Borderless economy throws a lifeline to endangered Thai dialects

BANGKOK — An ensemble of traditional musicians begins to play. The treble sound of the oboe gets louder. Drum rolls accompany a steady rhythm of cymbals. A male singer croons in an obscure dialect, “Oh, Ga Nobe Ting Tong ...”.

A group of four women clad in shiny eggshell-coloured silk blouses and red sarongs dance along. They slide their legs from left to right, then right to left, weaving their arms in the air — like dancing mantises.

The hall is filled with curious audiences who gather annually for Mother Language Day on Feb 21.

“Ga Nobe Ting Tong” means mantis in the Khmer Thin Thai dialect, which is spoken by 1.4 million descendants of Khmer migrants in Thailand’s north-eastern provinces of Buri Ram, Si Sa Ket and Surin. It is also the name of a traditional performance in the lower part of the north-east that associates a dancing mantis and singing about flirtation. Singers may invent their own lyrics.

Khmer Thin Thai is among the languages endangered in Thailand, as the younger generation abandons them for the dominant Thai language. But growing cross-border trade and tourism may change that, providing opportunities for young ethnic people who can understand the languages of neighbouring countries.

For some, their mother tongues now simultaneously connect them to their ethnic roots as well as the modern world.

Among the musicians on stage, the youngest, Peerapat Pama, 17, takes part in his mother-tongue performance with pride. But Peerapat’s younger sister avoids speaking the dialect even at home.

She worries that her ethnic dialect will influence her Thai, which also means being looked down on by her peers.

In the siblings’ home village in Ban Prue in Surin’s Prasat district, just 56km from the Thai-Cambodian border, the family earns a fair income by growing rice and raising mulberry silkworms. Some villagers do not teach their children the Khmer Thin Thai dialect, expecting them to assimilate into Thai society.

“Maybe our next generation will forget about our mother tongue despite the advantages it gives us,” says Peerapat. “It allows us to communicate with people across the border.”

The Khmer Thin Thai dialect helps speakers understand Cambodia’s standard language, a benefit that will open opportunities to Peerapat when he graduates.

Thai-Cambodian border trade is worth an estimated US$4.4 billion (S$6.2 billion) annually, according to the Department of Trade Negotiations.

According to the United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (Unesco), one language dies every 14 days. Half of the 7,000 languages and dialects spoken in the world today will likely disappear as communities abandon them for official languages. This means the loss of knowledge, history and culture. A study by Mahidol University’s Research Institute for Languages and Cultures of Asia (Rilca) found 14 languages in Thailand on the brink of extinction, mainly because they have no written form — including the languages of the Maniq and Mlabri (forest dwellers in the southern and northern regions respectively), Nyah Kur (an ethnic group in the lower northern and north-eastern provinces) and Song (an ethnic group in the East).

Local dialects spoken by regional populations, such as Lanna in the north, Isan in the north-east and dialects in the south, are also facing challenges.

Although the young generation retain their regional accents, many unique local words have disappeared, replaced by words from the central region that form the basis of the official Thai language. Many young ethnic people abandon their own languages because of a feeling of embarrassment.

In the mid-20th century, as South-east Asian nations threw off the shackles of colonialism, governments used linguistic nationalism to create unity.

Indonesia, with over 13,000 islands and 600 languages and dialects, promoted Bahasa Indonesia to create a sense of identity after gaining independence from the Dutch.

Thailand, the only South-east Asian realm to maintain its independence, pursued a policy of promoting Thainess, imposing the language of the central region across the country in a bid to create a distinct national identity.

In the deep south, where locals have been forced to use Thai and prohibited to speak Melayu and Yawi in public schools, there has been some violent resistance.

Some Thais still look down on people speaking Isan — a language very similar to Lao. Ethnic children often struggle with the language barrier and become slow learners at government schools.

“Only the Thai language will survive because it’s the language of the rulers. Thai education is managed by making every place homogenised,” says linguistics expert Professor Emeritus Suwilai Premsrirat of Mahidol University.

“Studying in Thai is necessary for children. But the government should also respect local dialects. Giving children the opportunity to learn in their local dialect in school (together with Thai) will allow them to do a lot of things.”

Among the benefits of using a mother tongue is passing on knowledge on culture and crafts. For instance, the So Thavung ethnic community in Sakon Nakhon produces indigo-dyed fabrics and weaves mattresses, with techniques passed down for generations. Around 1,000 So Thavung live in Thailand.

For over a decade, Prof Suwilai and her research team have worked with ethnic groups to restore endangered languages by using the Thai alphabet to record the vocabulary of local dialects.

This process requires cross-generational involvement — the elderly who cannot write but possess a rich vocabulary in the local dialect, middle-aged people who can communicate with the elderly and know Thai, and young people who can write the Thai alphabet but know little about the local dialect.

After several decades of assimilations, some young ethnic people have started to question their identity, turning back to their mother tongues in hopes of finding their place in the modern world.

But “preserving languages and cultures solely for spiritual purposes is not enough”, says Rilca lecturer Mayuree Thawornpat. “Preserving languages must be about sustainability. The best way is for people to use their mother dialect to prove their value.”

Jittra Maneerod, 16, never wondered about her origin until recently when she started talking to elder members of the Nyah Kur community in Khum Dong in Thep Sathit district in Chaiyaphum.

The Nyah Kur speak an Austroasiatic language related to Mon. About 6,000 Nyah Kur dwell in Chaiyaphum, Nakhon Ratchasima and Phetchabun, the majority earning a meagre living growing cassava, chilli and sugar cane.

According to tribal folklore, a smallpox plague forced the Nyah Kur from their homeland to their present abode. They are called “Kon Dong”, meaning forest dweller, the term Thais gave to the population they consider savage.

The Nyah Kur live in peace and obtained knowledge of wild herbs from their ancestors whose lives were inextricably tied to the forest.

Two years ago, a community leader encouraged Jittra to research her mother tongue. She found it on the verge of extinction.

The research, supported by Rilca, introduced her to elderly folk who spoke the Nyah Kur dialect. She learnt traditional dances, got to know community members and her performance at school improved.

“Before I identified myself with my community, I didn’t care about my mother dialect. I spoke only Thai because I didn’t want people to call me Kon Dong,” she says. “My mother language shows that I have home. I have roots.”

But she regards language resurrection as more than restoring her ethnic identity. It is about her future, one in which she can connect to the creative economy and wider society.

“A mother language is a love language. It can build good relationships between Asean citizens. Ethnic groups can play a role as ambassadors,” says Bunchorn Kaewsong, programme director for community-based research at the Thailand Research Fund. BANGKOK POST