THE LANGUAGE — A MIRROR OF THE NATION

Annotation

This article analyzes the role of language in human life and society, its close connection with thinking, culture, and history. The function of language as a medium that reflects the spirit of a nation, its developmental stages, societal significance, and its status in the era of globalization are examined from a scientific perspective. Furthermore, the intrinsic interrelationships between language and thought, language and culture, and language and social consciousness are explored.

Keywords:

language, nation, thinking, culture, communication, globalization, identity, society, values.

Introduction

Language is the most important tool that expresses the historical and cultural wealth of every nation. Through language, values, traditions, knowledge, and experiences are passed from one generation to the next. It is not only a means of communication, but also a mirror that reflects a people’s identity, worldview, and intellectual level. In today’s process of globalization, the disappearance of many national languages makes the issue of preserving and developing language even more urgent. Therefore, this article provides an in-depth analysis of the social, cultural, psychological, and philosophical aspects of language.

Main Body

Language is a system of symbols that serves to establish communication between people, exchange ideas, and transmit knowledge, culture, and emotions. Its most essential form is spoken speech, although it also exists in written form, gestures, numbers, and other formats. Language is a tool for expressing thought, through which a person understands the world, reflects on it, and shares their ideas with others.

Language reflects the identity of each nation. Every language embodies the spiritual world, worldview, values, customs, and history of its people. Therefore, to preserve a language means to preserve national identity, cultural wealth, and historical heritage. As the cultural memory of a nation, language is transmitted from generation to generation.

The primary functions of language include:

Communicative (communication)

Nominative (naming)

Expressive (expressing emotions)

Cognitive (means of thinking)

Socialization (adapting to society)

Cultural memory

Each of these functions makes language an inseparable part of human life.

Language develops continuously like a living organism. New words emerge, while old ones become obsolete. Social changes, technological progress, and globalization directly impact language. In the era of globalization, many languages are under threat of extinction. Therefore, each nation must respect and protect its own language.

Language and thought are closely intertwined. Language serves as a tool for expressing thought. Human thinking is reflected in language, and language enriches thought. Through language, a person becomes self-aware, finds their place in society, expresses their ideas, and communicates with others. Thus, language is the most crucial feature distinguishing humans from other beings.

By deeply studying language, a person not only understands their own culture but also the cultural wealth of other nations. Language fosters mutual understanding, cooperation, and respect. Neglecting language leads to moral decline, historical disconnect, and loss of identity.

Conclusion

In conclusion, language is the spiritual mirror of a nation. It embodies historical, cultural, and intellectual wealth, and serves as a means of preserving national identity. Language is the greatest treasure of a people, through which their cultural heritage, worldview, and intellectual level are manifested. Preserving and developing language and passing it correctly to future generations is the historical duty and moral responsibility of every conscious citizen.

Especially in today’s world, where globalization, the expansion of the digital information field, and the influence of foreign languages are increasing, paying attention to one’s mother tongue becomes even more important. Language is not just a tool for communication, but a reflection of a nation’s soul, spirituality, and thought.

Language is both the product of human thought and a means of shaping social consciousness. It preserves the historical memory of a nation and serves as a spiritual-cultural bridge between generations. In this sense, the attitude towards language reflects the attitude toward the nation. If a nation loses its language, it may lose its identity, history, culture, and even its independence.

The Uzbek language is an independent language with a unique phonetic system, rich vocabulary, and broad expressive capacity, supported by a thousand-year-old written tradition. Thinkers such as Babur, Alisher Navoi, Ogahi, and Furqat created literary works in this language and elevated it to the language of science and culture. Especially Alisher Navoi, through his works, deeply revealed the potential of the Uzbek language and brought it to global recognition.

In modern times, the status of the mother tongue is being solidified at the state level. According to Article 4 of the Constitution of the Republic of Uzbekistan, the Uzbek language is the state language. This provides a legal foundation for its development and full use in all areas. In today’s era of information and communication technology, it is essential that young people, especially students, develop a conscious attitude toward language, adhere to the norms of literary language, and enhance their ability to express themselves fluently and logically in their native language. This is not only a matter of personal development but also a vital factor in the progress of the nation.

Language unites people, preserves history, values, and experiences. Therefore, through studying, developing, and enriching language, not only culture but the entire nation rises. This directly contributes to spiritual revival, the formation of a strong civil society, and the preservation of national independence.

In short, our native language is the foundation of our identity and the essential reflection of our spirit. Valuing, protecting, and developing it is the moral duty of every individual.

References

G‘afurov, N. Language and Thinking. Tashkent: UzMU Publishing, 2019.

Jo‘rayev, O. Speech and Society. Samarkand, 2020.

Karimov, I. High Spirituality — Invincible Power. Tashkent, 2008.

Mahmudov, N., Yusupov, Sh. Uzbek Language. Tashkent: National Encyclopedia of Uzbekistan, 2017.

Official Publications of UNESCO and LSA (Linguistic Society of America):

www.unesco.org (http://www.unesco.org/), www.linguisticsociety.org (http://www.linguisticsociety.org/)

Nilufar Mo’ydinova was born in Qo‘shtepa district of Fergana region, Republic of Uzbekistan. She graduated from the Uzbek State University of World Languages. She currently works as a manager at the “Fair Print” Typography Service. Her articles have been published in the newspaper Bekajon.

Dear Mother

You brought me into the world with hardship, dear mother

Sleepless at nights, whenever I was in pain

I know I still trouble you even now

But, mother, I love you

You have suffered so much because of me

But unlike others, you never gave me reproach

Protecting and cherishing me until now

You care for me even when you’re in pain

Your love overflows in your beautiful heart

You always remember the good I have done

Sadly, you have suffered much from me

Forgive me, dear mother, pardon me

Dilnoza Islomova is from Turtkul district in the Republic of Karakalpakstan. She’s currently a high school student and a future poet, who started writing small poems from a young age. She has read many books and is a curious girl who never stops growing and applies herself in every field.

Scavenging Peaches in the Dark

My flashlight encircles some peaches

on the orchard grass. Most are impeccable,

although smaller than what sells in stores.

“Seconds” they are called;

too small for market, left behind by farmers.

Where there is a broken bruise,

the ants are taking their share.

The firm fruit, I place in a shipping bag.

The black fabric blends with the moonlessness

beneath the shushing leaves.

The trees, the nocturnal insects, my shoes,

we all smell of sugars. Yellow orange pubescence

rolls in the dry lawn where Mexican migrants worked.

In other rows, downed seconds rot.

The ants are taking their share.

There is no white mold yet, no syrup brown bruises.

A pink cut is open, yellow sunlight pours out.

Hundreds of stars stored banked photosynthesis

and now my flashlight finds coins of the realm.

Elsewhere, food prices soar.

Here are the ants, taking their share.

Scavenging Peaches in the Sunlight

I refuse to swipe peaches from the trees.

The Mexican migrants worked these rows already.

What they left behind, on the ground,

are small orange fires as hot as the sunlight.

I fill a bag. The peaches begin to bruise themselves

by their own touches, so used they are

to hanging alone on a firm stem swept only by wind.

I refuse to swipe peaches from the trees.

No crop failure is because of me.

Sunlight pours everywhere. The shade is heatwave.

The breeze is heatwave. Soil is heatwave.

Sunlight envelops my honesty with brightness,

but there are no witnesses.

There are precious few tractors harvesting this year.

A trade war bankrupts farmers.

Scavengers survive by honesty, broadened by daylight,

the kind of honesty that has no witnesses.

Canadian writer and farmer Terry Trowbridge has appeared in Synchronized Chaos before! He is thankful to the Ontario Arts Council for their writing grants.

tell the truth

drink enough whiskey

and those bleary eyes

will tell the truth

you always wanted

to grow up and be

coltrane but were

never man enough

for the needle

get lost in the rhythm

of the long lost suicidal

dance of cursed lovers

the mirror tells you

all you need to know

alone is your destiny

you know it, just don’t

want to believe it

tough shit boy

genes at the bottom

of the pool don’t get

to be great

you get to clean toilets

pick the vegetables

or bury the dead

don’t worry, you’ll

never have the money

for anything you will

want

————————————————–

mischief

i lurk in the shadows

peek out the front

window to see what

mischief is happening

across the street

youth really is wasted

on the young

another bottle of vodka

for the floor

these are the nights

where you dream

about a bathtub

full of blood

depravity never hit

like this in your 20’s

start taking care of

the dying and watch

all your friends fall

out of love and get

divorced and you’ll

quickly understand

the underside of

a coin

if someone dares

to marry me

they will stumble

upon these poems

and realize anyone

can make a fucking

mistake

———————————————————

dana

you are the first one

in years to make me

feel like there is a

reason to wade

through all this

shit for yet another

day

i count the days

until we can finally

meet

fall in love again

do everything we

wanted for the first

time

set the world on fire

and go live our truth

of course,

being the old man

i don’t have as long

to live as you surely

hope

the beauty of the

urgency of now

—————————————————–

linger

sometimes the pages

will bleed

pain so visceral

that the stains

linger until they

envelop your

soul

religion left you

naked and alone

yet you still had

to pull yourself

up with no

bootstraps

te amo

we were destined

for failure

but never shied

away from giving

a middle finger

to the world

burn the bridges

never look back

nostalgia is only

there to hold you

in place

dare to be

uncomfortable

and embrace

the pain

——————————————————–

the digital void

faceless lovers in

the digital void

my love rests

in these arms

for the final

time

must reboot to

see all the good

stuff

who wants ice

cream

who wants to

see a dead body

let’s go dancing

with a train

i once slept in

a graveyard

hoping to hear

the dead

i believe they

have an app

for that now

insulated and

safe from pain

i guess life has

fucking passed

me by

it was bound

to happen 

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is currently trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape. He has been widely published over the years, most recently at The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine, Misfit Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy and Yellow Mama. His new book, to live your dreams, might be unleashed upon the world soon. You can find him most days betting on soccer and baseball. He still has a blog, but rarely has the time to write anything in it. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Unbearable Bearable 

So it began the unbearable bearable

construction on our avenue

November to April

replacement of gas pipes

started with the hushed posting

of no parking signs

Rumbling of diesel engine

air horn sounding

flashing lights

whisky voice on speaker

attention residents

move your cars or they will be towed!

Then … cutting blade grinding, motor

repetitive, a plaintive sound of destruction

staccato of the beep of the backhoe

Cement cutters up and down the avenue

shrill of the cutting blade, grinding of motor

repetitive and then the beep beep beep of the

backhoe backing up scooping up brick mortar

asphalt. Insistent scraping along curb line, dig dig

dig. Scoop up, percussive dump at end of avenue

on and on all day long up and down

Until….

The bucket picks up the pile, bit by bit

howling into the back of the dump truck

once, twice, thrice, multiple times. Trucks

grinding engine, slamming of bed door

over and over through the day, then a

dulcet sound returns until next morning

when the tow truck sounds again…

And again… day after day

Until …

Stacks of pipe placed along curb line

fill with blowing debris and autumn

leaves. Dirt and sand piles appear at the

end the street, small hills atop the

now battered avenue and in winters wind

sand and dirt batter houses and cars. Then

the pipes are placed, lawns dug up for

connection and gas turned off and after 8

hours in the cold of winter, gas turned on.

And so…

The original flyer said there would be a

community meeting and all would be

restored as it was before construction.

Until…

There was no meeting, brick lined gutters

paved over, hack cement jobs replaced

broken sidewalks and curbs, asphalt patches

and pot holes on avenue … and the lawns

left with craters and dirt.

Unbearable bearable it is over.

 g emil reutter is a writer of poems and stories. He can be found at: https://gereutter.wordpress.com/about/

THEN WHEN

Ahmed Miqdad 

Gaza

They are all my brothers and sisters— and yet I am desperate and exhausted, facing my fate, left alone. 

They are billions — a few raise their voices in protest, while the majority stands by, passive, silent, and complicit as I am ethnically cleansed, deliberately slaughtered, and systematically starved to death. 

All the while, the powerful remain almost completely silent, suppressing justice and truth beneath the weight of weaponized lies and propaganda. 

My brothers and sisters are everywhere —like distant stars with fading light, as if long extinguished in the course of history.  

My brothers and sisters in humanity: Be like a tremendous tornado — shake the hearts of those in power and eradicate injustice and inhumanity. 

Do not be like a gentle river, that never floods the occupied land with justice, so that equality and peace may finally grow on that long, violently parched soil. 

Be like an erupting volcano — make the powerful hear your thunderous voice, and make your impact on this earth be felt. 

My dear fellow humans, if you don’t act now — then when?

Somewhere Between. 

*For John Dorsey. 

The dusk and the blanket of night, 

the temptation and trepidation, 

the aromatic handful of fries  

and the grease stained takeaway carton,

the ageing and the attrition, 

the nostalgia and the cautious optimism – 

we write, 

because it’s either that, or go crazy.

The BB Gun War of 2004. 

The greatest shot 

of the BB gun war 

of 2004 – 

was a complete fluke. 

One that at I’d FIRED 

from the top of the stairs,

at my brother who 

was hiding

under my dad’s chair 

reloading,

in the kitchen 

as our old man 

ate leftover lasagne. 

It sailed through 

the air and tiny square on 

the back of the chair 

to pierce flesh. 

Nobody appreciating 

the chances. 

of the shot connecting 

even if I’d tried, 

especially not my dad,

who’d just been shot 

straight in the arse.

A Memory of Basque Summer Rain. 

Sat at the desk, listening to thunder, 

drinking cheap wine – 

once again, I was the boy that nobody 

owned and I was alone in every sense 

that evening.

Through the window – 

a lightning bolt hit the ground and 

illuminated the tops of the palm trees – 

another storm having rolled in off 

The Bay of Biscay. 

The swing windows tapped against the wall, 

the stiff latch mysteriously undoing itself 

once again that evening – 

which only added to the strange series 

of events that had unfolded in that flat. 

I continued to sit there, waiting on both 

something and nothing, 

swearing that the lightning bolts outside 

were inching ever closer – 

certain that change was coming with them.

Why I Took Down The Dreamcatcher.   

I no longer dream about 

the one who got away, 

or the sinking mud that I’d fall into alone 

in that beautiful forest – 

where I’d eventually go down in awe, 

staring up at a cloudless sky. 

Yet, I see now that those dreams 

were the ones that I truly felt alive – 

with everything else 

feeling like a night shift where life 

passes idly by. 

Gwil James Thomas is a poet, novelist and inept musician. He lives in his home town of Bristol, England, but has also lived in London, Brighton and Spain. His second poetry collection The P45 Power Ballad is available from Yellow King Press and his nineteenth chapbook of poetry Until The Autumnal Sundown is forthcoming from Two Key Customs. Some of his poetry has been archived by The National Poetry Library in the UK. He is part English, part Welsh and part wolf. IG: @gwiljamesthomas.