The song “Homay” by the folk band Ay Yola sparked heated debate among the Bashkir* people. Two opposing camps emerged: some love it and others criticize it for poor pronunciation and faulty lyrics.
We don’t know whether the band’s frontwoman Adel Shaikhitdinova uses the Bashkir language in her daily life, but it’s clear that she made every effort to achieve the most accurate Bashkir pronunciation when recording the track.
The track’s overwhelming popularity prompted some to demand Shaikhitdinova to work on her pronunciation and make her speech more “pure.”
Critics try to force the artist to follow the widely accepted set of rules used to create Bashkir traditional art. Their unmasked contempt for anything new clips the wings of contemporary creators and stifles artistic growth.
A conservative approach to preserving one’s culture isn’t inherently bad. But the entrenched idea of what «pure» Bashkir language should sound like has forced many Bashkirs who speak the language poorly to feel insecure about themselves. It also forced the speakers of many Bashkir dialects — which often deviate significantly from the widely accepted “literary” form — to feel ashamed of their “imperfect” Bashkir.
Directing a storm of criticism at producers of Ay Yola — whom the public sees as responsible for the “imperfect” pronunciation — people are glancing over a much deeper, more important issue at the core of this debate. Speaking an Indigenous language with an accent isn’t a flaw, but a sign of the times, a result of many social and historical factors that require our immediate attention.
Fewer and fewer people around me are using their native language in daily life. For many of us, Russian has become our ever-present stepmother tongue. The Bashkir language is now considered “vulnerable.” It has weakened, unable to withstand the forces that have caused people to lose interest in it.
For people like us “Homay” is not just a hit song. It is a reflection of our shared concerns for the fate of the Bashkir language.
Yes, the accent of the vocalist sparked a widespread debate — but isn’t it more important that her voice is being heard at all? Language purity matters, but far more important is the desire to use that language.
Instead of condemning someone’s “imperfect” pronunciation, let’s build an environment where any attempt to speak Bashkir is rewarded. Everyone who tries to speak Bashkir — even with mistakes — is an ally in the quest to preserve the language.
Because the survival of any language is not achieved through perfectionism, but through love.
The time has come to act: to share Bashkir with others, create in Bashkir and teach Bashkir.
Together we can bring the sound of the Bashkir language back into every home — not as an obligation, but as a source of pride.
Let’s not spend our energy on finding flaws, but focus on creating opportunities instead. Instead of pushing people away from the language, let’s inspire them to speak it.
After all, a language lives not when it is argued over — but when it is sung, joked in, and used to express love.
*The public in Bashkortostan is still divided over which adjective — “bashkir” or “bashkort” — should be used in both Russian and English. To honor the varying opinions of native speakers, From the Republics leaves the choice of an adjective to the author.