The Silencing of a Language: The story of Iqbal Abilov and the Talysh in Azerbaijan

Iqbal Abilov

Introduction: A Language Shut Away

What does it take for a language to vanish? Just keep it out of sight, box it in, and don't let it breathe. That's happening to Talysh in Azerbaijan today.

These are the words of Iqbal Abilov, a Talysh researcher and editor, writing from jail. He captures the feeling of how the Talysh people are pushed to the side in Azerbaijan. When Abilov spoke his language in court, it was more than just personal—it was a bold statement against this verbal imprisonment. His story shows how critical the situation is for the Talysh language, and why saving it is a matter of basic human rights.

Here are the key points of Iqbal Abilov's situation:

• Who: Iqbal Abilov, researcher and editor of Talysh National Academy News.

• What: Charged with state treason.

• Outcome: Sentenced to 18 years in prison by the Lankaran High Court for Serious Crimes, which was confirmed by the Shirvan Court of Appeal.

• Status: Recognized as a political prisoner by rights groups.

Abilov's personal trouble is closely tied to his push for his culture. By using the court to talk about his language's struggles, he pointed out a bigger problem in the system.

The Courtroom Act: Speaking Up for a Language

Iqbal Abilov's choice to speak Talysh in court was a well-thought-out, peaceful protest. He wanted to bring his language out of the shadows and show that it has a right to exist. By asking for an interpreter, he made the government face its own carelessness. He noted how people reacted badly to this, saying, If hearing Talysh in a closed courtroom bothers people, that says something sad about our society.

In a letter from prison, he made his reasons clear:

I speak Talysh not because I hate other languages, but because I'm standing up for my own.

The court's reaction said a lot. At first, the judges seemed confused. Even when they agreed to his request, it hinted at problems to come. It showed they weren't ready—or willing—to deal with one of the country's own languages in court. His act, meant to defend a right, instead revealed a major failing in the system.

When the System Fails: No One to Translate

The fact that they couldn't find a good Talysh translator wasn't just a mistake, but a sign of how the language is ignored. It was a strange situation: Abilov was being tried for treason, but the government couldn't even understand him in his own language.

Here's what happened with the translators, as Abilov explained:

1.  Lankaran High Court for Serious Crimes: The court brought in two translators, but neither could get Abilov's points across right. He had to keep correcting them, until he finally had to stop speaking Talysh altogether.

2.  Shirvan Court of Appeal: The same thing happened again. Abilov ended up being his own translator, saying things in Talysh and then repeating himself in a language the court could understand.

Abilov says the problem isn't just that the translators were bad, but that the government has made sure the language doesn't have what it needs to survive. He writes:

It's not that they don't know Talysh, but that the language is being pushed aside. There are no schools to train Talysh translators or teachers.

This lack of support isn't by chance—it's a way of keeping the language down. It makes sure that people like Abilov, who want to use the language publicly, are not only held back but punished.

Speaking Up Is a Crime: Being Called a Traitor

The government doesn't just ignore the Talysh language, it actively works to stop people from supporting it. It mixes up cultural identity with wanting to break away from the country. By saying that protecting a culture is a threat to the nation, the authorities have an excuse to silence anyone who disagrees—a common trick to squash cultural expression. Charging a researcher and editor with treason is the worst example of this.

From prison, Abilov explains how awful this policy is:

If you speak up, you might be called a 'traitor' and lose your freedom for 18 years. That makes the problem even worse.

This policy is very discouraging. By saying that defending a language is the same as treason, the government scares people into silence. It punishes those who care most about the language, which only makes it disappear faster. Iqbal Abilov's 18-year sentence is a warning to anyone who thinks about following in his footsteps.

A Fair Test: Basic Human Rights

Iqbal Abilov turns his personal fight into a universal one, arguing that it's not just about him but about the country itself. The 'punishment' I received, he writes, is a test not just for me and my family, but for our whole society. He believes that how the Talysh language is treated shows whether Azerbaijan truly believes in equality.

He asks some hard questions:

• How much do we really believe in equality and equal rights?

• Are all people and languages really equal in our eyes?

Then, he gives a tough answer, using George Orwell's famous description of how power works:

...Or, as George Orwell said: 'All are equal, but some are more equal than others'?

By quoting Orwell, Abilov shows that this isn't just a local issue, but a worldwide problem of governments saying one thing and doing another. He makes a strong point that Azerbaijan is failing to live up to its promise of equality.

What Needs to Happen

Iqbal Abilov's story proves that there's a plan to keep the Talysh language quiet. It's being erased from public life and forced between four walls. When he tried to bring it into the open, he was met with failure and punishment. The government has turned a cultural act into an act of treason.

This is a serious violation of cultural and language rights, which are protected by international agreements that Azerbaijan has signed. The punishment of people who speak up demands a strong reaction from the world.