Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority languages)

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Re: Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority lan

Postby Lianne » Sun May 30, 2021 4:47 pm

nooj wrote:
(And then to have people telling me that humans are fish and I'm just supposed to go along with this logic, definitions of words be damned.)
I'm curious, do you not accept evolution?

If you accept that humans are great apes because we descend from great apes, then there's no great leap to accept that humans and also every other tetrapod on the planet (whales, dogs, birds, snakes etc) are also a kind of fish.

This seems like more of the treating me like I'm stupid. This is precisely why I backed out of this conversation before.

Of course I accept evolution. And yes I would say humans are great apes because we are literally still great apes.
The Hominidae, whose members are known as great apes or hominids, are a taxonomic family of primates that includes eight extant species in four genera: Pongo (the Bornean, Sumatran and Tapanuli orangutan); Gorilla (the eastern and western gorilla); Pan (the common chimpanzee and the bonobo); and Homo, of which only modern humans remain.


Fish are aquatic, craniate, gill-bearing animals that lack limbs with digits.


I never said we weren't descended from fish. I said we aren't fish. I'm just using words according to their actual definitions as found in any dictionary. The way people in this thread are acting like that's ridiculous is making it impossible for me to engage with them in any constructive way.
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Re: Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority lan

Postby nooj » Sun May 30, 2021 7:57 pm

Fish are aquatic, craniate, gill-bearing animals that lack limbs with digits.


If you're going to quote Wikipedia, maybe you should quote the rest of the article, because it does say that we are fish.

Fish are aquatic, craniate, gill-bearing animals that lack limbs with digits. They form a sister group to the tunicates, together forming the olfactores. Included in this definition are the living hagfish, lampreys, and cartilaginous and bony fish as well as various extinct related groups. Around 99% of living fish species are ray-finned fish, belonging to the class Actinopterygii, with over 95% belonging to the teleost subgrouping.

The earliest organisms that can be classified as fish were soft-bodied chordates that first appeared during the Cambrian period. Although they lacked a true spine, they possessed notochords which allowed them to be more agile than their invertebrate counterparts. Fish would continue to evolve through the Paleozoic era, diversifying into a wide variety of forms. Many fish of the Paleozoic developed external armor that protected them from predators. The first fish with jaws appeared in the Silurian period, after which many (such as sharks) became formidable marine predators rather than just the prey of arthropods.

Most fish are ectothermic ("cold-blooded"), allowing their body temperatures to vary as ambient temperatures change, though some of the large active swimmers like white shark and tuna can hold a higher core temperature.[1][2] Fish can acoustically communicate with each other, most often in the context of feeding, aggression or courtship.[3]

Fish are abundant in most bodies of water. They can be found in nearly all aquatic environments, from high mountain streams (e.g., char and gudgeon) to the abyssal and even hadal depths of the deepest oceans (e.g., cusk-eels and snailfish), although no species has yet been documented in the deepest 25% of the ocean.[4] With 34,300 described species, fish exhibit greater species diversity than any other group of vertebrates.[5]

Fish are an important resource for humans worldwide, especially as food. Commercial and subsistence fishers hunt fish in wild fisheries or farm them in ponds or in cages in the ocean (in aquaculture). They are also caught by recreational fishers, kept as pets, raised by fishkeepers, and exhibited in public aquaria. Fish have had a role in culture through the ages, serving as deities, religious symbols, and as the subjects of art, books and movies.

Tetrapods emerged within lobe-finned fishes, so cladistically they are fish as well. However, traditionally fish are rendered paraphyletic by excluding the tetrapods (i.e., the amphibians, reptiles, birds and mammals which all descended from within the same ancestry). Because in this manner the term "fish" is defined negatively as a paraphyletic group, it is not considered a formal taxonomic grouping in systematic biology, unless it is used in the cladistic sense, including tetrapods.[6][7] The traditional term pisces (also ichthyes) is considered a typological, but not a phylogenetic classification.


What this last paragraph says is that paraphylectic classifications are artificial separations. Another example of a paraphylectic group would be dinosaurs. Because paleontologists usually study non-avian dinosaurs, now extinct (and the living avian dinosaurs are usually studied by ornithologists), paleontologists sometimes or often say dinosaurs understanding that when they use this term, they mean all dinosaurs that aren't birds. But in cladistical taxonomy this is a convention. Paleontologists - and also we - all know that when we say dinosaurs we also necessarily must refer to birds, because birds are dinosaurs. Same for fish.

As for why I brought up this issue in the first place, it's because the way linguists classify languages is pretty similar to the way that biologists classify living organisms. I thought it would make it easier to understand why linguists say that languages generally are not older or younger than each other or why French is classified as a Romance language (= a form of Latin). If you can accept one, then it's easy to accept the other.

The linguist Larry Trask and also expert on Basque wrote this chapter in his book 'Why Do Languages Change?'. I think it's an excellent explanation of why linguists think the way they do. I'll copy a segment of it:

Which is the oldest language?

A common question I belong to the panel of an Internet service which offers to answer questions on language and languages. One of the questions we receive most often is: ‘Which is the oldest language?’ Sometimes we get variations on this theme. ‘Is Hebrew the oldest language?’ ‘Is Sanskrit the oldest language?’ ‘Is French older than English?’ ‘Is it true that Basque is the oldest language in Europe?’ Clearly there is a great deal of interest in these matters. But it is actually very difficult to find this answered in a clear but scholarly way. In this chapter I’ll try to do so. But let’s begin with another question, one which is just about as basic as anything can be in the study of languages. Where do languages come from? We need to ask this question in order to talk about the ages of languages. You have a mother tongue, which you learned in early childhood. That mother tongue may be English, or it may be something else: this makes no difference. Where did you get your mother tongue from? Very likely you don’t remember all that much about the early stages of acquiring your first language, but fortunately a considerable number of linguists have studied children learning their mother tongues, and we now know a great deal about what happens. The answer is not very surprising: you learn your first language from people who already know it, or who at least know a little more than you. You learn it from your parents, of course, but you also learn a great deal from friends, neighbours and siblings who are a few years older than you and who know just a bit more language than you do. This is not a startling statement. But consider the consequences: where does everybody get that first language from? Well, everybody gets it in the same way you did: by learning it from people who already know it. That’s how your parents learned their mother tongue, and that’s how your grandparents learned theirs, and your greatgrandparents, and your great-great-grandparents, and so on. Generations ago, tens of generations ago, hundreds of generations ago, children were learning their mother tongue from older people who already knew it.

How else can a child learn a language? Where else can a child turn in order to learn a first language other than to somebody who already knows it? In fact, there are a few other possibilities, but they are neither obvious nor usual, and we will leave them until the end of this chapter. For now, I can safely say that normally – and by ‘normally’ I mean in the huge, vast, overwhelming majority of cases – every child learns its first language in the same way you did: by learning it from people who already know it. So, let’s suppose your first language is English. You learned English in childhood from older people who already knew English. Those people had already learned English in their own childhoods from still older people who already knew it, and those still older people had likewise learned English in their yet earlier childhoods from even older people who already knew it. And so on, back and back. Think of the consequences of what we are saying. We appear suddenly to be trapped in an infinite regress: it seems that we require an endless chain of everolder speakers of English extending back to the beginning of time, or at least back to the beginning of human speech in the very distant past, perhaps 100,000 or 200,000 years ago or more. And, of course, the same is true for every other language: we also require an endless chain of French speakers running back to the beginning of language, and an endless chain of speakers of Swahili, and Chinese, and Norwegian, and so on. Is this plausible? Has something gone wrong with our reasoning? What we have so far certainly seems logical. It appears that the very first human beings to speak a language at all must simultaneously have been speaking English, and French, and Swahili, and Chinese, and Norwegian, and everything else, since all humans are descended from them. This conclusion sounds deranged. In fact, there is nothing wrong with our reasoning at all. Moreover, there is nothing really wrong with our conclusions, either. It is merely that we have overlooked one critical detail, which has made our perfectly reasonable conclusions look preposterous: the fact that languages change. It is changing all the time, every moment in fact. It is always changing in every possible way: in pronunciation, in vocabulary, in grammar. As a result, as we saw earlier, the English that you learn is not quite the same English your parents learned several decades earlier. It is already conspicuously different from the English learned by the young Marilyn Monroe around 1930 – remember all those familiar words that Marilyn never heard? It is even more different from the English learned by the infant Humphrey Bogart about a century ago. It is increasingly different from the English learned in childhood by Winston Churchill (born 1871), by Oscar Wilde (born 1854), by Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln (both born 1809), by Jane Austen (born 1775), by George Washington (born 1732), by Alexander Pope (born 1688), by Jonathan
Swift (born 1667), by Robert Boyle (born 1627) and by William Shakespeare (born 1564). As we have already seen, Shakespeare’s written English is already very strange to us, and his speech might be incomprehensible to us if we could hear it. Just a couple of centuries earlier, the written English of Geoffrey Chaucer (born 1343) is already at the very limit of comprehension or even a little beyond, while Chaucer’s speech would be wholly unintelligible. As we keep moving back in time, the language keeps growing steadily more different from our own – or, to put it more sensibly, the English of later times has been growing steadily more different from earlier English. If King Alfred the Great could be brought back to life today, he would understand not one word of English speech or writing – and King Alfred lived not much more than a thousand years ago. So long as English does not die out, this constant change will continue for ever, and the English of the future will grow ever more different from ours, until eventually there will be not a single word or form left that we can recognise. And that raises an interesting question: at this point, will the language still be ‘English’? This question brings us to the naming problem. The naming problem Once upon a time, in the days of King Alfred the Great, there was a language that looked like this: He cwæð, Soðlice sum man hæfde twegen suna. Þa cwæð se gingra to his fæder, Fæder, syle me minne dæl minre æhte þe me to gebyreð.

And its speakers called it ‘English’. Centuries later, the language had changed substantially, and the same sentence now looked like this: And he seide, A man hadde twei sones; and the ʒonger of hem seide to the fadir, Fadir, ʒyue me the porcioun of catel, that fallith to me.

The speakers of this variety also called their language ‘English’. Today, centuries later again, the same sentence looks like this: And he said, ‘There was a man who had two sons; and the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that falls to me.’

How long can we go on doing this? How long should we go on doing it? Recall the little joke about George Washington’s axe: ‘This is the very axe that George Washington used to chop down that cherry tree. Of course, since then, it’s had two new handles and three new heads.’ Suppose King Alfred’s language is reasonably called English. When a day finally comes when not a single word or grammatical form still survives from

King Alfred’s speech, is it still reasonable to call the result ‘English’? Are we still looking at the ‘same’ language? How can we tell? Does the question make any sense anyway? There are several possible answers to such questions, and they are all plausible. The first point is that King Alfred’s language has evolved into just one modern language – by the most usual reckoning, anyway. King Alfred was quite satisfied that there was just one language called ‘English’ in the Britain of his day, even though he knew perfectly well that English was spoken somewhat differently in different places. Today most of us are equally satisfied that there exists just one English language, even though we all know that English is spoken rather differently in different parts of the world. So long as we agree that there is only one language involved, there is no particular obstacle to calling it ‘English’, today and at all periods. Of course, King Alfred’s English was so immensely different from ours that, for some purposes, we really need to make some distinctions in our labelling. We do this in the following arbitrary but convenient manner. From the arrival of English in Britain to the year 1100, we call the language Old English. From 1100 to 1500, we speak of Middle English. From 1500 to 1700, the language is Early Modern English. And, finally, from 1700 to the present we recognise Modern English. You can see that this set of names is not going to work for ever. After a few more centuries, the English of 1700 will be as incomprehensible to future speakers as King Alfred’s English is to us, and so they won’t be able to continue calling it ‘Modern English’. But, for the time being, this set of labels is as good as anything we can think of. But suppose we lost our consensus that English is a single language? There are already a few people who don’t agree about this. In the 1920s, the American writer H. L. Mencken argued that the language of the United States was no longer English, but a quite distinct language which he proposed to call American. It is perfectly possible that the several regional varieties of English – in England, in Scotland, in the USA, in Australia and elsewhere – may drift apart to the extent that it no longer makes much sense to regard all them as the same language, or to give all them the same name. Indeed, the Germanic variety of Scotland – Scots – is considered to be a variety separate from Modern English by a great many people in that country. On this occasion, the fact that the variety had a written standardised form in the Renaissance, is associated with a country with a strong sense of its separate identity and is not at all easy for most speakers of English to understand helps this argument. On the other hand, Scots is presently dialectalised under Standard English and no one would deny that it is a very close relative – the closest relative – of English in existence.

Exactly this state of affairs has come about countless times in the past. Around 500 BC, Latin was the language only of a small community in central Italy. Within a few centuries, however, its speakers – the Romans – had carved out a vast empire stretching from Britain and the Atlantic coast of Europe to modern Iraq. In much of this territory, their Latin language displaced the earlier languages and became the mother tongue. For a while, a more or less uniform version of Latin was spoken throughout this territory. But, of course, spoken Latin, like every spoken language, was continuing to change, and it changed in different ways in different places. After a few centuries, there were enormous differences among the regional varieties of Latin. There were no sharp boundaries, of course, and everybody could easily understand other speakers who lived within twenty or thirty miles, but beyond that things became difficult, and nobody could understand another Latin speaker who came from 300 miles away. Finally, it no longer made much sense to keep applying the name ‘Latin’ to this welter of local varieties which were no longer mutually comprehensible. Instead, people found themselves speaking of ‘Leonese’ and ‘Tuscan’ and ‘Provençal’ and so forth. Much later, some of these local varieties succeeded in becoming the national languages of large nation-states, and so we began to speak of ‘Spanish’ and ‘Italian’ and ‘French’ and so on – as we still do today. Latin is not really a dead language. It has several hundred million native speakers today. But those speakers speak Latin in a form that would be wholly incomprehensible to Julius Caesar – just as Modern English would be incomprehensible to King Alfred. In addition, though, they speak modern Latin in quite a number of very different regional varieties, varieties which are not mutually comprehensible. So, instead of adopting such cumbersome labels as Parisian Latin, Florentine Latin and Castilian Latin, we just speak of French, Italian and Spanish. If we ever find it necessary, we can one day do the same with English. We can abandon the name English, and speak instead of regional languages like American and Australian. So far, however, this has not been necessary, and we can keep the label ‘English’ for all the many regional varieties. But now let’s take the name backwards in time. How early was it appropriate to apply the label ‘English’ to ancestors of our speech? As we saw in an earlier chapter, English is descended from a group of Germanic dialects we call North Sea Germanic, which in turn was descended from an unrecorded language we call Proto-Germanic, which in turn was descended from a much earlier unrecorded language we call Proto-IndoEuropean, which in turn was descended from … a language we know nothing about and do not even have a name for. Also descended from North Sea Germanic are Frisian, Dutch, Afrikaans and some varieties of Low German. All these we want to count as separate languages from English, and so we don’t want to call any of them ‘English’.

Also descended from Proto-Germanic, apart from the ones just named, are Norwegian, Swedish, Danish, Icelandic, Faeroese, High German, Yiddish and quite a few extinct languages, such as Gothic. These too we want to count as separate languages from English. Also descended from Proto-Indo-European are very many languages: Irish, Spanish, Lithuanian, Russian, Albanian, Greek, Armenian, Kurdish, Bengali and many others, including several extinct ones like Hittite, Tocharian A, Illyrian and Dalmatian. We certainly don’t want to count any of these as varieties of English. So, at what point can we reasonably start using the label ‘English’? I hope the answer is becoming obvious: we are happy to call an ancestral form ‘English’ if that ancestor is the ancestor of only one modern language: Modern English. We can’t call Proto-Indo-European ‘English’, because PIE split up into a huge number of quite distinct languages, most of which cannot possibly be regarded as varieties of English. We can’t call Proto-Germanic ‘English’, because Proto-Germanic split up into quite a number of distinct languages, most of which we cannot sensibly call ‘English’. We can’t even call North Sea Germanic ‘English’, because North Sea Germanic has split up into several quite distinct modern languages, of which English is only one. But the version of North Sea Germanic that was introduced into Britain has given rise to only one uncontested descendant: Modern English. Therefore, we now have a reasonable answer to our question. We can safely apply the name ‘English’ to the ancestral forms of English from the moment those first Germanic-speaking settlers stepped ashore in Britain. Naturally, those invaders would have been astonished to be told that they were speaking a different language the moment they got their boots wet in the British surf. In reality, of course, they were still speaking the same language as their cousins who had stayed home, and whose speech would eventually evolve into varieties of Frisian, Dutch and (Low) German – all which we now count as languages distinct from English and from one another. But we have to make a decision about how to use our label, and the arrival of those first Germanic speakers in Britain gives us the perfect opportunity to introduce the label ‘English’. The Germanic speech of these settlers took root in Britain, and it eventually developed into the Old English of King Alfred, the Middle English of Chaucer, the Early Modern English of Shakespeare, and English today. Naturally, most cases are not quite as simple as the English one. Latin, as we have just seen, was spoken over a large area of Europe for centuries, but it gradually began to break up into a number of regional varieties, some of which eventually came to be important languages. Take the speech of Paris. In AD 100, the Romans in Lutetia (as Paris was then known) were undeniably speaking Latin, practically the same Latin that was being spoken by other Roman citizens in Italy, in Spain and elsewhere. Today,

however, the people of Paris undeniably speak the language we have agreed to call ‘French’. We have to use a different name, because Latin has developed into quite a number of different modern languages, and not only into French. But at what point in time should we start applying the label ‘French’ to the speech of Paris? This time there is no discontinuity that we can seize upon, nothing like the Germanic speakers’ crossing of the North Sea. So, we must appeal to a convention, a convention which we have invented for our own convenience: we have decided that we will apply the name ‘Latin’ to the speech of Paris until AD 900, while after that date we will apply the name ‘French’. But nothing happened in Paris in AD 900, and this decision does not correspond to an event in the world: it is a purely arbitrary decision. This decision is a scholarly convenience, no more. Latin was never displaced from Paris by a different language: instead, Latin has just evolved in place into French, and there is no discontinuity we can point to. So, the ‘beginnings’ that you may sometimes see declared for particular languages are not really beginnings at all, but only scholarly conventions invented for convenience. Languages do not have beginnings. Another interesting example is provided by Afrikaans. Dutch immigrants began to settle in what is now South Africa in the seventeenth century. Naturally, the Dutch spoken in the Cape Colony and the Dutch spoken in Europe began to diverge, and in this case the interesting social conditions in the colony helped to accelerate this divergence. By the late nineteenth century the European and African varieties of Dutch were already very different. But the Dutch speakers in Africa continued to accept standard European Dutch as their own standard, and educated people in the colony learned to read and write only European Dutch. The very different spoken language of the colony was called ‘Cape Dutch’, and it was generally regarded as no more than an unusual local variety of the ‘mother tongue’. Then in 1875 an association was formed to promote the writing of Cape Dutch in a form which was close to everyday speech. The association’s movement prospered, and before long Cape Dutch was increasingly being regarded as the ‘proper’ language of the Afrikaner community in South Africa. Finally, in 1925, the Union of South Africa withdrew recognition from European Dutch, and accepted instead that Cape Dutch, now renamed ‘Afrikaans’, was a real language and an official language of the country. So, Afrikaans officially came into existence in 1925, but again there was no linguistic event in that year, only a political decision to recognise two languages where before only one language had been recognised. We are now in a position to answer the question which forms the title of this chapter: which is the oldest language? First, though, we must lay aside a few exceptional languages, languages which are special cases, languages which
have not come into existence in the ‘ordinary’ way. We will talk about these special cases in the next chapter. Leaving the special cases aside, however, we can answer the question very simply and bluntly, as follows: No language is ‘older’ than any other language, and there is no ‘oldest’ language.

We can sensibly ask about the age of something only when that something has an identifiable beginning. We can ask about your age, because you have a beginning: you were born. We can ask about the age of the Wimbledon tennis championships, or of the United States, or of agriculture, because these things all had beginnings. We can even ask about the age of the Hawaiian islands, because there was a point in time when these islands were first pushed above the surface of the Pacific by volcanic activity. But languages do not have beginnings, and therefore we cannot ask about the ‘age’ of a language. There is no point in time at which a language that formerly did not exist suddenly pops into existence. Therefore, no language can be ‘older’ than any other, and there can be no ‘oldest’ language. Asking whether one language is ‘older’ than another is a foolish waste of time. If this troubles you, just think about the consequences of denying it. Suppose you maintain that language A is older than language B. You are therefore claiming that there was a time in the past when language A already existed but language B did not yet exist. So where did language B come from? You are claiming that, at some later time, there came into existence a first generation of speakers of language B, and that these speakers learned a language that did not exist. And this, I hope you will agree, is absurd. Languages do not appear out of nothing. All that ever happens is that the regional varieties of a language become so different that we eventually find it convenient to invent some new names. But the invention of a new name is not a linguistic event. A child who learns English or French or Afrikaans today represents just one more generation in an unbroken chain of learners stretching back to the beginning of human speech, and the differing names we may choose to apply to different historical periods are nothing but conveniences we have invented to please ourselves: there was never any point at which children were learning a language different from their parents’ language.


....


We have looked at the several special cases of languages that do have beginnings: artificial languages, pidgins, creoles, mixed languages and sign languages. Not all these are mother tongues, but some of them are, and so we are obliged to acknowledge that, in certain circumstances, a mother tongue can have a beginning, and we can therefore sensibly ask of that language ‘How old is it?’ The creole Sranan was apparently born in the seventeenth century; the mixed language Michif was probably created in the first half of the nineteenth century; and Nicaraguan Sign Language was very definitely constructed in a matter of years after 1979. But these are special cases, and they are exceptions. The overwhelming majority of human languages are, as far as we can tell, of the same age. None is any older than any other.
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Re: Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority lan

Postby Saim » Mon May 31, 2021 12:00 am

Le Baron wrote:Well yes, but there's a persistent problem here. Humans or e.g. dogs being on the same evolutionary line as boned fish does not make them 'fish' or 'essentially fish' any more or less than it makes them bananas or goats.


You can create cladistically valid "banana" and "goat" categories without including humans. This is not true of "fish" or "bony fish".

If people are going to default to 'you're basically an arthropod/tetrapod' whilst at the same time waxing lyrical about differentiation, they're being disingenuous.


I don't believe we're descended from the arthropod line, maybe you can correct me. I'll admit that my knowledge of biology is much more limited than my knowledge of linguistics, but I thought arthropods and vertebrates were descended from different kinds of ancient worms. I'm not aware of any use of the term "tetrapod" that doesn't include humans, but maybe you can correct me there too. I also don't know what it means to "wax lyrical about differentiation".

Le Baron wrote:That Basque will have altered over time (as has e.g. Welsh), but most likely has a strong sense of unity running through it,


You can believe this, but you haven't demonstrated it. Why is this "likely"? How can one empirically show a "strong sense of unity"?

If French comes from "varied sources" due to a handful of Frankish loanwords, surely this is also true of Basque given that almost half of the vocabulary comes from Romance languages or Latin?

Le Baron wrote:Also it needs to be removed from this discussion because it is not completely analogous to language dissemination, use, structure etc. Which is interfered with by humans.It's an attempt to be 'clever'.


I don't really think this is true, although it depends on what you mean exactly. Language structure mostly changes according to internal development, not due to conscious changes implemented by speakers. Maybe linguistic standardisation and the rise of nation-states has changed this a bit, but I don't think Basque has (say) ergative alignment because humans "interfered" and made this the case. Or maybe I'm understanding what you mean by "interference".

Lianne wrote:Of course I accept evolution. And yes I would say humans are great apes because we are literally still great apes.


This is where your argument breaks down a bit, I think. Traditionally "ape" was also used as a paraphyletic grouping and colloquially people do not generally refer to humans as apes. If non-specialists consider humans to be apes, it is due to the popularisation of scientific classification. What criteria can we use to say we're apes but not fish? "We are apes because we are (literally still) apes" is a circular argument.

I'm just using words according to their actual definitions as found in any dictionary.


I think this is a crucial issue.

Dictionaries do not define reality. They simply attempt to register (and at times prescribe) the way we describe and classify it.

I can't speak for anyone else, but I'm personally not trying to tell you that using the conventional definitions of the terms "fish" and "Latin" is "wrong". What I'm saying is that if we think in terms of genetic classification either these terms are invalid or they need to be redefined.
Last edited by Saim on Mon Jun 14, 2021 12:51 am, edited 4 times in total.
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Re: Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority lan

Postby Lianne » Mon May 31, 2021 12:39 am

I have unfollowed this thread, so please stop quoting me so that I can stop getting notifications about it. Feel free to talk about my arguments behind my back all you like, but this thread has been bad for my mood.
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Re: Basque/French Age (Split from: French National Assembly passes bill for the protection and promotion of minority lan

Postby Le Baron » Mon May 31, 2021 2:57 am

I tried to unfollow it for hours, but I can't see anything to click to achieve it.
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