Footsteps in the Clay

Footsteps in the clay Towards a new awareness for the Bildts language Gerard Marcel de Jong December 2017, Pasaia San Juan/Donostia/St.-Anne Preface In 1984, my grandfather Gerryt Dirks – the man who embodied de Bildtse Post all his life, and gave his life for the Bildts cause – had the cameras of Dutch television show ‘Van Gewest tot Gewest’ as guests in his office, on the news floor of the paper I now run. They were doing an item about the future of and threats to the Bildts language – even back then, over thirty years ago. The presenter asks him: ‘How much time do you give 't Bildts before it’s extinct?’ He smiles briefly. ‘That’s a good question…” My grandfather strokes his letter opener, looks up, ponders for a bit, and decides: ‘I give 't Bildts as long as I live.’ Since January 1st 2018, the municipality ’t Bildt has ceased to exist. After 513 years, Bildts autonomy has come to an end, dissolving into the new Waadhoeke municipality. With the disappearance of autonomy, the language and culture will come under more pressure too. Not that this is anything new: Bildts has been under pressure my whole life. Through the Oare Wurden / Other Words project, I, a Bilkert, was allowed to stay in the Spanish Basque Country last May and June. There, at the Bay of Biscay, in the proximity of San Sebastián (Donostia in Basque), I had the freedom to live and work in ‘Hugoenea’, and I witnessed how proud the Basques are of their identity, language and culture. My stay turned into a quest about identity, the universal nature of ‘ownness’, the unique of minority languages, and what one can do to protect and expand a small language as Bildts. 1 1. Threats come with opportunities The Basque Writers Association lets out Hugoenea throughout the whole year to writers who work in a minority language. ‘Hugo’s House’ is named after Victor Hugo, the French writer who was inspired by nature in this small fisherman’s village, the views across the sea, and the intrinsically good people of the Basque Country. The apartment is located at the photogenic village square. Buoyant houses, little bars, striking faces that color the local life. In the beginning, the looks were turned inward, but once the ice broke and we opened up to each other, a special bond came to life – a cultural exchange, one of giving and receiving stories about our own languages and cultures. I came to the Basque Country reasonably prepared: I read books, learned about their history, language and culture. But it’s the people who make a language, a culture and even a history, who carry it and pass it on. I left the books and stepped into their world. And it was a mutual adventure: the Basque people were eager to dive in and learn about Bildts. A whole slew of Basques – both young and old, from the ‘common man’ to the cultural elite – knows more about Bildts now than many a Dutchman. My stay in the Basque Country made me realize why the Basques are so proud of their idiosyncrasy, language and culture. I’ve seen how tirelessly they carry it out and cherish it, even when there are obstacles in the way. Donibane, the village where I stayed, is a small, tight-knit community that keeps its traditions alive, and raises a fist in unison when called upon. A village where the Ikurriña, the Basque flag, dangles from the balconies, and where graffiti on the walls (‘etxerra!’: bring them home) begs the Spanish government to allow the sons and daughters of the region – who were arrested either justly or unjustly, usually accused of ties with eTA – to be brought back to Gipúzcoa, the most Basque province. To be brought home. europe seems to be whirling into an era of post-globalization. Brussels flew too close to the sun; it went too fast for many people. ‘Unity through diversity’ is what it should have been, but perhaps the desire for unity pushed diversity to the emergency exit. Post-globalization, the stare is aimed mostly inwards again. Grievously, this seems to go hand in hand with (extreme) nationalism, xenophobia, and a severe lack of empathy and solidarity. 2 The United Kingdom chose Brexit, Italian regions want more autonomy, and of course we now see the fight for the independence of the Catalans: examples that are in themselves incomparable – the origins for each differ profusely – but have in common the advocation of (regional) identity and the protection of culture. ‘t Bildt was imposed a contrary fate by the powers that be: my municipality has ceased to exist as per January 1st 2018. After 513 years Bildts autonomy has come to an end. Dictated by The Hague, and embraced by the province and the Bildts council, the municipality dissolved into the new Waadhoeke municipality. Reasons of ‘efficiency’, ‘batting power’, ‘being able to face challenges’ have been offered: claptrap disguised as common sense to get rid of small municipalities. Now, the Basques and the Bilkerts are incomparable in nearly every way. The Basques have been through an unimaginable amount of suffering. Blood was shed and lives were lost to keep alive the pulse of their language and culture. Bilkerts have had it so much easier. We’ve not lost lives defending the right to speak our language; we’ve not been tortured, arrested and silenced. The Basques have. And they still are, just like the Catalans. I’ve met them. I’ve spoken to them. I’ve seen the impact of this oppression. You barely hear it, but it’s still happening, in 2018. We Bilkerts can count ourselves lucky that we never had to go through that ordeal. But we do fight for the same cause. At a different scale, in a different country, under a different political constellation. But our goal is shared: the preservation of Bildts and Basque. As a Bilkert, entwined with the fate of the Bildts language – the Bildts language has shaped my identity, shaped who I am – I’ve been granted a look behind the curtains of a people who do their utmost to preserve their language and guard over their own culture. Next to writing my Bildts novella ‘Blau fan dagen, griis fan ônrust’ (Blue of days, grey of unrest), a key objective of my stay was to research the question: what is identity? How can one guard and preserve a minority language? Can one fight for one’s own small language and culture and also keep an open mind – without it becoming a quest of nationalism? I myself loathe flag- waving nationalism. especially when what it boils down to is shutting out other people. I’m wholly indifferent towards the Dutch flag and national anthem. 3 But a flag, I’ve learned in the Basque Country, can mean things other than nationalism or ‘pride’ alone, as long as the context is understood, and, especially, the desire behind it. Despite all the differences between Basques and Bilkerts, it’s crystal clear that ‘identity’ and minority languages share a universal character. At the heart are aspects we both deal with and fight for – because that’s what we have to do. Half-jokingly I’ve been referred to as an ‘ambassador of Bildts’ because of my participation in this project. But it’s how I sincerely felt it, when I disseminated the Bildts language and culture in the Basque Country, knowing how many Bilkerts trusted me with that task. I’ve come to embrace that role bestowed upon me: to do for the Bildts language whatever I can do, in all modesty. With my newspaper, with poetry, with this project. Soon with literature, now already with this essay. That’s what this is all in aid of: contributing to a future for the language. The rejection of the official language status and the redivision of municipalities are a threat to Bildts, that much is clear. But that threat comes with opportunities, and maybe even a new awareness: I've seen this happening to a lot of Bilkerts over the past year. And there is fertile ground for this beautiful, stubborn, rugged, raw, romantic language. Bildts deserves a new consciousness, a new wave of emancipation, a status in a time ahead that’s full of challenges. Today, there are 6,000 people who speak this unique language. Death is the ultimate fate of a small language, but I can’t predict when the last Bildts speaking person will die. It begins and ends with us, the speakers. And its fate doesn’t mean that a language or culture can’t be supported by a government, that you can’t do anything about it because “it will disappear anyway”. There are a lot of options – as long as there’s the realization of how special the Bildts language is – first and foremost by the Bilkerts themselves. 4 2. Bermeo We’re driving along the pointy, rocky coast of the Basque Country, from Donostia (San Sebastián, in the Basque province of Gipúzcoa) to Bermeo (in the Basque Viscaya). The wind and sea have shaped this coastline over thousands of years. The elements have chosen a remarkable ‘design’: there are no straight lines. No ten metres are alike. At certain points the water streams just about far enough inland, as if it was nature’s divine plan, that, thousands of years later, in the Middle Ages, small villages could arise, sheltered from the mighty sea. Villages where fishermen could safely create a haven and a base from which to set out onto the unpredictable Gulf of Biscay, to return home with fish.

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