What could speak best of a minority’s cultural tragedy? “We are recovering the lost Laz words,” professor Mehmet Bekaroglu, the head of the Laz Institute, told me when I asked him about the cultural revival of the Laz people. Lost words? They are the words that have disappeared from the daily language after decades of disuse.

Amid the reform process in Turkey, the Laz, too, have embarked on a journey to rediscover their culture. In the eastern Black Sea towns of Pazar, Ardesen, Camlihemsin, Findikli, Arhavi, Hopa and Borcka, the population swells three or four times during the summer as natives of the region return home. The uplands come alive with the sound of kemenche and the rhythm of horon. The hazelnut crop is shelled and legends told. In the autumn, the traditional grape molasse pekmez is boiled. Each stage — the placing of the large saucepans, the mashing of the grapes, the lighting of the fire and the removal of the saucepans — is performed with special sayings.

The publishing realm has also come alive. The Lazika Publishing Collective has printed 35 bilingual Turkish-Laz books since its founding in 2010. In 2011, Lazika also began publishing a magazine, Tanura (Luminary). The first Laz magazine, Ogni (Understand, Hear) — launched in 1993 and banned after six issues — had marked a turning point for Laz culture. It was followed by Mjora (Sun) and Skani Nena (Your Language, Your Voice), with two issues each. The Laz rock band Zugasi Berepe (Children of the Sea), begun in the 1990s, set another milestone.

On Sept. 11, Turkey’s first Laz newspaper, the bimonthly Agani Murutsxi (New Star), was launched. Its name is a salute to the world’s first newspaper in the Laz language, Mç’ita Murutsxi (Red Star), published in Abkhazia in 1929 by Iskenderi Tzitasi. The paper’s owner says its aim is “to take the Laz language from the villages to the cities” and warns, “Otherwise, the Laz language will be dead in 50-60 years.”