I thought I’d take the time today to answer a question I know I’ll have to address eventually. I figured I might as well address it in broad daylight (so to speak).
When applying for the Junior Fellowship, students are told to create their own application. There are no forms to fill out, just an empty page and your imagination. What will you do? How will you do it? What is the significance of the project? Explaining what I’d do was straightforward enough, and my means were hardly out of the ordinary (except for the propeller plane ride). I was surprised to find that explaining the project’s significance wasn’t too difficult, as my “audience” most likely appreciated the importance of linguistic diversity in the first place:
“As the famous (or, to some, infamous) linguist Noam Chomsky once said: “Language is the DNA of culture.” Indeed, the roots of a single word can reveal volumes about the origins of an entire group of persons [I’ve omitted my etymological example to prevent snores] Even when a dead language has a rich literature, without auditory cues we are left with a less than complete understanding of the culture that language describes (imagine if modern humans knew what Classical Latin sounded like!). Ultimately, although a particular ethnic group may be unaffected by the extinction of its language, the loss will always leave humanity poorer.”
So, only one question remained: “What will you learn from your project?”
Well, I’ve mentioned a bit about Manx’s history. Manx went completely extinct for 15 to 20 years, during which only one or two people (such as Brian Stowell and Adrian Caine) learned the language from older, native speakers. No one spoke it to one another, and the adults of Brian’s generation claimed that Manx was “never a proper language.” Starting in the 90s, Brian started offering Manx classes. Only one or two people were interested every year, but Brian never gave up.
Then, one day in 1996, twenty people showed up at his door wanting to learn Manx. The next day, fifteen more. He went directly to a local high school to convince the board to allow him to teach Manx as an elective class. The board, assuming that few children would sign up, agreed. Much to the board’s surprise, only two students in the school didn’t want to learn Manx.
From that day onward, the entire Island buzzed with excitement. Adults who had never heard a word of Manx in their life greeted one another with typical Manx greetings. Brian told me that even the most disaffected of teenage goths (back when that fad still existed) wanted nothing more than to get their hands on a book about Manx. So, naturally, what did I want to learn from my project: “What the hell happened?”
Short answer: No idea. By all accounts, an Island changed it’s mind one night. My Independent Study Project will essentially be a deeper investigation into this phenomenon.
So, if I didn’t learn that, what did I learn?
I learned that there are islands full of friends waiting to be made. I learned that you’re better off predicting the weather from the seagulls than you are from the television. I learned that he places worth visiting are the ones with the “Do Not Enter” signs in front of them. That the world is bigger in some parts of the world than in others. That sometimes, islands change their minds overnight.
Today, I start my work at UCLA’s NPI building where I’ll be writing software in a brain scanning laboratory. So, the Manx chapter of my summer is closed. Of course, my Independent Study has yet to begin, and I’m sure I’ll revisit the Island many, many times in my life. In some ways, it feels like I never left. But for now, thank you for for following along throughout the whole adventure. I’ll be continuing to post updates following the work I do at UCLA, and I hope you’ll all check in from time to time!
Also, for those of you who enjoy pictures, you can check out my flickr!
