their survival, we must move beyond documentation and preservation and engage with deeper questions of power, justice and self-determination.
The writer heads an independent organisation dealing with education and development in Swat. He can be reached at: [email protected]
