Greetings, all/saludi, totus: I have decided to start a blog, for one month, to document my immersion process in learning to speak the Sardinian language (Sardinian, or “Sardu,” is the heritage language spoken on the Italian island of Sardinia).
The writing is mostly for me, to up the motivation and accountability factor, but also to dialogue with you and share, from the perspective of a complete novice, the challenges and triumphs of being a second-language learner studying the Sardinian language, and, more specifically, documenting the unique challenges surrounding learning a language in a colonial language context where Sardinian speakers are in the minority, and where Italian dominates most spaces of public—and increasingly private—life. Added to this, for me, is the challenge that is learning a language where English isn’t the common reference point, but Italian is, instead.
Even more specifically, I want to document here my own process of trying to simultaneously learn the two main sub-dialects of the Sardinian language, Campidanese and Logudorese, each with its own history, literature, poetry and ideologies surrounding language use, both spoken, sung and in written form.
I’ve decided to do this now to welcome in the New Year because I have the amazing luxury, living here in Sardinia for the year, to immerse myself fully for the next month before I hop on a plane to the Arabian gulf for a bit of intense cultural immersion, there.
The formal learning will take place through two, weekly classes which begin this week, both in Campidanese, and private weekly lessons with my teacher in the village, in Logudorese. The informal learning will be in more organic, everyday contexts, listening to music in Sardu, on social media, in telephone conversations, text messages, and through all the other forms in which language is transmitted.
My goal is to, in the next month, attain some basic conversational fluency in at least one variant of Sardinian. My hope is also to, as much as possible, create a full immersion language environment for myself, and to push myself to speak as much as possible, and as often as possible, in every public space that I can and with as many people as I can. I want to include both the everyday and the nitty gritty—what I learned in my language classes, what conversations came up on the street, political graffiti on castle walls of Cagliari, which verbs I am working on and songs in Sardinian I am listening to—but also larger, more philosophical reflections on what it means to be an adult language learner in this place, where so many others are also learning Sardinian as adults, and to speak to the unique vulnerabilities this brings, to the themes of language stigma, language ideology, language reclamation on this beautiful island, and the fraught relationship between Sardinian and Italian, where Sardo is now the minoritarian language in a space where it was once historically dominant.
And finally, my hope is also to be able to engage with you, friends, family, other language learners and aspiring language learners—of Sardinian, but also of other minoritarian languages—to brainstorm and support one another in creative ways to learn languages and stimulate and support language reclamation as a conscious part of immersing ourselves deeply in a given cultural context.
The writing is mostly for me, to up the motivation and accountability factor, but also to dialogue with you and share, from the perspective of a complete novice, the challenges and triumphs of being a second-language learner studying the Sardinian language, and, more specifically, documenting the unique challenges surrounding learning a language in a colonial language context where Sardinian speakers are in the minority, and where Italian dominates most spaces of public—and increasingly private—life. Added to this, for me, is the challenge that is learning a language where English isn’t the common reference point, but Italian is, instead.
Even more specifically, I want to document here my own process of trying to simultaneously learn the two main sub-dialects of the Sardinian language, Campidanese and Logudorese, each with its own history, literature, poetry and ideologies surrounding language use, both spoken, sung and in written form.
I’ve decided to do this now to welcome in the New Year because I have the amazing luxury, living here in Sardinia for the year, to immerse myself fully for the next month before I hop on a plane to the Arabian gulf for a bit of intense cultural immersion, there.
The formal learning will take place through two, weekly classes which begin this week, both in Campidanese, and private weekly lessons with my teacher in the village, in Logudorese. The informal learning will be in more organic, everyday contexts, listening to music in Sardu, on social media, in telephone conversations, text messages, and through all the other forms in which language is transmitted.
My goal is to, in the next month, attain some basic conversational fluency in at least one variant of Sardinian. My hope is also to, as much as possible, create a full immersion language environment for myself, and to push myself to speak as much as possible, and as often as possible, in every public space that I can and with as many people as I can. I want to include both the everyday and the nitty gritty—what I learned in my language classes, what conversations came up on the street, political graffiti on castle walls of Cagliari, which verbs I am working on and songs in Sardinian I am listening to—but also larger, more philosophical reflections on what it means to be an adult language learner in this place, where so many others are also learning Sardinian as adults, and to speak to the unique vulnerabilities this brings, to the themes of language stigma, language ideology, language reclamation on this beautiful island, and the fraught relationship between Sardinian and Italian, where Sardo is now the minoritarian language in a space where it was once historically dominant.
And finally, my hope is also to be able to engage with you, friends, family, other language learners and aspiring language learners—of Sardinian, but also of other minoritarian languages—to brainstorm and support one another in creative ways to learn languages and stimulate and support language reclamation as a conscious part of immersing ourselves deeply in a given cultural context.
I have always entered languages through song—through the learning of songs in Norwegian as a child, to the memorizing of Silvio Rodriguez songs in Spanish as a teenager, to learning Navajo through nursery rhymes on the Navajo Nation. Here, in Sardinia, I am not only listening to songs but also now writing songs in the Sardinian language (Campidanese and Logudorese), together with other speakers and language learners, as a way to enter into the language learning process.
If in anthropological fieldwork we use the self as an instrument of knowing, as anthropologist Sherry Ortner has written, then in my own fieldwork in Sardinia I am using my own self as both singer/songwriter and language learner, through both trial and error, as a way to more deeply know Sardinian life, language and music. In this case, this learning is literally inscribed on my body in different ways: in the shapes my mouth makes (or tries to make), in the songs I sing/shows I perform, and in the words I speak.
I’ve chosen to study both versions of Sardo simultaneously for a few different reasons: first, there are strong ideologies of difference between the two, related to history, social class, and to ideas of linguistic purity. Campidanese, for example, is disliked by many speakers of Logudorese, the prestige-variety of Sardinian spoken in the northern half of the island. For speakers of Logudorese, Campidanese is seen as more “contaminated” by Italian, less purely “Sardo,” and therefore, less “authentic.” It is also sometimes seen as more “hick” or “grezzo,” therefore holds less social status than Logudorese. This is especially true of the version of more nasal, diphthongized version of Campidanese spoken that is referred to as “Campidanese rustic” (rustic Campidanese). While speakers of Campidanese—referring to the “Campidano” or the lower lying plains of Sardegna—seem to have less strong feelings about speakers of Logudorese, they will also tell me that Campidanese is more expressive, more humorous, and, for some, better suited to theater and comedy.
But my focus on these two languages also reflects the two spaces I’ve chosen to split my time between for my year of fieldwork living in Sardinia: the central mountain village of Santu Lussurgiu, where a variant of Logudorese is spoken (Lussorzesu), and the southern coastal city of Cagliari, where many older residents speak Campidanese, but where younger residents speak primarily Italian. So, if languages offer a microcosm into cultural worlds, then the hope is that, through this learning process, I will learn more about the differences and distinctions between these two worlds through the enactment of language use in daily life, using myself as that linguistic medium.
Finally, because my own research project focuses on language stigma, linguistic (dis)citizenship and internal perceptions of difference in Sardinia, I want to understand these differences of social class as these are refracted specifically through language use, including the ways that different Sardinain identities are racialized and classified in Sardinian and also in Italian. So, here I hope to examine not only Sardinian language use, but also the stigma attached to Sardinians who speak Italian Italian with a Sardinian-inflected “accent.”
Certainly, this presents unique challenges, namely that I have twice the amount of vocabulary to keep in my head, and this at a time when I am still working on my Italian and where Italian is the language of instruction. It also means that, in the village, the only person who knows I am studying Campidanese is my language teacher, as it would likely cause dismay and even be read as a betrayal if folks knew I was studying a different version of Sardinian beyond what is spoken, there.
That’s it for now. Thank you for your interest, and for supporting the journey, and ‘til the next one—a si biri meglus (‘til we see one another again)!
If in anthropological fieldwork we use the self as an instrument of knowing, as anthropologist Sherry Ortner has written, then in my own fieldwork in Sardinia I am using my own self as both singer/songwriter and language learner, through both trial and error, as a way to more deeply know Sardinian life, language and music. In this case, this learning is literally inscribed on my body in different ways: in the shapes my mouth makes (or tries to make), in the songs I sing/shows I perform, and in the words I speak.
I’ve chosen to study both versions of Sardo simultaneously for a few different reasons: first, there are strong ideologies of difference between the two, related to history, social class, and to ideas of linguistic purity. Campidanese, for example, is disliked by many speakers of Logudorese, the prestige-variety of Sardinian spoken in the northern half of the island. For speakers of Logudorese, Campidanese is seen as more “contaminated” by Italian, less purely “Sardo,” and therefore, less “authentic.” It is also sometimes seen as more “hick” or “grezzo,” therefore holds less social status than Logudorese. This is especially true of the version of more nasal, diphthongized version of Campidanese spoken that is referred to as “Campidanese rustic” (rustic Campidanese). While speakers of Campidanese—referring to the “Campidano” or the lower lying plains of Sardegna—seem to have less strong feelings about speakers of Logudorese, they will also tell me that Campidanese is more expressive, more humorous, and, for some, better suited to theater and comedy.
But my focus on these two languages also reflects the two spaces I’ve chosen to split my time between for my year of fieldwork living in Sardinia: the central mountain village of Santu Lussurgiu, where a variant of Logudorese is spoken (Lussorzesu), and the southern coastal city of Cagliari, where many older residents speak Campidanese, but where younger residents speak primarily Italian. So, if languages offer a microcosm into cultural worlds, then the hope is that, through this learning process, I will learn more about the differences and distinctions between these two worlds through the enactment of language use in daily life, using myself as that linguistic medium.
Finally, because my own research project focuses on language stigma, linguistic (dis)citizenship and internal perceptions of difference in Sardinia, I want to understand these differences of social class as these are refracted specifically through language use, including the ways that different Sardinain identities are racialized and classified in Sardinian and also in Italian. So, here I hope to examine not only Sardinian language use, but also the stigma attached to Sardinians who speak Italian Italian with a Sardinian-inflected “accent.”
Certainly, this presents unique challenges, namely that I have twice the amount of vocabulary to keep in my head, and this at a time when I am still working on my Italian and where Italian is the language of instruction. It also means that, in the village, the only person who knows I am studying Campidanese is my language teacher, as it would likely cause dismay and even be read as a betrayal if folks knew I was studying a different version of Sardinian beyond what is spoken, there.
That’s it for now. Thank you for your interest, and for supporting the journey, and ‘til the next one—a si biri meglus (‘til we see one another again)!