by Antonio Napoli

It is said that an ancient community, dwelling in the heart of Africa, was destroyed to its very last member by a foreign king, a tyrant who would tolerate no opposition to his cruel will and unjust laws.
Among the many injustices imposed by his rule, one of the most intolerable was the prohibition of using their mother tongue. To the king, erasing that language was the ultimate assertion of his power. But to that people, the words of their tradition were far more than mere sounds: they were the beats of their hearts, the strength of their hands, the swiftness of their legs, the roots binding them to their land, just as trees are to the forest. Without that language, they would become barren, lost, strangers in their own homeland. And so, one by one, the inhabitants defied the edict, choosing death over silence.

One day, the foreign king faced a mother and her seven sons, young and strong, all ready to embrace martyrdom. Challenging their courage, he made one final attempt to break their spirit, offering wealth and privilege in exchange for their submission. “Renounce your language,” he commanded, “and you will save your lives.” But each of them responded in the same way, speaking in their own tongue.
The king, unable to grasp the meaning of their words, hesitated. But their bold defiance enraged him, and to avoid appearing weak, he decreed their execution.

“By saving yourselves,” he sneered, “you would have saved your people. A language cannot survive without those who speak it.”

The executioner began with the sons, cutting out their tongues before the mother’s eyes, hoping to break her spirit. Yet the woman, though overwhelmed by grief, remained silent, proud, and unyielding. Never was a family so united, even in the face of martyrdom.

Much later, the foreign king encountered a man who was fluent in many languages. The memory of that sacrifice haunted him, along with the words spoken in the forbidden tongue. He decided to have those words translated, desperate to understand what he had never grasped. The man, after listening carefully, translated as follows:
“We will not renounce our language because it is a mysterious gift. This language existed before our will; our will itself was forged by its words. Without it, our will would become enslaved, like a mouth that repeats sounds imposed by others.”

The king was deeply shaken. Those very words he had sought to erase had reached him, cutting deeper than any sword. He then ordered the man to write this story, so that the disdain for his actions might take root in the hearts of all just men.