· Vol 22 · Issue
1088 · PUBLISHED
URL: www.citypages.com/databank/22/1088/article9859.asp
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What's
Lost When a Language Dies?
Only Our
Grandchildren Will Know.
by Leyla
Kokmen
The story, at
least so far,
spans three decades and three continents. She came by plane, flying over the
Pacific, leaving
These children would
grow and think and learn. They would do this in English. The girl would grow
up, one day, and visit the far-flung lands of her origins with her parents, at
once learning about the histories of these foreign places and the histories of
her foreign families. She would study languages herself, German, French, even a
bit of Japanese, with varying degrees of proficiency. She would spend her days
working on her English--not the grammar, nor vocabulary, but the crafting of
phrases. And she would find herself, one September afternoon, in a circle of
two dozen high school students, trying to make the sounds of the ancient,
sacred language of Dakota.
Toked eniciyapi
he?
What's your name?
Our teacher,
Myself, this is my favorite part. Mimicking the unfamiliar sounds of a new
language. Figuring out the architecture of a foreign grammar. Learning a rudimentary vocabulary.[BENQ3] Some people like to solve
riddles of logic or discover visual patterns; I like the puzzle of a new
language. It's like unlocking a secret code that opens up an entirely new world
of possibility. Yesterday you had no idea how to say "cousin" in
Dakota, or "window" in French, or "fish" in Japanese. Today
you do. This is the fun stage, before the struggle begins as you try to really
speak and listen and think and dream in this foreign tongue. This is long
before the frustration hits, sparked because you don't know how to say anything
more complicated than cousin or window or fish[BENQ4].
Most of the teens
sitting here were born a century after the federal Indian boarding school
movement took off in the late 1870s. From then until 1920--and sometimes even
later--Indian children were plucked from their homes and placed in
government-run schools whose main mission was assimilation, or the
"civilizing" of Indians to accept Christian values and speak English.
They were forced to abandon their traditional ways of dress, their ceremonial
and religious beliefs.[BENQ5] And they were forbidden to
speak their native languages. In many published accounts of their days in
boarding schools throughout the country, Native Americans
describe facing cruel punishment for breaking the "English-only"
rules. Some recall being beaten or spanked or slapped with rulers. Others were
made to live on only bread and water or were locked in the school jail. Still
others had to brush their teeth with lye. [BENQ6]
As a result of this
abuse--and the prevailing notion that their own cultures and languages were
somehow dirty and inferior--many of the students sent to
boarding schools never became fluent speakers of their own language. They could
not pass the language down to future generations. Even those who did retain
their language skills often opted not to teach their children, for fear that
they would face the same discrimination.[BENQ7] Over the years fewer and
fewer American Indians learned to speak their own languages. And so it is that
even generations later, these kids are suffering the consequences.
Sitting at my right
in the circle is Rebecca. She is 17 years old. She exudes 17-year-oldness, at
once bubbly and shy, as eager to learn as she is to laugh. She wears low-cut
jeans and black boots with a chunky high heel. Her chestnut hair is streaked
with gold highlights, cropped close to her face to reveal multiple earrings.
Her eyes are an unusual shade of bright violet--colored contact lenses, she
explains. Purple is her favorite color.
Rebecca is from the
Flandreau Reservation in
In
In any case, the
numbers are small enough that the coordinators of the conference say it's time
to take action to prevent this language from disappearing. And so this
afternoon we're sitting in a special workshop aimed at increasing the students'
interest in learning Dakota. Most of them repeat in a monotone that they're
here today to learn about their language and culture. Most of
them know a little, but not much. Some of them aren't quite interested enough
to come back to the classroom after a short break. [BENQ10]
We divide into
smaller circles to work on sample dialogues. We go around the circle, asking
each other, "What's your name?" Rebecca writes out the phrases before
she utters them, saying it helps her to see them on paper. She asks our
teaching assistant how to pronounce certain words, how to form specific
sentences. "Huh," she says, pleasantly surprised. "I guess I
know more than I thought I did."
Though Rebecca's
father speaks Dakota, he didn't pass the language down to his children.
She doesn't know why he didn't, but she'd like to learn more of the language
now, to speak it with her little nephews so they can grow up with the language.
But it's a challenge to find the time to take classes or speak with elders.
"It's hard because I've been working and stuff," she admits. "They're
looking to us as the next generation to keep this all going, and we don't even
know our own language. We don't even know our own traditions."
By the time this
workshop is over, we've learned a few more phrases, going around the circle. "Toked eniciyapi
he?" Rebecca asks me. "Leyla
emakiyapi ye," I say. (My name is Leyla.) "Tonintanhan
he?" (Where are you from?) "Bdeota hematanhan."
(I'm from
This workshop is
heartening--all is not lost. But it's wistful too. Learning a few basic Dakota phrases is relatively simple.
Reviving a threatened language is considerably harder. [BENQ12]You've got to create the
interest in learning the language. You've got to create an opportunity for
immersion in the language in order to gain fluency. Only then can you start to
think in that language, even dream in it. And, in the case of Dakota and other
indigenous languages, you've got to counteract hundreds of years of oppression
and forced assimilation by the dominant culture.
In the spring of 1993, my father and I went to
With the domes and
spires of mosques dotting its hills,
My grandmother was so
excited to see me that she was all broad smiles and gentle embraces. I wondered how she could feel so connected to me when we
couldn't even talk to each other. [BENQ13]Yes, I was her granddaughter.
But she didn't really know me at all. One afternoon I found myself alone with
her in her parlor. Knowing that she spoke French, I tried to start a conversation.
With all of three semesters of French under my belt, I could say things like,
"It's a nice day," and "I'm cold," and "How are
you?" Needless to say, the conversation was far from deep. But
sometimes the power of communication resides simply in sitting in the same
room, together.
After our sojourn in
Toked yaun?
How are you?
"Do you speak
much Turkish?"
I'm used to the question.
It's usually one of the first ones asked when people learn of my heritage. This
morning the one posing the question is Gordon Regguinti,
who until recently was the native-language initiative coordinator for the
Grotto Foundation, a St. Paul nonprofit that is in the first year of a 15-year
plan to revitalize the languages indigenous to our region. "Do you want to learn?" Regguinti continues. "You need to make a concerted effort to
create a situation where you can learn the language." [BENQ15]
He knows this from
personal experience. Regguinti is Ojibwe,
a member of the Leech Lake Band. He grew up on the reservation, where his
grandparents routinely conversed in Ojibwe, which,
with an estimated 35,000 living speakers in the U.S. and Canada, according to Ethnologue, is considered to be a little further
from extinction than Dakota. "As a young boy I was exposed to it, but the
rest of my life was about learning English," Regguinti
says.
There are two ways to discourage learning a native language.
There is the active, angry way: Move children from their homes to boarding
schools, debase their language and culture, and beat them for failing to speak
English. And there is the passive way: Create a society so dominated by the
white man's culture that Native Americans must give up their language and take
on English in order to survive.[BENQ16]
Both methods have
left their legacy in
"Language defines one's world,[BENQ18]" Regguinti
posits. "In Ojibwe, these words communicate so
much more. It's just not possible to express that in English. It helps to
underscore our interconnectedness to all, our relationship to all. I can feel
it. But I have no way to fully express it."
But there is hope, he
says. "For elders, as they approach the end of the road, they look back
and say they want to leave something. They're realizing it's the language they
want to leave," says Regguinti, who is 47.
"Folks my age are realizing, 'It's something I've missed in my life,
something that I want to rediscover.'"
So the efforts are
expanding. There are immersion programs. In
The Grotto Foundation
has set aside $5.6 million to fund programs that will
preserve native languages and cultures.[BENQ19] It's a relatively small
amount of money, Regguinti concedes, but hopefully
the plan will at least plant the seeds for the tribal governments to kick in
some resources. In time, Grotto plans to work in concert with other, larger
foundations that are promoting the same types of efforts around the country.
"Otherwise, in the long term, a
grassroots effort can only go so far, until you create a societal change,"
Regguinti
admits. "Hopefully a groundswell occurs that keeps moving it forward.[BENQ20]
"I, personally,
can sense it happening," he continues, with a slight smile. "But it's way beyond me, man."
Here
are some of my favorite things about the
two years I lived in
1. Water everywhere
2. Fresh fish
3. The palpable influence of Japanese culture
The third was perhaps the most significant, because it was
as a direct result of that enveloping spirit that I decided to learn
conversational Japanese. I had grown to love sushi, I had read the stories of
the wise Samurai Judge Ooka Echizen
no Kami, I had diligently
worked on my origami as a child. But I had never asked my mother, born and bred
in
My first foray was an accelerated summer course through the
My next class, at the local community college, was a little
more structured. Here I learned to converse a bit more systematically, with a
better understanding of how to form a declarative sentence or a question. Here
I learned that the language was different from those I knew--English, German, French. Its structure was unlike anything I had previously
studied: Sentences often had no subject, nouns had no plural, and definite
articles didn't exist--especially not the gendered variety. With this
considerably streamlined grammatical backbone, one had to learn to listen
carefully, because only from context could the true meaning of a phrase be
ascertained.
Mom and I talked at length about this fascinating language,
and she dug up some old workbooks she had used when she taught private lessons.
I was determined to make a go of my Japanese studies, but I had few illusions.
It's a tough language to learn--and I hadn't even begun trying to read the
traditional characters of the hiragana and katakana scripts.
By the fall of 1997, I had learned to form basic sentences.
I had also moved from
On our last day, Mom
and I were leaving my grandmother's house, set back in the maze of narrow
streets that wind through
"Ali no kekkon-shiki de aimashoo,"
I said.
My bad pronunciation
and my grandmother's declining hearing required that I repeat my special phrase
again. Slowly the recognition of the words lit up her eyes. She nodded her head
vigorously and grabbed my hand in hers, an exuberant smile blossoming on her
face.
That was the only
time I've ever spoken directly to my grandmother.
Nituwe he?
Who are you?
Aileen Littleghost carries her short, plump figure across the room
with a quiet grace. There's a light and a kind curiosity in her eyes that puts
me immediately at ease. Gentle lines frame her round face, indicating her many decades
on Earth and her place as an elder in the Dakota community. She and her
husband, Ambrose, an elder and spiritual adviser for the Dakota, have come to
the
At the moment,
Ambrose is holding court in the classroom. The high schoolers
listen intently to his low, rolling voice as he shares his views on the Dakota
language and culture. Aileen is quieter, and speaks English with a slow accent.
She is concerned about the fate of her native language; the thought of its
extinction is unbearable.
"It makes me
cry," she whispers, adding that the elders who speak fluently won't be
here forever. "We're getting older." The Littleghosts
adopted a son and daughter and taught them Dakota. Now, their four
grandchildren are also learning the language. The kids' other grandmother,
Aileen says, is Apache, but she doesn't speak the language. When Aileen asked
her if it would be all right to teach the grandchildren Dakota, the other
grandmother said yes, and she was sad because she could not teach them Apache.
As Aileen talks, I
consider her speech. She does fine in English, but she is clearly more
comfortable speaking in Dakota. I wonder whether having a different native
language also gives her a fundamentally different perspective on the world.
In the first half of
the 20th Century, the linguist
Benjamin Lee Whorf explored the relationship between language and thought.
Roughly stated, the hypothesis that he and colleague Edward Sapir developed holds that a person's understanding of the
world is shaped by her native language. Whorf contended that the
significantly different structures of Western languages, Eastern languages,
Native American languages, and African languages shaped each speaker's innate
ways of viewing and comprehending the world.
"For do you not
conceive it possible that scientists as well as ladies with cats all
unknowingly project the linguistic patterns of a particular type of language
upon the universe, and see them there, rendered visible on the very face
of nature?" he posits in a 1941 essay called "Language, Mind, and
Reality." "A change in language can transform our appreciation of the
Cosmos."
If Whorf's belief is true, what does it mean? Here in the
afternoon workshop at the U of M's Dakota language conference, it raises an
interesting question: Aileen Littleghost's native
language is Dakota; 17-year-old Rebecca's native language is English. They
share the same heritage, culture, and history. But do they share the same
worldview? [BENQ22]
I once asked my father if he found it strange
that he and my mother had never really communicated with each other in their
native languages. (Though it must be noted that my mother did
learn Turkish when they were first married, as they initially planned to build
their life in
Dad's view, one
grounded in personal experience, was distinctly anti-Whorfian. What's the big
deal? He and Mom were both fluent English speakers, able to express and
understand the most intricate, intimate ideas. Communicating thoughts,
concepts, and emotions was the crucial thing--not the language in which they
were shared.
It made sense. After
all, Dad had never spoken to me in his native tongue (except certain words of
discipline), and I had never thought there was a lack of understanding between
us that went beyond the basic conflicts between parents and children. Perhaps
this is why the connection between our language and our identity is so
intriguing.
Tokiya tanhan
yahi he?
Where did you come from?
"I do not believe that language entirely determines the
way you think,"
says Luisa Maffi, president of Terralingua,
a Washington, D.C.-based organization promoting linguistic and biological
diversity. But, she says, "The language you're most familiar with is the
one you're most accustomed to thinking in terms of."
Maffi is a renowned scholar of
languages. Her background in linguistics led her to
It's also matter of
personal experience for Maffi, who herself is
multilingual. She grew up in
But how can you tell
when a language is endangered? According to Vanishing Voices, a book
about the extinction of languages written by Daniel Nettle and Suzanne Romaine,
of the estimated
5,000 to 6,700 languages that exist today throughout the world, at least half
will become extinct over the next 100 years. In 1492 when
[BENQ24]When speakers start to abandon a language, Maffi says, it
undergoes a process of simplification in syntax, forms of speech, the
composition of words, sounds, vocabulary. "There is an overall loss of
features internal to the language itself," she says. "There is a
cultural knowledge that is embedded, that is transmitted, that is created
through language. As people stop speaking the language, stop learning it, it is
difficult--but not impossible--to transfer cultural knowledge to a new culture.
But there is much that is lost."[BENQ25]
Still, she continues,
"Languages change all the time.
How do you know when something is not just a 'normal' change, that it's the
beginning of the loss of the language?" The answer is relatively simple:
The language is not being taught to the children. "You have a very clear
sign that its use in a given society is at risk," Maffi
explains.
And that's why there
is such an emphasis on creating immersion programs where kids can learn Native
American languages. U of M Dakota instructor Neil McKay stresses the need for
people of all ages to participate in these types of immersion programs--there
is even ongoing discussion of creating a Dakota immersion school in the Twin
Cities.
Of course, there are
already schools that teach Indian languages and culture. One notable example is
the Four Winds American Indian Magnet School in
It's been a struggle,[BENQ26] according to Principal Gary Lussier. Even as it does its best to emphasize native
culture, Four Winds can't focus solely on those areas. As a public school, it
must maintain some standard curriculum. And of its 471 students, only 60
percent are American Indian (and most of them are Ojibwe).
African American students make up 35 percent of the school, white students 4
percent, and Asian American and Latino the remaining 1 percent. "We tried
to have an immersion program, but we backed out because the real challenge
was to get our kids capable in reading, capable in math," he says.
(Minneapolis Public Schools are currently implementing a plan aimed
specifically at improving the academic performance and graduation rates of African
American, American Indian, and Latino students in all its schools.)
Teachers do try to
find ways to "convert lessons into an American Indian perspective," Lussier says, perhaps by incorporating Ojibwe
words into reading lessons, exploring history from a native view, or holding
traditional ceremonies. Each day the language
instructors teach for only 25 minutes--a far cry from immersion.[BENQ27] And while that's
understandable, it still makes it difficult for the students to truly learn the
languages.
"The only way to
retain a language is to use it," says McKay, who is part Dakota
and part Ojibwe. His Dakota father was sent to a
boarding school, so he never became a fluent speaker. McKay himself knew only
bits and pieces of Dakota before he became a student at the U of M. In 1995 he
had an experience that, with the help of interpretation by a Dakota elder, led
him to start studying Dakota. Today he is proficient, on his way to being
fluent, and he's teaching his children, ages 3 years and 10 months, to speak Dakota.
"One of the big keys is to see little
kids speaking it," he says. "When I see a
little child speaking the language, it makes me want to cry. When our people
see that, they'll know the language has a good chance of living on."
My
parents made a conscious
choice not to teach their languages to my brother and me. They didn't want to choose
between Japanese and Turkish, and they didn't want to structure our environment
with the rigidity necessary to separate Japanese time, Turkish time, and
English time. They wanted
us to develop solid English skills and have a solid identity in the
There have been times
when I've regretted their choice. With a sigh, I would consider how useful
these languages might have proved as I made my way in the world. I would have
liked to be able to speak to my grandparents, to ask them questions about their
lives and histories. Would I have
been a different person, had I learned these languages? Would I have a
different sense of self, a different perspective on the world?
I don't know.
My father died last
year. The loss was unfathomable; I have only begun to comprehend it. Though he
is still with me today, through his stories, though his lessons, through his
infectious love of life and learning, I sometimes wonder if losing him means
that I have lost the ties to my Turkish heritage. I'm not sure. Had I foreseen
that my time with him would be so limited, perhaps I would have rethought that
decision not to study Turkish, years ago. I don't know.
What I do know is that the choices my parents made, and the
choices I made, have helped define who I am and how I view the world. But I
also realize that they were choices. We made them ourselves. They weren't
forced upon us by racism or imperialism or fear.
Tukted yati
he?
Where do you live?
What will the world
be like if so many small languages die? And what can be done to stop that from
happening?
First, it's important to create awareness that
languages are threatened. That's what events like the Dakota language
conference and the grants provided by the Grotto Foundation aim to do. It's
important, too, to take stock in the language today: How many people can speak it fluently, proficiently, or just a
little? What resources are available for learning the language? Why has it
become endangered?
"When we talk
about the future, we have to talk about the past," says Dallas Ross,
addressing the crowd at the U of M's language conference. "Without looking
back, how do we know why we're in the situation we are in today? Without understanding
this moment, how are we going to look to the future in hopes of causing
something good?
"The government
has abandoned the policy of assimilation. They don't need to do it anymore--we
do it to ourselves," Ross says. "How do we go back to the way things
were? We can't go back, but I don't believe we have to leave everything
behind."
Ross is one of
several speakers addressing the conference on issues vital to the Dakota
community. A resident of
Ross speaks of his
own experiences. He says he doesn't know why his parents chose not to teach him
Dakota. And he explains how, through talking with elders throughout the region,
he began to realize why the language matters. Some
of the elders lived in poverty, and Ross initially felt sorry for them.
"But they had so much more than I did,"[BENQ29] he says. "They grasped
who they were. They could speak their native tongue. They were rich because of
who they were. They just didn't have a lot of money."
As he ponders the
state of Dakota today, Ross prefers to think of the language as "lost" instead of "gone.[BENQ30]" "At least you have
a hope of finding it. It may be misplaced, but it can be found. It can be
brought back. The culture can be brought back through the language," he
said. "If we do not teach what is lost, then truly at some time it will be
gone. Then who will we be?"
And
so we arrive at today's situation, when linguists worry about not just one
particular language, but about the entire world and the difficult goal of
saving endangered languages. "I cannot not be aware of how
daunting the task is. The more we, as a larger society, as a global community,
acquire awareness of these issues, inform people about this, the more we can
dispel the myth of the Tower of Babel--that speaking multiple
languages is a curse because we can't understand each other," Terralingua's Luisa Maffi
declares. "We need to understand that speaking different languages is not
an obstacle. It's one of the expressions of the diversity of life itself and
what defines life on earth."
But the mere fact that so many of the world's languages are
threatened leads one to question whether they are truly necessary. If people
evolve away from a language, couldn't one argue that the language has become
obsolete?
"No," Maffi asserts decisively. "No language can be said
as being obsolete. No way of life can be said as being obsolete. Each way of
life is an expression of human society and the way it has developed." Usually,
it is another culture that points the finger, calling a society
primitive or obsolete because it is not as technologically advanced as other
cultures. "Who is actually to say what makes for more advanced technology?
What if you look at how efficient they can be, to do things in a simple way
with a minimal expenditure of resources? If you use that different measuring
stick, you'll get a different result."
If we sit idly by and
allow languages to disappear from the planet, we're not sure what we might
lose. We could lose knowledge of medicinal uses of particular plants, offers
David Harrison, an assistant professor of linguistics at
But on a smaller,
more personal level, the loss could be just as great. We may lose the stories
of our ancestry. We may lose the rituals that bring us closer to our gods. We
may lose the ability to talk to our grandmothers. We may not realize it today,
but we will feel the loss forever.
· Vol 22 · Issue
1088 · PUBLISHED
URL: www.citypages.com/databank/22/1088/article9859.asp
HOME: www.citypages.com
City Pages is the
Online News and Arts Weekly of the Twin Cities
[BENQ1]Do you feel like this towards
learning English or any other language/s that you are learning?
[BENQ2]How would you relate this sentence to the people/government enforcing assimilation?
[BENQ3]Learning Styles. What are your learning styles? How do you study English?
[BENQ4]Do you sometimes feel frustrated at yourself? How can you relate to this sentence/message?
[BENQ5]How was the assimilation enforced?
[BENQ6]What were the punishments the natives faced/endured during the period of assimilation?
[BENQ7]What are the ramifications of assimilation against their native language? Any similarities with the Taiwanese situation?
[BENQ8]What’s the purpose of this conference?
[BENQ9]Take note of the numbers
[BENQ10]How can you promote interest among the young people to learn the language?
[BENQ11]Are there any similarities with Mandarin or Taiwanese language?
[BENQ12]Why is reviving a language more difficult compared to learning basic phrases?
[BENQ13]What does this sentence mean?
[BENQ14]Why is the usefulness of a language a factor in learning a language? Could it also be a factor for the death of language?
[BENQ15]Do you make the same effort in learning English?
[BENQ16]What are the two ways used to discourage a language?
[BENQ17]Answer this question
[BENQ18]Explain what this phrase means?
[BENQ19]Take note of the number
[BENQ20]Explain this sentence- what does it mean to you?
[BENQ21]Describe Leyla’s experience in learning Japanese?
[BENQ22]Explain your point of view on this issue using the examples given by Leyla.
[BENQ23]Explain what this phrase means to you and provide examples to support your answer.
[BENQ24]Take note of the number
[BENQ25]Understand the meaning behind this paragraph. In what ways is the simplification of a language plays a part in losing language?
[BENQ26]Why is it a struggle?
[BENQ27]Are there any similarities with the immersion of Taiwanese language in elementary schools?
[BENQ28]Why do you think Leyla’s parents wanted her and hr brother to develop solid English skills?
[BENQ29]Why do many natives (in the
[BENQ30]What’s the difference between a language as lost and language as gone?