In one way or another, the standard language based on the North-Estonian dialect had established itself by the first half of the 20th century, orally, in writing and in literature. An educated person spoke that language, and therefore so did all South-Estonians who considered themselves educated or were considered as such by others. They accepted this requirement as a (pleasant, unpleasant, indifferent) fact of life and covered themselves with the language until they got lost in it. However, in most cases, they betrayed, by their accent, that their standard language, this foreign tongue familiar to everybody, had in fact a deeper foundation. The same of course happened with North-Estonian dialects and their speakers, but it is not my concern here to discuss their problems in detail, or anyway not more than is necessary to compare my own linguistic joys and worries. This status quo had developed by the end of the first period of Estonian independence. Although abounding with intellectuals and overproducing them as well, Estonia - a country briefly enjoying independence - nevertheless was a rural country. There were few amongst those who spoke the standard language who did not have their parental homes in the country, or who were not connected to the land through their relations. The country stood firm, keeping its language, proudly, even arrogantly. Would that status quo have changed regardless of political catastrophes? It seems so if we compare ourselves with Finland, which avoided the catastrophe that befell us, maintained its independence and managed to rid itself of the status quo. This is how it was, but when and how did the South-Estonian problem become a "damned problem"? Or was it budding already in the Estonian period, or even earlier when today's Estonia and Latvia were split into three Baltic Sea gubernyias: Courland, Livonia and Estonia? Or maybe it was there before, when the Latgals squeezed themselves between the Livonian and Ugala people? And finally, what constitutes the damnation of a "damnation"? Let us simplify the problem and ask more directly: when and how did the famous Võru pluck and pride turn into a feeling of shame and inferiority? And since we have started, let us inquire further: is it going to get deeper or vanish, together with the language? Or vice versa, is it obvious that a turn can happen or has already happened, or at least started? We can ask that about the whole of South-Estonia and its people. But firstly I do not know other parishes and their inhabitants as well as I know the parishes of Old Virumaa together with their people, and secondly, Võrumaa is the concentrate of everything South-Estonian, where all the peculiarities and extremes are represented. Only in Old Võrumaa is it possible to say today (it was at least possible two years ago), in humiliation, with typical Võru pluck, proudly (i.e. after being humiliated): "I have never spoken the Võru language in my life." This sentence, uttered in Võru language, comes so close to the damned problem that it almost constitutes an answer to the above-mentioned questions; I can only explain it. The sentence that denies itself with its intonation and accent, is said in the language of Friedebert Tuglas [1886-1971, writer and literary scholar - ed.], the difference being only in the content. During Tuglas' heyday we hadn't yet reached the depths of our humiliation (we were still standing at the edge) not quite ready to deny our language, to proclaim it as non-existent. An analogy with the American South and North is not valid here only because South-Estonia, i.e. North Livonia, was once part of a non-homogeneous Livonia split between two languages, where only the German language, which the "country" did not speak, united them. Fighting for Livonia's independence was therefore not an option, hence the reference to Latgals. When a South-Estonian has arranged his life so that he cannot even remember his language, unless he makes a conscious effort to do so, he sits deep in his subconscious and there is no knowing how he can get out. It is easier to say when: when it was decided to destroy the language and ban it at schools, when it was officially derided. However, this is not the main thing. The main problem is that the country, which is immune to all constraints and insults, was destroyed, the farms broken up and people, especially the young, were forced to move to towns. There Võro people were compelled to speak the standard language, which sounded rather peculiar, so that they immediately found themselves ridiculed. The only solution was to eliminate or cover up the peculiarity as much as possible. Hide one's language. The realisation forced upon people was this: you can't get anywhere with your own language, it weighs heavily upon your back like a millstone, your feet get caught in it, and so it must be removed. You must speak a language that gets you on in life. The slogan we keep repeating, and which will become increasingly effective, may one day well turn against itself when we reach a situation where we are and want to be Europeans in the direct sense of the word, i.e. free to move, study and work in whatever place westwards; the "country" where we want to be citizens is not available to Estonian-speakers: the Estonian language takes us nowhere. Everybody now aspires to pure and accent-free English, which is replacing standard Estonian. If we no longer have any choice and must be English-speakers, but still want to be ourselves too, it doesn't really matter whether, deep down, we are Võru-speakers or Estonian-speakers. Only then the Võru (and South-Estonian) spirit might establish itself once again, and the Võru pluck, so far suppressed and distorted, can regain its rightful position and become clearly visible, and it won't matter whether we speak English with an Estonian or a Võru accent - it will be equally strange. The difference between them will disappear in the ocean of English-speaking accents that today represent international English, so much so that the philosopher Michael Dummett was right to say that English is the most endangered language in the world. Considering this, it doesn't matter one iota which accent we use to destroy this language: Estonian, Võru, Latvian, Portuguese, Tibetan or Swahili.

Madis Kõiv (1929), physicist, writer, philosopher, essayist, painter. In his work he joins analytical philosophy, scientific absolute truth, constant doubt and assiociativity. A major part of his work delver into public and social memory and problems of remembering.