ARTICLES

RESCUED HERITAGE
First Nations teachers are saving Aboriginal languages from extinction
CANADIAN FAMILY MAGAZINE
Eve Lazarus

It's the last day of class at the preschool on the Musqueam reserve in South Vancouver, and I'm watching the kids perform "Head and shoulders, knees and toes." At least the tune is familiar ("London Bridge"), as do the actions, but otherwise it's impossible to tell, because the children are singing in Hun'qumi'num, a dialect of the Musqueam band that lives in the area.

Four-year-old Santana takes me by the hand and gives me the grand tour. On the surface, the preschool looks pretty much like any other. But on closer inspection, I notice that there are numbers printed in the Musqueam language alongside their English equivalents. There are traditional paintings of frogs and salmon next to one of a pink pop-culture dinosaur. And hanging above a row of computers are wolf masks that the preschoolers painted to wear in a ceremony for National Aboriginal Day.

Victor Guerin, a former longshoreman and graduate of the University of British Columbia's First Nations Language Program, arrives with a large red bag full of drums which he hands out to the kids. He begins telling a story in his deep resonant voice. The story, which at this point is told in English, is about a girl and her brothers. They lived alone at the base of a mountain and when they needed food, the brothers would send their sister up into the woods to bring down the deer that they would shoot with their bow and arrows.

"The story, as I learned it from my late uncle, says that they were never grateful to her for her help," says Guerin. "One day just before she disappeared into the woods, she turned and said to her brothers that this would be the last time she would ever do this for them because they mistreated her so badly and that the next time they saw her she would be in the form of a wolf. As the deer came out of the woods, she followed behind them in the as a wolf and disappeared and never lived with her brothers again."

Guerin bangs his drum and he and the kids sing the story in the guttural accents of Hun'qumi'num. The beat of the drum gets faster and faster and the kids clap, all the time going around and around in a circle. At the end of the song, the children howl like wolves. The story is about family values. "Our ancestors saw the wolf as a symbol of the family, because wolves live in a family unit and participate and co-operate with each other." Traditional stories such as this one are called sXwi'em and are used to teach morals, life skills, history and respect. Aboriginal languages are passed down orally and are rich in legends and parables. Indigenous peoples believed that these languages were given to their ancestors by a single sacred Creator.

Still banging his drum ,Guerin now asks in English: "How did our people travel in the old days?" The kids are bright and quick with their answer (canoe, by the way), and it's obviously not the first time they've heard the story. "If you think of each beat of your drum as a stroke of the paddle, then that will help you picture your canoe travelling across the water," he tells them. I don't understand a word and I don't need to; because like the kids, I'm getting the gist through the music and as I shut my eyes, I can feel those people in the canoes, almost see them in fact. The drums and the sound of the words are a powerful combination.

Guerin's work is less about teaching of language than about its salvation, for although it is many centuries old, Hun'qumi'num is in very real danger of extinction.

There are currently 50 or so aboriginal languages spoken in Canada, and almost all are designated as endangered by UNESCO and Statistics Canada. Some could very well disappear within the next decade. This is an alarming situation, but it's less surprising given the comparable circumstances of many languages around the world. According to the UNESCO website, about 6,000 languages are spoken in the world today, and 95% of them are spoken by just 4% of the population. On average, two languages a month become extinct-when their last indigenous speakers die.

The reality is that half of all the world's languages could completely disappear over the next 25 years, notes Simon Robinson, executive director, of the First Peoples Cultural Foundation in Victoria. Established in 2000 this non-profit society provides Native communities with the tools to create their own language resources and also raises funds to support B.C.'s aboriginal language program. "It is vital to document as much as we can while we still have elders with us who are fluent in these dying languages." Of the more than 30 aboriginal languages spoken in B.C., every one is critically endangered.

The reality for the Musqueam reflects this desperate situation. Of the bands roughly 1,100 members, Guerin is one of only five who still speak the language and his is attempting to revive it. If he fails, the language may be lost and, along with it, much of Musqueam culture and oral history. "Without the language, certain aspects of the culture simply cannot survive," he says. "The culture of our people is encoded within the language and our connection to the land is encoded in the language."

He explains that aboriginals have a unique, natural relationship with the land, one that comes from living for thousands of years in hunter-gatherer societies. Aboriginal languages are literally an extension of that relationship," he says, whereas newer languages-including English-are comparatively functional, industrial products that clearly do not reflect this profound territorial connection.

Adds Robinson: "Imagine a native language spoken for 30,000 years in the same bioregion. It has evolved as part of nature; it has completely grown out of it." Hence indigenous language has the ability to describe the natural world in infinite detail, in all its subtle nuances and incredible rhythms. "It's almost as if aboriginal people see the world in 20/20."

As an example of how aboriginal language connects with nature, Guerin points to animal names. The Musqueam name for woodpecker is tumulhupsum, which means "the one with the red painted neck." Tumulh, he says, is a pigment made from red ochre clay and used in native ceremonies, while upsum is a suffix referring to the neck. "Such lexical suffixes are specialized ones that exist in our language and carry meaning of their own, which they add to the word that they're attached to," he says. "They are one aspect of our language that sometimes results in the translation of a single word into sentences or even paragraphs in English."

While the global plight of languages is undeniable, Guerin and others attribute much of the decline of aboriginal dialects to local historical factors. In particular, almost irreparable damage was done during the residential-school era of the 19th and early 20th centuries, when aboriginal children were forced from their homes and forbidden to speak their language or observe any of their cultural practices. Native parents were told that aboriginal values were "primitive" and therefore wrong; children were taught that their culture was not worth preserving. Learning English was successfully promoted as the only way for Native kids to succeed in mainstream, non-aboriginal society. Tragically, says Guerin, those beliefs persist; some of his people still believe that it's a disadvantage for their children to learn Musqueam.

Fortunately, the prevailing view today is more enlightened. Both provincial and federal governments recognize the importance of preserving aboriginal languages and are spearheading efforts to that end. The B.C. government contributed an initial $450,000 toward the establishment of the First Voices website (firstvoices.ca), which enables aboriginal communities to archive text, pictures, audio and video, thereby making it possible for the younger generations to learn the language directly from elders. The province also supports aboriginal language revitalization through its funding of the B.C. Language Program, which is run by the First People's Heritage Language and Culture Council on a budget of $870,000 a year.

At the national level, the Aboriginal Language Initiative of the Department of Canadian Heritage is providing $20 million in funding over four years for three language groups: First Nations (75%), Inuktitut (15%) and Michif (10%). Annually $220,000 is allotted to B.C. while the rest is divided among these three groups across Canada.

One B.C. beneficiary is the Saanich Nation of Vancouver Island. John Elliott, a Saanich member and teacher at Lau Welnew ("place of refuge") Tribal School near Victoria, has written several books in Sencoten, and teaches it to kids between Grades 4 and 9 as well as adults. "It's a real community effort. It's happening in the adult centre, it's happening in the daycare all through the grades and we also have an agreement with the local public school where some of our kids go and they are getting our language there as well," he says.

Elliott's father, Dave, an elder and teacher at the tribal school, spent several years creating and perfecting an alphabet for Sencoten. Following his father's death, the younger Elliott continued his work and came up with the concept that led to the computer application behind the First Voices archiving website. "It's a work in progress but right now First Voices has posted 2,000 words and 500 phrases in Sencoten," he says. A work in progress perhaps, but a strong start. Elliott is pleased to report that kids now know more of the language than their parents, which has the added benefit of reinforcing their identity.

On its website, The Squamish Nation ("people of the amazing water") of North Vancouver has posted a defiant "Declaration on Language," which proudly states that "The Squamish Language was and is the first Language of our ancestors and the Squamish people. The Squamish People refused to be intimidated and fought hard to retain the Language. This is why our children will not forget the Language either.

Ambitious maybe, but consider the results: run by elder-taught band members, the language program is active in the Squamish's five nursery schools and adult learning centre, five elementary schools and at North Vancouver's Carson Graham Secondary School. The ultimate goal is full immersion from kindergarten to Grade 12.

According to Jim Tarves, Carson Graham's vice-principal, roughly 12% of the school's student population is First Nations, and almost all take the language program. Many also take general First Nations studies and art classes. Those enrolled in the carving program recently refurbished the traditional totem pole that stood outside the school for many years and was showing heavy wear. The pole will now take up residence inside, but the students are carving a new figure to grace the school's exterior. "Being involved in traditional arts and languages gives the students a deeper sense of their heritage," says Tarves.

One such student is Natasha Nahanee, a 17-year-old girl in Grade 10, who lived in a foster home for years, not learning that she belonged to the Squamish people until age 10. For the past three years, she's been taking language classes at Carson Graham, where she learns mostly through listening to legends, as opposed to formal grammar and vocabulary drills. Now living on the Squamish reserve with her extended family, Natasha says exploring her heritage helped her embrace her roots. "I found I was born to be a weaver," says the girl, who now crafts hats and baskets from cedar.

Dustin Rivers, 14, was luckier. He grew up surrounded by his culture. First taught the Squamish language by his grandmother, he also studied at the Nation's nursery school, in primary school and at Carson Graham, where he is now a student. Dustin notes that while the Squamish people had no written language until about 50 years ago, their strong oral culture is a unique and powerful tool that has helped them handle land negotiations. "It gives us proof that our people lived there because we can give the names of those who lived there, say why they lived there and give the ancestral names of the villages and their meanings." Of the 3,000 Squamish, only a very few speak the language fluently, he adds, "but our language is the root of our whole culture. It is what makes us who we are as First Nations people. It's our identity card."

Victor Guerin would get along very well with Dustin Rivers. Though from different bands and different generations, they both understand that their languages and cultures are precious, and worth not simply maintaining but actively revitalizing. While the battle for culture preservation might have started late, bit by bit and small victory by small victory, the ranks of its defenders are growing. Hope for the preservation of Canada's aboriginal languages rests with teachers like Guerin, students like Natasha and Dustin, and First Nations children everywhere, who are already proving avid pupils in learning the tongues of their ancestors.

Although the vast majority of these kids may be blissfully unaware of it, they are soon to become responsible for the survival of thousands of years of knowledge and experience-a unique world view now at risk of disappearing without record. Let's hope they rise to the challenge; children are the leaders of tomorrow-but they are also the gatekeepers of the past.