Their plan, together with a loose, worldwide collection of institutions, is to convert as many of the world's languages as possible into detailed digital records, including sound files, then post the results on the Internet in a common, searchable format. But many anthropologists and indigenous activists say such efforts skirt the real issue. Saving a language, they say, requires political and economic muscle. You can still go out there and find an entire language that not a single scientist has documented. When linguists first trekked through jungles and mountains with tape recorders, they were stunned at the richness of human language.
Languages can also be a treasure trove for botanists.
Paul Allen Cox, an ethnobotanist who heads the National Tropical Botanical Garden in Hawaii and Florida, spent a year living in western Samoa recording the knowledge of Pela Lilo, a traditional healer. One preparation Lilo described involved peeling bark that smells of menthol from a certain tree, soaking it in water, and drinking the pink suds. Researchers found in the liquid a compound that doubled the life of T-cells, which play a crucial role in human immune systems. Last month, Cox said, he held Lilo's hand as she died, the last of her people with such detailed knowledge. Reacting to the crisis, organisations have sprung up to salvage what they can.