The center. The core. The essential. It does not conform to the agendas of others. It can’t be outdone by feathers, CDIB cards and tribal cultural departments. It is impenetrable, like a bulletproof vest. Its erasure signifies the end of a traditional culture and the redevelopment of a new people; erasure not by the loss of fluency, but rather by the loss of the desire to fight for its return.
Culture shifts and changes, but languages adapt. They persist and revise. They are a continuum. They are the last lines of defense against colonialism and assimilation. They disregard semantics. They laugh at the value placed on Ph.D.s, master’s and bachelor’s degrees. They are a life force, a cultural barometer and a commitment indicator all rolled into one. They survived boarding schools, diseases and the ever-present self-hatred.
They come today in the form of militancy, but not the kind of guns and rhetoric. Not the kind born of politics and showmanship, awards ceremonies and ribbon cuttings. They can’t be dressed up. They exist far above the fray of all these things. They reject showcases, museums and shelves. They live, and not in the neat little spaces some wish they would exist in. No beaded vest, long braids, brown skin, “wisdom of the elders” parlayed in English or any other material or ancient or contemporary form of Indian expression can eclipse their greatness. No relocation, separation, backstabbing, federal bureaucracy, corrupt tribal government or cultural hitchhiker can eradicate their message, their centrality. They cannot be legislated, not even by the most powerful officials. They cannot be negotiated.
All the fancy dancing, grass dancing, gourd dancing, sweat lodge attending and longhouse participating cannot overtake their vibrancy and essentialism. The regalia of language cannot be removed after the dance ends and the ceremony fades until the next season.
Language is the sound that propels the dance and calls God into the lodge. The problem: anumpa kallo. Languages are hard. Not to learn, but to commit to; they don’t bring praise from adoring fans. They don’t have commencements and plaques. They are humble. They refute mainstream ideologies. In matrilineal communities they support the rationale behind homes free of domestic violence and drug use. Where they thrive, these problems dissipate. Where they disappear, these scourges further develop.
They cannot be owned by a certain family, clan, or tribal area within our communities. They are not like a traditional song or sacred item. We are inherently born with their capacity and protection. They are not removable or corruptible. They are pure in every form, and what we make of them is world defining. They are the greatest gift. They appear in the dreams of our children as they sleep and in their prayers prior to gatherings. We are the catalyst for their revitalization and continuance. They become our responsibility and not the responsibility of others.
We speak them in front of the most fluent elders of our communities with the same passion that we speak them in the midst of the most loathing “English only!” advocates we come into contact with. Do not allow insecurity to fill our vessel. We don’t argue over pronunciation or who is “right and wrong.”
The only time we are speaking our Indian languages wrong is when we are not attempting to speak them at all. They are ours. By opening our mouths and allowing them to come forth we have accomplished one of the bravest acts known. We have turned back the tide of colonization. We have ensured vitality, health and good feelings. We have ensured the future of the indigenous mind.
Cedric Sunray
Shawnee, Okla.
The author is language program manager for the Chickasaw Nation in Oklahoma
