Language Documentation and Revitalization in Latin American Contexts 9783110428902, 9783110438079

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Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers, Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (Eds.) Language Documentation and Revitalization in Latin American Contexts



Trends in Linguistics Studies and Monographs

Editor Volker Gast Editorial Board Walter Bisang Jan Terje Faarlund Hans Henrich Hock Natalia Levshina Heiko Narrog Matthias Schlesewsky Amir Zeldes Niina Ning Zhang Editor responsible for this volume Volker Gast

Volume 295



Language Documentation and Revitalization in Latin American Contexts Edited by Gabriela Pérez Báez Chris Rogers Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada



ISBN 978-3-11-043807-9 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-042890-2 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-042894-0 ISSN 1861-4302 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A CIP catalog record for this book has been applied for at the Library of Congress. Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2016 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: fidus Publikations-Service GmbH, Nördlingen Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck ♾ Printed on acid-free paper Printed in Germany www.degruyter.com



Table of contents Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada 1 Introduction   1 Denny Moore and Ana Vilacy Galucio 2 Perspectives for the documentation of indigenous languages in Brazil   29

3

Carolyn O’Meara and Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama Accessibility to results and primary data of research on indigenous languages of Mexico   59

4

Saul Santos García, Tutupika Carillo de la Cruz and Karina Ivett Verdín Amaro The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico   81

5

Rosa Yáñez Rosales, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres and Rocío Rojas Arias Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico   109

Rosa Vallejos 6 Structural outcomes of obsolescence and revitalization: Documenting variation among the Kukama-Kukamirias   143

7

Gabriela Pérez Báez Addressing the gap between community beliefs and priorities and researchers’ language maintenance interests   165

Liliana Sánchez 8 The linguist gaining access to the indigenous populations: Sharing cultural and linguistic knowledge in South America   195 Magnus Pharao Hansen, Néstor Hernández-Green, Rory Turnbull, Ditte Boeg Thomsen 9 Life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation: Navigating the micro-politics of language revitalization in an Otomí community in Mexico   215

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 Table of contents

Chris Rogers 10 Indigenous authenticity as a goal of language documentation and revitalization: Addressing the motivations in the Xinkan community 

 247

Stéphanie Villard and J. Ryan Sullivant 11 Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates   273 Elena Benedicto, Amelia Chantal Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna 12 Linguistic ideologies as a crucial factor in language revitalization: A look at the Mayangna languages of Nicaragua   305 Index 

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Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

1 Introduction 1 Overview

There has been a significant increase in the concern for and awareness about endangered languages within the field of linguistics. The responses to this social and linguistic issue fall into one of three categories: (1) language documentation in order to preserve these languages for scientific study and linguistic analysis; (2) language revitalization in order to expand the domains of use of a language through language planning programs, projects, and activities; and (3) the investigation of the causes and consequences of endangerment and the typological classification of endangered languages. An overarching theme common to these responses has been the development and use of ethical and methodological best practices for collaborating with language communities. All of these responses are significant and meaningful to language communities and scholars. However, the discussion and outcomes, including recommendations for best practices, are focused on widely-known language communities and sociolinguistic contexts in North America, Australia, Europe, or New Zealand (see Austin and Sallabank 2011; Brenzinger 2007; Crippen and Robinson 2013; Crystal 2000; Errington 2003; Fishman 1991; Gippert, Himmelmann, and Mosel 2006; Grenoble and Furbee 2010; Grenoble and Whaley 1998, 2006; Harrison, Rood, and Dwyer 2008; Hinton and Hale 2001; Krauss 1992; Moseley 2010; Nettle and Romaine 2000; Penfield et al. 2008; Rice 2006, 2012; and Whaley 2011; inter alia). Literature that focuses on Latin American issues is scant. In particular, before the publication of this volume, there have been no book-length works examining – through case studies – the practicalities and methodologies of language documentation and language maintenance/revitalization with an exclusive focus on Latin American contexts. Other case-study book-length volumes on language documentation and language maintenance/revitalization examine the topics dealt with in this volume but the number of chapters that focus on projects carried out in Latin America is limited or non-existent. For instance, only two out of 21 contributions in GrenoGabriela Pérez Báez, Smithsonian Institution Chris Rogers, Brigham Young University Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada, University of British Columbia

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 Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

ble and Furbee (2010) are devoted to Latin American languages. In comparison, there are five contributions on US Native American languages, and the bulk of the contributions is from researchers whose research is based in the US, Canada or Australia. There are no Latin American case studies in early publications such as Hinton and Hale (2001) nor are there any in more recent publications such as Haig et al. (2011). Thus, there is a need to make broadly available a wider set of case studies on language documentation and revitalization experiences in other parts of the world as do, for example, Franchetto and Rice (2014), Cruz and Woodbury (2014) and Stenzel (2014), among others. It is to this end that the 11 case studies presented in this volume describe, compare, and contrast language documentation and/or revitalization experiences throughout Latin America in light of the previously published information. Language documentation and revitalization in communities in Latin America is characterized by a number of unique factors (see below) that must be considered in order for the responses to language endangerment in the region to be appropriate, meaningful, or effective. These characteristics are the result of a high level of linguistic diversity, varying levels of social and political development, and a diverse set of cultural practices. For example, Latin America is home to over 100 distinct language families whose languages are spoken in communities of all sizes (ranging from millions of speakers on the one hand to a single speaker on the other). Some of these languages are official languages in the countries where they are spoken (e.g., Guaraní, Quechua, Aymara) while most others are scarcely recognized by their national governments. In conjunction with this, many language communities, despite desiring to document and revitalize their languages, do not have the social, political, or economic infrastructure in place to support language planning projects. In other cases, communities may not perceive their languages as endangered because social and cultural practices mask the signs of ongoing language shift. When considered altogether, this means that expectations and best practices for language documentation and revitalization in Latin America are different from the ones outlined in sources such as those cited above. It is consequently clear that addressing these differences can help in developing better responses to the global concern for language endangerment. In order to show how these differences affect the practice of language documentation and revitalization, each chapter in this volume presents a case study highlighting one or more of the factors representative of the situation. These case studies were originally presented and discussed in a special panel at the 2013 Annual Meeting of the Society for the Study of the Languages of the Americas in conjunction with the Linguistic Society of America. This special panel highlighted a number of issues and challenges for community members, scholars, and researchers working with communities in Latin America, which present a

Introduction 

 3

unique context for responding to language endangerment. These can be summarized into the following list of factors: – High levels of linguistic and dialectal diversity – Lack of social, political, and/or economic resources – Lack of infrastructure to support language planning projects, programs, and activities – Community perception of documentation and/or revitalization projects and engagement in them – Community expectations as to the outcomes for language documentation and revitalization – Response to and acceptance of ethical behavior prescribed by the field of linguistics – Geographic distance and terrain, and geopolitical borders Each of these factors was present in two or more situations discussed in the special panel and are thus discussed here in the different chapters. However, we certainly do not claim that this list is exhaustive, as we expect further research and discussions to refine this list both for Latin America and elsewhere. This is especially true because we acknowledge that this list represents macro-factors that, upon close examination, encompass a number of smaller issues that need to be evaluated and understood in light of a broader discussion on language endangerment, documentation, and revitalization. For example, infrastructure encompasses local and national support as well as a correlation to individual motivation. Nevertheless, as a whole, the set of case studies presented here support our claim that the response to language endangerment in communities throughout Latin America is different from that suggested or expected in more widely known discussions and publications. It is hoped that the broad geographic, linguistic and cultural representation of the cases discussed in this volume make it as relevant as possible to a broad audience of those interested in language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts and to those interested in improving language documentation and revitalization approaches at a global level. To achieve our purpose this book is organized as follows. The remainder of this chapter is devoted to characterizing the factors mentioned above and to showing how they represent a unique context for Latin American language communities. First, the linguistic background and geographical delimitations of Latin America are discussed in Section 2; the purpose being to provide the necessary background for evaluating the information presented throughout this volume. Then, in Section 3, a detailed comparison of the relevant factors in and outside of Latin America is presented, with cross-references to each individual

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 Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

chapter providing specific evidence. The remaining eleven chapters of this book represent case studies that discuss specific language scenarios in many individual political and geographical settings. Collectively these case studies represent the complexity of the issues for language endangerment in Latin America and the implications for methodologies and best practices for responding to this global issue in the region.

2 The linguistic background of Latin America The scarcity of case studies on language documentation and revitalization in Latin America is in stark contrast with the large number of languages and language families of the region. It is important to understand this diversity, as it is a motivating force behind the trend of increasing linguistic field research. It is also often an important factor to consider as part of a language revitalization strategy. Revitalization, in turn, is an important concern in Latin America given the high degree of endangerment found in the area. We focus on these two points, diversity and endangerment, in this section, prior to discussing linguistic diversity in Section 3.1 as a factor worthy of consideration. Linguistic diversity is high in Latin America with concentrations of numerous dialectal varieties or even mutually unintelligible and/or genetically unrelated languages in small geographic areas. South America in particular is the geographic region with the greatest genetic diversity in languages – defined as the number of language families – in the world (see Campbell and Grondona 2012). Overall, given the 420 language families (including isolates) in the world (Campbell 2012; Hammarström 2010), Mexico, Central and South America combined are home to about a third of the world’s language families. Similarly, many (if not most) of the languages spoken in Latin American countries are endangered to various degrees and despite best efforts there is no consistent, or accepted, language vitality typology which represents the many social and political factors involved. Both of these issues are discussed in the present section, in turn.

2.1 Number of languages Quantification of the number of languages spoken in Mexico alone has challenged language documenters for centuries and debate continues over the status of linguistic systems throughout Latin America as languages or dialects. Various attempts at this have been undertaken throughout the post-colonial history of

Introduction 

 5

the country (cf. Longacre 1967; Kaufman 1974; Suárez 1983; and INALI 2008; inter alia). Garza Cuarón and Lastra (1991) summarize some of these efforts and provide an inventory of 65 languages from ten different language families in addition to languages known to have disappeared since colonial times. The Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas (INALI, ‘National Institute of Indigenous Languages’) produced an extensive Catalog of Indigenous National Languages (INALI 2008) listing 364 language varieties belonging to 68 language groups from the following 11 language families with at least one language spoken in Mexico: Algic, Uto-Aztecan, Cochimí-Yuman, Seri, Otomanguean, Mayan, Totonac-Tepehua, Tarascan, Mixe-Zoquean, Tequistlatec-Jicaque and Huave. The Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig 2014)1 lists 282 living languages for Mexico. More broadly, Campbell (1998) lists ten language families (groupings of two or more) and seven isolates for Middle America (i.e., Central America and the Caribbean). In addition to these, Campbell indicates that there are over 100 unclassified extinct “languages” (1998: 169) documented in historical sources. Some of the latter may be alternate names for extant languages but it is likely that indeed a large number of languages have disappeared since 1492. As in Mexico, the actual number of individual languages in this region is hard to estimate because of the unclear status of some speech varieties as either separate languages or dialects of a common language and because of the number of languages that have lost their speakers in the last five centuries. For example, McQuown (1955) lists 351 languages for Mexico and Central America. The Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig 2014)2 lists 43 extant languages in Belize, El Salvador, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Guatemala and Panama combined; an additional 23 are listed for the Caribbean. Glottolog (Hammarström et al. 2015)3 lists 723 languages for Middle America, the US and Canada without distinguishing between them. Linguistic diversity in South America is the greatest in the world given the large number of distinct language families (not the absolute number of distinct languages). Crevels (2012: 167) offers summarized estimates on indigenous populations and number of indigenous languages for South America by country, amounting to a total of 420 languages. Campbell (2012) mentions 108 language families of which 53 have at least two member languages and 55 are isolates. Of the 53 families, 43 are small and comprised of six or less languages. The number of individual languages is again hard to determine but Campbell (2012) coincides

1 Accessed online at http://www.ethnologue.com/country/MX on November 6, 2014. 2 Accessed online at http://www.ethnologue.com/region/CAM and http://www.ethnologue. com/region/CAR on November 6, 2014. 3 Accessed online at http://glottolog.org/glottolog/language on September 3, 2015.

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with Crevels and gives 420 as his estimate of currently-spoken languages. The Ethnologue lists 458 languages for South America (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig 2014).4 Glottolog lists 645 for South America (Hammarström et al. 2015).5 The country with the highest number of languages in the region is by far Brazil; Moore and Galucio (Chapter 2, this volume)6 expand on this matter through firsthand experience in the challenge of developing an inventory of linguistic diversity in Brazil. Undoubtedly the figures for the entire region of Latin America will continue to change as language shift continues and as new language groups are defined and accepted. However, it is clear that in the context of language endangerment, linguistic diversity must be considered as a factor for the reasons explained below in Section 3.1.

2.2 Language endangerment in Latin America Many of the languages spoken in Latin American countries are endangered to various degrees. Although it is difficult to obtain language vitality data for the entire region, there are online resources that provide some meaningful statistics. The Catalog of Endangered Languages (ELCat) provides endangerment levels for 731 endangered languages in Central and South America, including Mexico, based on four criteria: Intergenerational Transmission, Absolute Number of Speakers, Speaker Number Trends, and Domains of Use of the Language.7 Table 1 provides the counts of languages in each category. There are 34 languages that do not have an endangerment status assigned.8

4 Accessed online at http://www.ethnologue.com/region/SAM on November 6, 2014. 5 Accessed online at http://glottolog.org/glottolog/language on September 3, 2015. 6 References to specific chapters in this volume are made by placing the authors’ last names in italics. The chapter number accompanies the first mention but not subsequent ones. 7 Report generated from http://www.endangeredlanguages.com on November 12, 2014. 8 We are most grateful to Dr. Lyle Campbell and the staff of The Endangered Languages Project for providing us with this report generated from the ELCat EMu system.

Introduction 

 7

Tab. 1: Vitality counts and characterizations according to ELCat Vitality Dormant Critically Endangered Severely Endangered Endangered Threatened Vulnerable At Risk Safe Unknown

No. of ­languages No known L1 speakers Under 10 elder speakers, rapid shift in few domains 10–99 adult speakers, rapid shift in limited domains 100–999 adult speakers, few child speakers, rapid shift in expanded domains 1,000–9,999 adult speakers, few child speakers in local domains 10,000–99,999 adult and child speakers, limited shift in many domains Large numbers of speakers but domains of use are unknown Large numbers of speakers in a wide range of domains

30 70 58 146 216 132 45 0 34

In comparison, the Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig 2014)9 classifies languages along the Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (EGIDS), which includes classifications of languages on 13 different levels. This information can be summarized using the classifications listed in Table 2. These classifications include national languages like English, Spanish, and Portuguese. Three subregions of Latin America are distinguished according to these labels: Central America (including Mexico), the Caribbean and South America.

9 Accessed online at http://www.ethnologue.com/region/SAM on November 6, 2014.

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 Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

Tab. 2: Vitality counts and characterizations according to Ethnologue No. of languages Vitality Institutional Developing Vigorous In Trouble Dying

Central America Large speaker base in many domains Large speaker base in many domains with growing literacy Large speaker base of adults and ­children, but in restricted domains Average speaker base with rapid shift Limited speaker base with extremely rapid shift, including complete shift

Caribbean

South America

14 106

3 4

18 109

77

10

57

87 41

3 3

135 139

The linguistic diversity and the various classifications of endangerment in Latin America have motivated many attempts to clarify the situation and to document the individual languages. In the last 10 years, the three major funding agencies for language documentation have awarded a number of projects. The Dokumentation bedrohter Sprachen (DOBES) program has funded two projects in Mexico (Chontal, Lacandón) and 14 projects in South America that included 24 languages. Among these projects are the People of the Center project, which documented five languages, the Aikanã/Kwaza project which documented two languages, and the Chaco project which documented four languages. The Endangered Language Documentation Programme (ELDP) funded 31 projects in Central America and 33 projects in South America between 2006 and 2013. The Endangered Languages Archive (ELAR) website lists 23 documentation projects in Mexico alone.10 In Brazil, Moore and Galucio report that DOBES funded nine documentation projects while ELDP supported 22 projects. According to Franchetto and Rice (2014: 253), the National Science Foundation Documenting Endangered Languages Program (NSF-DEL) has funded projects on some 23 Central American languages and 21 South American languages. Franchetto and Rice (2014: 254) also report that the Endangered Language Fund (ELF) funded around 30 projects in Latin America between 1996 and 2012. The need for linguistic research and attention to the language endangerment problem in Latin America requires an improved understanding of the factors affecting documentation and revitalization, especially given that these endeavors are often funded by entities based outside the

10 Endangered Languages Archive website accessed at http://elar.soas.ac.uk/ deposit-list-by-country on November 7, 2014.

Introduction 

 9

region. We thus turn to the factors that have been identified by the contributors to this volume.

3 Language documentation and revitalization in Latin America The purpose of this section is to provide a detailed comparison of the relevant factors for language documentation and revitalization in and out of Latin America. This comparison is supported by cross-references to individual chapters in this volume, which exemplify the differences between widely known responses to language endangerment and those required in Latin American communities. Each of the factors that have emerged from the ongoing discussions among all of the authors and the editors (and introduced in Section 1 above) is discussed in turn.

3.1 Linguistic diversity and language endangerment in Latin America Linguistic diversity in the context of documentation and revitalization presents special challenges. It has already been mentioned that the mere distinction between dialects and languages is a matter of debate. Moore and Galucio present a specific discussion about the difficulty of ascertaining the number of languages spoken in Brazil. The authors explain how this problem plays out in the Brazilian context and they question the liberal use of a figure of 180 languages spoken in Brazil despite there being no tangible evidence to back this figure. The authors cite Moore, Galucio, and Gabas (2008) as an attempt at arriving at a more reliable count of 150 indigenous Brazilian languages. They go further to explain that the assignment of language terms is problematic because the practice of language documentation is relatively recent in Brazil and the classification practices are still being developed. These complications are common in regions of high linguistic diversity. Beyond quantification, linguistic diversity presents challenges in revitalization practices that can be quite specific. O’Meara and González Guadarrama (Chapter 3, this volume) describe the case of the community of San Mateo Almomoloa in Central Mexico, where two attempts at teaching Nahuatl failed because the teachers were not speakers of the local varieties of Nahuatl. In one case, the strategies implemented by a teacher who was a speaker of a variety spoken in the state of Guerrero in western Mexico were seen with suspicion. In a second

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 Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

attempt, classes were not well attended because the teacher was not a speaker of the local Nahuatl variety. Yáñez Rosales et al. (Chapter 5, this volume) explain that the participation in language reclamation activities by speakers of varieties of Nahuatl that are different from those historically spoken in the communities with which they work has enabled advances towards meeting the goals of their language reclamation project; this participation, however, initially faced rejection and criticism. In their case study, the authors describe the process through which the communities of Tuxpan and Ayotitlán in the western Mexican state of Jalisco have attempted to reclaim Nahuatl varieties of the Western Periphery. These two communities no longer have fluent speakers and the documentation of their respective varieties is limited, as in the case of Tuxpan, or non-existent, as in the case of Ayotitlán. Both communities have created bilingual school programs aimed at language reclamation. In both cases, the Nahuatl-speaking teachers were from the La Huasteca region in the states of Hidalgo and Veracruz, rather than speakers of the local Nahuatl variety. In both cases, there was initial criticism about the involvement of teachers who were speakers of varieties other than the local ones. The lack of an alternative made the criticism subside over time and the teachers continue to be part of the reclamation process. Their involvement then lends special characteristics to the reclamation process. In the case of Tuxpan, for instance, the drafting of a dictionary involves the documentation of a lexicon from the different varieties of Nahuatl spoken by the teachers. Linguistic diversity is discussed in other papers in this volume in different ways; yet all convey the importance of it for understanding the uniqueness of language communities. Both the Otomí case in Pharao Hansen et al. (Chapter 9, this volume) and the San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec case in Pérez Báez (Chapter 7, this volume) are unique cases within the large and diverse families of Otomí languages and Zapotec languages, respectively. What applies to each of these two communities cannot necessarily be taken as representative of the larger set of Otomí and Zapotec speaking communities since sociocultural contexts, language vitality and other characteristics will vary from one community to the next as much as the languages may be distinct. Even in shallow and less diverse families such as the Chatino family, language communities can vary significantly. Villard and Sullivant (Chapter 11, this volume) place the Tataltepec and Zacatepec Chatino case studies within the context of three recognized Chatino languages with significant structural differences and vitality situations, Tataltepec and Zacatepec being two of the most highly endangered Chatino languages. The Kukama-Kukamiria case in Vallejos (Chapter 6, this volume) addresses diversity within a language community and shows that the level of fluency in a language may change the structural characteristics of it, but not the value of revitalization

Introduction 

 11

and documentation projects. Given this diversity, much is required in the way of resources and infrastructure in order to adequately document the myriad languages of Latin America and in order to carry out the work in a manner that is appropriate for each language community.

3.2 Resources, infrastructure and language endangerment in Latin America Community-internal resources generally range from limited to non-existent in Latin American societies, most of which are dependent on subsistence agriculture, hunter-gathering, or small-scale trade and services. State and federal11 resources, if available, are generally very limited and not efficiently administered. The chapters in this volume provide numerous case studies where the quest for resources has been pivotal for documentation and revitalization endeavors. Specifically, in contexts of high linguistic diversity as in the case of Mexico, Guatemala, or Brazil, language documentation is paramount as part of the process of quantifying the diversity of a country. As such, the funding required to conduct adequate language documentation can be overwhelmingly high. In cases where such funding is missing domestically, researchers may be required to seek funding from foreign sources. This strategy is not without impact and can be beneficial and at the same time be the cause of complications as described in Moore and Galucio. In their chapter, the authors explain that the international sources of funding for the extensive documentation needed for the languages in Brazil has been a cause of tension among Brazilian researchers. At the same time, however, the efforts to document Brazilian languages including the search for funding outside the country has increased the visibility of the country’s indigenous languages and prompted national initiatives that gave way to the locally developed and funded Projeto de Documentação de Línguas Indígenas (PRODOCLIN, ‘Indigenous Languages Documentation Project’) which began in 2006 under the direction of Brazilian linguist Bruna Franchetto. Resources needed for documentation and revitalization may include telecommunications technology and infrastructure, the availability of which cannot be taken for granted in a substantial number of Latin American communities. O’Meara and González Guadarrama illustrate the complications related to the

11 The words “federal” and “state” are used here as cover terms for “nation/country” and for “largest political division inside a country”, respectively. Therefore, these words can refer to different entities in different countries.

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implementation of the directive that primary data must be returned to the source community, as advocated for in Austin (2006), Bowden and Hajek (2006), and Dwyer (2006), among others. O’Meara and González Guadarrama contrast the large established language archives with incipient archiving efforts in Mexican indigenous communities. The authors first describe the planning and infrastructure behind the creation of the Northeastern North American Languages Archive (NNAILA), the Ahtna Regional Linguistic and Ethnographic Archive (Berez, Finnesand, and Linnell 2012), and archives of South American languages supported by the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics (see Seifart et al. 2008). Subsequently, they describe the situation in their field sites: the Nahuatl community of San Mateo Almomoloa in central Mexico and the Seri community of El Desemboque in northwest Mexico. In both cases, Internet connectivity is not available in a manner that would enable community members to freely and easily consult online archives of the type mentioned above. As such, the researchers sought to develop jukebox-type archives so that the data physically resides in the community. In San Mateo Almomoloa, the lack of a physical space to house an archive, compounded with a lack of social trust and complex interactions with the local government, made for a difficult delivery of research data to the community. A compromise was reached to allow for a language archive to reside in a school, but the arrangement was not optimal. In the Seri community of El Desemboque, the school setting was deemed inadequate given that the school system is government-run and that the teachers are not Seri speakers. As such, the only arrangement to date is to make the data available one-on-one to community members who express an interest in accessing it. Both of these cases highlight the frequent situation encountered in Latin American contexts where infrastructure as basic as a space to house a computer or adequate Internet connectivity is lacking, making it very difficult, if not impossible, for the data to be returned effectively to a community. Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna (Chapter 12, this volume) also indicate that certain resources such as Internet access are available only in urban centers. As such, access to these resources by residents of rural communities is dependent on their community’s proximity to those urban centers. An important issue to consider in Latin American contexts is that while resources may exist, both domestically and internationally; access to them might be contingent upon a working knowledge of a dominant language such as Spanish, Brazilian Portuguese or English. This is especially the case for online language archives whose interface might be in a dominant language, and sometimes in a dominant language that is not the national language that a specific Latin American community might speak. Consider the institutional archives described in O’Meara and González Guadarrama, which are online and require language

Introduction 

 13

proficiency in Spanish and Internet connectivity as a condition for accessing any materials of interest. Similarly, access to conferences, training and other educational opportunities might require knowledge of a dominant national or international language. This is obviously quite problematic for monolingual speakers of indigenous Latin American languages but even bilingual speakers do not have access to resources and exchange opportunities such as most US-based conferences and training opportunities delivered in other languages (such as English). In cases of high endangerment levels where few speakers are left, or in cases where only reclamation rather than revitalization is an option, a critical resource is basic documentation of the language in question. This basic documentation is oftentimes also lacking. Yáñez Rosales et al. describe the reclamation efforts of Nahua communities in Jalisco where a lack of documentation has required that those interested in language reclamation resort to resources on related languages rather than the local Nahuatl varieties which no longer have speakers. As mentioned earlier, this has required community members to work with speakers of other Nahuatl varieties as language contributors in language documentation efforts aimed at creating language resources for the community engaged in the reclamation process. Another critical resource identified in various chapters in this volume relates to the community-based social and intellectual resources needed to foster a sustainable collaboration. These types of resources allow the community to benefit from a research project and might enable the researcher to be involved in a collaborative language revitalization effort in a meaningful way. Villard and Sullivant describe the impact of short cycles in the local administration which hamper the sustainability of their work and explain that the involvement of community members in the local sweat equity practices prevented the development of any mid- to long-term collaborative endeavors. This included the sustained participation of individuals in research projects. Pérez Báez reports a similar problem with the three-year rotating cycles of the teachers’ tenures in the San Lucas Quiaviní preschool, which makes long-term project goals difficult to sustain. O’Meara and González Guadarrama also report complications in sustaining, over time, the arrangements made for a local language archive intended to make linguistic research data available to the wide community; these complications are the result of the cyclical change of local government officials. These authors also explain how a lack of generalized trust in language documentation endeavors prevent these from evolving and growing to the point where they can have a positive impact towards language revitalization. Yáñez Rosales et al. report similar issues faced by a revitalization initiative in a Jalisco Nahua community as a result of school administration turnover. The San Jerónimo Acazulco Otomí case described in Pharao Hansen et al. shows the social tensions that can ensue when there is no

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one linguistic authority in the community that can validate the documentation efforts led by the researchers as well as the revitalization efforts led by community members themselves. In all cases, a critical element of social infrastructure is lacking and hampers best efforts to carry out long term documentation and revitalization as prescribed in best practices in linguistics. Various chapters describe scenarios where community members interested in language teaching lack the necessary training to do so effectively. Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro (Chapter 4, this volume) report that the Wixárika community of El Colorín in the state of Nayarit, Mexico does not have teachers in its school system who are speakers of the local language despite the fact that federal law guarantees mother-tongue education. On the flip side, cases are found where those who have the necessary teacher training are not the most proficient speakers of the target language or are not speakers of it at all. Vallejos presents an evidence-based discussion showing how the language of speakers of Kukama-Kukamiria with different levels of fluency is substantially different from the language of fluent L1 speakers. The author documents the structural differences between fluent speakers and latent-speakers and discusses the language change patterns that might emerge through the participation of latent-speakers as role models in language classrooms. This points to the impact that the participation of speakers other than fluent L1 speakers can have in a process of language revitalization. This is an issue relevant to the case presented in Pharao Hansen et al. where, of the three community members who were interested in revitalization, only one had teacher training but only passive knowledge of the target Otomí language. It is common in Mexico to see trained teachers who are speakers of an indigenous language placed as teachers in a community where a different language variety or even an altogether different language is spoken. O’Meara and González Guadarrama describe the negative attitudes by members of the San Mateo Almomoloa community towards teachers in the local schools who were from outside the community and were speakers of a variety of Nahuatl that is different from the one spoken locally. Pérez Báez describes that most work towards sustaining the use of San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec was made possible by the interest and dedication of two teachers in the local pre-school. These highly competent, trained teachers were Zapotec speakers. However, they were not speakers of the local Zapotec variety. So while they were interested and personally engaged in revitalization, their ability to engage in literacy efforts was hampered. These scenarios contrast significantly with the situation described in Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna for Nicaragua where constitutional recognition of local languages has enabled the creation of a robust system of bilingual intercultural education. While the authors do not overtly make this observation, one can infer that the role of the documentary linguist across these

Introduction 

 15

cases is substantially different: in all the examples in the previous paragraph, the linguist must extend his or her work into the fields of applied linguistics and pedagogy in an effort to respond to the moral directive of contributing to the sustainability of the languages of interest to linguists. In the Nicaraguan case, the educational system is supported by a robust cohort of trained teachers at various levels and equipped with educational materials in the relevant languages that, among other things, allow for the use of local languages (to varying degrees) as media of instruction. The relationship between community members involved in language instruction and the external documentary linguist is then able to follow a Participatory (Action) Research approach in which a substantial part of the documentary and applied work is carried out by community researchers (Benedicto et al. 2004, 2002; Benedicto et al. 2007). Reclamation scenarios pose a special situation and one in which the only recourse is to reach out to teachers who are speakers of related languages. The Nahua case described in Yáñez Rosales et al. for the state of Jalisco, Mexico also shows the challenge that reclamation presents when those trained as language teachers are speakers of varieties that are not those to be reclaimed. While reclamation efforts have the inherent difficulty of developing trained teachers from within their reduced or non-existent group of speakers, the situation is exacerbated by the dysfunctional bilingual education policies in Mexico. In her discussion about the differences in language structure across speakers of Kukama-­ Kukamiria with different fluency levels, Vallejos actually shows that there is value in the language knowledge that latent-speakers of a highly endangered language may have.

3.3 Community engagement, motivation and language ­endangerment in Latin America Concern over language endangerment has created renewed interest and efforts in language documentation, language revitalization, and language planning in general. These efforts are often backed by the motivation to preserve linguistic diversity, to scientifically explore language similarities and differences, or to preserve linguistic information related to human history and/or social development. However, it is also understood that each language community is unique and that specific issues must be met on a community-by-community basis (Dobrin 2008). In Latin American language communities, these differences require particular attention to the motivation of communities to engage in language planning activities, programs and projects.

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The main point of this section is that motivation for engagement with and involvement in language documentation and revitalization is not a categorical concept but rather a continuum representing various social circumstances. In Latin America some communities are engaged in a way which seems consistent with widely known views on language endangerment (see the chapters by Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro and Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna), others show little or no interest in these types of activities and efforts (see the individual chapters by Pérez Báez, Villard and Sullivant, and Rogers [Chapter 10, this volume]), and some clearly fall somewhere in between (see the chapter by Yáñez Rosales et al.). This continuum of engagement and motivation affects the expected outcomes of language documentation and revitalization projects (as is discussed below in Section 3.4) as well as the linguists themselves, who are faced with pressure to show how their own work fits into the published best practices in the field of linguistics. In the case of the Wixárika community in Nayarit, Mexico as described by Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, there is an almost ideal amount of engagement and motivation. External linguists and researchers collaborate with community members to create and sustain revitalization efforts. This type of collaboration has developed after years of social and political influence on and in the community as well as sustained interest by the external researchers. However, even in this ideal situation it is clear that lauded revitalization programs such as language nests and immersion classrooms are impractical. Success for this language community came only after what the authors call a “more locally oriented approach” (Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume: 103) to community engagement. This involved avoiding pre-conceived ideas and plans for the community and developing initiatives (even temporary ones) based on the actual needs and issues in the community, such as the ongoing revitalization of cultural practices. For two Nahua speaking communities in Mexico, Yáñez Rosales et al. show that motivation is affected by the sociolinguistic situation in a community. Throughout Latin America, communities show interest in responding to the loss of their languages, but after years of social and political inequality there are often no speakers of their ancestral languages left. As the Nahua cases illustrate, communities in this situation are not motivated to revitalize a language that is no longer their first language. They are interested in what the authors refer to as language reclamation. This starts as the recognition of the symbolic value of a language for a community and requires a unique set of resources and goals. This sociolinguistic atmosphere calls for a delicate balance of external support and internal community involvement and is expected to take much longer than other revitalization scenarios.

Introduction 

 17

On the opposite side of the spectrum, it is common for language communities throughout Latin America to not even have an interest in or expectation for language revitalization or documentation. For example, the Chatino communities of Zacatepec and Tataltepec in Oaxaca, Mexico as described by Villard and Sullivant have little interest in these activities because large-scale community migration has altered the social value of the communities’ languages. Members of these communities have a greater interest in learning English as a tool of social and economic advancement that in developing their own languages toward this same goal. The addition of English to the already existing social diglossia in these communities has severely hampered any interest in the revitalization of Chatino and has affected the way external linguists interact with the community. The authors clearly illustrate that they are not able to be agents of language shift reversal and focus instead on the few pockets of interest in preserving the language through recorded materials. The Xinkan community offers another perspective on motivation and engagement in language documentation and revitalization. Rogers describes how in this community, as in many other communities throughout Latin America, individuals have suffered years of prolonged prejudice and discrimination. This social and political inequality has in turn affected the way these local communities are perceived by both national governments and other local communities. In the Xinkan case, the result of this inequality is that community interest is less about documenting or revitalizing a language for the sake of preservation or ethnic identity, and more about the need to establish authenticity as an indigenous community. Efforts toward language documentation and revitalization in this community are merely a means by which to show their authenticity and support their claims for equality. Since there are no speakers of the ancestral languages, community members organize their claims for equality and social and political reform based on scientific language documentation and revitalization. Rogers concludes that following from this type of situation for some communities the focus should not be language documentation and revitalization, but “language documentation and community creation” (Rogers, this volume: 268). For some language communities the reality of language endangerment is obscured by unique social factors, and this in turn affects their willingness to engage in language documentation and revitalization efforts. The Zapotec community in San Lucas Quiaviní, Oaxaca, Mexico is split between two connected communities across an international border: the community in Oaxaca and a sister community in Los Angeles, California, in the United States. Pérez Báez describes that in the Los Angeles community, children rarely acquire the ancestral variety of Zapotec, while in the community in Oaxaca they do so regularly. With expectation of migration from Oaxaca to California (and often back again),

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 Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers and Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada

the community language is endangered as migrant children only learn Spanish or English. However, this shift is not recognized by the community because the practice of migration and beliefs about the integral relationship between the language and the place of birth mask its effects. This has an obvious impact on the interest in language maintenance in the community, and has resulted in the author having to create awareness of the issue in the first place. Finally, in many cases languages are spoken across political boundaries. Sánchez (Chapter 8, this volume) addresses situations where language communities span multiple countries creating difficulties in the way a community can be involved with language documentation and/or revitalization. In these situations a portion of the community is subject to one set of country-specific regulations and state-level policies while another portion is guided by a distinct set of regulations and policies. Sánchez shows that this “transnational”-ity can make coordinated efforts difficult (although some efforts have had success), especially when the majority language shared by the countries is not the same, for example as in the case of the Kukama-Kukamiria language which is spoken both in Peru and Brazil (Vallejos 2014). These various scenarios raise ethical questions. How much can external researchers “massage” the language ideologies of individual communities? Should external researchers intervene in the community to establish a level of motivation that meets the expectations set forth in the literature on language documentation and revitalization; and if yes, to what extent? Or should external researchers passively follow whatever community members deem appropriate in their specific situation? Each of the authors mentioned above have created a solution to these questions that is most appropriate for the communities with which they collaborate. These contributions add to the general understanding of what research in the areas of endangered languages and language documentation and revitalization entails, and may provide some solutions that may be helpful as other field researchers work to understand what may be the best way to move forward in their relationship with an endangered language community.

3.4 Expected outcomes and language endangerment in Latin America Language documentation and revitalization are flexible and fluid because of the uniqueness of the sociolinguistic, economic and political characteristics of each and every language community. This fluidity, in turn, makes it hard to measure and even define success for activities focused on language endangerment. One community might define success by its efforts to collect a recording of 100 words,

Introduction 

 19

while another might define success by its implementation of an established revitalization program (such as a language nest program). However, discussions about language endangerment, documentation, and revitalization often detail specific milestones, goals, or achievements as being highly significant (as introduced in Section 1). These provide evidence that the programs, activities, or research are headed in the “correct” direction and that something significant has been accomplished. These expectations often include collaboration with and not work on, or in, a language community; the careful archiving of materials in ways which ensure the future access to a language; and the responsibility to return all materials created, recorded, or developed to the language community for their unique purposes. However, because of the differences in motivation and engagement in language documentation and revitalization efforts in communities throughout Latin America (see Section 3.3 above), these expected outcomes are often difficult to achieve, are unwanted by the individual communities, or are simply meaningless given the particular context. Many of the contributions to this volume show how attempts at meeting the expectations dictated by funding organizations or universities are difficult to achieve.12 For example, the description of the Chatino communities by Villard and Sullivant shows that a community does not always see the need to produce these standardized results. This chapter shows that these language communities want external linguists to be engaged in teaching English as well as in creating materials or activities related to Chatino. This would definitely seem to aid language shift rather than reverse it. The authors suggest that in these communities success is best defined through efforts in “empowering individual speakers, which may lead, in the long run, to grassroots revitalization efforts” (Villard and Sullivant, this volume: 300), but that this is only feasible after prolonged contact between the language community and the external linguists. Similarly, Pérez Báez explains that the San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec community shows that community members have no expectations about how the efforts and work of an external linguist might benefit them. The author described her efforts in disseminating information and the results of her research to the communities, but found the community to have little interest in them. She had envisioned a long-term language maintenance effort in the community as a direct outcome of her years of work there. However, the beliefs and social practices of community members make this type of outcome to be of limited impact (at least for the time being).

12 A fact that we do not believe is unique to the individual case studies included here.

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The case study of the Kukama-Kukamiria communities by Vallejos shows that expected language documentation and revitalization outcomes can be affected by the types of speakers present in a language community. Following Grinevald and Bert (2011), this chapter classifies speakers on a scale from fluent speakers to last speaker and shows that the level of benefit for documentation and revitalization stemming from the involvement of speakers does not decrease as fluency decreases. The Kukama-Kukamiria communities, despite having limited access to fluent speakers of their heritage language, value the outcomes of documentation and revitalization projects as a means of cultural revalorization. Furthermore, Vallejos shows that we have much to learn from all types of speakers and that language documentation projects should not focus on fluent speakers alone. As a final example of the differences in expected outcomes between external linguists and community members, in some communities the expectation is simply to provide support for the non-linguistic (i.e., ethnic) identity. For the Xinkan community of Guatemala this is precisely the case (see the chapter by Rogers). This community has no interest in revitalization programs, language planning initiatives, or language learning materials; they simply want evidence and support for their claims to the unique space within the sociopolitical and historical atmosphere of Guatemala. This goal is a direct outcome of both the lack of a community of language users in the Xinkan community and the existence of legislation that suggests social, political and economic support for indigenous communities – as long as they can prove they are authentically indigenous. Latin American language communities often do not expect, or even see the need for, the outcomes many field linguists feel the need to produce. To improve discussions about language endangerment, the expectations and measures of success will necessarily need to be more open and flexible than previously stated in the literature.

3.5 Ethics and language endangerment in Latin America In general, the discussion about ethics and best practices is relatively new to the field of linguistics (see Austin 2010; Czaykowska-Higgins 2009; Dorian 2010; Dwyer 2006; Grinevald 1993, 2007; Newman 2009; Rice 2006; Tsunoda 2005; and Yamada 2007). As with other topics in language endangerment, discussions about ethics have primarily drawn from experiences in North America, Europe, and Australia. Notable exceptions dealing with Latin American languages are Grinevald (1993, 2007) and Yamada (2007). As seen in previous sections of this chapter, Latin America requires a unique set of perspectives when responding to language endangerment; this applies as well to ethics in linguistics research. The

Introduction 

 21

contributors to this volume highlight certain ethical issues that have presented a particular challenge in their research. These can be grouped into issues related to defining roles in the relation between a researcher and community members, the particulars of establishing a collaboration, and considerations related to obtaining informed consent. Czaykowska-Higgins (2009) classifies three types of ethical models: linguist-focused, community-based, and Community-Based Language Research (CBLR). The main difference between the first two models and CBLR is that in the former the linguist retains the role of expert while in the latter all the research participants are considered to be experts, linguists and speakers alike. Similarly, Rice (2006) and Czaykowska-Higgins (2009) agree that there has been a shift in North America in the last few years towards a more community-based approach to linguistic fieldwork, be it CBLR or one of the other two research models. The advantages of this approach to language research are evident; however, this does not imply that this approach can be applied to all research situations (see Dobrin 2008, Crippen and Robinson 2013). In some Latin American contexts, as explained in this volume, collaboration may follow the path of what is considered to be a successful collaboration in language documentation and revitalization in the current literature. Examples include Vallejos’ collaborative work with Kukama-Kukamiria speakers with various levels of fluency, which in turn greatly benefitted the research; and the long standing collaboration with the Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna described in Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna with a myriad outputs of benefit both to the language community and to the researcher’s work. Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz and Verdín Amaro also describe a case where a productive collaboration emerged between researchers and a Wixárika community in Nayarit, Mexico. However, in many other cases, communities are not interested in collaborating, or at least not in a manner that follows the canons advocated for in the literature; nor have the communities an interest in taking control of a project. The case studies presented by Villard and Sullivant and by Pérez Báez are two cases where a collaboration around revitalization was not of interest to the larger community. In both cases the authors explain how they approach this particular challenge. Rogers explains that while collaboration emerged with Xinka community members, the community interests did not revolve around revitalization of the local language either; rather the interest was in using the language as a means to validate an identity. In other cases, the available resources or social support may impede the progress of an established collaboration. Consider the situations described in O’Meara and González Guadarrama, where a lack of support from authorities, but not other community members closer to the research, and a lack

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of infrastructure hampered the researchersʼ efforts to return their research results via a community-based language archive. In the Latin American context, a frequent concern relates to the need to obtain informed consent prior to working with a consultant. Complications may arise simply because of the format and manner in which consent is to be obtained as per the regulations of ethics review boards. There are three recognized types of informed consent: written, verbal, and third-party consent. Most ethics review boards require written consent but written consent may not be appropriate in some Latin American contexts, for two primary reasons. First, it is still frequent that fieldworkers will work with non-literate consultants. Therefore, there is no value in presenting a written document that a person may not be able to read. In fact, it can be argued that doing so may be not only offensive but also rather abusive and illegal. The practice of presenting a written document can be problematic even when working with literate consultants. Even if written in “simple language”, informed consent documents are unusual and can be dense and not easily understood even by literate consultants. A one-page, single-spaced document may take several minutes for someone to read, and reading in the presence of the researcher and under pressure to respond may put undue stress on consultants and coerce them to sign independently of whether the document was understood. Ironically, this is precisely the type of pressure that the procedures of ethics review boards attempt to prevent. Sánchez warns that a standardized approach to permission and consent is not always best since the relationships between a language community and their own “self-perception” are complex and must be considered a local issue. Certainly, it is possible to obtain a waiver of signed consent and verbal consent can be accepted with prior approval from an ethics review board. However, verbal consent still requires that an information sheet be presented to the consultant with the same effects as above: the consultant is put in a position to read a dense document in the presence of the researcher and acquiesce to the request to participate in the research. Further, while IRB/REB documents are intended to reassure participants, in many Latin American contexts the presentation of a written document may evoke scenarios in which written documents have been used to validate abusive practices that strip individuals in vulnerable situations of their rights. While this is not discussed overtly in Pérez Báez, her research required participant observation over a period of three summers in San Lucas Quiaviní prior to beginning formal research. As such, her research was heavily grounded on trust she developed with community members over time. Pérez Báez reports that the information sheets were at odds with the trust-based relationships that she had established with the community and made for uneasy starts to the interviews she conducted. Pharao Hansen et al. include a quote showing that com­

Introduction 

 23

munity members remember the times when a lack of literacy skills enabled abuse towards indigenous peoples. Situations such as the one that Pérez Báez describes emerge when the sociocultural context surrounding a research project is not of the type that makes the presentation of a written document or the notion of informed consent coherent. This in turn raises questions about the meaning of consent and understanding about the use of data in communities without access to electricity, the Internet or international archives (see Dorian 2010: 181 and Thieberger and Musgrave 2007).

4 Conclusion and goals for this volume The 11 case studies presented in this volume raise a number of questions about the principles that should drive language documentation and revitalization in Latin America. These questions revolve around the role that a researcher is expected to play, the obligations that a researcher is asked to take on, and the boundaries that a researcher is told to observe, as per current best practices in the field. We have few answers to these questions, but as suggested by the cross-references made to the chapters in this volume, the contributors have found different solutions to them. The chapters in this volume should make it clear to the reader that the context for language documentation and revitalization as a response to language endangerment presents challenges in Latin American communities that may not generally emerge in other contexts such as those in the United States, Canada, Australia or New Zealand. The foregoing discussion, in fact, only discusses the biggest issues mentioned in the chapters of this book. The contributors to this volume have firsthand experience with a variety of other issues beyond those mentioned in detail here, including: access to education and education levels, the presence and importance of literacy, the geography and physical environment of language communities, and attitudes and perspectives on the value of language and its use. These, and many others, may not be explicitly mentioned in the chapters that follow but ideas about them can be found throughout. Further discussion about language endangerment in Latin America must show how these social variables affect the responses by both researchers and community members. It is similarly clear that the global response to and concern for language endangerment must be informed by all of the variables and challenges discussed here and not just the variables found in more widely known scenarios. With this volume we hope to foster increased discussion of these issues in order to make current ethical frameworks appropriate to a broader number of community sce-

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narios. To this end, the 11 chapters in this volume provide a detailed discussion of some of the most important factors affecting language documentation and revitalization in Latin America.

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Grenoble, Leonore A. & N. Louanna Furbee (eds.). 2010. Language documentation: Practice and values. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley. 2006. Saving languages: An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley (eds.). 1998. Endangered languages: Current issues and future prospects. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grinevald [Craig], Colette. 1993. Commentary on: Ethics, advocacy and empowerment: Issues in methods in researching language. Language and Communication 13 (2). 97–100. Grinevald, Colette. 2007. Endangered languages of Mexico and Central America. In Matthias Brenzinger (ed.), Language diversity endangered, 59–86. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Grinevald, Colette & Michel Bert. 2011. Speakers and communities. In Peter K. Austin & Julia Sallabank (eds.), The Cambridge handbook of endangered languages, 45–65. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Haig, Geoffrey, Nicole Nau, Stefan Schnell & Claudia Wegener (eds.). 2011. Documenting endangered languages: Achievements and perspectives. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Hammarström, Harald. 2010. The status of the least documented language families in the world. Language Documentation & Conservation 4. 177–212. Harrison, K. David, David D. Rood & Arienne M. Dwyer (eds.). 2008. Lessons from documented endangered languages. Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Hinton, Leanne and Kenneth Hale (eds.). 2001. The green book of language revitalization in practice. San Diego: Academic Press. Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas. 2008. Catálogo de las lenguas indígenas nacionales: Variantes lingüísticas de México con sus autodenominaciones y referencias geoestadísticas. http://www.cdi.gob.mx/lenguamaterna/catalogo_lenguas_indigenas_ mexico_2008.pdf (accessed 11 November 2014). Kaufman, Terrence. 1974. Idiomas de Mesoamérica. Guatemala: José Pineda Ibarra. Krauss, Michael. 1992. The world’s languages in crisis. Language 68 (1). 4–10. Lewis, M. Paul, Gary F. Simons & Charles D. Fennig (eds.). 2014. Ethnologue: Languages of the world, Seventeenth edition [Online version]. Dallas, Texas: SIL International. http://www. ethnologue.com (accessed 11 November 2014). Longacre, Robert. 1967. Systemic comparison and reconstruction. In Norman A. McQuown (ed.), Handbook of Middle American Indians, vol. 5, 117–160. Austin: University of Texas Press. McQuown, Norman A. 1955. The indigenous languages of Latin America. American Anthropologist 57. 501–570. Moore, Denny, Ana Vilacy Galucio & Nilson Gabas Jr. 2008. O Desafio de documentar e preservar as línguas Amazônicas [The challenge of documenting and preserving the Amazonian languages]. Scientific American (Brasil) Amazônia (A Floresta e o Futuro) 3. 36–43. Moore, Denny & Ana Vilacy Galucio. This volume. Perspectives for the documentation of indigenous languages in Brazil. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 29–58. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Moseley, Christopher (ed.). 2010. Atlas of the world’s languages in danger, 3rd edn. Paris, UNESCO Publishing. http://www.unesco.org/culture/en/endangeredlanguages/atlas (accessed 11 November 2014).

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Musgrave, Simon & Nicolas Thieberger. 2007. Who pays the piper. In David Maya Khemlani, Nicholas Ostler & Caesar Dealwis (eds.), Working together for endangered languages: Research challenges and social impacts: Proceedings of the XIth FEL Conference, University of Malaya, Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, 26–28 October 2007, 47–55. Bath, England: Foundation for Endangered Languages. Nettle, Daniel & Suzanne Romaine. 2000. Vanishing voices: The extinction of the world’s languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Newman, Paul. 2009. Fieldwork and field methods in linguistics. Language Documentation & Conservation 3 (1). 113–125. O’Meara, Carolyn & Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama. This volume. Accessibility to results and primary data of research on indigenous languages of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 59–79. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Penfield, Susan D., Angelina Serratos, Benjamin V. Tucker, Amelia Flores, Gilford Harper, Johnny Hill Jr. & Nora Vasquez. 2008. Community collaborations: best practices for North American indigenous language documentation. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 2008 (191). 187–202. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. This volume. Addressing the gap between community beliefs and priorities and researchers’ language maintenance interests. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 165–194. Berlin and Boston: de Gruyter Mouton. Pharao Hansen, Magnus, Néstor Hernández-Green, Rory Turnbull & Ditte Boeg Thomsen. This volume. Life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation: Navigating the micro-politics of language revitalization in an Otomí community in Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 215–245. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Rice, Keren. 2006. Ethical issues in linguistic fieldwork: An overview. Journal of Academic Ethics 4 (1–4). 123–155. Rice, Keren. 2012. Ethical issues in linguistic fieldwork. In Nicholas Thieberger (ed.), The Oxford handbook of linguistic fieldwork, 407–429. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Rogers, Chris. This volume. Indigenous authenticity as a goal of language documentation and revitalization: Addressing the motivations in the Xinkan community. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 247–271. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Sánchez, Liliana. This volume. The linguist gaining access to the indigenous populations: Sharing cultural and linguistic knowledge in South America. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 195–213. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Santos García, Saul, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro (Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit). This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: The account of a community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Seifart, Frank, Sebastian Drude, Bruna Franchetto, Jürg Gasché, Lucía Golluscio & Elizabeth Manrique. 2008. Language documentation and archives in South America. Language Documentation & Conservation 2 (1). 130–140.

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Stenzel, Kristine. 2014. The pleasures and pitfalls of a ‘participatory’ documentation project: An experience in Northwestern Amazonia. Language Documentation & Conservation 8. 287–306. Suárez, Jorge A. 1983. The Mesoamerican Indian languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tsunoda, Tasaku. 2005. Language endangerment and language revitalization. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Vallejos, Rosa. This volume. Structural outcomes of obsolescence and revitalization: documenting variation among the Kukama-Kukamirias. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 143–164. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Villard, Stéphanie & J. Ryan Sullivant. Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 273–304. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Whaley, Lindsay. 2011. Some ways to endanger an endangered language project. Language and Education 25 (4). 339–348. Yamada, Racquel-María. 2011. Integrating documentation and formal teaching of Kari’nja: documentary materials as pedagogical materials. Language Documentation & Conservation, 5, 1–30. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa Herminia, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres & Rocío Rojas Arias. This volume. Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 109–141. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

Denny Moore and Ana Vilacy Galucio

2 Perspectives for the documentation of indigenous languages in Brazil 1 Introduction In the last two decades language documentation has advanced greatly in Brazil, a nation with many minority languages within the predominantly Portuguese-speaking national context. This paper aims to provide an overview of the evolution of language documentation and relevant language policy in Brazil. There are identifiable country-specific macro factors and trends at work which strongly influence the prospects for language documentation and revitalization and which are different from those found in other world regions. In Brazil the situation of the native peoples (some of which are still out of contact with the outside world) is different from that of the native peoples of the USA or Australia. Scientific linguistics is relatively recent in Brazil. The impact of international documentation programs has been stronger in Brazil, where documentation was less developed, than in Europe or the United States. Large government programs in Brazil have important effects but are notably precarious, with success by no means guaranteed. Like other aspects of Brazilian society, the development of language documentation and revitalization encounters resistance from those who are adapted to the underdeveloped system. Such an underdeveloped system is not a lack of something, but rather a positive system that actively seeks to reproduce itself and defends maintenance of the status quo by reacting against what is perceived as threats. So, as odd as it may seem, linguists whose prestige would diminish with the development of more effective responses to the issue of language endangerment in the country can be motivated to oppose them. At a more micro level the questions encountered in projects are similar to those encountered elsewhere, for example, taking into account local systems of cultural meaning (Dobrin 2008), dealing with local politics and rivalries (Benedicto et al. 2002; Pharao Hansen et al., this volume), power sharing in collaborative projects (Benedicto et al. 2007) and realistically evaluating the chances of success in language revitalization (Dorian 1987).

Denny Moore and Ana Vilacy Galucio, Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi – Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation

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Some historical information about linguistics in Brazil is presented in Section 2. Then the role and impact of the large international documentation programs are examined. Two individual documentation projects supported by international documentation programs are described briefly in Section 3. A noteworthy effort that merits attention, the indigenous language documentation program of Brazil’s National Indian Foundation (FUNAI), is discussed in Section 4. Language documentation and maintenance, and language policy and planning in general, require knowledge of the situation of the languages of a country. This has been problematic in Brazil, given the large size of the country, the number of languages, and the often difficult access to speakers of the native languages, more than two-thirds of which are spoken in Amazonia. Academic politics among the community of linguists complicates the matter further. The nature of the difficulties in knowing the situation of the indigenous languages is described in Section 5. Two initiatives by the federal Brazilian government in principle aim at surveying the nation’s languages: a national survey of the languages of Brazil (INDL) and the inclusion of a question about indigenous languages in the 2010 Brazilian national demographic census. The methodology of these potentially important programs and their results to date are discussed in Section 6, relating them to some of the relevant questions for language policy and management. In Section 7 a summary of the aspects presented in the paper is offered to help evaluate the perspectives for language documentation and revitalization in Brazil.

2 Language documentation in Brazil and the international documentation programs Language documentation, in some sense, was carried out early in Brazilian colonial history, with descriptive efforts by Jesuit missionaries; for example, Anchieta (1595). That work was tied to practical aims and did not continue. The Jesuits were expelled in the mid eighteenth century. In the last half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century, non-specialists, especially members of scientific expeditions, achieved a certain amount of linguistic description. Notable among these non-specialists were Karl von den Steinen, General Couto de Magalhães, Theodor Koch-Grünberg, Curt Nimuendajú, Emilie Snethlage, and João Capistrano de Abreu. Modern scientific studies began in the second half of the twentieth century. Mattoso Câmara Junior established the Linguistics Sector of the Museu Nacional in Rio de Janeiro in 1961 and wrote a monograph about indigenous languages (1965), in spite of not being a fieldworker himself. By the middle of the 1980s the study of indigenous languages had spread to a number



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of universities and it has continued spreading to almost all regions of Brazil. Beginning in the late 1980s a number of Brazilian students went abroad to pursue graduate studies in linguistics. Upon their return they contributed to the national capacity in scientific linguistics by bringing recent theory and methods from the centers where they studied. The first comprehensive grammar of an indigenous language written by a Brazilian linguist in decades was published by Seki (2000). For a period of time, ranging from the late 1950’s to the early 1980’s, the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) occupied a prominent position in the study of Brazilian indigenous languages. An accord of cooperation was established between the Museu Nacional and SIL in 1956, and it was terminated only in 1981. With the increase in the number and quality of Brazilian scientific linguists the importance of foreign missionaries in the study of native languages has decreased and no national academic institutions have formal cooperation agreements with SIL at the present time. Missionary linguists have not participated in the recent development of language documentation in Brazil. However, they continue to be active in the field and promote religious conversion which may threaten traditional verbal culture. The greater Brazilian capacity in linguistics was important when the large international language documentation programs began. The DOkumentation BEdrohter Sprachen (DOBES) program of the Volkswagen Foundation supported projects in Brazil beginning in 2001. The Endangered Languages Documentation Programme (ELDP) administered by the School of Oriental and Asian Studies of the University of London, with resources from the Hans and Lisbet Rausing Charitable Fund, supported projects in Brazil starting in 2002. These programs were notably friendly to countries with great linguistic diversity where the national capacity in language documentation could be developed. In the first rounds of the competition for these projects the Brazilian linguists who had studied abroad and the foreign linguists residing in Brazil were more successful, owing in part to their familiarity with foreign languages and international norms for project proposals, as well as greater exposure to the international concern for endangered languages and for language documentation and revitalization. The languages in Brazil documented with support from the DOBES and ELDP projects are listed in Table 1 below.

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Tab. 1: Languages documented with support from DOBES and ELDP projects in Brazil Language (family)

Linguist

Institution(s)1

Franchetto Guirardello Drude Meira Meira Meira Camargo van der Voort van der Voort

Museu Nacional MPI Nijmegen/Museu Goeldi Free University of Berlin/Museu Goeldi Leiden/Museu Goeldi Leiden/Museu Goeldi Leiden/Museu Goeldi CNRS MPI Nijmegen/Museu Goeldi MPI Nijmegen/Museu Goeldi

Galucio Galucio Gabas Demolin Moore Rodrigues Facundes Ribeiro Sandalo de Resende Birchall Stenzel Stenzel Dienst Aragon Chacon Silva Meyer Meyer Epps da Silva Brandão

Museu Goeldi Museu Goeldi Museu Goeldi Free University of Brussels/Univ of São Paulo Museu Goeldi Federal University of Pará Federal University of Pará University of Chicago/Federal Univ of Goiás State University of Campinas Museu Nacional Radboud University Nijmegen/Museu Goeldi Federal Univ of Rio de Janeiro Federal Univ of Rio de Janeiro Goethe University University of Utah University of Utah University of Utah Museu Goeldi Museu Goeldi University of Texas, Austin Federal University of Rio de Janeiro University of Texas, Austin

DOBES: Kuikuro (Carib) Trumai (isolate) Aweti (Tupí) Kaxuyana (Carib) Bakairi (Carib) Mawé (Tupí) Kaxinawá Aikanã (isolate) Kwazá (isolate) ELDP: Puruborá (Tupí) Sakurabiat (Tupí) Karo (Tupí) Ayuru (Tupí) Salamãy (Tupí) Xipaya (Tupí) Apurinã (Arawak) Ofayé (Macro-Jê) Kaduwéu (Guaykuru) Enawenê Nawé (Arawak) Oro Win (Chapakura) Waikhana (East Tukano) Wanano (East Tukano) Kanamari (Katukina) Akuntsu (Tupi) Kubeo (Tukano) Desana (Tukano) Gavião (Tupi) Suruí (Tupi) Dâw (Nadahup) Paressi-Haliti (Arawak) Paressi-Haliti (Arawak)

These programs, along with some support for projects from other international entities such as the National Science Foundation and the Endangered Language Fund, helped to introduce digital technology and documentation methods into

1 Institutions to which the linguists were associated at the time of the project.



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Brazilian linguistics. They also made language documentation more prestigious and encouraged descriptive and diachronic studies based on the data they provided. For example, the documentation project of Sérgio Meira with the Bakairi and of Bruna Franchetto with the Kuikuro provided essential data for the classification of the southern Carib languages and their relation to the Cariban family (Meira and Franchetto 2005). This ground-breaking article concludes that the southern Carib languages do not form a single subgroup, since there is no evidence of innovations shared by all of them. The evidence favors two independent sub-branches of the Cariban family in the south: Bakairi-Ikpeng and Kuikuro. This implies that the diversity is not greater than in the north and undermines the hypothesis of a southern origin of the Cariban family.

3 Examples of documentation projects in Amazonia Two examples of documentation projects for Amazonian languages are given below. The first is noteworthy because it was aimed at a very precarious language situation and achieved considerable benefit for the native community nonetheless. The second is notable for its unusual objects (whistled and instrumental speech) and for its pioneering methods, as well as its effect in encouraging traditional practices. In both projects, the native communities and the linguists discussed fully the objectives and procedures of the project with everyone involved, offering suggestions and critical observations until a consensus was reached that was viable and satisfactory to all participants. Community support and participation was very strong, as is generally the case among Brazilian indigenous peoples for documentation projects which return the project results to the community in an intelligent, usable manner. As discussed by O’Meara and Guadarrama (this volume) in the context of Mexico, the question of providing accessibility to the results of documentation projects is an important issue, especially in places where the speaker communities are geographically isolated or at least rural and, in most cases, have no access to technological infrastructure.

3.1 Documentation of the Puruborá language The Puruborá case is illustrative of the local impact of language documentation projects. The Puruborá indigenous people live in the state of Rondônia (Brazil). Their initial contact with western settlers was around the first decade

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of the twentieth century. By the end of the 1940s, their population was reduced to about 150 people, decimated by various diseases. At that time they left the demarcated indigenous territory, where they had been living for three decades, and spread out around the region. That is when the Puruborá language ceased to be used, and the youth no longer learned the language. Afterwards, reference to this people is practically nonexistent. The Puruborá language and people were considered extinct. Until the first years of the twenty-first century, there was no mention of the Puruborá in the official registers regarding indigenous people or spoken indigenous languages in Brazil. A new chapter in the history of the Puruborá began with the identification of some Puruborá families near the old Puruborá territory in the year 2000. Since then there has been an active search for Puruborá descendants led by the Puruborá themselves, and they now number over 400 people spread over various towns in the Brazilian state of Rondônia. The families that remained in the area near the traditional territory and started the identification process are identified as the core of the community. Their location is seen both by the Puruborá and by the state representatives as the “Puruborá village”, despite the fact that official recognition from the Brazilian government as well as the demarcation of a Puruborá Indigenous Territory is still under investigation. Since 2001, the Puruborá organize larger assemblies where most of the remaining Puruborá gather together to help build the sense of community and belonging as well as to decide on the directions of the Puruborá movement.2 The Puruborá now have their own social organization and a political leader chosen in an assembly. The Puruborá language is the only known member of the Puruborá branch of the Tupian family, but at present there are no remaining fluent speakers and only two semi-speakers or rememberers.3 Over the last three generations, it has not been taught or used as a language of regular communication. In 2001 the Museu Emílio Goeldi started a project to document this language, as part of a larger ELDP documentation project that aimed to document five highly endangered Tupian languages. The objective of this project was to carry out systematic documentation, registering all of the remaining aspects of the Puruborá language and culture that were still accessible. Before this project the only sources of information about Puruborá were old wordlists of limited size and value (Koch-Grün-

2 Some of these assemblies were recorded by the documentation project, resulting in three documentaries. 3 In 2001, at the onset of the documentation project there were eight Puruborá elders, but only six of them still remembered words or sentences in the Puruborá language. Between 2001 and 2013, four of these elders passed away.



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berg 1932; Bontkes 1968; Moore 1989). This is an example of the current linguistic situation in Brazil, where the languages most threatened with extinction, with a reduced number of speakers and lack of transmission across generations, are typically the least studied (see Section 5 below). The Puruborá Documentation Project involved fieldwork, audiovisual documentation, organization of language data into databases, descriptive study, and the return of the material produced and the knowledge gained of what remained of the language to the Puruborá people. This project greatly increased the materials available for the Puruborá language. The documented corpus, composed of short word lists in 2001, has now around 1,000 words as well as dozens of sentences. This material forms the largest source of data available for the Puruborá language, consisting mostly of audio recordings, with some parts supplemented by video recording. The documentation efforts focused on parts of the language that were still recoverable. The Puruborá speakers were primarily able to remember concrete vocabulary items – abstract vocabulary and grammatical knowledge were more difficult to remember. The project produced 50 hours of audio and video recordings of cultural and linguistic information. The research also helped to locate various historical documents containing ethno-historical information about the Puruborá, which have been used by the community in their struggle for recognition of their traditional land. Five audio CDs, three audio DVDs and four DVDs of cultural and linguistic data have been produced and returned to the Puruborá people, including the people living away from the so-called Puruborá village. All the material produced by the project was deposited at the Museu Goeldi digital archive, where it is organized and stored for future use. The documentation project greatly benefited from the continued support of the Puruborá community, which includes all the remaining 400 plus Puruborá people gathered together in the Puruborá assemblies, as they showed a growing interest in the reaffirmation of their indigenous identity and the recovery of what was left of their traditional language and culture. All the remaining elders that still retained parts of their language have actively participated in the study and recording of the language. The project tested a methodology, which proved to be successful, for the documentation of a highly endangered language: the reunion of the remaining speakers (who are frequently geographically dispersed) in order to stimulate their memory and facilitate the collection of information. This method was shown to be extremely effective with the Puruborá and can be used in similar cases. At the beginning, the project did not expect to document the language beyond lexical data since it had not been spoken for over 30 years. However, the project activities helped the remaining speakers to remember various aspects of the language, thus increasing the scope of documentation.

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The project also awoke the interest of the younger generations. Initial steps were made toward acquainting the younger Puruborá with their linguistic heritage. In 2005 a Puruborá orthography was proposed and discussed in the Puruborá assembly (Galucio 2005b). This began the process of literacy in Puruborá and has aided the younger generation in learning aspects of their language. In 2012, the state government hired a young Puruborá, who had learned some of the language as recorded by the elders and documented through the project, to teach Puruborá at the community school, built by the Puruborá in the same location where the assemblies take place. As a result, some members of the community who live near the area that has been called the Puruborá village are now learning what was recalled by their older relatives, using the material produced by the project. The project also developed written materials for the community. In 2013, a bilingual Puruborá-Portuguese booklet of animal names (Galucio, Puruborá, and Aporete Filho 2013) was produced in collaboration with the two elders who have the best recollection of the language, for use in the community school. The development of this project showed that it is possible to carry out successful documentation of highly endangered languages, helping to safeguard traditional cultural and linguistic heritage, even in situations where the language is extremely fragile. The materials collected throughout the project show the importance of this type of work from a sociocultural and scientific viewpoint. Many of the discoveries about the Puruborá language that resulted from this project could not have otherwise come about. For example, valuable information was gathered for the internal classification of the Tupian language family as a result of the project (Galucio and Gabas 2002). The results have also provided a basis for the analysis of the phonetic and phonological structure of the Puruborá language (Galucio 2005a; Santos and Galucio 2007a, 2007b). This project may also serve as a viable methodological model for documentation and revitalization projects focused on protecting linguistic heritage, especially in the most difficult and extreme cases.

3.2 Documentation of the whistled and instrumental speech of the Gavião and Suruí of Rondônia, Brazil A documentation project by Julien Meyer and Laure Dentel (2008–2012) supported by the ELDP was unusual in aiming at the documentation of whistled speech and instrumental speech among the Gavião and Suruí (Paiter) peoples of Rondônia, Brazil. These two language forms are used in many regions of the world as complementary speech registers either for distance communication or for emulating songs, but have seldom been described in Amazonia. Documentation of these



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important parts of verbal culture is urgent since they generally disappear long before the spoken language. They are often not noticed, even by linguists and anthropologists who work with the people who have these practices. Whistled speech in Amazonia is most frequently performed in the forest, and any reduction of the time native peoples spend in the forest diminishes its frequency of occurrence. Instrumental speech involves a number of skills, such as constructing the instruments from natural materials, mastering the art of playing the instruments, and learning a repertoire of traditional music. These skills can be easily lost in the youngest generation through disuse. The relation of much traditional music to traditional spiritual beliefs provokes missionary opposition to it, which may promote loss. Studies of these speech imitations have scientific relevance for questions such as: – What is the relation between the phonology of a language and its whistled or instrumental form? – How much can the acoustic signal be reduced while maintaining intelligibility? – How are these forms of language used and why? Previous studies had produced analysis of the phonology of Gavião (Moore 1984, 1999) and Suruí (Guerra 2004) that was adequate for the required scientific linguistic basis for the work. The methodological steps in the documentation of the whistled speech were as follows (Moore and Meyer 2014): – Preliminary inquiry to determine who were the most adept whistlers, when, where and how whistling was used. Recording of whistling was initiated. – Recording of the common whistled sentences and transcription of these sentences as they would be normally spoken. The various methods of whistling, some involving the use of hands, were recorded. – Recording of spontaneous occurrences of whistled conversations in audio and video, with subsequent transcription of these conversations as they are normally spoken. – Double recordings in audio and video, near the speaker and near the hearer, of prepared sentences to test intelligibility. Observation of speaker strategies to maximize intelligibility. – Recording of whistled and spoken word lists for phonetic detail. – Phonetic and phonological analysis of the recordings. – Preparation of audio and video documentation materials for the native community.

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Among other results, the study demonstrated that whistling was more intelligible than speech at a distance. The messages being communicated are tied to the immediate shared context, which helps in interpretation. For example, whistling can convey instructions during a hunt or a request to bring some object. In the forest, whistling does not betray human presence to potential prey. It is used often in the Gavião villages, though much less so in the Suruí villages. As would be expected in the case of a tone language, Gavião whistling conveys the F0 of speech, as well as contrastive length, but not vowel timbre. Consonants are less articulated (for example, by the lips or teeth) during hand whistling. Consonant articulation is more important when context is reduced. Worldwide, instrumental speech (for example, talking drums) takes many forms. Among the Gavião there are three musical instruments that are said to “speak”: a flute, a pair of mouth bows, and large bamboo clarinets that play one note each (requiring three players to play, taking turns to vary the melody). Each instrumental music piece that is said to speak has a traditional song associated with it, though that is not sung while it is played. There are, then, three things to be recorded separately and correlated: the music as it is played by the instruments, the associated song, and that song as it is normally spoken (Meyer and Moore 2013). The methodological steps for documentation were as follows: – Initial fact finding about who has the knowledge of the talking instruments, how they are made, when and how they are played. Details are needed about what the instruments say, the repertoire of songs, contexts of use, and the sound production capacity of each instrument. – Documentation of how the instruments are constructed and tuned. – Recording each song in each of its three forms: played on instruments, sung, and spoken normally. – Linguistic treatment of the sung and spoken forms of the songs, including transcription, translation, and detection of unusual words or morphology. – Edition of preliminary documentation videos and the correction of these with native consultants. – Analysis in terms of acoustics, phonology, and musicology of the three forms of the songs and the relations between them. – Preparation of audio and video material in the form of CDs and DVDs for the community, the National Indian Foundation, and archiving in Brazil. The results showed that the contrastive tone and length of the language were dominant factors in the relations between the three forms of the songs. The melody of each song basically matched the tone and length of the lyrics, with the limits of the instrument being a constraint. For example, only flat and not curved tones occur in the songs, since the flutes cannot produce curved pitch. The lyrics



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of the song were similar in tone and length to their normal spoken form, but were affected by the capacities of the instruments and their players. One striking finding was that the lyrics of the associated songs were rich in archaic lexical and morphological forms, which is not generally true of Gavião native music composed today. Possibly these songs are centuries old – an amazing heritage. It was satisfying to see the revitalizing effect of the documentation project, as the younger Gavião recognized the complexity and talent involved in their traditional practices and took more pride and interest in them. They now sometimes amuse themselves at events (such as educational gatherings) by giving demonstrations of their ability to communicate by whistling, which leaves onlookers in mystified awe. The documentation material was cataloged and deposited in the digital language archive of the Museu Goeldi, where it will always be available to future generations of Gavião and Suruí. Meyer’s work has been reported (e.g., Meyer 2012; Meyer and Moore 2013; Moore and Meyer 2014), and as knowledge of his work and methods has spread in Brazil, more linguists and anthropologists are discovering that whistled and instrumental speech exist in the indigenous groups that they study, for example, among the Wayãpi.

4 A Brazilian government program for documenting indigenous languages: PRODOCLIN One of the effects of the international documentation programs was to stimulate the creation of a Brazilian program for the documentation of indigenous languages using modern digital technology and recent methodology. The president of the Brazilian National Indian Foundation (FUNAI) obtained considerable financial resources from the Banco do Brasil for documenting native languages and cultures through a program administered by the Museu do Índio in Rio de Janeiro. The coordinator of the program was the linguist Bruna Franchetto who utilized her past experience in a DOBES project when designing this new Brazilian documentation initiative.4 The Brazilian program incorporated some aspects of the DOBES approach to language documentation, adapted to Brazilian con-

4 Franchetto’s documentation of the Kuikuro language on the Xingu Park reserve was an outstanding DOBES project, carried out in the first round of the program.

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ditions, but was completely independent from it. The language documentation material was to be archived in Brazil, not abroad. As planning for the program, now called PRODOCLIN (Projeto de Documentação de Línguas Indígenas), began in 2006, a small group of linguists launched fulminating attacks against it. In spite of the DOBES program’s contributions to developing language documentation in Brazil, DOBES was also a target of the attacks, which threatened funding for the Brazilian project and the future of modern language documentation in the country. These attacks were repeated in a keynote address to the Brazilian Linguistics Association (ABRALIN) and published in 2009 (Rodrigues 2009). Earlier, Rodrigues had been unsuccessful in an application for funding from an international documentation program, whereas young Brazilian linguists who had studied abroad were very successful, setting up a possible shift in relative prestige to the young talents. It is worth examining these events and debates briefly to understand the macro political processes facilitating or impeding language documentation and to feel the tone of the discussion. To argue against the FUNAI language documentation program, Rodrigues attempted to equate it with the DOBES program and create doubts about the latter, with the linguist Himmelmann as a special target. According to Rodrigues (2009: 34), “Now, very recently, the anthropologists of the Museu Nacional induced the Museu do Índio to make an accord with the Max Plank-Institut [sic] for Psycholinguistics, based in Nijmegen, Holland, to introduce the DOBES model of documentation for endangered languages[…]”.5 In fact, the accord in question was merely for technological cooperation, especially for the archiving of digitalized and annotated recordings in Brazil. Rodrigues (2009: 34) claimed that the DOBES program aims to “[…]relegate to the future the analysis of the documented data[…].”6 However, Himmelmann in fact advocated the analysis of data as part of documentation: “It is worth emphasizing that documentation does not exclude analysis. Just the opposite: analysis is essential” (Himmelmann 2006: 23). As to why the supposed relegation of the analysis of data to the future would be part of DOBES policy, Rodrigues (2009: 34) stated that “[…]the justification of Dr. Himmelmann, one of the mentors of the model, is the deciphering of the Sumerian and Hittite inscriptions some millennia after being made[…]”.7 With respect to

5 “Agora, recentissimamente, antropólogos do Museu Nacional…induziram o Museu do Índio da FUNAI…a fazer um convênio com o Max Plank-Institut para Psicolinguística, sediado em Nimega na Holanda, com o fim de introduzir o modelo DOBES de documentação linguística para línguas ameaçadas…” 6 “…relegar para o futuro a análise dos dados documentados…” 7 “…as justificativas do Dr Himmelmann, um dos mentores do modelo, são as decifrações das inscrições sumeras e hititas alguns milênios depois de feitas…”



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Sumerian and Hittite inscriptions, what Himmelmann had actually said was that objects made for practical ends could serve as documentation up to a point, but that it is possible to construct much more adequate and complete models using modern linguistic knowledge and technology (Himmelmann 2006: 3)  – a perfectly correct and relevant point. Seeking to oppose documentation to description, Rodrigues (2009: 34) affirmed that “[…]the adoption of the DOBES [and by implication modern digital linguistic documentation] undermines the training of linguists with the analytic methods already established[…]”8 and threatens language description. Again, this assessment does not represent the position of Himmelmann (2006), which was quite the contrary. For instance, when discussing the “[…]structural linguistics well-established format for language documentations that consists primarily of a grammar and a dictionary,[…]” Himmelmann (2006: 19) observed that, “[i]n this regard, it should be emphasized that the above points in no way question the usefulness and relevance of descriptive grammars and dictionaries with regard to their main purpose[…]”. In fact, the advisory boards of the DOBES and ELDP programs include respected experts in analysis and description of languages, such as Colette Grinevald, Pieter Muysken, and Anthony Woodbury. Evidently, a professional linguist would utilize the data collected in documentation for scientific purposes. One example of this is the scientific production of the DOBES project of Franchetto on the Kuikuro language in the period 2001–2006, which yielded 45 presentations in national and international events, six book chapters, eight articles in national and international journals, three bilingual didactic books and an exhibit in the Museu do Índio, in addition to accumulating a database for yet additional future studies. To avoid too much public debate, which would have jeopardized the financing for the PRODOCLIN program, the response to the attacks was mainly in the form of a letter from the directors of the three institutions that were targeted, the Museu do Índio, Museu Nacional, and Museu Goeldi, to the ministries of the federal government. This had the desired effect and the program continued. Opposition to it never spread significantly within the community of linguists in Brazil, who, of course, would benefit from the resources and training made available. The program began in 2008. The linguistic documentation program, PRODOCLIN, together with the cultural documentation program, PRODOCULT (Projeto de Documentação de Culturas Indígenas), share facilities and constitute the overall initiative, called PROGDOC.

8 “…a adoção do DOBES desestimula a formação de linguistas com os métodos analíticos já bem estabelecidos…”

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PRODOCLIN has thirteen projects, including languages with different degrees of endangerment, spoken in different regions of Brazil, as listed in Table 2: Tab. 2: Languages documented through the PRODOCLIN program Language

Family

Location (State)

Apiaká Desano Ikpeng Kanoé Kawaiwete (Kayabi) Karajá Kisêdjê (Suyá) Paresi-Haliti Maxakali Ninam Rikbaktsa Shawãdawa (Arara Pano) Yawanawa

Tupi-Guarani Tukano Carib Isolate Tupi-Guarani Macro-Jê Macro-Jê Arawak Macro-Jê Yanomami Macro-Jê Pano Pano

Mato Grosso Amazonas Mato Grosso Rondônia Mato Grosso Mato Grosso Mato Grosso Mato Grosso Mato Grosso Roraima Mato Grosso Acre Amazonas

Each project has a coordinator, preferentially a graduate student in linguistics, a multidisciplinary team, and two indigenous researchers. In order to transmit the technology and methodology for documentation, training workshops were held for coordinators and native researchers, in addition to training given in the indigenous villages. Care was taken to obtain documented informed consent for all activities from the native community, since Brazil has rather strict regulations governing the use of images or recordings of native cultures. Results required of each project are: – digital audio and video files of sessions that are recorded, transcribed, and translated – a basic descriptive grammar – a lexical database (dictionary) – a survey and diagnosis of the situation of the language – publications, including educational material and scientific research – mini-sites on the Internet for the native group Efforts were made to document culturally important subjects and to prepare the indigenous communities to carry on the work after the end of the project. Copies of all material from each project were returned to the native communities. The data collected has been useful to the student coordinators for their dissertations and theses. Since these students are from various institutions, the technology



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and methodology for language documentation is disseminated. In the network of native communities the awareness of the possibilities of digital documentation quickly spreads and the demand for documentation increases. Many indigenous communities in Brazil have computer-literate members and access to computers and the Internet. One part of PROGDOC is the creation of a digital archive to maintain the materials produced by the program safe and accessible into the future. This is an important element in terms of capacity building at the national level, without which the materials would be eventually lost or would have to be exported to some secure archive abroad. Material from the program includes 493 hours of video, 321 hours of audio, and 50,157 photos. The PRODOCLIN program maintains a relation of cooperation and interchange with the only other digital archive in Brazil, that of the Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi, a research institute of the Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation, located in Belém. The Goeldi also carries out extensive language documentation. Its language archive is part of a long tradition of maintaining scientific collections about Amazonia. The collection of the Linguistics Division contains 1,300 items of several media types (tapes, discs, etc.), which have been digitized and cataloged. The digital archive currently contains 80 individual language collections totaling about 800 hours of data filed in about 1,500 thematic sessions. The video material is still being processed: Both the Museu do Índio and the Goeldi archives use the Language Archiving Technology (LAT) software suite specially developed by the Language Archive (TLA) at the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics for archiving and managing larger linguistic databases. The implementation of this type of digital archive in Brazil is hopefully part of an emerging South America network of regional archives, involving Argentina, Peru, Brazil and eventually other countries.

5 What is the situation of the indigenous languages of Brazil? One necessity for planning language documentation or language policy is knowledge of the situation of the languages involved. Part of that is knowledge of how many languages and varieties there are. One tenet of the linguistic folklore of Brazil is that there are 180 indigenous languages. No one repeating this number can explain what it means exactly or what the criteria are for grouping variants into one language. Native languages, like native religions, generally do not have an indigenous name that refers specifically to them. There are hardly ever indig-

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enous words for “language” or “dialect” that are different from “speech”. Community judgments of shared identity or language similarity are not necessarily uniform in the community nor constant over time. So appealing to indigenous groups to apply non-indigenous concepts such as “language” or “dialect” is not promising. In world regions where there are centuries or millennia of folk linguistic tradition the distinctions made in national culture may depart from linguistic reality, for example in the case of Chinese “dialects” that are not mutually intelligible. However, many native groups and languages in Brazil have been known for less than one hundred years and there is not a firmly established tradition for language classification. It is useful to have a rational language classification to guide educational efforts and language policy in general. Arguably the best time to propose a rational classification is when there is not yet a firm generally accepted classification. There continues to be constant confusion between names for languages and names for ethnic groups. For example, the speech of the Gavião of Rondônia is as similar to the speech of the Zoró as Boston English is to New York English, but the two are often listed as separate languages. Even what is an “ethnic group” is not easy to determine among native peoples. For example, in the south of the state of Rondônia the groups Oro Nao’, Oro Eo At, Oro Mon, Oro Waram, and Oro Waram Xijien consider themselves as part of one people, the Wari’. These groups are culturally similar and speak to each other easily. In this case the rational option is to consider Wari’ as a language and the speech of the various groups as variants or dialects. The solution should be similar for, say, the case of the Gavião and Zoró, in spite of the lack of a traditional name that includes both of them. The notion of mutual intelligibility, in spite of its problems, has the virtue of offering a consistent, reasonably objective, criterion for grouping variants into languages and can be explained to indigenous groups to avoid misunderstandings. By that criterion there are perhaps 153 (in round numbers, about 150, to avoid a false impression of precision) known native languages still spoken in Brazil, if we consider all the known languages spoken in the country and count the cases of multiple dialects with mutual intelligibility as single languages (Moore, Galucio, and Gabas 2008).9 Interestingly, native peoples tend to adopt language classifications over time. A recent case was the creation, possibly by members of an NGO, of the term TupiMondé for the languages and dialects of the Mondé branch of the Tupi family. This is based on an erroneous analysis of the term Tupi-Guaraní (in which the word Tupi refers to Coastal Tupi, not to the family). This term quickly spread among the

9 Revised version available at http://www.etnolinguistica.org/media:set2008 (Accessed 14 November 2015).



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Gavião, Zoró, Aruá, Cinta Larga, and Suruí peoples, many of whom, when asked, now say that they speak “Tupi-Mondé”. The point is that classifications are incorporated eventually and the tradition of indigenous language names and distinctions is still being formed in Brazil, however puzzling this may seem at first. The confusion over these issues, as we shall see, bedeviled the language part of the 2010 national census of Brazil. One of the key parameters in evaluating the situation of a language is the number of people who speak it. The degree of endangerment of indigenous languages was gravely underestimated for years in Brazil because of the confusion between speaker numbers and group population, and the problem still continues. For example, according to Rodrigues (2006) there are 284 speakers of Parintintin and 222 speakers of Yawalapiti whereas linguists who have done field surveys say that there are only ten speakers of Parintintin (Ana Carla Bruno, p.c. 2005) and ten or fewer speakers of Yawalapiti (Bruna Franchetto, p.c. 2006). Rodrigues (1986: 81) claims 256 speakers of Torá and Dixon and Aikhenvald (1999: 343) give a similar number. However, according to the website of the Instituto Socio Ambiental this language became extinct a generation ago. Moore, Galucio, and Gabas (2008) is one of the most recent attempts to estimate speaker numbers for indigenous languages. The estimates are based on data that Moore collected informally from more than thirty linguists who work with native languages in Brazil, as well as published sources. Supplementary information was also collected by a cooperation request to a discussion list for linguists and others who work with native South American languages. Obviously the data are not definitive and do not obviate the need for standardized field surveys. The linguists consulted usually had an approximate idea of speaker numbers and transmission for some languages. Where information was missing or doubtful the fact was indicated. Another source of information is the Brazil section of UNESCO’s Atlas of the World’s Languages in Danger.10 Data on language transmission is even harder to obtain. Yet it is the main determiner of the future of a language. The above two sources offer some estimates of transmission. The question is complicated by degrees of fluency. It is common for the youngest generation to understand the language but not speak it. According to the Tembé people, in 2007, out of 111 households only 11 spoke primarily the native language. Moore, Galucio, and Gabas (2008) estimate that at least 21 % of the approximately 150 indigenous languages of Brazil are threatened with extinction in the near future because of low speaker numbers and lack of transmission.

10 Accessed online at http://www.unesco.org/culture/languages-atlas on October 15, 2015.

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Owing to progress in recent years in the study of indigenous languages in Brazil, some description exists for at least 121 languages, excluding three cases for which data was insufficient (Moore, Galucio, and Gabas 2008). This number corresponds to 81 % of the total of the remaining 150 languages still spoken in the country. Moore, Galucio, and Gabas (2008) also offer a rough estimate of the degree of study of these 150 languages. In this estimate a “complete” description is a grammar and dictionary, an advanced description is a doctoral thesis or many articles, incipient study is a MA thesis or a few articles, and little or no description is the lack of appreciable scientific study. These numbers change rapidly with the advance of study. The quality of the work was not estimated. The estimate in 2008 was as follows: – 20 languages (13 %) have a complete description – 57 languages (38 %) have advanced description – 44 languages (29 %) have incipient description – 29 languages (19 %) have no significant scientific description On the other hand, with respect to language documentation, aside from the list of known projects, it was not possible to estimate the actual degree of documentation (for example, recordings) that has been done for each project and/or language, nor where the documentation materials are stored. Revitalization projects and their efficacy are also very difficult to estimate.

6 Brazilian government initiatives for indigenous languages Two recent large-scale government programs are relevant for language documentation: the national survey of the languages of Brazil (INDL), and the inclusion of a question about indigenous languages in the Brazilian national demographic census of 2010. These two initiatives are still not well understood, even in Brazil, but potentially very significant.

6.1 The national survey of the languages of Brazil: the Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística (INDL) Brazilian society is multiracial and pluralistic and the federal government has taken a relatively progressive approach to language diversity. Aside from the PRODOCLIN program, described above, there are other potentially important initi-



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atives by the federal government. In March of 2006 an educational seminar, of notably high caliber, was held in the Câmara de Deputados Federal (equivalent to the US House of Representatives) about the languages of the country. A workgroup, the Grupo de Trabalho da Diversidade Linguística – GTDL (Workgroup on Linguistic Diversity) was formed soon thereafter, charged with formulating a plan for surveying languages and recognizing them as part of the national cultural heritage. The GTDL was within the Instituto de Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional  – IPHAN (Institute for National Historical and Artistic Patrimony), a division of the Ministry of Culture. Within IPHAN the workgroup was administered by the Departamento de Patrimônio Imaterial, which deals with ceremonies, events, and other non-material manifestations of culture in Brazil. Since there were no linguists in IPHAN three professional linguists were included in the GTDL, along with IPHAN employees and representatives of ministries and organizations. The coordinator of the GTDL was interested in the topic and worked to bring it forward, in spite of its intimidating complexity. There are two steps in the process of declaring something as part of the national cultural heritage: levantamento (survey) and registro (registry). A survey is an overview of what exists in a region and registry is an in-depth collection of facts, icons, images, etc., to characterize it for national memory and give it official recognition (which confers a certain degree of protection). The coordinator of the GTDL observed that for languages the survey was what was important. There was no basis for declaring one language rather than another as part of cultural heritage, which would be contrary to the idea that all languages should be respected and protected. A national survey of languages would correct the existing lack of knowledge of the situation of the languages of Brazil and provide the basis for directing actions of documentation and revitalization, as well as other activities of language policy, such as education in the mother tongue. As discussed by Sánchez (this volume), a relatively similar project was undertaken by the government of Peru, where an accurate ethnolinguistic map of the country was made to provide information on the current situation of the Peruvian native languages and to function as a language planning tool for decision making regarding the recovery, preservation, and promotion of indigenous language use. A problem that has proved persistent was the lack of a pre-existing model for how to do a survey of languages on a national scale. Linguists have models for how to do scientific research and some have acquired models for documentation, but a language survey is neither of these. Neither is it the demand-based activity to which IPHAN is accustomed. Linguists are accustomed to individual or small group projects but not to planning and administering anything so enormous as a survey of the languages of a vast country such as Brazil, to be completed within a reasonable period of, say, five years. In the GTDL,

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only the representative from the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística – IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics) had any experience with national surveys. The need for standardized procedures and an efficient central database were beyond the experience of the other members of the workgroup. The survey could revolutionize knowledge of Brazil’s languages and make all previous estimates and classifications obsolete. An author of influential classifications and estimates, Aryon Rodrigues, was one linguist of the GTDL and wrote that a survey of the indigenous languages of the country was not feasible, though this opinion was rejected by the group. The survey, if done well, would offer answers to many key questions about the languages and the factors affecting them, positively or negatively. After many meetings and discussions, the content of the proposed national survey, called the Inventário Nacional de Diversidade Linguística  – INDL (National Survey of Linguistic Diversity) was agreed upon. This content was presented in a public hearing and then published (GTDL 2008). The content is summarized below: – Description of the survey team – Description of the phases, methods, and results of the survey – Identification of the language: its various names, autodenomination, region of origin, time in Brazil (in the case of immigrant languages) – Number of speakers and semi-speakers by age group, degree of language transmission, population of the group – Linguistic and historical characterization, including genetic classification of the language, internal variation, past geographical movements, contact with other languages – Geographic distribution: location of speaker communities and their respective degrees of fluency, as well as communities of the same ethnic group which no longer speak the language. – Language use in society: contexts of use, special forms of the language in defined contexts – Status and institutions: official status, cultural promotion groups, schools, health posts, organizations for political representation, activities in the language (such as teaching it to outsiders), publication, cultural events, media presentations, revitalization and maintenance efforts, effects of missionary activity on the language and on traditional native beliefs and verbal art – Writing: literacy rates in the language in each age group, use of the language in schools, source and adequacy of the writing system(s), degree of utilization of each writing system in the case of multiple systems, existence and description of didactic materials



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– Oral literature: traditional narratives in the language, music, the context and performers of these, their degree of transmission – Written literature: written works produced by the community or outsiders – Audio-visual production and the location and access of the products – Studies about the language, with bibliography – Samples of the language: audio recordings of Swadesh’s 200-word list, independent writing samples of the same word list by literate speakers (to test consistency and orthographic adequacy), a short video of a few minutes of a conversation with subtitles in Portuguese Some explanation is in order about the content specification, which was to be uniform for all types of languages to be surveyed: indigenous languages, immigrant languages, Brazilian sign language (LIBRAS), Portuguese dialects, and Afro-Brazilian speech. Where a particular item did not apply, for example, “theater groups” for the Yanomami, it would be left blank. The field methodology would be different for each type of language. For indigenous languages the leading suggestion was to administer the survey by calls for projects which would cover all the languages of a region, hoping to economize time and expense. If the survey manual could be made maximally efficient and clear, people in the region, such as NGOs, indigenous associations, etc., could carry out the survey, helped by their prior knowledge of the native groups there. After the content of the survey, the next problem to be resolved was the field methodology. In order to test different approaches, pilot projects were commissioned, with funding from IPHAN or from other sources. In a casual bureaucratic decision which would have regrettable effects for the next few years and beyond, the IPHAN call for pilot project proposals, channeled through the Associação Brasileira de Linguística, specified a minimum of R$150,000 (about US$75,000 at the time) per project. Those responsible for the call for projects said that this was their norm, so as not to administer many small projects. Such large amounts of money opened the door to the use of pilot projects as a feeding trough for linguists and their students, rather than as an attempt to find efficient, inexpensive, and accurate field procedures. The pilot projects varied greatly in their expense and efficiency. The project for the Wayoro (or Ayuru) was extremely lean, with only one linguist as the only non-indigenous participant, relying on indigenous assistants for much of the work. Techniques were devised to maximize efficiency while maintaining an acceptable degree of accuracy. Villages were located by natives looking at Google Earth images. Households were indicated by maps of villages drawn by local residents. Information on possible speakers outside the native reserve was gathered

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from their relatives on the reserve. Those outside the reserve (a large and growing proportion of the indigenous population in Brazil) were visited later. On the basis of preliminary testing and advice from native assistants, four degrees of fluency were recognized and used in the fluency evaluation: speaks fully, speaks reasonably, understands but speaks little, and no significant fluency. These levels were defined operationally, with questions such as, “If someone tells you that he is going to a certain village tomorrow to go fishing with his brother, could you understand what he said?” If the person can understand this question then he at least understands the language. A positive answer to the question, “Could you reply, ‘I will go there with you and get some manioc flour from my uncle’?” would imply that he spoke reasonably. These levels were generally easily understandable and fairly replicable. Fluency judgments were made by speakers who knew the person in question, not by the person himself. The judgments were checked independently with another speaker. The household survey and the speaker estimates were done without actually going to each house, which, in any case, did not seem to increase accuracy, since some household members may not be present and those present may not be careful with accuracy and precision in the information that they provide. Even among motivated and intelligent native assistants providing information there was a certain tendency to omit the more marginal members of a household and also small children. In a highly complex situation such as the reserve on which Wayoro is spoken, with ten ethnic groups, intermarriage and varying degrees of language and culture loss, a household survey was needed, though in more homogeneous situations statistical sampling and extrapolation would be adequate. The recorded lexical sample (200-word list supplemented by names for common animals, plants, and manufactures) was quick and very useful. That was also the case for the independent spelling samples, which give a fast indication of the degree of success of literacy efforts. The expenses of the pilot projects for indigenous languages varied enormously, with those supported by IPHAN (the Juruna and Asurini projects) being far more expensive. The approximate figures for four pilot projects to survey indigenous languages are given in Table 3 below.



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Tab. 3: Summary of costs for the INDL pilot projects for indigenous languages

Persons surveyed Total cost, R$ Cost per person, R$ Estimate cost to survey the 800.000 indigenous people of Brazil, R$

Ayuru (Wayoro) Mbyá Guarani

Juruna

Asurini of Tocantins

800 14.000 18 14.000.000

400 150.000 375 300.000.000

500 228.000 456 365.000.000

7.000 230.000 33 26.300.000

While the expensive projects produced more products, they went far beyond what was appropriate for an efficient national survey in terms of cost and time. In December of 2011 the president of Brazil signed a decree for the implementation of the INDL, the national survey. This created a Technical Commission with core members from the ministries and from the IBGE. At the same time there was replacement of the IPHAN staff participating in the INDL: the coordinator and administrative assistant left and a young Brazilian linguist with a doctorate from the USA who was a specialist in indigenous languages accepted a fellowship as the linguistic consultant, with the responsibility to evaluate critically the pilot projects and write the instruction manual for the survey. These changes had serious impact for the course of planning the INDL at IPHAN. It soon became apparent that there had been a sharp break from previous understandings of what the content, methods, and aims of the INDL were. Not only were the complex, costly methods favored, complexity was further increased by advocating multi-disciplinary teams, hours of annotated video and other measures more typical of the intensive documentation of a single language. Moore, the Technical Commission representative from the Ministry of Science, Technology, and Innovation, made a very rough estimate, on the basis of the cost and activities of the pilot projects, that the cost of implementing such complex measures for all of the indigenous languages would be a minimum of R$240,000,000 – over one hundred million dollars at the exchange rate at the time. If given a manageable budget of R$5 million per year, the INDL would take 48 years to complete, by which time many of the languages would be extinct. The response of the coordinator of the INDL was that IPHAN was interested in qualitative questions, not quantitative ones. Most members of the Technical Commission, who had followed the survey planning for years, had a different view. Fortunately, agitation in favor of an efficient survey with universal coverage was successful in late 2013 and a realistic view of survey methodology and cost prevailed in IPHAN, with plans then being made with an eye to expense and feasibility.

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Unfortunately, IPHAN still considered the INDL mainly as a program for recognizing individual languages as cultural patrimony, with many miscellaneous facts and illustrative recordings being gathered, without a serious, detailed evaluation of the situation of each language. Their field manual for the survey,11 released in 2014, embodies this vision. In a recent reaction, the Brazilian Linguistics Association (Associação Brasileira de Linguística 2015), in its general assembly on 27 February 2015, unanimously passed a resolution which stated that the Brazilian community of linguists understands that the National Inventory of Linguistic Diversity must include a standardized and obligatory diagnostic of the situation of each language of the country, including, for example, the following questions considered important for the document: 1. The number of speakers and semi-speakers of each language, by age group; 2. The degree of transmission of each language in quantitative terms: 3. The number of people literate in the language and the degree of adequacy of the writing system(s); 4. The degree of maintenance of traditional verbal patrimony (narratives, music, festivals, rituals, etc.) and indication of the forces which impede or promote the maintenance of this patrimony.12

The example of the INDL illustrates a frequent tendency in Brazil to recognize the problem of language loss and the need for documentation and revitalization but to respond with simplistic, inadequate measures, often designed by non-specialists who have no successful experience in such matters.

11 http://portal.iphan.gov.br/uploads/ckfinder/arquivos/Guia de Pesquisa e Documentação para o INDL – Volume 1.pdf (Accessed 14 November 2015) 12 …a comunidade brasileira de linguistas entende que o Inventário Nacional de Diversidade Linguística deve incluir um diagnóstico padronizado e obrigatório da situação de cada língua do país, contemplando, por exemplo, as seguintes questões consideradas importantes para os fins do documento: 1. O número de falantes e semi-falantes de cada língua, por faixa etária; 2. O grau de transmissão de cada língua em termos quatitativos; 3. O número de pessoas alfabetizas de fato na língua e o grau de adequação do(s) sistemas(s) de escrita; 4. O grau de manutenção do patrimônio verbal tradicional (narrativas, músicas, festas, rituais, etc.) e indicação das forças que impedem ou promovem a manutenção desse patrimônio.



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6.2 The Brazilian national demographic census of 2010 and the indigenous languages Another recent initiative of the Brazilian federal government, which seemed promising, is the inclusion in the Brazilian national demographic census of a question on which language(s) the respondent speaks. This would have been extremely useful for evaluating the status of immigrant languages such as Pomerano or Japanese, whose numbers and geographical distribution are not known with precision. Unfortunately, for reasons of economy, only indigenous respondents were asked which languages they spoke. The census takers used handheld Personal Digital Assistants (PDAs) to enter the data from the Brazilian census of 2010. Maximum efficiency and accuracy could be achieved by having an exhaustive list of all languages and their alternate names and spellings in the PDA. By entering the first three letters of the language name the census worker would be presented with alternatives from which he could select the correct entry. Writing out the names is much slower and more prone to error. Presumably a definitive list of languages will eventually be produced by the INDL, but a reasonable list was needed by 2009 to prepare for the census of 2010. So a database of all indigenous languages was requested from the GTDL by the census planners of the IBGE. This provoked the old confusion between ethnic names and languages and between population and speaker numbers. Speaker numbers were not included in the PDAs and were only useful for forming expectations of the tasks involved in the census, but in order to be of any value, they still needed to be correct figures and the old confusion between speaker numbers and population figures had to be worked through. The database adopted by the GTDL, which would become the definitive classification for the federal government, had four main columns: (1) the genetic classification of the language (its family), (2) the “language of classification” (a language defined as a group of varieties which are mutually intelligible with each other but not with other languages), (3) the “language of identification” (basically the name of an ethnic group), and (4) subgroups, alternate names and spellings of the ethnic names. Often the third column contained names of ethnic groups who speak the language indicated in the second column. For example, Wari’ would be the entry in the second column as the language of classification and the groups who speak mutually intelligible dialects belonging to the Wari’ language (Oro Nao’, Oro Won, etc.) would be in the third column, with the first column indicating the name of the family, Txapakura. In this way the maximum of information was there. The idea was that if a respondent said he spoke Wari’ or if he said he spoke Oro Nao’ either answer could be put into the table and understood.

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The IBGE was puzzled that the indigenous groups do not have separate names for their languages and religions as many societies do. Partly because of this they removed the second column twice, with the majority of the GTDL opting to reinsert it. The classification of the IBGE is official for all of Brazil, including the Ministry of Education, the FUNAI, and other government entities. So it was essential that it should be technically accurate and understood properly. A further difficulty was that many names of languages of the past had to be included in the database, since some respondents would claim to speak them. There are incentives in Brazil for establishing indigenous identity, such as medical care and land rights. Also if people can recall or learn something of an ancestral language they may feel that they speak it to a certain extent. There are potential legal and administrative problems associated with affirming that putative speakers of languages long considered extinct by authoritative sources really speak them. As a means of avoiding such uncertain claims, the languages in question were designated as “without current classification” in the first column (language family), since there was no basis for equating the putative present version of the language with a historical antecedent. For example, the presumably extinct language Tupinambarana was designated “without current classification” in the language family column rather than designated as Tupi or Tupi-Guarani, pending an investigation of its contemporary status. In spite of all the precautions of the GTDL, when the results of the 2010 census were published in the press the linguists of Brazil were stunned that the census claimed not the 150 indigenous languages roughly estimated on the basis of consults with researchers working with indigenous groups nor the older number of 180, but rather 274! That was considerably higher than the 209 languages of identification (ethnic names) that were declared by the indigenous people interviewed by the census, the difference being made up of self-declared speakers of languages generally thought to be extinct or perhaps poorly identified languages. For example, 251 respondents supposedly spoke Tupinambarana, which is considered to have disappeared in colonial times (Aikhenvald 2012: 39). For some languages the results were reasonable. For others they were strange. For example, in Table 1.13 of the 2010 census results13 only one speaker of Gavião of Rondônia is listed, though there are at least 400, based on Moore’s decades of experience with the group. Looking into the data, an IBGE worker stated that all of the Gavião except one declared themselves speakers of “Tupi-Mondé”, the neologism indicating one branch of the Tupi family. This is doubtful since older speakers prob-

13 ftp://ftp.ibge.gov.br/Censos/Censo_Demografico_2010/Caracteristicas_Gerais_dos_ Indigenas/pdf/tab_1_13.pdf (Accessed 14 November 2015)



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ably do not even know this term. Serious overestimates of speaker numbers also occur in the same region. For example, in the IBGE table the number of speakers of Paiter (Suruí of Rondônia) is more than double the population. There are five speakers of Aruá, according to Moore’s 2010 survey, but the census claims 189. It is perhaps possible to go to the original data collected during the demographic census and resolve some of the problems, but this has not been systematically done and there is danger that the strange numbers and classification will be used for language policy, with possible negative consequences. A much more realistic answer to the question of which and how many indigenous languages are spoken in Brazil was one of the expected results of the Survey of Linguistic Diversity (Inventário National de Diversidade Linguística), discussed in section 6.1.

7 Perspectives for language documentation and revitalization in Brazil A number of topics have been discussed above which are relevant for language documentation, and some history of major macro forces and initiatives has been outlined briefly. Clearly, the macro forces are unique to Brazil, without close counterparts in more developed countries. With considerable effort it has generally been possible to channel these forces in rational, useful directions. Opposition to documentation programs and to gathering realistic information on the indigenous languages and their speakers has not had much success and grows weaker. The possibility of an intelligent survey of the situation of the native languages of Brazil remains to be determined. If a survey with well-planned ­diagnostic content, as suggested by the Brazilian Linguistics Association, is in fact conducted it should be possible to obtain an accurate panorama of what is happening to the indigenous languages and identify the factors that affect their vitality. The results of programs for bilingual education, language revitalization, and language documentation could be evaluated, for the first time, to understand what works, what does not work, and why. This information is fragmentary and unsystematic at the present, a fact that has made quality control a major problem in language programs. Favorable factors for the native languages of Brazil are the enthusiasm of the indigenous groups for language documentation and maintenance, also their increasing technical competence. Training in documentation for indigenous peoples needs to continue, with safe, organized repositories for the documentation produced. The Brazilian community of scientific linguists is increasingly knowledgeable about documentation and including it in their work. The federal

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government is basically favorable, though specific agencies are not necessarily prepared for tasks involving native languages, which are, for the unaccustomed, exotic, complex objects. Growth in institutional capacity is important, such as the implementation of the two professional digital language archives in the country.

References Aikhenvald, Alexandra Y. 2012. Languages of the Amazon. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Anchieta, José de. 1595. Arte e grammatica da língua mais usada na costa do Brasil [Art and grammar of the language most used on the coast of Brazil]. Coimbra: Antônio Mariz. Associação Brasileira de Linguística. 2015. Letter to the President of IPHAN, Jurema de Sousa Machado, 12 April 2015. Benedicto, Elena, Demetrio Antolín, Modesta Dolores, M. Cristina Feliciano, Gloria Fendly, Tomasa Gómez, Baudillo Miguel, and Elizabeth Salomón. 2007. A Model of Participatory Action Research: the Mayangna Linguists’ Team of Nicaragua. In Maya Khemlani David, Nicholas Ostler, Caesar Dealwis (eds.), Proceedings of the XI FEL Conference on ‘Working Together for Endangered Languages – Research Challenges and Social Impacts’, 29–35. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: SKET, University of Malaya and Foundation for Endangered Languages. Benedicto, Elena, Modesta Dolores & Melba McLean. 2002. Fieldwork as a participatory research activity: The Mayangna linguistic teams. In Julie Larson & Mary Paster (eds.), Proceedings of the 28th Annual Meeting of the Berkeley Linguistics Society: General session and parasession on field linguistics, 375–386. Berkeley, CA: University of California at Berkeley. Bontkes, William. 1968. Puruborá. Rio de Janeiro: [s.n.]. Arquivo lingüístico do Museu Nacional (ms.). Dixon, Robert. M. W. & Alexandra Y. Aikhenvald (eds). 1999. The Amazonian languages. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dobrin, Lise M. 2008. From linguistic elicitation to eliciting the linguist: Lessons in community empowerment from Melanesia. Language 84 (2). 300–324. Dorian, Nancy C. 1987. The value of language-maintenance efforts which are unlikely to succeed. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 1987 (68). 57–67. Galucio, Ana Vilacy, J. E. Puruborá & P. Aporete Filho. 2013. Vocabulário ilustrado – Animais na língua Puruborá [Illustrated vocabulary – Animals in the Puruborá language]. Belém: MPEG. Galucio, Ana Vilacy. 2005a. Puruborá: notas etnográficas e linguísticas recentes [Puruborá: recent ethnographic and linguistic notes]. Boletim do Museu Paraense Emilio Goeldi. Série Ciências Humanas, Belem 1 (2). 159–192. Galucio, Ana Vilacy. 2005b. Proposta de ortografia para a língua Puruborá [An orthography proposal for the Puruborá language], (ms.). Galucio, Ana Vilacy & Nilson Gabas Jr. 2002. Evidências de agrupamento genético Karo-Puruborá, tronco Tupi [Evidence for the genealogical grouping Karo-Puruborá, Tupi stock]. Paper presented at the XVII Encontro Nacional da Associação Nacional de Pós-graduação de Letras e Linguística, Gramado, Brazil.



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Grupo de Trabalho da Diversidade Linguística do Brasil (GTDL). 2008. Relatório de atividades do Grupo de Trabalho da Diversidade Linguística do Brasil (2006–2007) [Report of the activities of the Work Group on the Linguistic Diversity of Brazil (2006–2007)]. Brasília: IPHAN. Guerra, Mariana de Lacerda. 2004. Aspects of Surui phonology and phonetics. Brussels: Laboratoire de Phonologie, Université Libre de Bruxelles, Memoire de DEA. Himmelmann, Nikolaus P. 2006. Language documentation: What is it and what is it good for? In Jost Gippert, Nikolaus P. Himmelmann & Ulrike Mosel (eds), Essentials of language documentation, 1–30. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Koch-Grünberg, Theodor. 1932. Wörterlisten Tupi, Maué und Purúborá. Journal de la Societé des Américanistes 24. 31–50. Meira, Sérgio & Bruna Franchetto. 2005. The Southern Cariban languages and the Cariban family. International Journal of American Linguistics 71 (2). 127–190. Meyer, Julien. 2012. La parole sifflée en amazonie. In Apollinaire Anakesa (ed.), Homme, nature, patrimonialisation: Traditions et pratiques, discours et représentations, connaissances et savoirs dans les cultures plurielles de la Guyane et de la Caraïbe, DVD-ROM, Cayenne, France. Meyer, Julien & Denny Moore. 2013. Arte verbal e música na língua Gavião de Rondônia: metodologia para estudar e documentar a fala tocada com instrumentos musicais [Verbal art and music in the Gavião language of Rondônia: methodology for the study and the documentation of speech played on musical instruments]. Boletim do Museu Goeldi 8 (1). 113–128. Moore, Denny. 1984. Syntax of the language of the Gavião Indians of Rondônia, Brazil. New York: City University of New York Graduate School doctoral dissertation. Moore, Denny. 1989. Lista de palavras Puruborá. Belém: Museu Paraense Emílio Goeldi. Arquivo Lingüístico do MPEG, (ms.). Moore, Denny. 1999. Tonal system of the Gavião language of Rondônia, Brazil, in Tupian perspective. In Shigeki Kaji (ed.), Proceedings of the Symposium Cross-Linguistic Studies of Tonal Phenomena: Tonogenesis, Typology, and Related Topics, 297–310. Tokyo: Institute for the Study of Languages and Cultures of Asia and Africa (ILCAA), Tokyo University of Foreign Studies. Moore, Denny, Ana Vilacy Galucio & Nilson Gabas Jr. 2008. O Desafio de documentar e preservar as línguas Amazônicas [The challenge of documenting and preserving the Amazonian languages], Scientific American (Brasil) Amazônia (A Floresta e o Futuro), 3. 36–43 Moore, Denny & Julien Meyer. 2014. The study of tone and related phenomena in an Amazonian tone language : Gavião of Rondônia. In Steven Bird and Larry Hyman (eds.), How to study a tone language. Language Documentation & Conservation Special Publication 8. 613–636. http://hdl.handle.net/10125/24618 (accessed 22 September 2015). O’Meara, Carolyn & Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama. This volume. Accessibility to results and primary data of research on indigenous languages of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 59–79. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Rodrigues, Aryon. D. 1986. Línguas brasileiras: para o conhecimento das línguas indígenas [Brazilian languages: for the knowledge of the indigenous languages]. São Paulo: Loyola.

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Rodrigues, Aryon. 2006. As línguas indígenas no Brasil [The indigenous languages of Brazil]. In Beto Ricardo & Fany Ricardo (eds.), Povos indígenas no Brasil 2001/2005 [Indigenous peoples of Brazil 2001/2005], 59–63. São Paulo: Instituto Socio Ambiental. Rodrigues, Aryon. 2009. 40 anos de linguística, cursos universitários e línguas indígenas no Brasil: vivências e memórias pessoais [40 years of linguistics, university courses, and indigenous languages in Brazil: experiences and personal memories]. In Dermeval da Hora, Eliane Ferraz Alves & Lucienne C. Espindola (eds.), ABRALIN: 40 anos em cena, 17–34. João Pessoa: Editora Universitária. Sánchez, Liliana. This volume. The linguist gaining access to the indigenous populations: sharing cultural and linguistic knowledge in South America. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 195–213. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Santos, Elizabeth & A. Vilacy Galucio. 2007a. Análise acústica de segmentos vocálicos da língua Puruborá [Acoustic analysis of vocalic segments of the Puruborá language]. Paper presented at the I Congresso Internacional de Estudos Língüísticos e Literários na Amazônia- I CIELLA, Universidade Federal do Pará, April. Santos, Elizabeth & A. Vilacy Galucio. 2007b. Segmentos implosivos em Puruborá: uma análise fonético-fonológica [Implosive segments in Puruborá: a phonetic-phonological analysis]. Paper presented at the III Seminário Internacional de Fonologia, Porto Alegre, Pontifícia Universidade Católica do Rio Grande do Sul, 9–13 April. Seki, Luci. 2000. Gramática do Kamaiurá [Grammar of Kamayurá]. Campinas: Editora da Unicamp.

Carolyn O’Meara* and Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama

3 Accessibility to results and primary data of research on indigenous languages of Mexico 1 Introduction1 One of the topics frequently addressed in the linguistic documentation literature has to do with the accessibility of the results that derive from such projects (Austin 2006; Bowden and Hajek 2006; Dwyer 2006), in particular as it pertains to the process of archiving data (i.e., recordings, transcriptions and field notes) (Johnson 2004). The response from the academic world has not only been the creation of digital archives designed to house data from such projects, but also the requirement to archive the data according to the rules established by a particular granting institution. In many cases, access to these data sets is made available to interested parties through the archive’s website (or minimally, the metadata is made accessible). At the same time, many of the projects focused on documentation and description of indigenous languages of Mexico take place in communities that are geographically isolated or at least rural and frequently do not have the technological infrastructure to allow reliable access to the Internet to be able to view these archival collections, not even considering the issue of disseminating information regarding the existence and location of such collections. The problem addressed in this paper is the way in which linguists can comply with their obligation to share the data of their study with the community of speakers,

1 The authors would both like to acknowledge and thank the speakers and speaker communities that we have collaborated with over the years. In the case of O’Meara, she is particularly grateful to Imelda, Eryka, Francisco, Francisca, René, among many others in El Desemboque and in Punta Chueca, Sonora. In the case of González Guadarrama, he would like to thank the members of the community of San Mateo Almomoloa. O’Meara would also like to thank the Instituto de Investigaciones Filológicas at the UNAM for their support in her research, as well as the generous support provided by the National Science Foundation (BCS-0553965 and BCS-0723694). *Corresponding author: Carolyn O’Meara, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México, e-mail: [email protected] Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama (Escuela Nacional de Antropología e Historia)

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while at the same time doing so in a way that takes into consideration the fact that the primary data located in international digital archives is not as accessible to speakers as might be thought at first glance. All of this is addressed taking into consideration the specific situations that linguists encounter while working with members of indigenous communities in Mexico. Addressing the issue of data accessibility plans that are useful for speaker communities is of particular concern in Mexico. This is due to the fact that many indigenous languages that are still spoken face some level of endangerment of no longer being spoken in the coming generations. Additionally, there are an increasing number of current projects directed at language documentation and description of indigenous languages of Mexico (e.g., Chamoreau 2009; Levy and Beck 2012; Palancar 2009; Romero Mendez 2013; inter alia). In other words, the timing appears to be right to begin to think of developing, implementing and discussing such accessibility plans while the documentation projects are still active in order to promote the use of such materials in language maintenance and revitalization plans. In order to put this problem into perspective, we look at some examples that have been successful outside of and within Mexico regarding ways in which speakers can access data collected as part of a linguistic study. One has to do with the implementation and use of a “jukebox archive”, a computer or hard drive that functions as a standalone archive inside a cultural center. Speakers use the computer to play and copy recordings for their own use and do not rely on an Internet connection. The jukebox archive has been very successful with speakers of indigenous languages living in rural areas of Australia (Jeff Good, personal communication). The other example has to do with the development of Information and Communication Technology (ICT) to use as an interface to primary data (Nathan and Csató 2006), in particular, using social networks and other forms of multimedia that are known by the community. We discuss our experiences in trying to implement such an interface with an indigenous community in the U.S. and its relevance to indigenous communities in Mexico, as well as some of our experiences in providing members of communities of speakers of indigenous languages in Mexico with data that has resulted from our linguistic studies. We also present some of the difficulties that linguists face in the context of providing access to data that derives from our documentation and description projects. This paper is not meant to provide definitive solutions to data accessibility plans in Mexico, but rather, it is aimed at promoting the discussion of this issue and possible solutions that could be relevant to the local contexts in Mexico. This is particularly relevant since it does not appear to be the case that national funding organizations which have contributed to language documentation and description projects require researchers in Mexico to archive their data. As such,



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this seems to be an area that is still under development within the local context of Mexican linguistic research.

2 Case studies This section presents various case studies outside of Mexico which highlight possible methods for sharing primary data and products of research projects in speaker communities. Later we consider some of the potential advantages and disadvantages of these methods for the Mexican context. This section is not aimed to be an exhaustive list of all possible forms of primary data sharing and accessibility strategies, but rather, a survey of various options we have considered and in some cases tried.

2.1 Northeastern North American Languages Archive (NNAILA) The Northeastern North American Languages Archive, or NNAILA, was a pilot project funded by the University at Buffalo to determine if it would be feasible to create a digital archive for native languages spoken in northeastern North America (see O’Meara and Good 2010 for additional discussion). For the initial phase, we focused on recordings made with Onondaga speakers in New York State,2 digitizing a large collection of analogue legacy material from Iroquoian languages that had been collected by various linguists and compiling the associated metadata as part of the process. The ultimate goal of the pilot project was to create an interactive digital archive whose use was targeted at speakers, heritage learners, and researchers. Due to historical and political concerns regarding research conducted in collaboration with these speaker communities, we were very careful to take into full consideration all of the interests and concerns of the various individuals involved, including speakers, their families, linguists and also the collaborators at the University at Buffalo. The primary interests of the pilot project included: the preservation of the material that had been collected as part of the long-term linguistic collaborations with Onondaga speakers and linguists, and in one case,

2 The three-letter ISO code for Onondaga is [ono]. It is the language of the Onondaga First Nation and is classified as an Iroquoian language. It is spoken both in central New York State in the United States of America as well as in Ontario, Canada, near Brantford at the Six Nations Reserve.

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the work of a native-speaker linguist, as well as the dissemination of the archived material. Additionally, the location of the University at Buffalo as the archive’s home seemed particularly convenient due to its proximity to both of the areas where Onondaga is spoken today. It was also of particular concern that it has been reported that there are fewer than one hundred fluent speakers of Onondaga remaining (Mithun 1999: 423). In order to design the interface that would provide access to the archived material, we worked in collaboration with some members of the Onondaga speaker community and the linguists who had contributed material to the archive. The interface was modeled on social media interaction, requiring a username and password to access, based on principles of crowd-sourcing material  – the goal was to improve and expand the material in the archive with contributions from speakers, heritage learners, teachers, linguists and other interested researchers in the form of comments, transcriptions, new recordings, etc. As such, we would not only be preserving previously collected language material, but also creating new potentially archivable material in order to enhance and potentially improve the legacy recordings and their associated material. This interaction and complementation of the archived material can be a way for interested parties to respond to what has been called the retrieval problem (Holton 2011: 158), which has to do with various types of failures in which results from language documentation efforts are never made accessible to stakeholders in such projects, especially members of speaker communities. When we began to pilot the portal with speakers, heritage learners, and teachers in the state of New York, the response was very positive. They seemed to be able to navigate throughout the portal with ease (given that they had experience using Internet browsers in the past) and were very excited to listen to recordings and discuss their content. Many of the individuals with whom we worked during the pilot phase had not previously heard the recordings that we had digitized and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the idea of having access to such material. Nevertheless, we ran into some hurdles during the process of turning the digital archive portal from a pilot into a live portal. The issues that we faced came from various sources, which are discussed in more detail in O’Meara and Good (2010) and Good (2012). However, the original concept of NNAILA was to offer a community portal, as depicted in Figure 1, to access and disseminate language-related material, in this case, from native languages of northeastern North America.



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Fig. 1: Community portal diagram from Good (2012)

In this model, you can have diverse experts as well as community experts contributing to the community portal. The information deposited in the community portal can then be examined and potentially curated and subsequently upgraded to be incorporated into the long-term archive. This particular model is a good fit for speaker communities where there is reasonably good access to Internet for a large percentage of the population and where people are familiar with using the Internet and have the equipment necessary to access the Internet, like laptops and computers. It is also suitable for language communities where there exists legacy language material that has not been made readily accessible to interested parties, such as teachers and heritage learners.

2.2 Information communication technology (ICT) One way in which linguists and language documentation advocates have made material from documentation projects available is through its transformation into multimedia formats that are pedagogically relevant to the speaker community. This has been described as part of the implementation of Information Communication Technology or ICT (Nathan and Csató 2006). The larger premise behind ICT is delivering fieldwork to a language community, as opposed to with or for a language community, following Grinevald’s (2003: 58) terminology, but adding a twist to it. Under this idea, there is a priority given to promoting and mobilizing relationships between stakeholders in language documentation projects in a way that the resources are delivered directly to the speaker communities, eliminating the need for formal resource delivery plans. While this is not directly related to archiving, it is a way in which researchers can design their documentation projects to create nearly instant deliverables to interested parties in speaker communities.

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This approach presupposes that language is a part of larger social processes within a speaker community. As such, providing speakers with printouts of texts, one standard data dissemination method, may not be sufficient in trying to capture the quality of actual linguistic practice, especially as it pertains to communities where the transmission of language is predominantly, if not exclusively, oral. In comparison, multimedia products can do a much better job at replicating and maintaining some level of fidelity with linguistic interaction, performance and everyday usage of language. Multimedia products capture a common thread between members of a speaker community and the various roles they play in this product, as well as a link to the product itself. Multimedia products can not only strengthen relationships and understandings between non-community member linguists and speakers, but they can also be a way to bring younger and older people together – the younger people can facilitate the use of the multimedia material and the older generations can help the youngsters understand the content better. This type of social interaction between different generations can also be promoted during the creation of the multimedia products. Additionally, this type of interaction can lead to new directions in the presentation of the data. As Nathan and Csató (2006) mention, this occurred when an elder suggested implementing a multimedia comic book in order to capture the interest of members of the younger generation of speakers. In general, an ICT approach requires the linguist to ask what language speakers want from a documentation project. The obligation is to deliver linguistically and culturally relevant material to other speakers in the community, using the speakers as the guiding force of what it is that should be recorded and presented in the multimedia material. This can include everyday linguistic practices like greetings, culturally significant items like stories and songs, as well as more inventive formats like comic books or cartoons. While there is a definite investment of time and to some extent money, the potential outcome could be worth it. Particularly considering that the linguist will likely be documenting this type of information no matter what and the cost might just be some compact discs or a memory stick to transfer the files.

2.3 Local archives in South America In Colombia, Peru, Brazil and Argentina, there are a group of local language archives whose goal it is to make primary language data available to members of local speaker communities (see Moore and Galucio this volume for more information regarding the Brazilian case). Seifart et al. (2008) note the importance that the material located in local language archives can have in an indigenous



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community. For example, topics like intellectual property rights and control of access to data that gets published has been a motivating factor for the people of these South American communities to participate in local archiving efforts. This has been particularly important when it comes to data resulting from research on the traditional knowledge of local communities. In Peru, a DOBES project focused on documenting the languages spoken by the people known as the “People of the Centre.” Part of the focus of the project was to document and make accessible to these people the documentation of rituals, songs, stories and other types of linguistic practices. Seifart et al. (2008) indicate that due to the geographical distance and international borders that exist between speakers of these languages, there is a real need to find ways to document and subsequently make accessible the culturally relevant linguistic practices of these groups. For instance, one goal was to facilitate access to language recordings for the Bora people who live in Colombia and the Bora people who live in Peru so that regardless of their location, they could have access to recordings made in either community at a local language archive. As Seifart et al. (2008: 132) mention, “[…] one of the aims of the archive in Iquitos [Peru] is to contribute to changing the tendency of exporting objects and data towards a culture of sharing data with the national institutions of the countries where these data were collected.” Given that documenting and archiving the data collected in documentation projects of indigenous languages of South America and in general throughout the Americas is a particularly urgent task (Seifart et al. 2008: 134), it is relevant that researchers and speakers share their success stories. However, archiving language material is not particularly useful if the language archives are not accessible or not consulted – the acceptance and success of a local language archive depends on its use. As such, the new generations of stakeholders in language documentation projects must be open-minded enough to recognize the benefits in sharing their preliminary results and their raw data with speakers and the scientific community (Seifart et al. 2008: 137), as well as discussing the issues relevant to successful access plans and presentation of data. In the case of the local archives that were created in South America, it is important to note that they function as part of a larger network of language archives (Seifart et al. 2008: 138). In particular, these archives were supported by larger language archiving efforts in place by The Language Archive group at the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics located in the Netherlands. This group provides basic infrastructure and server mirroring of the local archive servers with the servers run by The Language Archive, as well as training in order to provide security in the content of the language archives and to promote best practices in language archiving. Additionally, the local archives set up in South America

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form their own network of small local archives. This type of set up is a model that could potentially work in Mexico to provide access to language material in local settings, but still adhere to international archiving standards, including a commitment to preservation and migration of digital language material. However, in order for this to be successful, some investment needs to be made to provide the proper infrastructure needed.

2.4 Jukebox archive model in Australia The jukebox archive model is one that has been implemented in cultural centers in parts of rural Australia. In contrast with the community portal design of NNAILA, this model does not require Internet access at the point of installation. In fact, this model excels in its technological simplicity given that it consists of, in its most basic format, a computer that contains easily movable files (generally in .mp3 format) of language related materials, including narratives, stories, songs, conversations, among other possible items. It can additionally contain transcribed versions of the recordings and other information relevant to the language material. The computer can optionally be connected to the Internet if that is available in order for items to be added from a language archive or from researchers and for items that are added by speakers or singers to then be safeguarded in an archive. This format allows speakers and learners to come to the cultural center and download recordings onto an .mp3 player or burn a compact disc of recordings to then take with them. It also allows speakers to contribute to the jukebox archive with their own recordings. As mentioned, this type of model has been reported to be highly successful in cultural centers in rural parts of Australia were there is oftentimes no access or limited access to the Internet (Jeff Good, personal communication). However, this model can only be successfully implemented in places where there are cultural centers or some kind of equivalent (ideally politically neutral) location where a computer can be safeguarded and made available to interested parties. This type of model can also be used for researchers from other disciplines and local researchers who would like to share and have access to the outputs of research projects being conducted in their region. The ideal case of local archiving efforts would be something closer to what has recently been implemented in Alaska, with the Ahtna Regional Linguistic and Ethnographic archive (Berez, Finnesand, and Linnell 2012), where the local community manages and implements its archive under international best practice archiving standards. This local archive is located in the Ahtna cultural center, similar to the jukebox archives being located in cultural centers within



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remote parts of Australia. However, the Ahtna case is exceptional for the time being, considering that many rural communities where indigenous languages are spoken do not have the infrastructure to maintain such an archive, nor are there mechanisms in place to provide training and jobs to individuals to maintain such archives. Nevertheless, the model should be considered as a potential goal in the appropriate contexts and a model to aspire to in the future.

3 Archiving efforts in Mexico – a first approach Taking into consideration the previous discussion of the three methods of providing access to data collected as part of language documentation and description projects in international contexts, we now turn to similar efforts in Mexico. In particular, we discuss personal experiences in indigenous communities and institutional efforts to archive language data. We also discuss some of the complications specific to Mexican contexts regarding dissemination and access to language data.

3.1 Providing access in the community of San Mateo Almomoloa The community of San Mateo Almomoloa, a community of Nahuatl speakers, is located in the municipality of Temascaltepec in the state of Mexico. The village is divided into various neighborhoods: La Mesa, San Mateo Centro (downtown), La Comunidad, El Coporito and El Potrero, where each neighborhood has its own schools. However, the teachers responsible for the education of the Nahuatl language do not speak the language variety that is spoken in the town of San Mateo Almomoloa, but rather, they speak another variant of Nahuatl that is spoken in the state of Guerrero. This has proven to be a factor in the ways that certain community members have perceived certain activities related to language learning and documentation. At one point, one of the teachers at the bilingual school in San Mateo Almomoloa gave the students a homework assignment where he handed out a wordlist in Spanish and the students were supposed to write out the words in their language with help from their parents. This task was negatively perceived by some community members: some of the people in the village began a rumor that the teacher was selling every word at fifty cents each and, thus, would become rich with the students’ homework. As a result, some people put enough pressure on

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the teacher that he was eventually fired. Similarly, the Nahuatl speakers in the community hired a teacher to provide language lessons. The various political groups in the town encouraged the people to attend the Nahuatl lessons, but the response was poor. The few participants who attended the lessons were faced with a problem: the teacher did not speak the local variety. As a consequence, the project failed. González Guadarrama and colleagues3 faced similar challenges while conducting language documentation fieldwork in this community. Similar to what happened to the local teacher, it was also rumored that the members of the language description group were selling each word collected in the project for fifty cents each, and as such, becoming rich in the process. However, the individuals who are directly involved in the project, both native speaker consultants and other linguists, know that these rumors are false. As the project has been progressing, collaborators have received copies of the audio and video recordings and in the beginning phase of the project, they were fully informed of the nature of the project. Our main collaborator in the project is Mrs. Guillermina Ríos Palma, a native speaker of the variety of Nahuatl spoken in the village. Mrs. Guillermina Ríos has played a key role as the intermediary in the dialogue established with the elementary school “Lic. Benito Juárez”, located in the neighborhood of San Mateo Center. The dialogue with the local authorities and the teachers was a success and a linguistic archive is currently being developed inside the school, providing enough space to accommodate the language archive. As part of this first phase, we are archiving the primary data that we have obtained from our first stay in 2010 with plans to continue adding to the language archive over time. In a second phase of the project, we will create a dictionary in collaboration with Mrs. Guillermina Ríos and her husband, Mr. Antonio Salazar Santana. The dictionary will be a useful tool for school teachers and students who are bilingual and also for those who are not. Finally, in a third phase of the project, we will make a grammatical sketch of this variant of the Nahuatl language. The current challenge is to convince the townspeople that this project is transparent and not for profit. We have worked with the delegates of the previous local administration, and were well received. Given that there was a recent change in the town’s administration, we are working with the new delegates. Up until now we have had little dialogue with them and are currently working to improve the situation. Nevertheless, the advances we have made in making the primary data available to the local community have been a big step forward in

3 Collaborators include Guillermina Ríos Palma, Antonio Salazar Santana and Santín Ríos.



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this process. Although the school at first seemed a non-neutral place4 to locate a language archive, with the assistance of Mrs. Guillermina Ríos, the possibilities of using the school as the location of the language archive have really changed. However, we are still struggling with local political issues that prevent a smooth process of access and information dissemination regarding the language documentation program.

3.2 Local archiving attempts in Seriland In the case of the Seri5 speaking community of El Desemboque (del Río San Ignacio), Sonora, Mexico where O’Meara collaborates with Seri speakers, the only location where there is Internet (and not always reliably) is at the telesecundaria (the telelearning middle school). To be more specific, the connection is frequently not working and when it is, it is extremely slow, to the extent that it is nearly impossible to download files from the Internet. There is no cell phone coverage and phone lines are only available by prohibitively expensive satellite connection. As such, access to language archive material via an Internet connection is not ideal and certainly not something that is accessible to all, especially to those without any electronic device to permit access to the Internet. In this case, a jukebox archive approach is much more suitable given the connectivity issues and given that since around 2004 El Desemboque has access to electricity (previously electricity was provided with solar panels or generators). Nevertheless, finding a neutral place where such a jukebox archive could be placed remains an issue. The elementary school and the middle school are both part of the indigenous education department of the state of Sonora and as such, the teachers are assigned at the state level. For the most part, the teachers are not Seri speakers, but speakers of other indigenous languages of Sonora. This creates issues regarding the status of the school and how neutral of a place it is perceived to be by Seri speakers. Additionally, if a jukebox archive were to be placed in an individual’s home, culturally specific issues would likely arise between certain

4 For us, a neutral place to locate a language archive or house language documentation material is one that is as free from political, religious and governmental control as possible (keeping in mind that this is very hard to achieve). It should be a place where members of the community have access without having to pertain to a particular group (religious, political, etc.). In some cases schools are not neutral due to the fact that they are run by the government and frequently the teachers in so-called bilingual schools are not from the local community and are speakers or different indigenous languages (not the one spoken locally). 5 The three-letter ISO code for this language is [sei].

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families or certain individuals. For now, in this context the most efficient way of sharing and providing access to primary data and material derived from primary data is through sharing it with individuals who are interested or directly related with the language description project. This is less than ideal, but O’Meara does not see any immediate remedy to the current data dissemination plan.

3.3 Institutional archives in Mexico There are a few institutional archive projects located in Mexico that are worth noting, especially those with a focus on archiving data from indigenous languages. One of those archive projects is the Acervo Digital de Lenguas Indígenas “Víctor Franco Pellotier” housed at the central offices of the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social (CIESAS, Center of Research and Superior Studies in Social Anthropology) in Mexico City. The digital archive’s website indicates that it produces materials that allow for the collection, safekeeping and systematization of data from indigenous languages of Mexico. It further mentions that one of its primary goals is to work against the situation of endangerment in which many indigenous languages find themselves by promoting the revitalization of these languages. The website features pages for twelve different indigenous languages of Mexico. Additionally, the archive benefits from a server that was provided to them several years back by the Language Archive Group at the Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics, as part of their local archives initiative, akin to the previous discussion of local archives in South America. While on the surface the digital archive at CIESAS appears to be one of the few institutional archives in Mexico dedicated to archiving indigenous language data, on closer inspection, it is not clear if this is actually a language archive. The website does not contain any information on how to deposit language data in the archive, nor does it provide any material regarding protocol of how to prepare deposits, rights of collaborators who are featured in the language data, among other important items usually present in language archives. There is a link on the website to browse the IMDI database of metadata, housed at the Max Planck Institute, but it does not appear to be functioning at the time of preparing this chapter. As a result, it remains quite difficult to understand what kinds of language data are housed in the archive, except for the games, children’s books, songs, and didactic videos of documentation workshops, among other items that are featured on the website. In summary, this does not appear to be a typical language archive, if an archive at all, in comparison to other international language archives. However, comparing the web presence of the CIESAS archive with the Iquitos archive in Peru and the Argentinian one, we see that they are not too dif-



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ferent in terms of the information that is accessible on the web, but in the case of the Argentinian archive, the IMDI browser works. Another archiving project that took place in Mexico is the Archivo de los idiomas indígenas de Chiapas (Archive of indigenous languages of Chiapas), created by John Haviland in collaboration with the Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social (CIESAS) located in San Cristobal de las Casas, Chiapas. This project seems to be associated with a larger language documentation project of indigenous languages of Chiapas. The idea was to present the results of the project on the archive’s website in order to provide direct access to them by speakers, researchers and other interested parties. The website primarily features work of a linguistic nature, including articles, theses, presentations, as well as general descriptions of discoveries made as part of the project. As such, this very project-specific “archive” is designed to disseminate the results of the documentation project. In fact, it seems to outside eyes that the archive is currently dormant, without much activity since the project itself was being funded. Given these observations, this archive, just like the digital archive previously mentioned, does not seem to function like a typical language archive, but rather addresses specific needs of a project. Additionally, it is not clear if the material available on the website is also housed in an actual archive dedicated to long term preservation.

3.4 The Nenek Project The Autonomous University of San Luis Potosi recently designed a multimedia project focused on the indigenous language Teenek (also known as Huastec6), which is called “Nenek: Documentación lingüística colaborativa en Internet”. This project consists of an online collaborative platform that is a nearly monolingual social network in Teenek, designed for Teenek speakers. The platform is in some ways similar to the design described for NNAILA, as described in section 2.1, where speakers can share and discuss content of any type, like audios, videos and text, the difference being that the base information is not derived from archived language data. Users can also upload existing materials in and about the Teenek language and related cultural items that are from publications and manuscripts. Nenek organizes the content and presents it to its users in the form of materials like multimedia dictionaries, cultural repositories and a spell-checker. As such, the construction of the base material is made between speakers, indigenous asso-

6 The three-letter ISO code for this language is [hus].

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ciations that promote language use, government agencies focused on indigenous groups, and the project facilitators (Van’t Hooft and González Compeán 2013). In their recent presentation of the social media platform, Van’t Hooft and González Compeán (2013) indicated that they have generated quite a bit of interest among young speakers of Teenek with the social media platform. This success seems to be related to one of the goals of the project, which is to find and create new spaces in which speakers can use their language. In this case, the new space has to do with using language in the context of the Internet and digital technology. One way in which this project is helping speakers write and share texts in Teenek on the platform has been the creation and implementation of a spellchecker in Teenek. Time will tell how successful this effort ends up being for the Teenek speaker community and the role that primary data from language description projects play in the social media platform.

3.5 Complications in providing local access While working in indigenous communities in Mexico and working for academic institutions in Mexico that oftentimes have less funding and less technological infrastructure than institutions in non-developing countries, we have identified some complications associated with archiving language data in both areas. One of the most common complications we have run into in our work and have observed in the work of others is the fact that in many communities where indigenous languages are spoken the conditions are not apt for installing a local archive or a jukebox archive. This issue can arise due to various factors, including things as basic as connectivity issues, problems with electrical installations and, of course, the lack of an appropriate space to locate the local archive. In cases where it is pertinent, researchers have to turn to institutional offices like schools and county or municipal offices in order to try to establish a local archive in these facilities. This does not always lead to the desired results given that sometimes the local authorities are not completely convinced of how such a local archive could be useful to them, as is the case in San Mateo Almomoloa. In other cases, the appropriate physical space just does not exist, as is the case in the Seri speaking communities. As has been discussed in the case studies, although many field linguists make their research objectives clear and discuss the details of their research projects with community members, it is oftentimes inevitable that rumors begin to surface among community members, especially those who are not directly involved in the project. Such rumors are frequently skeptical of the research project and can even be directed at particular participants or collaborators in the project. The



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prevalence of rumors and gossip within small communities around the world is nothing new, nor is it something particular to the type of fieldwork that linguists conduct. Additionally, the linguist has little control over the internal politics that exist within the community at a social level and also at a political level with the individuals who work in the local municipal or county offices. In attempting to collaborate with individuals in these offices or with school teachers, the researcher, willingly or unwillingly, enters another arena of social interaction, namely that of government entities. In many cases, this can lead to a negative association being brought upon the researcher by association. Finally, while many manuals on how to conduct linguistic fieldwork describe ideal conditions, the reality is that local conditions vary quite a bit from speaker community to speaker community. One example that is particularly relevant to the context of Mexico has to do with the increasing prevalence or in some cases the movements of criminal groups, such as drug traffickers. This type of activity has at times forced linguists and anthropologists to leave and stop going to certain areas where they had longstanding ties with community members. Linguists that continue to work in areas that are affected by these types of groups do so with quite a few safety risks. Given this reality in various parts of Mexico, the linguist can ask herself if the creation and maintenance of a local language archive or even the language documentation project is of the highest priority when they are dealing with larger security threats. It is, of course, important to mention that this type of activity is not present in the entire country, but it has been moving to parts of the country where it was previously not an issue.

3.6 Relevant applications for contexts in Mexico Taking into account the previously discussed case studies within and outside of Mexico, we see various areas in which documentation projects that are taking place in Mexico can promote and facilitate access to the primary data collected as part of such projects. One area for consideration has to do with rethinking plans within local language communities as it pertains to data collection and the local needs of speakers, as well as the facilitation of access to the data (see Yáñez Rosales et al., this volume, for an example of particular needs of a community of language “rememberers” in a formerly Nahuatl speaking community in Mexico). Another area of consideration has to do with the centralization and coordination between researchers, universities and other academic institutions that promote language archiving in order to comply with language archiving standards and to concentrate our efforts within Mexico.

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In terms of adapting language documentation projects in Mexico to better promote access to data from such projects, the local language community’s specific needs must be taken into consideration (see Pérez Báez, this volume, for discussion of this in the case of San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec and also Villard and Sullivant for a Chatino case). Many rural communities where indigenous languages are spoken in Mexico do not have reliable connections to the Internet (including via landlines or cell towers) and many homes and schools have limited access to such items as computers and other means in which they could easily connect to the Internet, let alone via smart phones. As such, making primary data available via an Internet portal, such as that previously described with NNAILA and Nenek, is not a viable solution in many locations. Nevertheless, indigenous speaker communities located in more urban areas where Internet access is more readily available might be able to take advantage of an Internet archive web portal. It is, however, important to keep in mind that Internet service in Mexico is one of the most expensively priced services with one of the slowest speeds in the world (Hussain et al. 2013). In that sense, while there may be access to Internet services in urban areas, the price for the service is higher than better services offered in other countries, making it a prohibitive form to provide access to language material. As a result of some of the technological drawbacks that might exist in some communities of speakers of indigenous languages in Mexico, it is perhaps better to seek a more low-tech approach to making primary data available. In the case of the community of San Mateo Almomoloa, inhabitants at first suggested safeguarding the primary data collected from the language documentation project in a certain location and later reconsidered and suggested keeping it in the school located in the San Mateo Centro neighborhood. At first the school was thought of as a non-neutral area by many community members due to the fact that the teachers are not necessarily from the village, but it currently seems to be the best place to keep the CDs and DVDs that hold the primary language data. On the other hand, O’Meara has had less success in leaving CDs and DVDs in the school, as the teachers at the primary and secondary level in Desemboque are not Seri speakers and are not necessarily interested in this type of material. Printed material, however, seems to be in the school years after distribution and in some cases seems to be used by teachers, at least at the kindergarten level where teachers are native speakers. One promising approach that has potential in many rural communities where indigenous languages are spoken in Mexico is that of addressing more directly the needs of the speakers by changing the format of the primary data. In particular, by using basic multimedia approaches to transforming primary data in such ways that respond to the pedagogical needs of the speaker community. This type



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of planning of language documentation and description projects can prevent the potential issues raised by data accessibility plans that are created for data that has already been captured. However, this type of approach would require training for linguists in order to create basic multimedia material, as well as training for members of speaker communities to use such material. In comparison with the infrastructural needs of some of the other options, the multimedia approach, at least at a very basic level, seems to be the easiest to put into practice. Nevertheless, this should be conducted in collaboration with linguistic experts of the language in question. As has been observed in the case of the Seri language, multimedia and written items produced as part of the previously discussed institutional archive in CIESAS have not necessarily been received positively by speakers, as much of the material was created without consulting linguists who have considerable experience working on the language, nor was the material properly presented to native speaker experts before their production for revision and input. As for the coordination of linguists, academic institutions and funding institutions in Mexico, in terms of best practices regarding what is to be done with the results of primary data from language documentation and description projects, the path is still under construction. However, there has been a recent effort to create a network for language archives in Mexico, under the name RALMEX (Red de Archivos de Lenguas de México). The basic idea behind RALMEX is to coordinate our efforts as individuals and as small language archives to be able to have a one stop shopping experience to discover what kinds of language materials exist and where they are located by sharing metadata of the available language materials. Additionally, RALMEX aims to coordinate efforts in implementing best practices in language archiving in the participating language archives and among linguists and interested language communities. Finally, another area that RALMEX is exploring is facilitating support and cooperation with The Archive of the Indigenous Languages of Latin America (AILLA), located in the Libraries of the University of Texas at Austin.

4 Discussion We hope that the issues presented in this chapter make it clear how necessary it is to continue discussing and exploring the various options that exist for returning and providing access to original data to members of speaker communities. This discussion is important not only to understand what is working and what is not working in particular speaker communities, but also to disseminate information

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regarding innovative ways in which to promote and streamline data accessibility plans. These types of issues need to be addressed in order to also ensure that language archives or local archives are utilized and utilizable, especially by members of speaker communities. As Seifart et al. (2008) emphasize, the true measure of success of a language archive is if it is being used and the interest of native speakers should not be discarded. As Garrett (2008) has shown, 90 % of the users of the Berkeley Language Archive are individuals from speaker communities, either speakers or heritage learners, and not researchers. Considering the fact that many indigenous languages of Mexico are currently in decline or are at least facing struggles with respect to appropriate spaces of use in comparison with Spanish, the dominant language, it is imperative to consider how to design and plan language documentation and description projects in order to address the needs of the speaker community. For instance, we should consider how to design access points to language archives or local archives in such a way as to facilitate access by speakers and heritage learners. Or consider how to receive evaluations from native speakers, teachers of indigenous languages and heritage learners regarding the ways in which language materials are being made accessible to them. It is relevant to also consider the fact that many linguists do not live full-time in speaker communities and we must ask ourselves how to manage these types of plans when our presence is not permanent. Additionally, we wonder if we should reconsider what has been taken as the standard definition of primary data in linguistics, as it pertains to language documentation: “The primary data which constitute the core of a language documentation include audio or video recordings of a communicative event (a narrative, a conversation, etc.), but also the notes taken in an elicitation session, or a genealogy written down by a literate native speaker. These primary data are compiled in a structured corpus and have to be made accessible by various types of annotations and commentary, here summarily referred to as the ‘apparatus’” (Himmelmann 2006: 1). This definition seems to pertain particularly to the needs of the linguist, but does not necessarily address the needs or interests of a speaker community. Suppose we make this type of primary data directly available to speakers via the web portal of an archive, but the speakers only have access to the Internet via a satellite connection with a smartphone. In this case, the speakers will likely not have easy access to these materials and the materials might not be of any use to them. However, with a smartphone, speakers might be able to access social media sites, like the recently created Nenek and the original plan for NNAILA. Then, would the new data generated by these sites also be considered primary data or would it be excluded from the realm of data types that are part of a documentary linguistics project? Would it be data we should archive? If so, what would be



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the procedure for archiving this type of material? In fact, given that many speakers are using their language in social media platforms in general, it should be considered a space where language can be used and can be shared with other speakers. Yet, how do we reconcile this type of data as a researcher? Can this spontaneous data be used as part of a linguistics study?7 Should it be saved for a linguistic archive? Yet, social media is not the only answer to language documentation concerns, given that it seems to be much more frequently used by younger individuals. How can social media platforms be made useful or relevant to older individuals who are part of speaker communities? Will this require various data accessibility methods – one for older speakers and one for younger speakers? So many important questions arise that deserve a response from speaker collaborators and linguists. These questions, and many others, are highly pertinent to the success or lack of success of the language documentation and description projects in which linguists participate. As such, we feel the need to continue this discussion in the academic realm, as well as with other stakeholders in these types of projects, namely the speakers and heritage learners, in order to arrive at data dissemination and accessibility plans that take into consideration the local needs and resources available in a particular speech community.

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7 See, for instance, the recent work by Lourdes de León on emerging literacy practices among bilingual Tzotzil-Spanish speakers in Chiapas, using text message data with informed consent (Lourdes de León, personal communication).

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Rice, Keren. 2006. Ethical issues in linguistic fieldwork: An overview. Journal of Academic Ethics 4 (1–4). 123–155. Romero Mendez, Rodrigo (ed.). 2013. Historias mixes de Ayutla. Así contaron los abuelos. Mexico City: Instituto de Investigaciones Filológicas, Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Seifart, Frank, Sebastian Drude, Bruna Franchetto, Jürg Gasché, Lucía Golluscio & Elizabeth Manrique. 2008. Language Documentation and Archives in South America. Language Documentation & Conservation 2 (1). 130–140. Van’t Hooft, Anuschka & José Luis González Compeán. 2013. Nenek. Documentación lingüística colaborativa en internet. Paper presented at the II Coloquio RALMEX. Chihuahua, Chihuahua Mexico, 20–22 de noviembre. Villard, Stéphanie & J. Ryan Sullivant. This volume. Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 273–304. Berlin & New York: de Gruyter Mouton. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa Herminia, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres & Rocío Rojas Arias. This volume. Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco state, Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 109–141. Berlin & New York: de Gruyter Mouton.

Saul Santos García, Tutupika Carillo de la Cruz and Karina Ivett Verdín Amaro

4 The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico 1 Introduction The Huichol people have historically lived in the Sierra Madre Occidental range, in the midwest region of Mexico. Their language, Wixárika (ISO 639-3 hch), belongs to the Uto-Aztecan language family and according to the 2010 census report, there are 47,625 speakers of Wixárika that are 3 years of age or older (INEGI 2011). The level of bilingualism, however, varies and there is a strong tendency for younger people to be increasingly proficient in Spanish, at the expense of Wixárika. Both language vitality and language shift depend, to a great extent, on the specific circumstances of the communities in which a language is spoken (Fishman 1984; Díaz-Couder 1997; Moctezuma 2001; Hamel 2003); that is to say, the processes of language shift are not uniform in all communities that share a given language. Consequently, any action intended to promote the maintenance of a language should be based on a detailed knowledge of the specific socio-cultural context in which the process of language shift is taking place. With this in mind, a research group based at the State University of Nayarit (Mexico) initiated a research project in 2010 to ascertain the degree of Wixárika language vitality in Huichol communities of the state of Nayarit,1 taking the degree of accessibility as a defining factor. Our hypothesis regarding this factor was that the degree of iso-

1 This project is part of a larger study that started in 2006 at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México and was originally named La vitalidad de las lenguas indígenas de México: un estudio en tres contextos [The vitality of the indigenous languages of Mexico: a study in three contexts]. The objective of the project was to analyze the process of indigenous language shift in communities with different socio-geographic contexts in Mexico. Over the years the project has incorporated new communities. The research team in Nayarit became involved in 2010. Saul Santos García, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz and Karina Ivett Verdín Amaro (Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit)

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lation of a community has an effect on the pressures that result in language shift or language maintenance. Initially, we worked with two communities: El Colorín (easily accessible) and El Sauz (difficult to access). Our research confirmed that there is a higher degree of displacement of Wixárika by Spanish at El Colorín than at El Sauz. The aim of our project was to identify the pressures that the Huichol people face and that lead them to adopt strategies that favor the use of Wixárika or the use of Spanish. The data collection consisted in the administration of a questionnaire and extensive in-depth interviews with different age groups. During the data collection process, the interviews raised awareness among El Colorín community members regarding their own linguistic situation and its implications for the future of their language. This prepared the ground for the establishment of a participatory (i.e. community-research team) revitalization project. In this chapter we intend to share the revitalization strategies that the community of El Colorín has adopted over the past three years. The chapter starts with a reflection of language revitalization in Mexico. It follows with a brief description of the linguistic situation of the community and the pressures that have made people drift towards the current state of affairs. It ends with a description of the different actions in which the researchers and the community have been engaged as part of the language revitalization process.

2 Language revitalization in Mexico In Mexico, official policies that were in existence since after the independence movement (1810) until practically the second half of the twentieth century openly sought the assimilation of the indigenous population into mainstream society. The teaching of Spanish in public schools in indigenous communities played an important role in the assimilation of these communities; this caused a dramatic decrease of the population that self-identified as indigenous alongside a decrease in the use of indigenous languages (Zimmermann 2010: 904). Recently, census figures have shown that there is a slight increase in the numbers of indigenous people, that is, people who self-identify as indigenous (INEGI 2011). Paradoxically, political, social and economic factors impede an accompanying increase of the number of actual speakers of indigenous

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l­ anguages;2 thus, it is commonplace to find indigenous communities with a mixture of monolinguals in an indigenous language (elders), bilinguals Spanish-indigenous language (adults) and Spanish monolinguals (younger population). In other words, the system is promoting a replacive bilingualism (Fishman and García 2010: 181), where bilingualism is a transitional stage between monolingualism in an indigenous language and monolingualism in Spanish (see for example Villard and Sullivant, this volume). Such is the case for many indigenous communities in the midwest region in Mexico: young people speak Spanish as a first language and barely speak the indigenous language3 (Santos García 2014). The situation is reaching a critical point, for Spanish is the language that these young people will use with their children when they become parents. However, it is not just the case that the community is shifting from one language to another. In addition to being an instrument of communication, language carries a heavy load of cultural values; these cultural values are of paramount importance in the development of the self, identity, and interpersonal relationships within the community (Scollon and Scollon 1981: 37). That is to say, the norms governing behavior (linguistic and non-linguistic) for a particular communicative situation vary (sometimes radically) from culture to culture. The rules governing those behaviors are not explicit; they are learned along with language, during the first stages of language development (Reyhner and Tennant 1995: 280). Then, when a child is forced to use a language containing cultural values that are different from those of the culture in which their parents and grandparents grew up, he or she is being deprived of the possibility of learning those norms: the child is being forced to ‘walk among several worlds’ with a single language (Henze and Vanett 1993: 124–125). It was not until the decade of the 1930s that both governmental and educational institutions systematically acknowledged the existence of indigenous people and their languages in Mexico. Governmental institutions, on the one hand, showed a prevailing interest in indigenous affairs in general, and educational institutions, on the other, showed an interest in indigenous languages, although initially not necessarily from a sociolinguistic point of view (Nava 2011:

2 Although identification as indigenous in Mexico is tightly associated with proficiency in the relevant indigenous language, official figures should be taken with a grain of salt; for example, according to the population census (INEGI 2011) in El Colorín, 72 out of 142 inhabitants are speakers of Wixárika; however, our own data shows that in reality there are only 37 speakers. 3 Four indigenous groups dwell in this region: Náayeri (Cora), Wixárika (Huichol), Au’dam (­Tepehuano) and Mexikan (Nahuatl).

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88–89). In recent years, the attention of some scholars has shifted to the sociolinguistic dimension of indigenous languages, with a special interest in endangered languages. Nonetheless, at present in Mexico we know more about the causes of language shift than we know about effective ways of reversing this shift (Flores 2011a: 211). In other words, although the revitalization of endangered indigenous languages is accorded an official status, in reality the implementation of official actions is extremely limited. From the official governmental side, the right of indigenous peoples to use and preserve their languages was institutionalized at the dawn of this century, with the adoption of the Ley General de Derechos Lingüísticos de los Pueblos Indígenas4 (General Law of Linguistic Rights of Indigenous People). A necessary condition for a language that is in danger of extinction to become a vital language is the existence of legal conditions for this to happen. In Mexico, this necessary condition exists; furthermore, a special official institution in charge of making sure that the law is observed was created: the Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas (INALI, National Institute for Indigenous Languages). Despite the important contributions of INALI, it cannot be said that there is a national policy aimed at revitalization of indigenous languages in Mexico. What does exist however are community-based efforts. At times indigenous communities have been able to find ways of resisting the effects of linguistic assimilation to mainstream society on their own, but more often revitalization processes are fostered by research teams in educational institutions. Some languages have received more attention than others. The languages that have received the most attention both in terms of study and maintenance are Nahuatl (mainly in the central region of Mexico, but also in different regions of the country, including the western region) and the languages of the Mayan family (in the southeast region of Mexico) (see, for example, Flores 2007). These two language families incidentally constitute the two indigenous language families with the largest number of speakers in the country (INEGI 2011). But what is the situation of all other minority languages in Mexico? The following is the account of the first attempts at revitalizing Wixárika in a Huichol community: El Colorín.

4 This law, which was passed in 2003, gives all indigenous languages spoken in Mexico the same status as Spanish: national languages.

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3 The Huichol people and Wixárika, their language The Huichol people are one of the 600 (or more) indigenous groups who live in Latin America. They dwell on both sides of the river Chapalagana in the southern portion of the Sierra Madre Occidental in the Mexican states of Jalisco, Nayarit, Durango and Zacatecas (Neurath 2003; Gutiérrez del Ángel 2010), one of the most isolated areas of the country (see map 1). Their region is about 10,000 km2 (Acosta 2008). The Huichol people, like other indigenous ethnic groups in Mexico, are socioeconomically disadvantaged, have low levels of education, and live in areas where there are great environmental hazards. It is an isolated region due to the rough and mountainous landscape which has complicated the construction of roads. Although more roads are being built to connect larger communities to each other, access to smaller, more remote communities still depends on dirt roads which often wash out after heavy rains and mudslides (Raujsbaum 1994: 54).

Map 1: Wixárika region (Verdín Amaro 2013:27)

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Map 2 shows the communities that have traditionally been associated with the Huichol territory. These are mainly located in the state of Jalisco; however, in recent times (the second half of last century) there has been a series of migrations of the Huichol people to the valley and coast of Nayarit, and several new communities have emerged, mainly along the Santiago River. In fact, at present, most of the Huichol population lives in the state of Nayarit (INEGI 2011).

Map 2: Locations of the Huichol civil-religious hierarchy (Téllez 2005, cited in Verdín Amaro 2013: 34)

Huichol activities, whether of the individual or the group, are considered to be closely related to their way of seeing the world (Verdín Amaro 2013). Their religion forms the basis for everything they do, even their economic activities, which include agriculture and gathering, fishing, hunting, selling crafts and seasonal wage labor. Most of these activities are for subsistence (Rajsbaum 1992: 4; Acosta 2008: 19; Romero 2008: 30; Neurath 2003: 9; Gutiérrez del Ángel 2010: 31). According to the 2010 census report, there are 47,625 Wixárika speakers5 representing 0.69 % of the total indigenous population of Mexico (6,913,362). However, communities are becoming less and less Wixárika monolingual. It is considered that of the 47,625 Wixárika speakers, only 16 % are monolingual, and that the level of bilingualism among them varies widely (INEGI 2011), as shown in Table 1 below.

5 Official figures in Mexico concerning indigenous population are determined by the number of speakers of indigenous languages, as reported in the national census.

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Tab. 1: Huichol population of 3 years of age or older (based on data from INEGI 2011).6

Total Male Female

Speak Wixárika

Speak Spanish

Do not speak Spanish

Unspecified

47,625 23,519 24,106

39,097 20,240 18,857

7,748 2,880 4,868

780 399 381

The Wixárika language belongs to the Uto-Aztecan family. The issue of dialectal variation has been a source of controversy. Officially, INALI (2008: 7–9, 2nd section) recognizes the existence of four varieties of Wixárika: Northern W ­ ixárika, Southern Wixárika, Eastern Wixárika and Western Wixárika. According to this classification, there is only one variety in the state of Nayarit: Northern Wixárika. However, our own experience working with Huichol communities in the state of Nayarit, along with the perception of native speakers to whom we have talked, leads to a different opinion. Firstly, people do not seem to perceive great differences in the speech of people from different regions, hence these differences do not seem to cause problems of intelligibility. Secondly, the distinctions Huichols make between those living in one region and those living in another have to do more with cultural features, rather than language variation, such as clothing and the way certain ceremonies are carried out. In this sense, we have stated elsewhere (Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro 2012: 19) that an alternative way of grouping Huichols is following the criteria of cultural traits and their self-identification with ancient tribes: – Tuapuritari-Wautiari: Tuxpan de Bolaños, San Sebastián and Ocotán de la Sierra, as well as communities in the municipality of Bolaños and Mesquitic, in the state of Jalisco, as well as communities in the north of Nayarit. – Tateikietari: San Andrés Coamiata, San Miguel Huaixtita, las Guayabas, Coamiata in the state of Jalisco, and communities in the state of Durango. – Xatsietsarie-Puwarikatia: Guadalupe Ocotán, and all communities dispersed in the direction of Santa María del Oro, in the state of Nayarit, families in most of them are originally from Guadalupe Ocotán. – Aguamilpa: Communities settled around the Aguamilpa dam, in the state of Nayarit. All these communities, as mentioned before, are of recent foundation and are composed of people coming from different communities (families) in the state of Jalisco. El Colorín, the community presented in this report, is one of the communities settled around the Aguamilpa dam (see Map 2 above).

6 Although these figures are important, one should be careful about their interpretation, because for people who take the census it is not really clear what it means ‘to speak the language’.

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4 Language vitality at El Colorín7 El Colorín is a community situated in the state of Nayarit, Mexico, along the Santiago River and can be accessed via a secondary paved road 55 kms long. According to the most recent population census (INEGI 2011), there are 142 inhabitants in the community, most of whom are Huichol, although there are some non indigenous Spanish speakers living in El Colorín. Table 2 shows more specific demographic information: Tab. 2: Information about inhabitants in El Colorín (data source: INEGI 2011). Population

Total

3 years of age and more

Total Male Female

142 66 76

126 56 70

Language (3 years of age and more)

Monolingual Wixárika

Bilingual

Monolingual Spanish

Total Male Female

1 0 1

71 37 34

54 19 35

Education

Age group 3–5

6–11 12–14 15–17 18–24 8–14

Population

14

19

9

Do not attend school

6

0

1

Attend school Do not read and write

11

21

3

3

15 +

18 +

21

84

73

2

19

Never went to school

21

Finished primary ed. (k-6)

13

Finished secondary ed. (7–9)

18

Further education

4

7 In this section it is our intention to present a brief description of the situation of Wixárika and Spanish in El Colorín, as background information for the description of the revitalization process. For a full report on the study of vitality, see Santos García (2014).

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Originally, El Colorín was located further up the mountain, but with the construction of a dam on the Santiago River, the people from El Colorín petitioned the government for a piece of land next to the dam that had been used by the construction workers. The community’s change of location transformed their lives dramatically: in their previous location the only economic activity was domestic agriculture, now their main activity is fishing (Figure 1).

Fig. 1: El Colorín (photo by Tutupika Carrillo).

The study of language vitality was carried out in two stages: the first one, quantitative in nature, consisted in the use of a questionnaire which was administered house by house. The questionnaire was administered orally and in principle, one person in each house, an adult, responded in the name of those living in the same house, in the way the census is collected. In some cases, when other members of the house were available and willing to participate, they provided information about themselves. This first stage seeks to capture the individual’s perception of proficiency in Wixárika and Spanish, the perception of possibilities for use of Wixárika, and the perception of use in different communicative domains within the community and at home. Data collection for this stage excluded children younger than 3 years old. In total, responses about 97 people were collected. For the analysis of this data, the population was divided into four age groups: children, most of whom attend elementary school (3–12 years of age); youngsters,

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most of whom are already working (13–20 years of age); young adults, most of whom are already married with a family (21–45 years of age); and senior adults (46 and older). These groupings respond to the perceptions that people in El Colorín and in general in other Huichol communities have of the social roles community members have as they grow. The second stage, more qualitative in nature, aimed at identifying the factors that have forced the Huichol people to adopt strategies that favor the use of ­Wixárika or the use of Spanish. This particular project in El Colorín is part of a larger study (See Bermeo 2007; Trujillo 2007; Velázquez 2008; Trujillo and Terborg 2009; Santos García 2011; as well as those reported in Terborg and García Landa 2011). Data for this second stage was collected through in-depth semi-structured interviews and ethnographic notes. Fourteen people were formally interviewed, but informally, we talked to practically everyone in the community about language issues. The analysis of language vitality for El Colorín shows a strong shift from Wixárika to Spanish. Only 38 % of the population responded that they felt they had high proficiency of Wixárika, whereas 88 % declared having high proficiency in Spanish.8 Forty-four percent of children, 35 % of young adults, 15 % of adults and 8 % of elders do not speak Wixárika at all. The rest either reported speaking a little Wixárika or that they only understood a few words. An analysis was carried out on this data to find out possibilities of use of Wixárika. Data was arranged as follows: those who responded ‘yes’ to the question ‘Do you speak Wixárika?’ were labeled under the category podría usarlo ‘I could use it’. Those who responded ‘only a little’ or ‘understand a few words’ were labeled under podría usarlo de forma pasiva ‘I could use it passively’ and those who said ‘no’ under no podría usarlo ‘I could not use it’. Results of this analysis are shown in Figure 2, which confirms that the likelihood that the younger generations are or will be speaking Wixárika in a number of domains or that they will transmit the language, is very small.

8 As can be seen, some of these respondents are highly proficient in both languages, hence figures do not add up to 100 %.

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100 90 80 70 60

I could use it

50

I could use it passively

40

I could not use it

30 20 10 0

Children

Youngsters

Young adults Senior adults

Fig. 2: Possibility of use of Wixárika, according to perceived competence.

As for the current use of Wixárika within the community, although the data revealed that Wixárika is still used in the community, it is only used among elders and to a certain extent by younger adults. Children and youngsters use Spanish systematically. The research also showed that the relocation of El Colorín contributed to this process of language shift.9 In the original location, all inhabitants were Huichols. It was not until they moved to the new location that mixed marriages were observed, specifically with Spanish speaking individuals. Spanish is the mother tongue of all children of mixed families. The children that were born in the new location of El Colorín grew up in an environment that is radically different from that of their parents. As mentioned before, in the original location the main economic activity was domestic agriculture, they produced what they needed to survive, and contact with outsiders was minimal. In the new location the main activity is fishing and they no longer engage in domestic agriculture. They are forced to sell fish to outsiders (Spanish speakers) in order to buy other subsistence products. The pressure under which they are to sell is stronger than the pressure under which the buyer is, especially because they also have to compete with fishermen from nearby communities, who are Spanish speakers.

9 The mention of relocation is important because in recent times many indigenous communities in the region are being relocated because of the construction of dams.

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Fishing only takes place during a few months of the year; hence, they have been forced to develop other economic activities such as the production of handicrafts which are also sold to outsiders. In addition, the community has become a tourist attraction for camping and sport fishing. These activities have forced community members to establish greater contact with Spanish speakers. Other factors that have contributed to language shift are the insertion of schools and the distribution of the houses within the community. The school has played a role of paramount importance in this language shift. Although the General Law of Linguistic Rights of Indigenous People acknowledges the right to the use of indigenous languages as a means of instruction in indigenous communities, it does not enforce it. Similarly, the Mexican Ministry of Education, through the office of Dirección General de Educación Indígena ‘General Office of Indigenous Education’, promotes a bilingual and bicultural education. However, instruction in most elementary schools in indigenous communities in Nayarit, and perhaps in Mexico, is not bilingual or bicultural (Pacheco 2002). There are a number of reasons for this: 1) speaking indigenous languages is seen as a sign of backwardness by many school teachers and authorities, 2) teachers who work for the indigenous bilingual education system are often not indigenous and do not speak an indigenous language, 3) frequently teachers who are speakers of one indigenous language are assigned to communities where a different indigenous language is spoken, 4) there are no written materials in indigenous languages (textbooks) to cover the whole elementary syllabus; and 5) teachers who do not speak the relevant indigenous language are not able to use the few materials printed in that language (Pacheco 2002: 234–235). Teachers in elementary education in El Colorín should be using Wixárika as a language of instruction, given that the community is registered as an indigenous community in the inventory of the Ministry of Education. However, during the years that we have been working in the community (since August 2011), all teachers we have met are non-indigenous speakers of Spanish and do not speak Wixárika; only one of them has shown interest in learning the language while he was assigned in the community, but did not reach a level of proficiency high enough to conduct a class in the target language. Consequently, Spanish has been the medium of instruction. The mention of the distribution of houses is important from a cultural point of view. Traditionally, in Huichol communities houses are built around a central area or ‘patio’ where all traditional ceremonies take place. And, as mentioned before, the whole life of Huichols  – including traditional rituals  – gravitates around the agricultural cycle. The patio is of paramount importance: no patio, no ceremonies. In the new location of El Colorín, houses were built following the lead of western culture and the way the dam workers built their temporary homes. Thus, people from El Colorín have to use other communities’ ‘patios’ in

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order to celebrate their rituals and when there is no patio available, some families have decided not to celebrate them at all. The use of Wixárika is compulsory in these celebrations and a natural arena for younger generations to speak it; but if their families are not carrying out the ceremonies anymore, there is one less reason to learn it.

5 Language revitalization in El Colorín: working from within the community As mentioned in the introduction of this chapter, language revitalization in El Colorín was not the objective of the project, it was a fortunate consequence. The original aim was to identify the pressures that the Huichol people face which have caused them to adopt strategies that favor the use of Wixárika or the use of Spanish. Although we were aware that the data obtained from the survey (quantitative data) would only be taken as an indicator of the linguistic situation, the administration of the survey in fact turned out to be beneficial in ways that we did not expect.

5.1 The emergence of a community-based project Regarding the situation of Wixárika in El Colorín, some first reactions from people included indifference and even agreement with the use of Spanish at the expense of Wixárika. This is not an isolated case. There are other communities in Latin America “where the process of language shift that favors the socially dominant language is welcome by most members of the community and for whom language identity is not necessarily part of their self-perception” (Sánchez, this volume: 199). Initial responses from people in El Colorín showed us that they saw language shift as something inevitable, even desirable: they believed that Spanish would guarantee their children a better life, as shown in the following segment of an interview with a 38-year-old male. Entrevistador: “¿Tus hijos hablan [wixárika]?” Entrevistado: “Mis hijos hablan muy poco ¿Por qué? Porque… en… desde lejos se ven las cosas que yo siempre, pues, veo diferente a la gente pues, mira aquel trae su computadora, aquel gana su dinero y yo estoy donde mismo y mis hijos se van a quedar donde mismo. Cuando haya esta posibilidad [de aprender español], como que nos vamos por ahí. […] Por eso ya la gente busca otra forma…” Entrevistador: “Otra forma de salir adelante”

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Entrevistado: “…de salir así, y este… ahí es a donde ya estamos llevando a nuestra familia a donde habla español.” Interviewer: “Do your children speak [Wixárika]?” Interviewee: “My children speak a little. Why? Because… in… from afar you can see the things that I always, well, I see people differently; look at that guy, he is carrying a computer, he makes good money and I am here in the same place, and my children will be in the same place. So, when there is this possibility [of learning Spanish], we take that path […] That’s why people look for other ways…” Interviewer: “Another way to get ahead?” Interviewee: “Yes, and… that’s where we are taking our family, to where they can speak Spanish”.

However, through the process of talking to people as they answered the questionnaire and having the chance to visit every single home in the community, members were able to get to know us and our concerns regarding the status of their ancestral language. Not only that, but as they were given the chance to think and talk about the issues in the questionnaire, and especially during the interviews, people began to show an interest in our original concerns and to appropriate them: they made the language issue their issue, to the point that the initiative to organize a general meeting with the community10 in order to talk about the language situation came from some of the older women in the community. The recognition that research methods do have impacts upon the communities within which we work irrespective of whether such impacts are an intentional part of our research designs have been documented before (Guba and Lincoln 1989; Kingry-Westergaar and Kelly 1990). However, what excited us about the response observed among community members was the opportunity to turn this unplanned outcome into the possibility of engaging in an intended form of intervention within an agenda of community involvement. In other words, we saw this opportunity to move from a linguist-focused model of research (research on social actors) to a more participatory, community engagement model (research on, for, with and by community members; see Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 22–24).11 During the first general meeting, we gave the floor to the community members to express their concerns. From the beginning, we avoided establishing a system or an agenda for the meetings with the intention of promoting commu-

10 ‘Community’ here refers to all members of the community, that is, people living in El Colorín, regardless of whether they are speakers or non speakers of Wixárika. 11 See Pérez Báez (this volume) for a discussion on ethical aspects regarding the researcher’s response to situations where the community is not aware of the endangered status of their language.

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nity members’ ownership and control over the process. The meetings followed the course that the participants wanted to establish. Participants expressed that they really cared about the future of their language. But in that first meeting, they also revealed that they assumed that the school had played an important role; hence, the solution should come from school teachers or someone from outside the community (the government, for example). These first general meetings where people started showing a common interest, need, and concern were crucial because, as a research group, they gave us the opportunity of moving from working in the community to working with the community. It took us several general meetings to create a common language, so to speak, and to establish a horizontal dialogue with the community. In the words of Czaykowska-Higgins (2009: 25) “collaboration ideally […] involve[s] reciprocity and sharing in the creation of knowledge”: As a result of those meetings, attended by at least one or often two people in representation of each of the 27 households, the following insights, which have become pivotal in the development of further actions, became clear to all participants: – The process of language shift is, in part, the result of their own actions and decisions; – Adults play a role of paramount importance by passing on the language to their children and by promoting its use on an intergenerational basis, both inside and outside their homes; – Consequently, language revitalization is the responsibility of all community members; and – The process of language revitalization must be accompanied by more general processes of revalorization and revival of other cultural practices. As we continued working with the community, they began to ask important questions: How do we start? What can I particularly do? I do not speak the language, how can I contribute? First we tried to elicit ideas from them to address those questions, but not much came, thus we (the research team) decided to share with them some experiences of what is happening elsewhere around the world, how other languages are being revitalized. From the different projects we presented, they particularly liked the idea of a linguistic landscape, thus we all decided to start with that. Linguistic landscape concerns the written form of languages in public space (Gorter 2006: 2) and is defined as “the language of public road signs, advertising billboards, street names, place names, commercial shop signs, and public signs on government buildings” (Landry and Bourhis 1997: 25). The enhancement of the linguistic landscape in endangered indigenous languages may foster a positive shift of roles and functions of those languages (Salo 2012: 256). It took several sessions to organize

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the activity but everyone in the community became involved: those who do not speak Wixárika with ideas and with work, and those who speak it with the language needed. First, they had to decide what streets and buildings they wanted to label. As for the streets, people sharing the same street discussed and decided on the name they would give their street. For some of the names for buildings, such as ‘school’, ‘grocery store’, ‘nursery’ and ‘medical dispensary’, there was unanimous agreement on how to name them in Wixárika; with other places, such as ‘basketball court’, ‘assembly hall’ they sought advice from the elders. Once they had decided on the words for the signs, the second stage was to decide on the supplies for sign making: what they would need and how they would get them. Finally, when everything was ready, a small workshop was organized with the collaboration of a local artist (from Tepic), and the signs were made and posted (see set of Figures 3–6).

Fig. 3–6: Revitalization of linguistic landscape. These pictures show how different members of the community became engaged in this project: while mostly women prepare and write the signs (top pictures), men do ‘the hard work’ (bottom pictures) (photos by Saul García).

As a research team, we did not want to impose a way of organizing the emerging work; therefore, all throughout this process our role was to orient as requested,

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help, and sensitize newcomers, that is, community members who integrated in later sessions. Little by little, a pattern of work emerged: women would make the decisions, men would execute them. This pattern of work is interesting, because, as Pharao Hansen et al. claim (this volume: 238), it is often the case that “there may be powerful social constraints on women when working together with men in a revitalization project…”; but just like Doña Trinidad, in Acazulco, women at El Colorín did not seem to feel restrained in their participation. Rather, their participation was socially dominant. We also noticed how time takes a different dimension within their culture. Silence, for example, or long periods where nobody speaks, is a constant during general meetings. We have come to understand that silence means that whatever the issue under discussion is, it means much to them; a hasty response means that the issue is not important, and can be given a quick solution (cf. Saville-Troike 1992: 151–152). When an issue is brought to the table, they think, talk among themselves, and then someone takes the floor. With time, we discovered that the people with whom they talked were members of their family: in reality the community was composed of three extended families, and those who took the floor were actually representing each family. After the completion of the linguistic landscape project a new sense of community integration could be perceived. People felt better about being able to do something about the situation of Wixárika and realized that they were participants, both in decision making and execution. This first stage of empowerment was an important step in the process of moving towards a participatory, community engagement model.

5.2 Language teaching At this point the elderly were very enthusiastic about the real possibility of everyone in the community being interested in Wixárika. They were eager to teach the language to younger generations,12 but there was a problem: they did not know how to read and write, and wanted to learn in order to be able to teach. Although we believe that they could actually teach the language without reading and writing, we seized the idea of literacy because we also believe that writing plays a role in language revitalization. For example, the identity of Chicanos and Afro-Americans in the United States has been legitimated through the support of teaching and production of literature in their own varieties (Flores 2007: 181). A

12 Notice that at this point it was no longer the responsibility of the schoolteacher to teach the language.

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workshop on reading and writing (adult literacy) in Wixárika was established. The set of Figures 7 and 8 show some of the participants in this workshop.

Fig. 7–8: Literacy workshop. Left picture shows the stage when participants were learning to identify letters and to combine them to make words; right picture shows participants engaged in sentence production, a more advanced stage of the workshop (photos by Saul Santos García).

The workshop is ongoing, but the intention is that the participants (who are all elder members of the community and speakers of Wixárika) write their own materials, which could take the form of written stories that are already part of the cultural heritage or their own stories, poems, etc. These resources can subsequently be used as language teaching resources. We have already collected and published some materials that can be used as examples (See Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Carrillo 2012; Santos García 2013; Santos García et al. 2014). By promoting this kind of participation, the community members are empowered in the sense that they are assuming an agentive role in the process of language documentation and materials development as an essential part of language revitalization. In addition, we have all come to recognize that the knowledge community members have, or that they can produce, is essential in the process of materials development. All this, in turn, promotes an egalitarian relationship between community members and the research team (cf. Benedicto et al. 2007: 2). From the members of the community who are non-speakers of Wixárika, there was a request for language courses. Those were originally organized by the research team in a formal scheme of ‘classroom lessons’, with the support of a textbook for learning Wixárika as a second language (Santos García et al. 2008) and a student’s dictionary Spanish-Wixárika (Conti and Guerrero 2009). Classes took place once a week, three hours on average. Although these materials were not developed using the local linguistic variety (they were developed earlier), they have been accepted by the student participants. Perhaps one reason

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for this is that, as mentioned before, differences between varieties are not overtly evident; another reason may be that the materials were developed by the research team, and a good level of empathy between the team members and the community has been established. In addition, the fact that the families in the community originally came from different places in the state of Jalisco may be a contributing factor. But more importantly, the textbook that is being used is not grammar oriented, it has been designed to develop communicative competence in the language; hence students can use what they learn outside the classroom with a communicative purpose. As shown in Figure 9 below, originally, students were young adults, some of them single, some others already married and with children. These were members of the community who had previously participated in the linguistic landscape project and many of them were respondents of the survey or people interviewed in the original study of language vitality.

Fig. 9: Course of Wixárika as a second language for adults (photo by Saul Santos García)

A couple of weeks after we had started the language course the primary school teacher13 joined the course, and along with him came almost all of the primary school students, children between 7 and 11 years of age. Many of these kids were the children of some of the parents attending the courses. The class became very large, but we kept working with everyone together. At this point there were two courses running at the same time: the adult literacy course for speakers of ­Wixárika, mainly the elders; and the course of Wixárika as a second language. A large proportion of the population was busy studying Wixárika once a week, as can be seen in Figures 10 and 11.

13 The primary school in El Colorín (and most of primary schools in indigenous communities) has only one teacher. This teacher works with students in grades 1 to 6, all together in one classroom.

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Fig. 10–11: Left picture shows students taking the course of Wixárika as a second language; the right picture shows both groups: in the first plane the students of the literacy course and at the far end the students of the course of Wixárika as a second language (photos by Saul Santos García)

While these members of the community were taking Wixárika classes, their younger kids, those who still do not go to school, would play outside the classroom, waiting for their parents to finish. A decision was made to invite those kids to join us in play to learn Wixárika. Thus, a new course was opened for those kids. The activities took place at the same time as the formal language course, but the content was more lexically oriented: the use of pictures, games, and all sorts of game-based activities prevailed. All this was carried out on the basketball court, next to the classroom, as shown in Figures 12–13.

Fig. 12–13: Children learning Wixárika as a second language (photos by Saul Santos García)

Initially, these language courses were taught by members of the research team; it should be noted that only one of the teachers is a native speaker of Wixárika, although from a different region (presumably a different language variety). He is

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in charge of the course of Wixárika as a second language while the other courses (adult literacy and the course for children) are taught by non-native speakers of the language but who have some knowledge of the language. From our experience working with other indigenous languages in the region, language variety tends to be an issue when it comes to the teaching of language as a second language, even in cases when there are no speakers of the language in the community: it is as if they have an idealized version of the language that was used in the past; however, interestingly, and fortunately, the fact that the research team speaks a different variety has not been an issue so far. Perhaps people in El Colorín look well upon the fact that we make an effort to speak the language, for, as Dobrin points out, speaking the local language may “indicate to the local interlocutors that outsiders not only have things to say to them, but that they are also capable of listening to them” (Dobrin 2008: 318). In accordance with the idea that community members should be the main agent of transformation, we are at present trying to find ways for members of the community to become involved in the teaching. This, evidently, presupposes a shift in the teaching approach. This has been discussed with some community members and a number of decisions have been made: – Peer teaching would be less threatening for those who participate as teachers. – Teams will be composed of two members of the community: an elder who is a speaker of Wixárika and a younger member of the community who is not necessarily a speaker of the language but is literate. – Initial training with them will be focused around techniques that lend themselves to a communicative use of language, and that do not require literacy skills, based on: – Total Physical Response – Whole language teaching, using traditional stories as a frame – The use of visuals such as pictures (taken in the community of people doing everyday activities or something culturally related) – Use of puppets (for dialogue representation, storytelling, etc.)

5.3 Further language revitalization actions Another activity that we organized, originally created by Flores (2011b) is “taking the main square”: it consists of coming to the community on a random afternoon, preferably on a weekend, with no previous notice, with a microphone and a speaker, and ‘taking’ the main square. The idea is to attract people in the community with music or any other resources even if they are not language related, such

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as Capoeira (see Figure 14), and once people are gathered around the square (in our case, around a basketball court) we start performing different activities that involve the use of Wixárika:14 poetry reading (and performing), singing, storytelling, telling jokes or rhymes. After a couple of activities, people from the community are invited to take the microphone and say something, anything in Wixárika. It does not have to be something prepared; in fact, it is better if it is spontaneous. Those who speak Wixárika actively participate; those who only understand the language have a more passive participation (for example, they laugh with the jokes); those who do not understand the language simply have fun.

Fig. 14: Children playing Capoeira during one of the ‘taking the main square’ sessions (photo by Tutupika Carrillo).

An important outcome resulting from the ‘taking the main square’ sessions is that as the afternoon comes to an end and the sun starts to go down, a fire is started in the middle of the basketball court, someone brings out a violin and the traditional drum and they all start singing and dancing traditional tunes (see Figure 15). All these elements: the fire, the drum, the dancing are part of traditional rituals asso-

14 These initial activities are previously prepared.

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ciated with the agricultural cycle. As mentioned before, because of the lack of a traditional patio, these rituals were not taking place in El Colorín anymore.

Fig. 15: People dancing to the tune of the drum after one of the ‘taking the main square’ sessions (photo by Saul Santos García).

6 Some final reflections Unlike other parts of the world, especially the postcolonial indigenous world, where there are “strong and often passionate movements in Indigenous communities towards making their languages fully alive again” (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 31), this passion is not present in most indigenous communities in the region of El Gran Nayar, either at a community level or at an institutional level. Successful initiatives in other parts of the world, where the presence of the target language (the indigenous language) is very strong, have benefited from full support (both official as well as financial) from authorities and the passion of communities; such is the case of the development of Maori language nests in New Zealand (Fishman 2011) or the immersion schools and classrooms in the United States reported in Hinton (2001). The fact that this kind of support is very difficult to achieve here in Mexico makes the consideration of our local context more important. Instead of pursuing projects modeled on the initiatives mentioned above, we decided to start with a less ambitious, more locally oriented approach. Firstly, rather than coming with a pre-planned scheme of action, we implemented activities as they emerged, mainly at the request of the community. Our interaction with the community during the diagnostic stage allowed the community to evaluate the vitality of Wixárika and raised interest in engaging in revitalization actions. They also realized that deep inside they cared about the situation, not only adults but also younger members of the community. They have had a chance to reflect on what they were losing by losing the language. Consequently, they demanded action and these activities were a first response to that demand.

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These revitalization activities have helped maintain the initial motivation and interest. Secondly, because there is no institutional support in Mexico for immersion schools and content based classes in indigenous languages, we opted for focused language instruction (i.e., L2 language instruction). Although we are aware that language teaching should be seen as only one component of a more general project of language revitalization, we seized the chance to pursue it because language teaching and teacher training is something in which we, at the university, specialize. In retrospect, language classes have been important in many ways. Although progress in language learning was (and still is) very slow, interesting things are happening: in classes we often have a parent and their children sitting side by side learning Wixárika. Some parents, who had not initially attended, came to the class in later sessions because their children had come first and started asking them questions about Wixárika, so they wanted to learn to be able to help their children with homework. In this sense, even though the children do not speak the language, they have been instrumental in the process of revitalization. Every time we come to the community we hear people using the greetings and basic expressions they have learnt, in a limited way. Most notably, children are using those greetings and expressions. Thirdly, there has been an interest in the revitalization of other cultural practices. At the time of this writing, people are getting organized to clear a space and build a communal patio for the celebration of traditional rituals. The celebration of traditional rituals implies the use of the native language, which means an eventual recuperation of domains for the use of Wixárika. As we have stated before, our role as language teachers is meant to be temporary. We have described how some members of the community are becoming involved in teaching; however, additional members of the community can and should become agents in this process. As mentioned before, at present we are using a textbook to learn Wixárika as a second language (Santos García et al. 2008), which was written before our experience in El Colorín. There will be a point where the contents of that textbook will be covered and a need for further materials will arise. One possibility for community involvement both in language documentation and the process of revitalization is in the creation of materials to give continuity to the learning process in which they have been involved, for example a more advanced level textbook to learn Wixárika. This textbook would necessarily have to consider the community needs regarding language content, derived from the social practices of language. Community involvement can be fostered in different ways: elder native speakers may serve as language advisors, middle-aged and younger non-speakers of Wixárika may become involved in documentation processes with ideas of curriculum content (communicative func-

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tions, contexts of language use, etc.). Younger members of the community who are non-speakers of Wixárika but literate in Spanish may become an active part in the materials development process. In fact, some complementary materials, such as bingo and other boardgames and cards, are being developed at present, for which the lexical content has been chosen by the community members. A premise in these initiatives is that documentation should respond to revitalization needs (see Yamada 2011). One concern that we have at present is how to sustain the initial motivation and interest of community members in language revitalization. We are fortunate that our academic institution is within easy access of the community, so we have ample opportunities to provide the necessary support in these initial stages, before stepping aside. An important achievement is that they have become aware of a problem, they are acting upon it, and some sort of transformation is beginning to happen. We do not know whether El Colorín will one day be a community where people fluently speak Wixárika and Spanish. We hope that these kids who are very enthusiastically participating in the different language revitalization activities will develop enough proficiency in Wixárika as to be able to pass it on to their own children when they have them. The most important outcome of the process that we have described here is the fact that community members are now aware of their language situation and they have become participants, both in decision making and the execution of any action towards language revitalization. This process is prompting the beginning of a new kind of social cohesion, with new responsibilities and goals: now they have come to understand that the future of Wixárika in their community depends on them.

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Rosa Yáñez Rosales, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres and Rocío Rojas Arias

5 Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico For Oralio

1 Introduction This paper reflects on the experiences related to language revitalization, reclamation, and documentation in two Mexican communities where, of the language that was once spoken, only “rememberers”1 (Campbell and Muntzel 1989: 181) remain. The discussion of these cases revolves around the question of how these communities have come to the realization that it is important to return to the native language despite the temporal distance (at least three generations) and the difficulties associated with such a process. By recounting the efforts in Tuxpan and Ayotitlán we hope to show how even in cases of severe language shift and loss, a return to the language may still be desired by community members and that, as Dorian (1987) argues, there is value in carrying out revitalization initiatives even when circumstances would seem

1 Within this article, “rememberers” is used to denote those who may have achieved some level of native fluency in their early years but at the time of the interviews presented signs of language attrition (as with some interviewees in Tuxpan) but more often it is used for those where attrition was not involved; such as when certain isolated elements of the language have been retained and passed on through generations (as in Ayotitlán). Rosa Yáñez Rosales (Universidad de Guadalajara) Dana Kristine Nelson (Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit) Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez (Universidad de Guadalajara) Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres (Universidad de Guadalajara) Rocío Rojas Arias (Universidad de Guadalajara)

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to impede a full return to the indigenous language. By presenting the cases of these two communities, we hope to shed light on the challenges that reclamation initiatives face in situations of severe language loss, a state of affairs which is on the rise in indigenous communities in Latin America and around the world. Specifically we discuss issues associated with contexts where: 1) there are only rememberers, 2) there is little to no documentation of the local variety/language, 3) the functions that the language retains in the community are predominately “symbolic” (Madera 1999: 4) there is a lack of systematic experience in teaching indigenous languages as second languages, and 5) perceived dialectal differences between the local variety and outside varieties have been a stumbling block in the road to recovery. In extreme cases such as these, the obstacles may seem larger than any perceived benefit. In the case of Tuxpan and Ayotitlán, because there are only rememberers and the language is retained in primarily symbolic functions, it is unlikely that the community members could regain full communicative and linguistic competence in the language. In addition, because there is little to no documentation, regaining the linguistic knowledge that has been lost would be nearly impossible. Consequently, community based revitalization initiatives (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 24) and efforts aimed at teaching the native language as a second language (which are already at a disadvantage for the lack of national recognition of the plight of indigenous communities who have experienced severe language loss) are forced to use a patchwork of outside varieties in the construction of educational programs and language projects. This re-creation of the local linguistic knowledge through the introduction of outside varieties runs the risk of causing conflict and depends on acceptance from individual community groups. Despite these apparent barriers to success, there have been clear accomplishments in both these communities. In Ayotitlán, for example, signage has been created that allows the language to claim visual space in the community and therefore reach a wider audience, students have had access to scholarships as a result of recent Nahuatl as a second language classes, and youth have confidently used the language in new spaces and public forums in representation of their community. In Tuxpan, Nahuatl as a second language materials are being developed to support ill-assisted federal teachers, and youth have self-directed autonomous activities to reclaim their language and culture. The chapter begins by presenting a timeline of the projects in which our research teams have been involved as well as a brief description of the data collection that has been undertaken for each including reflections on methodological considerations (Section 2). A community and sociolinguistic profile introduces the two communities and is followed by the historical discussion of language shift and early revitalization/reclamation efforts for both communities (Section



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3). The presentation of current reclamation projects both describes what is currently being done in each community and identifies the value of these measures within and for the community. The challenges in both communities are examined in order to identify best practices looking forward (Section 4). Finally, the conclusion reviews the particularity of revitalization vs. reclamation, the specific contexts and absence of policies for revitalization in Mexico, the roles documentation can play in situations like ours, and the relevance of community engagement (Section 5).

2 Projects and methods The different stages of the fieldwork supporting the projects with which we deal in this paper are a good example of the evolution linguistic fieldwork has experienced during the last half century. Such changes are not methodological trends, they respond to the rate at which languages have started to disappear or become dormant. Not only the academic world but humanity in general is more aware than ever of the danger that languages face in today’s neoliberal societies: communities now play a central role in the definition of the kind of relationship that can exist and develop among linguists/researchers and the members of a community. Traditional linguist-focused models of documentation (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 20) are no longer enough. They were never meant to address the complex situation involving language preservation and/or revitalization, thus they have proven incapable of offering any insight towards setting priorities. The first impetus for doing research in Tuxpan and Ayotitlán came from the Universidad de Guadalajara (UDG University of Guadalajara). The authors met through the MA in Applied Linguistics Program at the UDG: Lamas Oliva, Nelson, Niño Santana, Parra Gutiérrez, Rojas Arias, and Vega Torres as students, and Yáñez Rosales as a professor. They all became interested in topics related to language contact and language maintenance and shift, and with this perspective in mind, research groups for Tuxpan and Ayotitlán formed and the research discussed in this paper has taken place. This chapter is based on sociolinguistic data collected using extensive interviews and participant observation. In addition, a deeper understanding of the historical background of both regions was achieved through consulting historical research which provided insightful information about the past and helped us understand the present of the communities. The goals of and research methods for work in each community have varied over the years as involvement in the communities has developed and community needs

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have been addressed. A general description of the goals and methods for both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán follows. The necessity to switch from linguist-focused models to community-based frameworks or participatory research is a reality that we have witnessed first hand. When Yáñez Rosales first started her eight years of fieldwork in Tuxpan in 1988 the purpose was to document the local Nahuatl dialect. However, this goal changed to documenting attitudes, in extensive audio recorded interviews, in order to reconstruct how the language shift process took place. Interviews were initially with three and later four generations of people who had witnessed the language shift process across decades. The age groups for the interviewees can be categorized as follows: generation #1, those born before 1920, includes Nahuatl speakers or those who grew up within a Nahuatl speaking family environment; generation #2, those born between 1921 and 1940; and generation #3, people born between 1941 and 1960. The fourth group interviewed were the fueranos ‘outsiders’ or quixtianos ‘Christians’ (as they were called by the local population), who arrived in Tuxpan approximately between 1940 and 1960 to work in the new industries of the region. The testimonies about how and why the process of language shift took place were collected mainly during the celebration of Catholic festivities in Tuxpan due to strong community participation during those times. In 2002, Rojas Arias began her master’s degree thesis fieldwork in Tuxpan, with the objective of documenting attitudes and language ideologies. Her interviewees are the great grandchildren of generation #1 (see above), or those born between 1960 and 1985. The interviews included questions about whether the person was a Nahuatl speaker, how he or she had learned the language, the time and context in which the language was heard, etc. Questions about whether the interviewee was willing to visualize a scenario where Nahuatl would be spoken again were asked, as well as the reasons for a positive or negative answer. The script of the interview was slightly modified as it was applied to the different age groups. However, the goal to obtain a representation of the process of language shift along with language attitudes and linguistic ideologies remained as the basic axis of the interview. Although involvement with the community of Tuxpan began for each of the authors in connection with their individual academic objectives, they have maintained involvement over the years and although there have been periods when participation became less sustained, it has been continuous. In total over the course of these projects, approximately one hundred and fifty sociolinguistic interviews have been carried out across different age groups and social lines. Our presence in Ayotitlán strictly speaking began in 2010, although in 1989 Yáñez Rosales interviewed the city mayor from Cuautitlán de García Barragán, as well as a couple of Nahuatl speaking teachers who had arrived in Ayotitlán



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shortly before, and who were already established in one of the bilingual-bicultural schools in the Ayotitlán region. To the best of our knowledge, no systematic research on language shift and loss, linguistic attitudes toward Nahuatl, or about the symbolic presence of this language had been done in the region prior to 2010, when we began our own research. In early 2010, the Unidad de Apoyo a las Comunidades Indígenas (UACI, Office for the Assistance of Indigenous Communities), an agency that deals with indigenous affairs created in 1994 by the University of Guadalajara, reached out to Yáñez Rosales in order to attend to the linguistic concerns that the community had expressed, and Yáñez Rosales and Lamas Oliva, Nelson, Niño Santana, Parra Gutiérrez (who were her students at the UDG at the time) were invited to make a first visit to Ayotitlán. Our first step was to carry out an assessment of the linguistic situation in the region, which included collecting information on issues such as the degree of vitality of the language, and the historical process of language shift, as well as on attitudes and community members’ expectations. We conducted interviews with different (loosely-defined) age groups: young adults, adults and elders. The information was collected using two sociolinguistic questionnaires, designed specifically for each group. The questionnaires were answered in written form by about 50 young people and 30 adults. For the elders, we carried out interviews addressing similar issues as in the questionnaires and focusing especially on their knowledge about the process of language shift and loss. In the process, we discovered several rememberers of the indigenous language and were able to collect some data about Nahuatl. Although we have only isolated words and a few prayers and salutations they have been useful in studying some of the features of this variety and to tentatively compare it to the general panorama of Nahuatl varieties. In addition, we carried out extensive interviews with some teachers of the Sistema de Educación Bilingüe e Intercultural2 (Bilingual-Intercultural Educational System) of the Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP, Mexican Secretariat of Public Education) who work in the region. This has helped us understand the many challenges they face regarding teaching the indigenous language in the region. In further stages, we have had the opportunity to work with the group of young people who are members of Telpochtin Teyolehualistli (Youth in Motion), we have participated in various meetings of the

2 Within this article, we use distinct terms to refer to the indigenous education system. The term “bilingual-bicultural” is used to refer to the system in place prior to 1999. The term “bilingual-intercultural” is used to refer to the Bilingual and Intercultural Educational System which was established in 1999 as part of new policies. See Dirección General de Educación Indígena (1999). In order to speak of the history of these systems generally, we use “bilingual”.

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Consejo de Mayores (Council of Elders), and we have mingled with members of the communities. This has allowed us to carry out participant observation and to enrich our initial data. In terms of best practices for long term involvement with a community, we saw both the assessment and the initial sociolinguistic interviews in both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán as part of “doing our homework” (Rice 2011: 190). The diagnosis and sociolinguistic research not only provided the basic information about the community and the linguistic situation that would be crucial to subsequent efforts, but it allowed community members and groups to learn about us as we spent time interviewing different groups and individuals. Community-based projects (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 24) began to develop in both communities, and the activities that have since been carried out go beyond the traditional linguist-focused research models (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 20). In 2002, Rojas Arias and Yáñez Rosales, in response to the petition of the principal of one of the schools, began collaborating with one of the bilingual-intercultural schools to design materials to teach Nahuatl as L2 to the children. In 2008, Vega Torres also became interested in doing his master’s degree thesis in Tuxpan, focusing on language policy, as manifested in the existing bilingual-intercultural school system, and further activities related to the design of Nahuatl as L2 materials began to be undertaken due to his training and background as a French and English L2 teacher. In 2011, in coordination with the Council of Elders, a small resource library was created in Ayotitlán to support reclamation efforts that were beginning to form as a result of the diagnosis work. Also in Ayotitlán, in 2012, a linguistic landscape project was begun with the members of the Telpochtin Teyoleualiztli group, who have come to represent the heart of the linguistic initiatives that have been undertaken there. By examining the different stages of the fieldwork carried out by the authors, one realizes the subtle changes the research model has undergone. It has gone from the initial documenting efforts to community engagement and collaborative work. Our work and relationship with both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán has fluctuated between what has been called an “empowering research model” and “community-based language research”. According to Czaykowska-Higgins (2009: 23), in the “empowering research model”, linguists “… work with members of the language-using community to set the priorities of the research and to carry out the research”. Along the same lines, taking a step further in breaking down the boundary between linguists and members of the community, a “community-based research model” is “research that is on a language and that is conducted for, with, and by the language-speaking community within which the research takes place and which it affects” (Czaykowska-Higgins 2009: 24, emphasis in the original).



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Czaykowska-Higgins (2009) states that these, along with other models, represent a continuum of collaboration and partnership between linguists and community members. Likewise, rather than being characterized as belonging to a single model, our work is better characterized as moving between empowering and community-based research in a continuous or dialogic construction. Members of the communities have become more and more involved with working with linguists in various tasks, as well as in learning Nahuatl as a second language. Both of these activities lead to empowerment, mainly for the youth (see section 4). Most likely our work will continue in such a collaborative and diverse manner due to the different age groups interested and participating in language reclamation, and due to the particular dynamics of collaboration between Tuxpan and Ayotitlán, and linguists.

3 Community profiles The communities of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan are both located in the south of Jalisco State and share not only geographical but social and linguistic features that will be addressed in the sections that follow in order to better understand the process of language shift and its impact on current language attitudes in each of these communities.

3.1 Location Tuxpan is nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains. It is originally a pre-Hispanic indigenous community, founded by a Nahua group in the year 627 A.D. The historical information available is based on the archaeological materials preserved in the area and on the chronicles written upon the arrival of the Spaniards. By the time of the conquest, it was under the control of the Tarascan group, who dominated a large part of what is now southern Jalisco. Its total population in 2009 was 33,462 inhabitants mostly concentrated in the municipal head, which is also called Tuxpan. Today Tuxpan is easily accessible from 3 different roads and highways. The inhabitants have all basic modern services and means of communication. Education is available from preschool through high school. Ayotitlán, on the other hand, consists of upward of 25 scattered mountainous settlements that can trace their land rights to the time of the conquest. These settlements are mostly located in the municipality of Cuautitlán de García Barragán with some others in the neighboring state of Colima. In order to arrive to

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the central communities (one of which is also named Ayotitlán) it is a six hour trip from Guadalajara, the capital of the state of Jalisco; the last hour of which is over rough dirt roads that communicate the region with Cuautitlán de García Barragán in one direction and Colima, in the other. The area has few or no asphalt roads, no telephone or cellular phone services (there are just a few parts of the sierra where the satellite signal is available); the only medical services are ‘clinics’ or casas de salud; there is only limited Internet service; and basic services, like shops, pharmacies, and government offices, are in Cuautitlán. The region of Ayotitlán is geographically and ecologically very diverse and is part of the Reserva de la Biósfera de la Sierra de Manantlán (Manantlán Biosphere Reserve), which was created in 1987, and comprises a region that includes more than one hundred thousand hectares. The natural resources (plants, minerals, animals, aquifers, etc.) of the region have turned the area into a point of dispute for several groups vying for power throughout different historical periods. Education is available from preschool through high school in the area, although not all levels are present in each community meaning children must travel long distances, and job opportunities are scarce. The people with rights to the land cultivate them, whereas the younger generations with no land of their own have to temporarily or permanently migrate to the surrounding regions where they get hired during the harvest season.

3.2 Sociolinguistic profile In this paper we refer to the dialects of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan with the broader name of Nahuatl because of its use in academic papers that deal with Nahuatl dialectology and because although, according to our experience, elders in these communities refer to the language with the more traditional name of Mexicano, the teenagers and young adults that have taken direct action in the language projects discussed herein have turned to calling it Nahuatl. Although the term Nahua is used at times as an adjective and Mexicano is used in some of the data we present, the terms all refer to the same thing – the language and culture of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan. As one of the languages belonging to the southern sub-family of the Uto-Aztecan language family, Nahuatl can be found, in various levels of vitality, within fifteen out of thirty one Mexican states, as well as in Mexico City (INALI 2006). Within Nahuatl dialectology it is generally accepted that Nahuatl can be classified as having either three (Canger 1988) or four (Lastra 1986, 2010) major subgroups. Utilizing both synchronic and diachronic data, Canger (1988) classified the documented Nahuatl dialects into three main subgroups: Nahuatl of



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the Western Periphery, the Central dialects, and Nahuatl of the Eastern Periphery. Our interest in these groupings is linked to the current situation of vitality of Nahuatl of the Western Periphery, the dialectal subgrouping corresponding to Ayotitlán and Tuxpan. Nahuatl of the Western Periphery, as represented by the individual communities that are included within it, appears to be the most endangered of the major subgroupings. The only two Nahua communities in Jalisco, for example, no longer have speakers (although there are rememberers) and would be categorized as dormant according to the EGIDS scale of endangerment (Lewis and Simons 2010). Those speakers that were interviewed in the 1970s as part of Lastra’s survey (1986) represented the last native speakers in the region. In addition, as attested in recent fieldwork carried out by some of the authors in the primary Nahua community in the neighboring state of Nayarit, there are only a handful of native speakers left and they are all of advanced age (Nelson, Parra and Gutiérrez 2014). Although additional fieldwork is needed to confirm the realities, Nahuatl in Colima may also be in a severely threatened state, leaving only communities in Michoacán and Durango as possibly the last holdouts of what has been called Nahuatl of the Western Periphery. Regarding documentation of the variety(ies) for Tuxpan and Ayotitlán, a great deal of information is lacking from the historical record: there are numerous towns from which there is practically no record at all. This is basically the case for Ayotitlán. We have found very little historical documentation to be available or to have been collected there before we started our fieldwork in 2010: by the time we arrived, we found only rememberers, mostly elders who remember brief prayers or words (Lamas Oliva et al. 2013). For Tuxpan, on the other hand, we have had access to a larger amount of data which includes some extant colonial documents, as well as prayers, greetings, brief conversations and vocabulary lists which were collected during the twentieth century (see Arreola 1934; Ruvalcaba 1935; Valiñas 1979, 1982; Yáñez Rosales 1994). The lack of sufficient historical documentation of the local variety combined with the current linguistic situation in both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán means that present day documentation efforts with a view to revitalize the local variety are severely hampered. The results of documentation that could be carried out today would entail recreating the local variety to some extent. The extent of the linguistic diversity still present in Mexico can have important effects on projects in communities where the local variety has been lost.

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3.3 History of language shift How did language shift take place in the Nahua communities of southern Jalisco? The answer to this question highlights the similarities and the subtle differences between the communities that are of import for our language reclamation projects. Ayotitlán and Tuxpan follow a similar pattern of language shift, in the sense that although by the beginning of the twentieth century Nahuatl was still in use for communicative purposes, people in both communities stopped transmitting it to their children during the first half of the century. Two historical events that took place consecutively are crucial to understanding the shift: the Mexican Revolution and the Cristero War. The Mexican Revolution was a major national armed conflict that started in 1910, with an uprising against longtime autocrat Porfirio Díaz. It lasted for almost a decade until around 1920 with Díaz no longer in the presidency. Subsequently, the new ruling Mexican government tried to hinder the influence of the Roman Catholic Church prompting the Cristero War, a counter-revolution against governmental anti-clericalism in western Mexico, particularly in the state of Jalisco. The violence that both political events entailed caused internal fractions in Ayotitlán and Tuxpan and speaks to the nature of the oppression that has been cited in these communities as a key element in language shift: “Mi abuela me decía que su mamá hablaba Mexicano […] pero que cuando llegaron los cristeros los amenazaron, además cuando salían a trabajar los trataban de locos y los encarcelaban [My grandma used to tell me her mother spoke Mexicano (…) but when the cristeros arrived they threatened them, also, when they went to work they were treated as crazy and were jailed].” (Woman, 36 years old, Lagunillas de Ayotitlán) Thus oppression not only affected the language, but the overall social structures, motivating the locals to separate themselves from things that marked them as indigenous in an attempt to avoid not only oppression and violence, but discrimination from the mestizo (a term typically used to describe non-indigenous Mexicans) society and the government. In both communities there was fear to continue speaking the language, wear the traditional clothes, or keep objects that could connect them to Nahuatl (in Ayotitlán). As a consequence of this oppression, the decision was made, consciously or unconsciously, to stop transmitting the language. Other matters of social, economic and cultural relevance have had their impact on language transmission and language shift. The role of industrialization has come to play a similar threatening role in both communities. In Ayotitlán it mostly entails institutional violence or neglect against the locals who are left



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alone to defend their natural resources (for a more detailed historical discussion see Mejía 2008). In Tuxpan it represented the arrival of the quixtianos ‘christians’ or fueranos ‘outsiders’ who migrated to the area once the paper industry was established. This meant the original inhabitants, the Tuxpanenses, were slowly marginalized from the central spaces in the locality, moved to the outskirts, and forced to create new spaces where they could continue to reproduce their culture, as shown by Rojas Arias and Yáñez Rosales (2005). Ayotitlán, for instance, still suffers the sometimes violent persecution and disappearance of its leaders, for reasons connected to the economic interests of the logging and mining industries that operate in the region. The reality of violence related to local land disputes, illegal logging and mining, and drug related violence in Ayotitlán not only takes a toll on the community, but impacts reclamation efforts as the community becomes more unstable due to these activities (for further discussion of the complications of local access in Mexico see O’Meara and González Guadarrama, this volume). With the arrival of these industries (mainly logging, mining, sugar, paper, and textiles), renewed and intensified contact between Nahuatl and Spanish occurred. The arrival of the mestizo society to Tuxpan and Ayotitlán negatively affected the indigenous language. In Ayotitlán, school authorities and priests prohibited its use. In Tuxpan, classism brought about by the arrival of an outside work force who filled the jobs in the new paper mills played a decisive role. Both communities have responded to the exposure to the mestizo influence in similar but different ways. The pursuit and maintenance of indigenous symbols has led Tuxpan to have lively and vivid religious festivities with dancers and traditional attire. Ayotitlán, on the other hand, has experienced a harsher erosion of its cultural traits, which they have been trying to overcome by bringing back the traditional calzón de manta (a pair of pants made of natural fabric), the art of embroidery, and the Consejo de Mayores (Council of Elders), a form of government that in the last several years has played an important role in the political life of the region.

3.4 Symbolic memory One of the elements that have functioned as a foundation for the return of the language is its symbolic presence at various levels in the communities (in spite of the loss of its communicative functions). Symbolic memory is defined by Madera as a “symbol of the heritage and ethnicity of a group and of those things that are essential for the group’s existence including its origin, inherited ways of living or the identity shared by its members” (Madera 1999: 137). In our experience

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with these communities, we have encountered that symbolic memory is one of the ways in which the process of language shift is recorded by the inhabitants of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan: the symbolic presence of the language endures as a way of remembering the ancestors, and it is also attestable in current cultural practices. Earlier we asked how it is that a community can come to the realization that it is important to return to the native language despite the temporal distance (at least three generations). The answer for the communities of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan lies, in part, in the memories and symbolic function of the language. When a language is no longer in use, it may undergo a switch from performing mainly communicative to symbolic functions within the community (Madera 1999: 141). This has been the case in Tuxpan and Ayotitlán where the communicative function has not been maintained but where the elders have a vivid memory of their ancestors as Nahuatl speakers. Even if they did not acquire the language, they heard their parents, grandparents or other close relatives speak it and they remember the people who spoke it. This memory has been transferred successfully, in general, to the younger generations (adults and young people) and consequently the memory of Nahuatl speakers in the region remains present. Overall, in both communities, a collective memory has been maintained of their linguistic legacy and its uniqueness in regards to other varieties of Nahuatl. In Tuxpan and Ayotitlán, Nahuatl continues to exist in the repertoire and memory of the people who take part in cultural traditions, as well as in the relationship people have with certain places. In addition to being considered the language of their ancestors, Nahuatl is present in both communities in particular ways. Nahuatl in Ayotitlán is reflected in the toponymy, the preservation of healing practices conducted in the dialect, the use of everyday vocabulary derived from Nahuatl, and the presence of bilingual schools and Nahuatl-Spanish teachers; all of which have fostered positive attitudes towards the language projects carried out by community members (for further examples of how symbolic use of language has been an asset in other communities see Vallejos, this volume). In Tuxpan we have seen that those with a direct or indirect relationship or interaction with Nahuatl speakers, and those who currently participate in Tuxpan’s traditions, harbor potential that can be harnessed for language initiatives. Some of these social actors are dancers, sponsors or patrons of the image of a saint, organizers of feasts for the many celebrations, musicians, and women that attend to other women and wear the sabanilla (a long piece of cloth that goes around the women’s waist as a skirt). Rojas Arias and Yáñez Rosales (2005) list tokens of Nahuatl vocabulary they have found: the matzahui ‘hairdo that women use when wearing the sabanilla’, paixtles ‘Spanish moss’, chayacates ‘a traditional mask’, cogoyo ‘maguey used for making decorative flowers’,and patoles a term that refers to ‘game’ in general. These are all samples of Nahuatl vocabulary still



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in use. Language is also related to certain political events where the greeting or welcoming phrases were given in Nahuatl. These examples have led us to assert that the symbolic function of Nahuatl is present and strongly related to identity in current cultural manifestations as well as in community members’ discourse.

4 Reclamation: History of initiatives Early initiatives in both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán were focused mostly on efforts to incorporate Nahuatl into the official education system. Below we detail the particular circumstances of each community by looking at the past and present of the revitalization and reclamation initiatives.

4.1 History of initiatives in Tuxpan In the 1980’s, the community group Tlayacanque huey Tochpan (The Leaders of Great Tuxpan) requested that Nahuatl-speaking teachers be brought to Tuxpan. The members of the group included young adults and elders who were concerned with the fact that Nahuatl was evidently in a process of language shift. Their original idea regarding the teaching of Nahuatl to children was to have the teachers go from school to school and dedicate themselves exclusively to teaching the language. However, this project was inappropriate from the perspective of the SEP. The solution then was to establish a new primary school, whose teachers would be bilingual Nahuatl-Spanish speakers, but who would be teaching all subjects and would not be focused exclusively on teaching the language. The first bilingual-bicultural school in Tuxpan, named Kalmekak, was opened in 1988 with three bilingual teachers. By the beginning of the following school year, 1989–1990, the personnel were complete. There were six Nahuatl speakers who were in the process of completing a bachelors’ degree in “Indigenous Education”. Years later, in 2000, under the new system of bilingual-intercultural education, Acolmiztli, the second school with bilingual Nahuatl-Spanish teachers was established. By this year, the number of Nahuatl speaking teachers had increased although some individuals originally from Tuxpan, who have Spanish as their mother tongue, had also found a position in the schools. Notwithstanding the obvious effort that establishing new schools involves, the SEP underestimated the fact that although Tuxpan had been a Nahuatl speaking community several generations prior, school children today have Spanish as

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their mother tongue. This short-sightedness meant that the SEP did not provide the teachers either with training for teaching Nahuatl as L2 or appropriate Nahuatl L2 materials. The failure of such a program was evident. Any class work aimed at teaching Nahuatl was based on traditional translation methods and individually developed by each teacher with no communication or coordination taking place with other colleagues. Despite the inadequate conditions for creating competence in a second language, at the end of six years in elementary school, the children could generally produce a few memorized phrases, texts (songs, the national anthem, poems) and isolated vocabulary. In addition to the incongruence of providing materials not suitable for the particular linguistic situation of children in Tuxpan, the SEP did not take into account the fact that the teachers do not speak the Nahuatl dialect from Tuxpan. The teachers were from the La Huasteca, the Nahua region in the states of Hidalgo and Veracruz. This situation caused rejection from the people towards the teachers, at least during the first years of their presence in the community. At that time, the late eighties and nineties, there were still some people who had grown up speaking Nahuatl and there were many who had at least heard the language. They felt knowledgeable enough to say that the teachers did not speak the mera lengua mexicana, the “true” or “indisputable” Nahuatl language. As years have gone by, such rejection has lessened with the passing of generations. Nonetheless, people know that the variant spoken by the teachers is not the local one, and that the variant spoken by their ancestors is hardly accessible.

4.2 History of initiatives in Ayotitlán Faced with the loss of their language and other cultural traits throughout the twentieth century, the Nahua communities of the Sierra de Manantlán followed a path similar to that of Tuxpan in early efforts at revitalization of Nahuatl, focusing efforts in the teaching of the language in the official school system. The same year that the first bilingual-bicultural school in Tuxpan was founded, a first group of 27 Nahuatl speaking teachers arrived in Ayotitlán. Like those who arrived in Tuxpan, these teachers came from La Huasteca, the Nahua region in the states of Hidalgo and Veracruz. In 1989, the mayor of Cuautitlán, the town head of the municipality, told Yáñez Rosales that he had requested that the SEP send teachers for the many small locations that did not have teachers. He proudly mentioned that he did not request just “any” teachers, he requested Nahuatl speaking teachers. He was aware of the fact that the Nahuatl language was no longer spoken and in his words, the teachers would be charged with resu-



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citar un muerto, or ‘resurrecting the dead’. The “dead” was the Nahuatl language, and they were brought in to bring about a resuscitation. In Ayotitlán, the SEP established new schools, as it had in Tuxpan, which belonged to the bilingual-bicultural system, in the settlements where there were previously no schools. However, the SEP did not change the pre-existing school system. Thus the situation has come to be very complex, with two coexisting school systems, a circumstance which is occasionally problematic. Several communities of the region have bilingual-intercultural schools corresponding to one or a combination of the basic levels of education recognized by SEP in Mexico: initial, preschool, and elementary. Some of the teachers in these schools are native speakers of Nahuatl, while others are not and therefore the possibilities for them to teach the language are very limited. Unfortunately, this is a widespread problem in the bilingual-intercultural system in Mexico, see O’Meara and González Guadarrama (this volume) and Pérez Báez (this volume) for similar situations. As has been mentioned for the situation in Tuxpan, these teachers speak a variety of Nahuatl that is not native to the area, which has also caused rejection from elders and some adults, because they want children to learn the region’s original variety. The teachers do not speak la lengua de aquí ‘the language from here’. Another problem highlighted by members of the communities is that the bilingual education covers the basic levels, but has no continuity into middle school and high school, which effectively means that any progress achieved in basic education is lost in the next levels. In due course, the community expressed their disapproval and conflict between the teachers and some in the community is evident. The bilingual education program that has been introduced by the SEP has mostly been deemed unsuccessful and the community complains about the schools’ unsatisfactory results.

4.3 Current reclamation projects in Tuxpan This section presents the evolution of the bilingual education project in Kalmekak and Acolmiztli Elementary Schools, followed by the introduction of new independent initiatives carried out by a group of young community activists. During a visit to the Kalmekak school in 2003, the principal approached Yáñez Rosales and Rojas Arias asking for help in designing Nahuatl as L2 materials for use in his school. As has been mentioned, although schools are officially bilingual, any materials that are provided for language instruction or use are meant for children who have Nahuatl as their mother tongue. Because the students at Kalmekak speak Spanish as their mother tongue and would be learning Nahuatl as an L2, the teachers in Tuxpan needed materials designed for that purpose.

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The first project that was undertaken was the production of a bilingual dictionary, and it was the first by-product of the collaboration among the teachers of both Kalmekak and Acolmiztli, and the researchers from the UDG. The teachers who were native speakers themselves served as the source for the majority of the lexical content of the dictionary and because it was a product of speakers whose variety was distinct from that of the local variety and even distinct from each other, it combines lexical forms from several Huastecan dialects and other sources. The dictionary is still used in both elementary bilingual-intercultural schools (Cortés Vite et al. 2007). In 2008, a second project was undertaken with the aim of creating more materials and training the teachers in the development and use of the elements of an L2 program and methodology. Unfortunately, this time the principal of Kalmekak did not agree to participate or even let his teachers do so, and therefore it was developed exclusively by the Acolmiztli school staff and the research team which now included Vega Torres, who became involved due to his training in L2 teaching. This project promoted an action plan that directly involved the teachers and began with a theoretical course in communicative language teaching methodology meant to provide the basis for an updated and more effective approach to teaching Nahuatl as a L2. At the outset of this new project, one of the first and most important obstacles was to counter the teacher’s skepticism regarding its viability. For instance, while it is true that not all teachers spoke Nahuatl (two of them are monolingual in Spanish and another is bilingual in Spanish and Huasteco), those who did speak a variety of the language questioned their own language proficiency as well as their ability to teach it despite being native speakers. Furthermore, they considered the Nahuatl course as unrealistic and without any chance of success due to the present situation of Nahuatl as a language that has lost all of its communicative functions in the community. In light of the above skepticism, the research team considered that it would be beneficial to discuss the concept of bilingualism with the teachers in order to clarify that bilingualism does not necessarily mean complete mastery of two linguistic codes (which seemed to be the general conception among the teachers, thereby justifying the skepticism) but that it actually describes a continuum of linguistic ability ranging from the limited use of an L2 to a communicative competence comparable to that of the mother tongue. To better illustrate this point Vega Torres presented the Common European Framework of Reference for Languages3 and its six levels of language proficiency, underlining the fact that because of

3 http://www.coe.int/t/dg4/linguistic/Cadre1_en.asp (accessed 14 November 2015)



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the adversity of conditions (linguistic, political, economic, etc.) and limited resources, the objective of the new program would simply be to take students somewhere between the first two levels (A1 and A2), which would be by itself a great achievement. With renewed confidence and support from the school’s staff, we were able to continue with the main part of this intensive teacher training course which involved explaining the organization of each learning unit. These activities took place during 2008 and 2009 and required a large time investment on the part of the researchers who agreed to travel from Guadalajara to Tuxpan for each of the monthly or bimonthly meetings. The meetings were held in the classrooms of the Acolmiztli school and exclusively within the work schedule of the teachers. The second stage of the action plan took place around the year 2010 and it consisted in the material development stage of the project: designing the syllabus and classroom materials for first grade. For this specific stage of the project the school got official financing to buy video equipment. The research team designed short conversations in Spanish based on the communicative goals of the learning units which would cover one school year which were adapted and translated to Nahuatl by the teachers and then recorded in video starring themselves and their students. Afterwards, the researchers designed the classroom activities (listening comprehension, vocabulary presentation, grammar observation, grammar practice and speaking) for the first learning unit. Then this whole unit would be piloted in a class with real students and recorded in video, in order to be observed and discussed afterwards by all the teachers. Then they had to present feedback to the research team, to work on corrections and suggest activities for the rest of the units for first grade. This is effectively training the community members to become agents in their own right in the style of action oriented research where both the process and results are beneficial to community members in “positive social change” (Rice 2011: 190). As in the work compiling the dictionary, the project used the linguistic knowledge of the different teachers at the school and was therefore a combination of mostly Huasteca varieties. The value of these efforts lies primarily in the empowerment of the teachers who gain the tools necessary to carry out more effective L2 educational efforts. The materials that were developed (Vega Torres 2009) were used to various extents in the classroom and provided students with new educational experiences that would have been impossible otherwise. However, there have been challenges as well. After a certain point some teachers expressed that they would rather get the materials from the researchers instead of participating in their preparation, and it was ultimately the principal who had to do all the translations into Nahuatl. Even though some teachers seemed enthusiastic when they were involved in the video recording of the con-

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versations with their students, they did not like the idea of being recorded and observed teaching the class. In the end, nobody volunteered to take charge of this activity which was postponed for months and became a roadblock that did not allow the project to go any further. Then, in November 2013, a new federal education policy was established which directly affected the Acolmiztli School by increasing the number of school hours and officially declaring the need to teach the indigenous language during these extra hours. For the first time (26 years after the implementation of a Spanish-Nahuatl bilingual education system in Tuxpan) the teachers felt real pressure to use the very few materials available for this purpose. This situation finally lead them to re-establish communication with the research team in order to continue working on the design of a more complete syllabus and to develop further Nahuatl teaching materials. A second group in Tuxpan that has carried out important activities for the reinforcement of the traditional culture and Nahuatl language is the Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl (Young Nahuatl Warriors). This is an independent association of indigenous youth from Tuxpan. It was created in 2004 by 17 young activists interested in developing autonomous cultural initiatives for their community. Some of their specific goals are to reclaim their indigenous identity, to discover and share the history of their community, to rescue material cultural heritage, to reacquire the language of their ancestors by learning it by themselves without a teacher, and to gather periodically with indigenous peoples from other states of the country. They began collecting individual pieces of Pre-Hispanic art that had been previously found and kept by their families and neighbors in order to create a public museum for the whole community. This project was installed in a public building across from the city’s main square and admission was free. It presented a very interesting and well organized variety of household objects, clay work, traditional everyday and celebratory attire, etc., all with detailed descriptions and explanations which had been prepared and provided by the members of Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl. Regrettably the local authorities did not consider this museum among their priorities and removed the exhibit, keeping all of the objects which had been provided by the young activists and reclaiming the building for the City Hall. These arbitrary actions have left the community without a museum of any sort since. And sadly, today the fate of all of these priceless historical and cultural materials is unknown. Today, besides the periodical meetings dedicated to the study of Nahuatl, the members of this association organize activities to celebrate International Mother Language Day and yearly cultural gatherings with young people of other Indigenous groups from the states of Michoacán, Nayarit, San Luis Potosí, Chiapas and Oaxaca where they participate in forums, workshops, sports competitions,



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presentations of traditional dress, dances, songs and poetry. They also distribute toys to the children of their community during Christmas and Children’s Day. The enthusiasm which they manifest during these events has become a powerful influence over younger members of their own community and other indigenous people they meet: other people from Tuxpan have also started to value their cultural heritage.

4.4 Current reclamation projects in Ayotitlán In this section we discuss the recent reclamation activities in Ayotitlán: the creation of a small library of Nahuatl materials, the free Nahuatl as a second language courses, the linguistic landscape project, as well as a discussion of the positive effects these activities have reaped. On numerous occasions over the course of their years of involvement in the community, the UACI received and heard concerns from community members about Nahuatl. In response to the community’s growing consciousness of and concern for the recovery and reinforcement of their indigenous identity,4 the UACI initiated the first L2 Nahuatl course, which would last one month during summer break and be taught by Nahuatl speaking students from the Universidad Pedagógica Nacional (UPN National Pedagogic University) from the state of Morelos.5 There have been two such courses: the first one during the summer of 2010 and the second one during the summer of 2011. While the classes were well attended, there were some basic problems: the first was the lack of continuity throughout the year for they were only one month long; and the second was that because the teachers came from another state, the sustainability of such endeavors was limited. Nevertheless, it was the first time that Nahuatl had been taught as a second language to a general audience in the area by teachers trained to do so, outside the realm of the official school system, and therefore, this initiative provided a positive precedent for further action in the community. The first real undertaking for our group apart from the diagnostic was the creation of a small library collection in coordination with the Council of Elders. This collection was called Amoxcalli Nahuatlahtolli (Nahuatl Language Library). The collection is specialized in Nahua language and culture and is composed of a diverse mix of materials including grammars, dictionaries, stories, historical

4 This circumstance can be linked to the EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional) uprising and the resulting national environment. 5 One of whom later published a Nahuatl as L2 book which has been used in subsequent classes in Ayotitlán (Calderón Avilés 2011).

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texts, compact discs, and videos, all of which are in Nahuatl or in bilingual editions and which have been used in subsequent projects. By means of the decision of the Council of Elders, the collection has been housed in the Casa de la Cultura (installed in September 2011), and is freely accessible to everyone in the community. It was created thanks to funding from the Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes (CECA State Council for Arts and Culture). The general goal for this project was to provide an archive of resources and materials for use inside the community and it was proposed in response to the repeated mentions of lack of materials in Nahuatl that, in the diagnostic phase, we heard from teachers and other interested members of the community. As a consequence of the fact that the materials include representations of several different varieties of Nahuatl, none of which are the local variety, awareness has been raised at least among the youth group regarding the issue of dialectal variation. The next project proposal came from within the community: in September of 2011 the aforementioned Telpochtin Teyoleualiztli (Youth in Motion) proposed to create bilingual signs in Nahuatl and Spanish for public spaces, such as the schools, the grocery stores, entrances to each of the communities, etc. This group is nutured by María Magdalena Flores Salvatierra, a community leader who has long worked for the promotion of Ayotitlán’s traditions and youth. Thus, the project Recuperación de Espacios para la Lengua Náhuatl o Mexicana en Ayotitlán: Paisaje Lingüístico6 ‘Recovery of Language Domains for the Nahuatl or Mexican Language: Linguistic Landscape’ was undertaken (see Santos García, Carrillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume, for a similar linguistic landscape project). The Telpochtin Teyoleualiztli decided the contents, design and format of the signs; they determined where they would be placed and procured the necessary permissions to install them; and they sourced the wood used to construct the signs. Our role included finding funding for the project, providing guidance and assistance when required, in particular regarding issues of orthography and the acquisition of materials and tools unavailable in the community such as drills, paint, sand paper, etc. The messages they choose to use included short and simple phrases such as “Do not litter”, “Do not kill animals”, “Welcome to Ayotitlán”, or the names of important buildings, landmarks, and rivers in the region. The translations of the Spanish phrases into Nahuatl were accomplished by consulting the bilingual teachers that live in the area, or by the students themselves consulting the books of the collection Amoxcalli Nahuatlahtolli or the Internet. The young people have been, without a doubt, the motor of this project since, in addition to deciding on and translating the content, they also engaged the rest

6 This project was funded by CONACULTA (National Council for Culture and Arts).



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of the community in order to communicate the work plan and to ask for the necessary authorization to mount or set up the signs.

Fig. 1: Production (photo taken by Rosa Yáñez Rosales)

Fig. 2: The signs in progress (photo taken by Rosa Yáñez Rosales)

Fig. 3: Installation (photo taken by Rosa Yáñez Rosales)

Fig. 4: Final product (photo taken by Rosa Yáñez Rosales)

As a result of the project there have been many achievements that are of value to reclamation in the region. With the project, the group members actively recreated the linguistic knowledge of their ancestors and took ownership of what was being produced in the signs. Perhaps even more importantly, the workshops provided a space for Nahuatl to be used. Throughout the process the group members began using the phrases and thus the language itself: while painting the signs, they could be heard practicing the phrases as well as greetings, short conversations, and other things they had learned in the concurrent Nahuatl classes (see below). Apart from this, the language has been made accessible to the community at large, beyond the small group of youth. As a result of this project the language is in the public line of sight and visible to all.

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Notwithstanding these achievements, various aspects of the project have not been easy. For example, the distances and the lack of means of transportation between communities have slowed down the pace of the project. In addition, difficulties in communication between the research team and the local participants often delays the scheduling of workshops and installation. A further problem has been the protection of the signs which have in some cases disappeared causing the participants in the project to have to request the local authorities of each community to watch out for and protect the signs, so they are not taken away or destroyed. One of the most fruitful of the recent reclamation activities has been a revamped version of the Nahuatl as a second language classes. Due to the fact that the first courses of L2 Nahuatl that were discussed above were suspended as a result of the logistical and funding issues of bringing someone from so far away, we collaborated with the UACI to find a more cost-effective and sustainable solution. This was found in a native Nahuatl speaker who is a local professor affiliated with the bilingual-intercultural school system and who was interested in the projects of language reclamation. Although he is originally from the state of Hidalgo which is in the Huasteca region and therefore he speaks a variety of Huastecan Nahuatl (an outside variety) he has lived in the Sierra de Manantlán for many years and was, therefore, invited to teach a more regular course once a week, year round. The classes are free of charge and aimed at all audiences. The advantages of this change include having a teacher who lives in the area, having an L2 Nahuatl class with regular continuity, and allowing both children and adults the opportunity to study the language outside official education. Nevertheless, there have been challenges, including the fact that, as the classes are given in the central settlement of Ayotitlán, the distances and difficulties of communication among communities make the attendance of the interested individuals irregular. This, in addition to the fact that new students can arrive at any time, results in issues regarding the consistency and development of contents. Still, it has proved to be an excellent means of diffusion and of initial interaction with the language for all audiences. The value of this undertaking is also clear: these classes are helping to build the knowledge that is used in the linguistic landscape project and are the basis for continued reclamation efforts. In addition, it has provided a space for language acquisition outside the contentious environment of official bilingual education in the school system. At one point, one of the elementary school teachers began to bring her class to the course. This in itself speaks to the value of providing accessible language classes but one realizes the significance of the achievement even more when one takes into account that these classes take place on the weekend outside of classroom hours. Accordingly, when the students speak



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in Nahuatl with each other, it is a direct result of this and the previous summer classes, and when they do so publicly, others in the community take notice. For example, after being overheard speaking Nahuatl by their high school teacher, two of the students were given the opportunity (and took it!) of teaching what they had learned of the language to their classmates once a week for the rest of the class that semester. The value of the teaching and learning opportunity that the teacher allowed the students (both the student-teachers and their classmates) is significant. Finally, these Nahuatl as L2 classes have played a role in access to scholarships and continued education: two students passed a test of Nahuatl proficiency as part of a process to prove their indigenous identity and in this way have access to a scholarship in the Universidad Intercultural del Estado de México (Intercultural University of the state of Mexico) (see Sánchez, this volume and Pharao Hansen et al., this volume for additional mentions of indigenous self perception, identification and recognition of “indigenous” status). Although none of these outcomes are equal to having a fluent Nahuatl speaking population, they do show the desire for and the value and practical importance of the language inside the community. An additional result of these initiatives was seen on the occasion of a yearly festival organized by the authors on International Mother Tongue Day in 2013 (celebrated at the University of Guadalajara). Two of the members of Telpochtin Teyoleualiztli participated in a panel with representatives of other indigenous cultures of Mexico (Wixárika, Mixteco, and Purepecha) all of whom did grow up speaking their language. Each representative began their participation in the panel with a greeting and an introduction in their native tongue: the two young men from Ayotitlán were able to follow suit and greet the audience and introduce themselves in Nahuatl. The significance of this lies in the fact that they had the tools to be on (more) equal linguistic terms with other indigenous young people like them. The importance of this outcome for us was tied to the fact that one of the things that was mentioned by several interviewees in the young adult group in the diagnostic stage was a reference to feeling that they were somehow less indigenous than many Wixárika speaking acquaintances for example, due to the absence of the language in their community: they were embarrassed when going to indigenous youth meetings and conferences because they could not speak Nahuatl. The experience certainly had a positive impact on their self-esteem and strengthened elements of their identity and sense of belonging. As we can see, in these projects the youth have played a main role: they have a voice, they have proposed and made decisions regarding their language, they are involved in all parts of the process and have made these reclamation projects possible. We have come to realize however that, without the elders, perhaps these activities would not have seen the same success. The elders and the youth

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represent two very important types of forces in these language initiatives: while the youth have been on the front lines carrying out the activities, the elders have played a different kind of role. They (especially those of the Council of Elders in Ayotitlán) have been mainly responsible for maintaining and transmitting the memory of their past as Nahuatl speaking people and the importance and value of the language among the communities.

4.5 Challenges and future As we move forward with the current reclamation initiatives and look towards future projects in these communities, it is important to take note of the obstacles and challenges that we have experienced. We hope to improve our future approaches and outcomes by analyzing the issues we have had. One of the first obstacles with which we were confronted in both communities was the lack of historical documentation and the corresponding non-existence of present day speakers of the local variety. The situation we encountered ultimately led to a theoretical discussion concerning what was being revitalized or whether it was even revitalization. As Grenoble and Whaley (2006) note, in language revitalization one still has the possibility of the support of native speakers who may serve to document, teach and consult on the language. In situations of reclamation however, they note that “one is forced to rely on whatever documentation of the language remains” (Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 64). But in our situation we had to ask ourselves, how can a language be reclaimed and documented if it is no longer spoken and there is no record of what was? Moreover, what drives the reclamation process in these situations? As was mentioned, in both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán early research objectives included efforts towards documentation of the local variety, but once it became apparent that the situation of language loss prevented original expectations of documentation, objectives shifted to sociolinguistic/ethno-linguistic research aims. In Tuxpan for example, Yáñez Rosales’s original fieldwork proposal was for documentation of the local variety, but in 1988 there were no speakers left with whom to work towards documentation efforts, a fact that was not discovered until the initial stages of fieldwork were undertaken. The same circumstances have hampered documentation efforts that were part of the initial diagnostic project in Ayotitlán. Fortunately, the limited nature of the current and historical linguistic sources for the local variety and the shift towards sociolinguistic research aims led us to discover another important resource for language reclamation; one that has undoubtedly served as the motor for the reclamation initiatives in both commu-



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nities. Thanks to the diagnostic and sociolinguistic phases of our involvement in both communities, we have come to the conclusion that perhaps the most important assets that are available for those involved in language reclamation is not the amount of documentation available, but the symbolic presence and memory the community holds of their ancestors’ indigenous language on the one hand, and the rememberers themselves with the linguistic information that they preserve on the other. In both Tuxpan and Ayotitlán the memory that youth, adults, and elders have of their grandparents speaking Nahuatl has been an important factor in community member’s determination to implement language reclamation initiatives and has driven the process in the absence of other elements such as speakers and documentation. The question of how a language can be reclaimed and documented if it is no longer spoken and there is no record of what was hinges on issues related to dialectology and community perception and understanding of linguistic varieties. As has been mentioned throughout this paper, certain members of these communities perceive the local variety of Nahuatl to be different from the varieties spoken by teachers, who have come from distinct communities in Veracruz, Hidalgo, and Morelos. In general dialectal terms, the varieties spoken by the teachers on the one hand and the local variety on the other belong to distinct dialectal subgroups. Following the standard categorization of Nahuatl dialectologists, the local variety of Tuxpan and Ayotitlán would pertain to the dialectal subgroup Nahuatl of the Western Periphery (Canger 1988; Lastra 1986, 2010) while the dialects of the teachers in both communities would pertain to either the subgroup Central Dialects (Canger 1988) or to the Huasteca subgrouping (Lastra 1986, 2010). While these subgroupings do share linguistic features between them, other features are distinctive. One of the key differences which we have been able to determine with the limited documentation available regards the presence of -l as the absolutive suffix of nouns (instead of –tl or -t). Nevertheless, our experience in these communities leads us to believe that the perceived differences between or among these varieties does not seem to be based on a recognition of a distinctive dialectal feature, but rather on a generalized idea of difference based on the comparison of a few lexical items and the testimony of rememberers. In essence, any objections which we have witnessed have not been in reaction to a particular feature of the teacher’s variety, but to the variety itself. Thus, it is important to note that, perhaps due to community member’s relative inexperience with the linguistic features relevant to the dialectal differences, their reaction to the use of outside varieties in the phases of reclamation projects has been inconstant. By and large, reactions can be categorized along generational lines. The elders object to the introduction of the teacher’s varieties in the schools, insisting that they do not speak the true language of the

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community; while the young adults have been willing to appropriate the dialects of their teachers and of the materials. The consequence of severe language loss and lack of documentation means that all or nothing attitudes towards revitalization of the local variety are untenable. The challenge to document a language that only remains in rememberers is manifold. To begin with, any documentation that is carried out can only hope to document individual lexical items or perhaps short incantations or greetings. Nevertheless, documentation should not be discarded as impossible. Reclamation can still happen in contexts like these if there is a willingness to consider recreating Nahuatl in Tuxpan and Ayotitlán through other varieties. Efforts towards documenting what can be found and using it in subsequent efforts could serve to reinforce community ownership and involvement in revitalization efforts. Thus, taking advantage of the existence of other varieties and working with the available documentation of the local variety are viable strategies for working with the communities in the future. Likewise, in Ayotitlán, in order to address the elder’s tendency towards dismissal of outside varieties it will be important to continue working with the community in order to raise awareness of the features involved in dialectal similarities and differences. Examples of how this may play out in the future can be found in the recent discussions regarding subsequent reclamation projects in Ayotitlán. Now that the signage project has begun, the young people have discussed attempting to do some local documentation by speaking with the elders to see what they may know. Our own interviews with rememberers during the diagnostic stage provided only a handful of individual lexical items, short prayers and incantations, and an alleged written document, but more ostensibly we observed reluctance on the part of some of those interviewed to share linguistic information. This was at the initial stages of the diagnostic and thus no real relationships had been formed yet, but nevertheless, having the young people attempt further documentation may be more fruitful both for them and for linguistic purposes. In order to carry this out, we have discussed training the participants in basic audio skills and interview methods and acquiring audio recorders for them to interview their family members and elders in their communities. Any documentation that can be carried out as part of the project with the youth in Ayotitlán will serve to provide a better understanding of the local variety but also will provide the youth themselves with a better understanding of the language and their cultural heritage (Rice 2011). In this case, the hope is that community based language research would lead to the kind of information that we were unable to access on our own in the diagnostic stage and has the added benefit of providing an opportunity for them to learn and take ownership of the knowledge that they are creating.



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Finally, another major obstacle for future projects includes issues around how language policy in Mexico leaves communities with severe language loss like Ayotitlán and Tuxpan out in the cold. These communities have to fight for recognition as indigenous, mainly because the language is no longer available to be used as a defining factor. This myopia in Mexican language policy affects our efforts at reclamation because language policy is inextricably linked to revitalization and reclamation, and in Mexico the focus of those language policies that do exist is detrimentally narrow in scope. In particular, because the institutional support from government programs does not recognize, or is simply not aware of the extreme situation of language loss that these communities have experienced, there is no legal framework for reclamation efforts. The Ley General de Derechos Lingüísticos de los Pueblos Indígenas (General Law on Linguistic Rights of Indigenous People) is of no help in these cases as it concerns exclusively the languages “spoken” in the country and the speakers of those languages, thus discriminating members of communities who have lost their original languages. In practice it is very difficult for a person to be officially recognized as indigenous and to claim his/her rights as such, especially if he/she does not speak an indigenous language. The obstacles that we have witnessed in this respect through our contact with these communities has led us to the conclusion that in order to address the fulfillment of these community’s linguistic rights, the challenge for the future is to highlight the existence of these communities and the lack of a corresponding legal framework for situations of reclamation so that the shortcomings in current policy can be remedied. In a similar vein, we have seen firsthand how the official language policies are in general only partially implemented or implemented in a manner that precludes success. For example, the basic instructional training program for teachers in the bilingual-intercultural system does not include any training for elementary teachers in foreign or second language teaching, apparently assuming that if teachers are native speakers, they automatically know how to teach the language. More specifically, although they are trained to develop the students’ mother tongues, whether that is an indigenous language or Spanish, they lack the tools to lead the acquisition of a second language. Likewise, we have witnessed teachers assigned to bilingual schools in these communities who do not speak an indigenous language or who do speak one but not the one that is spoken in the particular community where they are sent to work. In Mexico, teachers are assigned to a school by a centralized human resource system that disallows local hiring decisions and therefore contributes to the failure of the bilingual-intercultural education program. How can a teacher teach a language they do not speak or when they have not even been trained to do so? With the renewed interest for material development in Tuxpan, we hope to continue supporting the teach-

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er’s efforts in providing a deliberate and considered Nahuatl as an L2 language program for the children.

5 Conclusions As we have seen, the cases of Tuxpan and Ayotitlán are closer to what has been called “linguistic reclamation” than to “linguistic revitalization” (Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 64). Although there are a great variety of situations of reclamation and revitalization, perhaps the basic difference between them is that, in the first case, the language is now dormant and there are no speakers left, while in the second case there are still native speakers to consult. This difference has important consequences in what can be done for recovering the language. In a scenario of revitalization, speakers have a central role in documenting and teaching the language, assisting in conversation clubs, designing materials (for multiple purposes), and so on. In reclamation scenarios this is not possible, and the road to language recovery must be traveled without this support: other resources must be sought. In fact, that the native variants of Nahuatl of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan have been all but lost does not necessarily imply that they are dead: we have learned that even when there are no longer speakers and the language has ceased to be used for communicative purposes, the language continues to exist in the symbolic memory of the communities. Although many linguists tend to overlook the role that the symbolic memory of a language plays; in Tuxpan and Ayotitlán, we have found that it has been the foundation on which these community-based reclamation efforts are based, is at the heart of the desire for language return, and has been the sine qua non element for the continuation and development of the various reclamation initiatives over the last few decades. Hence, the process of language shift is not complete when the last speaker dies, since language remains a part of the community’s collective memory. There are, however, other elements in addition to symbolic memory that determine the outcomes that language reclamation efforts can have in the Mexican context. One of the most detrimental elements to reclamation outcomes is the lack of an appropriate recognition and understanding to the specificities of language reclamation contexts from a legislative standpoint. The consequence of this kind of short sighted legislation is that reclamation initiatives, and the linguistic rights for these indigenous communities where the language no longer retains communicative functions, are left without a legal framework to support them and therefore, in order to keep these reclamation initiatives moving forward,



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a web of solidarities and mutual support with other institutions has to be painstakingly built and negotiated. One of the contexts exemplifying this state of affairs lies where one would perhaps least expect it: the bilingual-intercultural education system. Here again we find the blurred vision that federal institutions have of reclamation situations. Populations like Ayotitlán and Tuxpan are deemed the same as other communities where the language, though endangered, is still used and revitalization is therefore possible. When the indigenous language is assumed to be the L1 for children that have Spanish as their mother tongue, teachers are at a disadvantage by not being trained to teach language as an L2 and, thus, when parents expect their children to learn to speak Nahuatl a problem arises. Parents often end up feeling deceived by those who they are certain could play a key role in the return of language, not understanding that the particularities of their situation have not been recognized and addressed from the beginning by the official institutions directly responsible for promoting the respect and application of linguistic rights. The blame for the failure of the bilingual-intercultural schools is often placed solely on the shoulders of the teachers, and the larger responsibility of the federal institutions is forgotten or ignored causing rifts between teachers and parents that impede other reclamation efforts. Moving forward, it is imperative to address the issue by considering indigenous languages from the L2 standpoint and providing the teachers with the training and resources required to be successful. In dealing with the adversities that poor legislation and deficient educational policies cause, we have learned that for reclamation initiatives to have a chance of succeeding, a community must use the elements in their environment in a creative and positive manner. The reclamation projects discussed in this chapter have involved Nahuatl speaking teachers making a positive use of their knowledge of other Nahuatl variants as a substitute for the local dialects in an exchange that very few acknowledge. For example, the independent Nahuatl courses in Ayotitlán represent an alternative to the official schools and were taught by one of the local school teachers. The design of materials for teaching Nahuatl as an L2 in Tuxpan makes the most of the competence of the Nahuatl speaking teachers that work in the community; thus proving that, with the appropriate mediation, a dialogue can be established that will further allow for such initiatives to be continued. Even though in the scenario described in the sections above language documentation plays a less than stellar role, we do want to highlight its role as a means for strengthening community networks, legitimizing the youth’s projects, and informing the community. On one hand, it has fostered discussion, allowing a dialogue to emerge that did not exist before: in their search for vocabulary and stories, the youth have started consulting local Nahuatl speaking teachers and

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rememberers, and to investigate by themselves in written sources. In this way they are overcoming the fact that these two groups, the elders and the teachers, have not always agreed on what should be taught and how it should be taught. An unexpected result of the dialogue has been the legitimization of the reclamation projects in the eyes of the elders because the youth not only exhibit a progressive mastery of the language, but they can and do manipulate the “books” where the language lives; and it also has set the teachers closer to the community. In some ways language documentation, therefore, has become one of the paths towards something that they have long considered their own: the language of their grandparents. Through this process of becoming involved with the language of their ancestors, it is apparent that youth draw from both internal and external criteria, making the language their own. Thus, the scope of these language reclamation projects transcends the linguistic level and becomes a re-signifying movement transforming the role the youth play within their communities. It is them, the next generations who will turn into parents, who for the first time have had the opportunity, long demanded, of learning the language and taking it beyond the constraints of the school. The contact with the language and the knowledge of Nahuatl that they have gained not only expands their opportunities and is a fulfillment of the community’s desire for language reclamation, but it also empowers them. However, for this positive scenario of language reclamation projects to be maintained, community engagement must be sustained. Rice rightly defines a community as having complex structures and to be composed of many other smaller communities within it, meaning that the community that is engaged in community based research can be a very small core group within a larger community (Rice 2011: 191). In the language reclamation projects discussed in this chapter the people who are prone to get involved and actively collaborate to achieve the goals of a project form the community. With the time spent in the communities of Ayotitlán and Tuxpan, it is evident that the youth, although not the only group involved, are those who have made possible the shift from linguist-centered research methods to the empowering and community-based research that fosters empowerment and strengthens engagement. Unlike other segments of the community that show an array of attitudes from indifference to support for language reclamation without personal action; the youth have become socially visible and keep up with an agenda revolving around the language and the indigenous culture. They help promote the dances, the religious festivities, the return of the traditional attire, and even the archaeological rescue, resilient in the face of setbacks.



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Confronted with a long list of shortcomings and setbacks, the groups within the community that are involved in the language reclamation projects thrive with the resources at hand; they look for new ways of carrying out their projects and promote the language aware of the urgency for immediate action. And this has paid off; the language has penetrated community life in Ayotitlán and advanced indigenous identity reassessment in Tuxpan. This community engagement spearheaded by the youth of Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl and Telpochtin Teyoleualiztli together with the elders and groups of teachers or individuals has moved language reclamation forward in the south of Jalisco, and it continues to be an example of how the limitations of lacking a legal framework that would set the elements needed in such circumstances can be overcome if community engagement and the access to linguistic guidance exists.

References Arreola, José María. 1934. Tres vocabularios dialectales del Mexicano. Investigaciones Lingüísticas 2 (4). 428–443. Calderón Avilés, Arnulfo. 2011. Tiksalokan Nahuatl. Método de náhuatl. Nivel: principiantes, Público: estudiantes universitarios. México: Universidad Pedagógica Nacional. Campbell, Lyle & Martha C. Muntzel. 1989. The structural consequences of language death. In Nancy C. Dorian (ed.), Investigating obsolescence: Studies in language contraction and death, 181–196. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Canger, Una. 1988. Nahuatl dialectology: A survey and some suggestions. International Journal of American Linguistics 54 (1). 28–72. Cortés Vite, Cornelio, Juventino Martínez Catalina, Rocío Rojas Arias & Rosa H. Yáñez Rosales (eds.), 2007. Diccionario náhuatl-español, español-náhuatl para niños. Guadalajara: PACMYC/CONACULTA/Secretaría de Cultura Jalisco/Universidad de Guadalajara/DEI/ Secretaría de Educación Jalisco. Czaykowska-Higgins, E. 2009. Research Models, Community Engagement, and Linguistic Fieldwork: Reflections on Working within Canadian Indigenous Communities. Language Documentation & Conservation 3 (1). 15–50. Dirección General de Educación Indígena. 1999. Lineamientos generales para la educación intercultural bilingüe para las niñas y los niños indígenas. México: Secretaría de Educación Pública. Dorian, Nancy. 1987. The value of language-maintenance efforts which are unlikely to succeed. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 1987 (68). 57–68 Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley. 2006. Saving Languages. An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. INALI (Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas). 2008. Catálogo de las lenguas indígenas nacionales: Variantes lingüísticas de México con sus autodenominaciones y referencias geoestadísticas. Diario Oficial de la Federación, 14 March 2008. Section 1: 31–78, Section

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2: 1–96, Section 3: 1–112. http://www.inali.gob.mx/pdf/CLIN_completo.pdf (accessed 23 October 2013). INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). Censo de población y vivienda 2010. http://www.inegi.org.mx (accessed 23 October 2013). Lamas Oliva, Paulina, Dana K. Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez & Rosa H. Yáñez Rosales. 2012. Informe y diagnóstico sobre la posibilidad de poner en marcha un programa de recuperación de la lengua náhuatl en las comunidades pertenecientes a Ayotitlán, Municipio de Cuautitlán de García Barragán, Jalisco (Report presented to the Unidad de Apoyo a las Comunidades Indígenas of the Universidad de Guadalajara). Unpublished. Lamas Oliva, Paulina, Dana K. Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez & Rosa H. Yáñez Rosales. 2013. Cuarto Informe de actividades del proyecto “Recuperación de espacios para la lengua náhuatl o mexicana en la región de Ayotitlán: Paisaje Lingüístico” (Report presented to the Consejo Nacional para la Cultura y las Artes). Unpublished. Lastra, Yolanda. 1986. Las áreas dialectales del náhuatl moderno. México: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Lastra, Yolanda. 2010. Diversidad lingüística: Variación dialectal actual. In Rebeca Barriga Villanueva & Pedro Martín Butragueño (eds.), Historia sociolingüística de México, vol. 2. 841–871 México: El Colegio de México. Lewis, M. P. & G. F. Simons. 2010. Assessing endangerment: Expanding Fishman’s GIDS. Revue Roumaine de Linguistique 55 (2). 103–120. http://www.lingv.ro/RRL 2 2010 art01Lewis.pdf (accessed 29 May 2014). Madera, Mónica. 1999. Identidad de grupo y funciones de la lengua en el análisis de la desaparición o mantenimiento de una lengua. In Annita Herzfeld & Yolanda Lastra (eds.), Las causas sociales de la desaparición y del mantenimiento de las lenguas en las naciones de América, 137–149. Hermosillo: Universidad de Sonora. Mejía, Ernenek. 2008. El recorrido de la memoria en la región de Ayotitlán. In César Díaz Galván & Fortino Domínguez Rueda (eds.), El pueblo nahua de Ayotitlán: pasado, presente y perspectiva, 59–74. Guadalajara: Universidad de Guadalajara. Nelson, Dana K., Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez & Cástulo Gutiérrez Ramírez. 2014. Un acercamiento a la situación del mexicanero en la comunidad de Santa Cruz de Acaponeta, Nayarit. In Saul Santos García (ed.), Estudios de vitalidad lingüística en El Gran Nayar, 177–215. Tepic, Nayarit: Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit. Pharao Hansen, Magnus, Néstor Hernández-Green, Rory Turnbull & Ditte Boeg Thomsen. This volume. Life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation: Navigating the micro-politics of language revitalization in an Otomí community in Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 215–245. Berlin & New York Mouton de Gruyter. Rice, Keren. 2011. Documentary linguistics and community relations. Language Documentation & Conservation 5. 187–207. Rojas Arias, Rocío & Rosa Yáñez Rosales. 2005. En busca de la lengua perdida: memoria y aspectos simbólicos del náhuatl presentes en el discurso actual de los tuxpanecos. Lingüística Mexicana II (2). 295–305. Ruvalcaba, Melquiades. 1935. Vocabulario Mexicano de Tuxpan, Jal. Investigaciones Lingüísticas 3 (3–4). 208–214.



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Sánchez, Liliana. This volume. The linguist gaining access to the indigenous populations: Sharing cultural and linguistic knowledge in South America. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 195–213. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Santos García, Saul, Tutupika Carrillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro. This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Valiñas, Leopoldo. 1979: El Náhuatl en Jalisco, Colima y Michoacán. Anales de Antropología XVI. 325–344. Valiñas, Leopoldo. 1982. El Náhuatl actual en Jalisco. Tlalocan IX. 41–69. Vega Torres, Agustín. 2009. Política lingüística y proyectos de revitalización del Náhuatl en Tuxpan, Jalisco. Guadalajara, Universidad de Guadalajara: MA thesis. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa H. 1994. Uso y desuso del náhuatl en Tuxpan, Jalisco: testimonios de los hablantes. Estudios del Hombre 1. 115–139.

Rosa Vallejos

6 Structural outcomes of obsolescence and revitalization: Documenting variation among the Kukama-Kukamirias 1 Introduction This paper takes the Kukama-Kukamiria language (Peruvian Amazon, ISO code: cod)1 as a case in point to examine the relevance of documenting variation in endangered language contexts.2 It will be argued that the documentation efforts should not focus on fluent speakers alone as data from non-fluent speakers can also make crucial contributions to both revitalization initiatives and linguistic research. The Kukama-Kukamiria language (henceforth, KK) is seriously endangered: most of the remaining fluent speakers are older than 60 years, and the natural process of language transmission was interrupted about five decades ago. Over the years, a growing concern with respect to the vitality of the language has become evident within the speech community itself, which has resulted in a number of revitalization initiatives (Vallejos 2014b). As a result, at present it is possible to find a range of types of speakers of KK. The documentation of the speech of different types of speakers of KK is important for two reasons. First, current revitalization efforts are being implemented mainly through formal education in elementary schools. These efforts are being led by neo-speakers who have themselves learned or are learning KK following heritage language methodologies. In order to support these programs, it is essential to document the patterns used by the neo-speakers – the teachers –, because they are ultimately the ones to which the children are being exposed.

1 Previously known as Kokama-Kokamilla or Cocama-Cocamilla. 2 My deepest gratitude goes to each and every one of the Kukama-Kukamirias that have shared their time and knowledge with me since 1997, especially to Rosa Amías Murayari, my long-time friend and collaborator. This work was supported by the NSF Documenting Endangered Languages program (BCS #0965604) and a NEH-NSF Documenting Endangered Languages fellowship (FN-50110-12). Although I am pleased to thank each of these persons and organizations, all findings, conclusions, errors, and omissions in this paper are my own.

Rosa Vallejos, University of New Mexico

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Equally important is the documentation of the latent-speakers – a category that would include many parents – as the use of the language beyond the schools, but particularly at home, is crucial if the maintenance of KK is to have any success. Second, it is generally apparent that languages that are falling into disuse, and in which the number of speakers is rapidly declining, undergo dramatic structural changes. However, the mechanisms that are involved in such changes are not yet clear. For instance, the extent to which the structural changes that occur in dying languages are unique (Sasse 1992) or similar to other kinds of contact-induced phenomena (Dorian 1993) is still an unsettled question. Contrary to language endangerment scenarios where fluency is already a critical issue, the KK case offers the possibility to document a wide variety of speakers and contribute to the discussion about language change accelerated not only by obsolescence but also by revitalization efforts. The paper is organized as follows: Section 1 provides the local context; Section 2 reviews existing typologies of speakers in endangered language contexts; Section 3 elaborates on the types of KK speakers with a focus on the linguistic structures identified in their speech; Section 4 offers some discussion and the overall conclusions are in Section 5.

2 The local context The KK people live in the Peruvian Amazon. An estimated 120 KK villages are located on the upper Amazon River and several of its major tributaries, including the Huallaga, Marañón, Ucayali, Nanay, and Itaya rivers in the Peruvian departments of Loreto and Ucayali (See Map 1). The total number of KKs is estimated at 20,000. A considerable number of them now reside in cities such as Iquitos and Yurimaguas, and midsize towns like Lagunas, Nauta, Requena, among others. During the rubber boom, towards the end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century, small groups of KK migrated to Colombia and Brazil (Vallejos 2010b: 11). The KK people have been interacting with the “national” society since the early 1940’s; however, their cultural practices and their way of life are still traditional in many respects. The older generations, particularly, preserve vast knowledge of the forest and of the aquatic environment. Younger generations have been gradually abandoning some traditional practices, such as certain agricultural and fishing techniques and traditional medicine, among others.



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Map 1: Location of Kukama & Kukamiria communities in Peru (Vallejos 2014b: 46)

Based on the parameters provided by UNESCO (Moseley 2010), the KK language is severely to critically endangered. First, children are no longer learning the language, as natural processes of language transmission have been interrupted. Second, only an estimated 1,000 individuals of the total population speaks the language; the majority has already shifted to Spanish. Third, the remaining speakers are elderly people spread across small villages. Fourth, the remaining speakers use the language to speak amongst themselves, but only in very restricted situations. As indicated earlier, despite the growing obsolescence, there are revitalization efforts in place and, in the last two years, the language has received considerable attention at the regional and national levels. This has injected enthusiasm among language activists committed to the preservation of KK (Vallejos 2014b). The language has two dialects. Kukamiria is spoken basically in the upper Huallaga River; Kukama, along the Marañón, Samiria, Ucayali, and Amazon Rivers, towards the east. Only a few phonetic and lexical differences have been found between these two dialects (Vallejos 2010a). It should be noted that speakers are aware of the dialectal differences and are ready to point out how a specific word is pronounced by the other group if a difference exists.

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3 A typology of speakers in endangered language situations Dorian (1980, 1987), Grinevald (2003), Grinevald and Bert (2011), Hinton (2001), and Tsunoda (2006), among others, have found a range of types of speakers in endangered language situations. Relevant questions when working in contexts of language obsolescence are: what does it mean to speak an endangered language? What qualifies or disqualifies someone as a fluent speaker? The answers to these questions often go beyond linguistic criteria (see also Pharao Hansen et al., this volume). Thus, existing typologies of speakers combine a number of variables including child language learning, past and present language use, language attitudes, as well as adult language attrition and possible (re)learning (Grinevald 2003). Grinevald and Bert (2011), building on Dorian (1980), suggest four interrelated clusters to identify types of speakers: (i) language competence cluster (level of acquisition attained and degree of individual loss), (ii) sociolinguistic cluster (vitality of language at time of acquisition and the age of the speaker at the time of exposure to the language), (iii) performance cluster (level of use of the language and the attitudes towards the language), (iv) self-evaluation of language skills (which can range from under-evaluation, insecurity and self-denial to over-evaluation). Based on these four parameters, these authors propose seven types of speakers. An adaptation of their proposal is presented in Table 1.3 Following Tsunoda (2006: 124), in this paper I use the term latent-speaker for what other authors refer to as semi-speaker (Dorian 1977), and which has become a representative category of endangered language contexts. Other terms used for this type of speaker include passive speaker (Voegelin 1977), and rusty speaker (Menn 1989). I adopt latent-speaker to highlight the fact that, in the KK scenario, these speakers have retained knowledge of complex subsystems (i.e. genderlects), although they may use these patterns at a lower rate compared to fluent speakers. In the next section, the typology introduced here is applied to categorize the speakers documented in the KK scenario. Particular attention is paid to the types of structures found in the speech of the different types of speakers. This data is key to support ongoing revitalization events involving the community (i.e., teacher training, creation of classroom materials), as well as to advance studies

3 Grinevald and Bert (2011)’s typology also includes Terminal Speakers, which they recognize is a controversial category given its negative connotation.



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on the mechanisms of change and linguistic outcomes of both language decay and language revitalization. Tab. 1: An adaptation of Grinevald and Bert (2011)’s typology of speakers FLUENT SPEAKERS

Also called traditional speakers, they have acquired the language fully and are able to engage in spontaneous conversations. Such speakers are able to provide narratives with very minimal use of borrowings. LATENT-SPEAKERS They demonstrate receptive skills but with varying degrees of production. They have not had regular conversation partners and display modified patterns that can be considered mistakes by fluent speakers. REMEMBERERS This category includes speakers with advanced level of attrition often due to traumatic circumstances. They have passive knowledge and very limited productive skills, which usually includes frozen expressions. They may have regained or reacquired some partial use and could be at first inhibited to get involved in revitalization efforts. FORMER SPEAKERS They are also called ghost speakers, those who deny any knowledge of the language. This denial is a consequence of strong negative attitudes associated with speaking a language that is usually overpowered by a national language. NEO-SPEAKERS They are the product of revitalization initiatives. They have positive attitudes towards the language and make conscious efforts to learn it. They can achieve a range of proficiency levels and show signs of language obsolescence. LAST SPEAKER This may be a socio-political category; that is, public and social role assigned by a community, or self-attributed.

4 Types of Kukama-Kukamiria speakers Contrary to the general tendency to focus on the speech patterns produced by fluent speakers, this paper argues that recording linguistic variation should be central to any documentary effort. While documenting the KK language, three clear types of speakers were found: fluent speakers, latent-speakers, and neo-speakers. It should be noted that members of these three groups are self-identified or identified by others as speakers of the language. For instance, if asking for references of KK speakers, one could be referred to any of the three types. In addition, there are community members that make a symbolic use of the language, but who would generally not be considered speakers of KK. This section elaborates on all of them. Assigning speakers to one category or the other was only possible because of the involvement of community members in the documentation projects (Vallejos

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2014b). Community members were in charge of conducting the interviews, and at the end of each interview session speakers were classified into different categories. The judgments of the interviewers were based primarily on the speakers’ ability to interact and engage in spontaneous conversations with them (For alternative methodologies to recognize levels of fluency, see Moore and Galucio, this volume). The categories that emerged from the community members judgments were basically three: ‘s/he speaks well,’ ‘s/he knows but needs to practice,’ ‘s/he is still learning.’ Additionally, they would make comments about other people that we met, such as ‘s/he knows but feels embarrassed.’ Respectively, I translate these categories as the following: fluent-speaker, latent-speaker, neo-speaker and former-speaker. Data was collected from the first three groups (Vallejos 2014b). An examination of the data collected from these three different types of speakers reveals that each category could be associated with a set of linguistic patterns. In other words, each type of speaker represents a prototype around which particular speakers can be more or less located. In this paper, each type will be characterized not only in terms of proficiency and attitudes but also in terms of the presence or absence of specific structural parameters in their speech.

4.1 Fluent speakers As indicated earlier, KK fluent speakers are mostly older than 60 and use the language only occasionally. Not all fluent speakers have regular interlocutors; this contributes to the deep feeling of nostalgia about their heritage language. These speakers make minimal use of Spanish borrowings and have a vast specialized vocabulary, particularly of flora and fauna (Vallejos and Amías 2015). A few structural patterns documented in the speech of fluent speakers are introduced below; they will serve as the base line against which the structures found in the speech of latent-speakers and neo-speakers will be discussed. In KK, grammatical categories like person, number, tense, and modality are conveyed by positionally fixed clitics. Five tense clitics encode three degrees of distance into the past and two into the future, some of which are illustrated in (1).4 There are also six epistemic modal clitics, which interact to create a four-way

4 Abbreviations: AFF=affective, AUG=augmentative, AUX= auxiliary, CAU=causative, CER=certainty, COM=comitative, COND=conditional, CPL=completive aspect, DAT=dative, DEM=demonstrative, DER=derivation, DIM=diminutive, FOC=focus, INS=instrument, LOC=locative, MOD=modal, NEG=negation, NZR=nominalizer, N.PUR=negative purpose, PAS=past, PL.FS= plural female speaker, 1PL.IN=first person plural exclusive, PL.MS=plural male speaker, 3PL.MS=third



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modal system, as seen in (2). The language has also twelve suffixes, including -ta ‘causative,’ -ka ‘reiterative,’ -pa ‘completive,’ shown in (3). Although neither the clitics nor the suffixes is obligatory, as many as four suffixes can occur together on a single verb, followed by up to two clitics, as seen in (3). (1)

ene [erura ipira]=uy/=ikua/=tsuriai 2sg bring fish=pas1/=pas2/=pas3 ‘You brought fish (recently/some time ago/long time ago)’

(2) ikun=taka/=tin/=ray/=ia ra chikuarata ini=utsu today=unc/=cer/=spe/=rep 3sg.ms follow 1pl.in=fut1 ‘Now, maybe/for sure/it seems/I’ve heard, he will follow us’ (3) upa ya=tsupara-ta-ka-pa=ini aux 3sg.fs=be.lost-cau-rei-cpl=1pl.obj ‘He ends up making us totally lost’ Fluent speakers employ several strategies to combine clauses into more complex sentences. Clause nominalization is a central subordination strategy, particularly for relativization functions (4) (Vallejos 2009). The language has a set of subordinators to express several logical relations, such as reason (5), condition (6), and temporal simultaneity (7) (Vallejos 2010a, 2010b). (4) tana erutsu-ka [rana yumi-n ] karamina 1pl.ms bring-rei 3pl.ms give-nzr corrugated.iron ‘We carry out the corrugated iron [that they have donated]’ (5) ay ikian awa ɨtsɨ-kaka [ni ra=purara already this person have.fear-rec neg 3sg.ms=find ‘He is already scared because he doesn’t find the way’

pe]-ikua way-rsn

person plural male speech, PROG=progressive, PROH=prohibitive, PRT=participle, PUR=purpose postposition, PUR3=purpose subordinador, Q=Question, REC=reciprocal, REI=reiterative, REL=relativizer, REP=reportative, RES=restrictive focus, RSN=reason, SPE=speculative, ­UNC=uncertainly, 1SG.FS= first person singular female speaker, 1SG.MS=first person singular male speaker, 1PL.EX.MS=first person plural exclusive male speaker, 1PL.EX.FS=first person plural exclusive female speaker, 3SG.MS=third person singular male speaker, 3SG.OBJ=third person singular object.

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(6) [na-tiyupa=ka n=yuti]-ra yaepe y=eyu-pa=ene 2sg=nest=loc 2sg=stay-cond then 3sg.fs=eat-cpl=2sg.obj ‘If you stay in your tent, then he eats you up’ (7) [ra uwata]-puka chita awa=kana chikuara-ta=ura 3sg.ms walk-when too.much person=pl.ms buttock-cau=3sg.obj.ms ‘When she walks, a lot of people follow her.’ One of the language’s most salient typological features is the presence of grammaticalized gender indexicals (Vallejos 2015). KK does not have grammatical gender; that is, it does not encode the gender of a referent. KK’s gender indexicality is a categorical distinction that encodes the gender of the speaker. The male and female speech is expressed in several categories, including pronouns, demonstratives, number marking, and connectors, as shown in (8). Table 2 (from Vallejos 2010b: 42) summarizes the gender indexicals documented so far in the language. (8) yaepe / raepe penu / tana katupe ajan / ikian uka-kɨra=nu/=kana there.fs/ms 1pl.ex.fs/ms found this.fs/ms house-dim=pl.fs/ms ‘And then we find these small houses’ Tab. 2: Female speech (FS) vs. male speech (MS) gloss

fs

ms

1 singular 1 plural exclusive 3 singular short form 3 singular long form 3 singular object 3 plural plural clitic proximal demonstrative distal demonstrative indefinite demonstrative like this like that also but there, then after that

tsa, etse penu ya ai ai inu =kana ajan yukun yama/yamua ajaya ya yay iyan yaepe yaepetsui

ta tana ra uri ura rana =nu ikian yukan rama/ramua ikiara ria riay urian raepe raepetsui



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KK narratives and spontaneous conversations among fluent speakers are full of direct reported speech constructions. In these constructions, the referents of the gender indexicals (listed in Table 2) are refocused according to each narrated speech event, as illustrated in (9). This excerpt is from a story by a male narrator about some children that, while looking for work, got trapped by a lady with cannibal sons. The pieces that index speaker’s gender are underlined. In (9a), the quote is from male children, so the spatial demonstrative raepe is used (instead of yaepe); the pronoun in the quotative construction encodes the gender of the narrator, rana ‘they’ (if the narrator were a female it would be inu). Example (9b) includes more than one speaker gender: the connector ria ‘like this’ (instead of ya) has the male narrator as a referent, whereas the subject pronoun tsa ‘I’ is part of the quote from the character ‘old lady.’ The quote continues in (9c), hence the first person singular pronoun tsa and the plural marker =nu. Finally, examples (9d) and (9e) do not include quotes, and so they index exclusively the narrator’s gender. Fluent speakers view this dynamic use of the gender system as an important indicator of linguistic competence in KK. (9) a. maka-tipa ini puede kamata-ri raepe=nan rana kumitsa where-q 1pl.in can work-prog there.ms=only 3pl.ms talk “Where could we work by just being there?” they say. b. ria awa maka-tin tsa yamimi epe eranan like.this person where-mod 1sg.fs hide 2pl be.good ‘And this people, “where could I hide them well (so that they can’t escape)” c. ikumenan tsa mɨmɨra=nu soon 1sg.ms son.female.ego=pl.fs “Soon my sons will come to eat them”

eyu-epe-uri eat-2pl-come

d. ikian vieja=tu aytse chikari rana yamimi tupa=ra-n this.ms old.lady=aug bad look.for 3pl.ms hide place=pur-nzr ‘This old and bad lady looks for a place to hide them;’ e. r=yamimi-tsen ɨkɨratsen=kana 3sg.ms=hide-pur3 child=pl.ms ‘to hide the children there.’

raepe there.ms

A noteworthy point is that KK has multiple types of complex purpose clauses which differ in terms of coreference, controlled by the matrix clause absolutive argument rather than the subject, one of which is seen in (9e) (For more details,

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see Vallejos 2014a). The final feature to mention here is the phonological distinction between/ɨ/vs./i/. It should be noted that the central high vowel is not only very productive but also perceptualy salient in the speech of fluent speakers. As will be discussed below, however, these vowels appear to be collapsing into a single catergory in the speech of neo-speakers. Now the discussion turns to the features found in the speech of non-fluent speakers.

4.2 Latent-speakers Latent-speakers are those able to understand almost everything but with limited production. They produce complex structures but use them at a low rate. The age of the latent-speakers I have documented ranges between 42 and 60 years old. They learned KK as children, growing up with their grandparents, but stopped using it at an early age. Their attitudes towards KK range from indifference to a genuine desire to re-learn and maintain their heritage language. The majority of latent-speakers of KK I found have not had regular conversation partners. During the interviews, both their eagerness to interact with other speakers and their frustration with their limited ability to produce KK was evident. Similarly to fluent speakers, latent-speakers retain the phonological opposition between ɨ/i. Also, they seem to have acquired the gender indexicals, as seen in (10); however, they make limited use of direct reported speech compared to fluent speakers. They use bound morphology, but very little clause combining strategies. Importantly, latent‑speakers do not display many modified patterns that could be considered mistakes compared to the patterns found in fluent speakers. One feature unique to latent-speakers is code‑switching. Consider the following passage from a conversation between a 54 year-old female latentspeaker (SeS) and a 62 year-old female fluent-speaker (FlS). The portions in KK are in italics, the portions in Spanish are in bold: (10) SeS a. tsa con mɨmɨra=kɨra-chasu, estoy alegre ta5 1sg.fs with son.female.ego-dim-aff be happy 1sg.ms ukua-kuara-chasu house-ineaff ‘With my dear son I’m happy in my house.’

5 Note here the use of the male pronoun ta, instead of tsa. This is the only instance in which this latent speaker uses an incorrect indexical.



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FlS b. na mɨmɨra=kɨra=muki=nan 2sg son.female.ego=dim=com=res ‘Only with your dear son.’ SeS c. tranquila con mis hijos, estoy diciendo ‘I’m fine with my sons, I’m saying.’ d. tsa 1sg.fs

mɨmɨra=kɨra son.female.ego=dim

ni neg

wayna-kɨra-chasu, woman-dim-aff

etse 1sg.fs

yamimi, di? be.hidden right ‘My dear son doesn’t have a little woman, so I’m hidden, right? FlS e. temente wayna=kɨra=nu? no.exist woman=dim=pl.fs ‘There are no women?’ SeS f.

temente, temente, yamimi, yo, yachu-yachu-n no.exist no.exist be.hidden I cry-cry-nzr ‘There aren’t, there arent; hidden, I just cry and cry’

FlS g.

umanu-pa-n mɨmɨrakunia=nu? die-cpl-nzr daughter.female.ego=pl.fs? ‘Are your daughters dead?’

SeS h. pena pues, di? se tiene pena; bueno, entonces, acá a mi viejo ‘Sorrow, right? We feel sorrow; well, then, here (I say) to my old man.’ i.

maka=tipa n=utsu, viejo; kuika=rupe. where=q 2sg=go, old.man there=fin ‘“Where do you go, old man?” “Over there.”’

As seen in (10), latent-speakers make extensive use of both intersentential and intrasentential code‑switching, as characterized by Poplack (1980) and Poplack and Meechan (1998). Intersentential code-switching (i.e., the change of code between clauses) is illustrated in (10c), (10d), and (10h), whereas intrasentential code‑switching (i.e., the change of code between syntactic units within a single clause) is shown in (10a), (10f), and (10i). As for the functions of code-switch-

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ing, following Zentella (1997), KK/Spanish code-switching is used primarily for crutching (i.e., when searching for a specific word, phrase or clause that they cannot remember in the other language), as shown in (10a) and (10i), and to check or seek the listener’s approval, as in (10c) and (10d). Code-switching can be also used to indicate narrative frame breaks, as in (10f), and for quotation purposes, as in (10i). As seen throughout these examples, code‑switching is not random; it follows syntactic constraints.6 The efficient use of code‑switching by latent‑speakers demonstrates their knowledge of both codes. The data from latent-speakers suggests that they have acquired KK at an early age; however, the language underwent attrition because it has not been used for a long time. This contrasts with the patterns found among neo-speakers. The patterns displayed by latent-speakers are quite different than those found not only among fluent speakers but also neo-speakers, as will become evident in the next section.

4.3 Neo-speakers Neo-speakers are the product of ongoing revitalization initiatives and their ages range from 20 to 40. They are born and raised in KK villages, and given that most of them have lived surrounded by relatives with some competence in the language, they had some exposure to KK at an early age. For instance, the majority of them declare that their grandparents know the language, but their parents do not. Neo-speakers are the most aware of the disappearance of the language, and language preservation is part of their discourse. They display positive attitudes towards their KK identity and their heritage language, and some of them are actively engaged in revitalization initiatives. Despite hearing KK when they were kids, neo-speakers did not acquire any speaking abilities in their heritage language. They are now learning KK through second language and heritage language teaching methodologies. Most of the

6 Poplack (1980) proposes two constraints for code-switching. The free morpheme constraint states that codes may be switched after any constituent in discourse, provided that constituent is not a bound morpheme. The equivalence constraint states that code-switches tend to occur at points in the discourse where the juxtaposition of the first and second language elements does not violate any syntactic rules of either language. The Kukama-Kukamiria data seem to generally comply with these constraints. One instance that could violate the first constraint is this: (a) cuando ha umanu-do ya he sab-ido when aux die-prt already aux know-prt ‘When he died I’ve learned’



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neo-speakers have been or are being trained as bilingual teachers to teach KK in elementary schools. The levels of fluency achieved by these speakers range from minimal to somewhat competent. The most proficient neo-speakers are able to follow conversations, but only some of them can actually produce connected speech. Neo-speakers display some modified patterns that could be considered mistakes by fluent speakers. The excerpts below are taken from interviews with two neo-speakers that have achieved some of the highest levels of fluency. The excerpt in (11) (from Vallejos 2014a) corresponds to a 34 year‑old male teacher. In this passage, he is talking about how difficult and expensive it is to live in the city of Nauta. (11) a. yatsɨ-tsui ta kakɨrɨ uri nauta=ka, tɨma emete kuriki month-abl 1sg.ms live come nauta=loc neg exist money ‘I came to live to Nauta a month ago, (but) there isn’t any money’ b. upi kuriki purepeta panara, all money buy banana ‘All is money, (to) buy banana, fish

ipira fish

c. tɨma emete kuriki, tɨma neg exist money neg ‘(if) there is no money, don’t eat.

eyu eat

d. tɨma emete kuriki, tɨma kurata neg exist money neg drink ‘(If) there is no money, (you) don’t drink water’

uni water

[…]

The speech of this neo-speaker differs from that of fluent-speakers and latent-speakers, discussed above, in a number of respects. First, this speaker does not make use of suffixes and clitics, except for one locative postposition in (11a). Importantly, given that no suffix or clitic is obligatory in KK, the structures in (11) would not necessarily be considered ungrammatical. Second, neo-speakers know a few gender indexicals (see Table 2). For instance, they use the first person pronouns (ta vs. tsa/etse) quite accurately; however, they have difficulties with third person pronouns (uri/ra vs. ya/ai) and first person exclusive pronouns (tana vs. penu). Third, latent-speakers do not incorporate direct quotations into their speech avoiding entirely having to re-center the referents of the gender indexicals for each speech event. Fourth, neo-speakers show no signs of clause combining strategies. To link simple clauses, they make vast use of prosody: clauses are produced within a single intonation contour and clausal relationships are left to

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be inferred from context. For instance, (11c) and (11d) call for conditional clause constructions. Although fluent speakers assert they understand the propositional meaning conveyed by the above expressions, when I asked one of them for the meaning of (11c), she provided the utterance in (12): (12) temente kuriki-ra, tɨma=taka ene amatsika ey=utsu there.is.not money-cond neg=unc 2sg can eat=fut ‘If there is no money, perhaps you won’t be able to eat’ Note in (12) that the fluent speaker added to (11c) several pieces of grammar, including: the negative existential temente, the conditional subordinator -ra, the uncertainty modal =taka, and the future =utsu. Neo-speakers use of sequences of simple clauses reveals that perhaps they have not yet acquired complex constructions. Additional examples are provided in (13). This excerpt is from a 38 year‑old male teacher, where he expresses his attempts to teach KK to his students, but he laments that other teachers do not always support his efforts: (13) a. mari tseta tɨma eran, ta eran thing want neg good 1sg.ms ‘(They) want nothing good, I am good teacher,’ b. ta 1sg.ms

tseta want

chita a.lot

ikua-rin, know-der

yumitawara, good teacher

ɨkɨratsen=kana, kid=pl.ms

erapaka, tsarɨwa t=iya apuka joyful, happy 1sg.ms=heart laugh ‘I want lots of students, children, happy, smiling’ c. por eso mari ta=tseta ɨmɨnua for that thing 1sg.ms=want long.ago ‘That’s why I want something (like) long time ago’ d. na 2sg

ikua know

uka house

kumitsa speak

kukama Kukama

ikara kukama, yumatsarika chita kukama sing Kukama, play a.lot Kukama ‘You knew how to speak Kukama at home, how to sing in Kukama, how to play a lot in Kukama’



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In (13) we see more varied vocabulary compared to (11), yet the structural patterns are strikingly similar. Again, there is very little presence of bound morphology, except the derivative -rin and the plural marker -kana in (13b). The passage consists of a chain of simple clauses, with no use of clause combining strategies. As for the gender system, this speaker also knows some forms that correspond to his gender (e.g., the plural maker and the first person singular pronouns). However, there are no attempts to employ the most common pattern among fluent speakers; that is, switching gender indexicals for quotation purposes. In addition, similarly to latent-speakers’ speech, note in (13c) the use of the Spanish connector por eso ‘that’s why,’ instead of the KK equivalent rikua. A final point that needs to be discussed has to do with the phonological opposition i/ɨ. All the examples reflect the orthography of the language, not the actual production of the speakers. In (11) and (13), the symbol /ɨ/ does not necessarily represent a high central vowel; in fact, neo-speakers tend to produce this segment as a regular front high vowel [i]. This suggests that the phonological distinction between /ɨ/ vs. /i/ seems to be collapsing into a single phonemic category.

4.4 Symbolic use of Kukama-Kukamiria In addition to the types of speakers described above, there are former speakers, also known as ghost speakers (cf. Vallejos 2014a). This category comprises those community members that seem to understand KK, but feel embarrassed and deny any knowledge as a consequence of the negative attitudes associated with speaking the language. In clear contrast to former speakers, there are community members who know little KK, but they use these pieces of the language for symbolic purposes. These are typically leaders and community members who generally know only isolated words, formulaic expressions, and greetings but use them effectively to express their KK identity. This symbolic use of KK has proven to be a valuable strategy, for instance, in meetings organized by local indigenous federations and associations. At present, there are about six KK organizations, and their heritage language is at the center of their discourse and their demands. This symbolic use of KK can be also observed among children who are learning words, songs and useful expressions in schools. They are now being invited to participate in local and regional festivals (FORMABIAP 2012). All in all, knowing some KK at least for symbolic purposes is becoming an important asset.

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5 Summary and discussion As demonstrated in the previous section, there is a range of types of speakers within the KK context. Besides age, they differ in terms of their attitudes toward KK, their commitment to (re)learn the language, but above all with respect to their knowledge of certain linguistic structures and the effective use of them in communicative interactions. The structural patterns introduced in Section 3 are summarized in Table 3. Note that while fluent-speakers and latent-speakers, on the one hand, and latent-speakers and neo-speakers, on the other hand, share some features, this is not the case for fluent-speakers and neo-speakers. This shows that while the speech patterns of the three groups differ drammatically from one another, neo-speakers’ speech is the most distant from that of fluent-speakers. Tab. 3: Language patterns documented among fluent-/latent-/neo-speakers of KK PATTERNS

FLUENTSPEAKER

LATENT-­ SPEAKERS

NEO-­ SPEAKERS

Retain phonological opposition /ɨ/ vs. /i/

yes

yes

minimal

Use of gender indexicals

yes

yes

minimal

Use of bound morphology

yes

yes

minimal

Use of clause combining strategies

yes

minimal

not

Use of the gender system in reported speech

yes

not

not

Borrowing of inter-clausal connectors

not

yes

yes

Knowledge of specialized vocabulary

yes

minimal

not

Use of intra/inter-sentential code switching

not

yes

not

One of the aims of this paper is to argue that documentation projects should focus not only on the structural patterns of fluent speakers but should make the effort to expand their attention to other types of speakers as well. While the relevance of documenting the speech of fluent-speakers seems obvious, that of latent-speakers and neo-speakers may not be. The claim is that acknowledging the existence of these types of speakers and their role in efforts to preserve the language is essential. For instance, in the KK case, one of the major revitalization initiatives is to teach the language to children. In this process, latent-speakers and neo-speakers are already engaged directly or indirectly, yet their role has not been highlighted enough. Latent-speakers are the parents or grandparents of those children; that is, they are the community members that would need to



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promote the use of the language at home. Neo-speakers are in charge of teaching the language in the schools. Thus, it is important to consider not only whether the teachers have the training to teach the language, but also what their actual communicative competences are for implementing specific instructional programs. Having available information about both the structures of fluent speakers and the speech patterns of teachers would be important for two reasons. First, it will help in the design of strategies to improve the teachers’ language skills in KK, if this is a desired response. If teachers are not proficient beyond simple constructions, children will be exposed to “pidginized” language, in the sense of Hinton (2001: 16). Second, it will help to develop teaching methodologies relevant for the target language. Such initiatives are already being advanced in various places (see, for instance, Holm et al. 2003 for a verb-centered approach to teaching situational Navajo in elementary schools, or Peter et al. 2008 for an assessment of verb development in Cherokee immersion programs), but have yet to gain ground in Latin America. A related issue has to do with the kind and extent of variation that can be tolerated in small language communities. Within the KK context, variation introduced by neo-speakers seems more tolerated than variation introduced by latent-speakers. Elder fluent speakers, and community members in general, have positive attitudes towards neo-speakers and praise their efforts to learn a language with little prestige that was practically abandoned for a few decades. This positive attitude may also have to do with the fact that most neo-speakers are community teachers, which in itself carries relative prestige and authority. Yet some ideologies commonly found in endangered languages settings have started to emerge. In the KK scenario, ideas of indigenous authenticity and proper KK, attempts to assign prestige to one variety, implicit allocation of authority to certain elders might become points of potential conflicts among different types of speakers (see the discussion in Rogers, this volume, on indigenous authenticity in a different context). For instance, there is a group of elders which seem to resent the protagonist role that neo-speakers have taken in the revitalization movement. Some elders express their concerns about the neo-speakers “changing” the language, and neo-speakers indicate that the elders’ judgment impact their confidence to speak KK. However, the majority understands that if perfectionism were to be the bar to use and teach KK, they would have to wait for a while to hear their heritage language being used again, if at all. Thus, efforts to work together are in place. A third and related question is that, if KK is preserved, what type of features will survive and what other features will emerge? As shown in section  3, the patterns found particularly among neo-speakers are significantly different compared to those of fluent speakers. However, this state of affairs is hardly unique to KK as accelerated language change is expected in contexts of language endan-

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germent (Hinton 2001). Speakers of Navajo (Athabaskan), for instance, recognize themselves as traditionalist and non-traditionalist. While the traditional way of speaking is associated with elders and with ceremonial settings, story telling, and singing; non-traditional speaking is associated with adults, younger speakers and second language learners. For example, the use of Navajo specialized vocabulary as well as some structural features such as the hierarchy of classification of nouns (Hale 1973) is very rare amongst non-traditional speakers (Holm et al. 2003). Another example comes from Blackfoot (Algonquian). Speakers are aware that today’s Blackfoot is different from how it was spoken in the early 1900s. They refer to these two versions as Old or High Blackfoot, spoken by elders, and New or Modern Blackfoot, spoken by the new generations. Among the features found in High Blackfoot is the extensive use of incorporation; however, this pattern is no longer used by the Modern Blackfoot speakers (Miyashita and Crow 2006). The impact of language decay has also been documented in Latin America. Danielsen and Terhart (in prep.) report several structural innovations among latent-speakers of Baure (Arawakan). In addition to code switching, these include the use of preverbal particles instead of verbal base suffixes and of an isolated possessive pronoun for oblique object reference instead of directly marking it on the verb by a personal enclitic. The former feature can only be found in present-day latent-speakers, whereas the latter is a well-established innovation used also by fluent speakers. Data from KK shows that gender indexicals are the first candidate for undergoing obsolescence. This is not surprising as recent findings indicate that the obsolescence of male and female dialects is a general trend (Aikhenvald forthcoming). In fact, genderlects seem to be much more sensitive to social changes, compared to grammatical gender, for instance. These cases demonstrate that language endangerment accelerates language change, and speakers are generally aware of those changes. Although there is a recognition that speech communities of endangered languages comprise speakers of different fluency levels (see, for instance, Dorian 1980; Grinevald 2003), the relevance of documenting beyond fluent speakers needs to be underscored further. Data from non‑fluent speakers can make crucial contributions to the discussion about the extent to which the structural changes that occur in dying languages are unique (Sasse 1992) or similar to other kinds of contact-induced phenomena (Dorian 1993); whether dying languages show unequivocal reduction of one kind or another (Dorian 1978; Rice, Libben, and Derwing 2002), and whether these processes show parallels with creole genesis (Trudgill 1978), among other topics. Data from latent-speakers can contribute to our understanding of code-switching in contact settings that have not been heretofore examined. For instance, the data from latent-speakers of KK and Baure



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could make it possible to test the hypotheses regarding syntactic constraints for changing codes when the codes are two typological distant languages.

6 Conclusion This paper demonstrates the remarkable structural differences across a range of KK. These differences illustrate the importance for documentation projects of broadening their focus from solely fluent speakers to other types of speakers as well. Recording variation is essential for both revitalization initiatives and linguistic research. Speakers are generally aware and sometimes concerned about changes instigated by language decay and language revitalization; however, it seems that, in the end, the structural differences can be overlooked if the creation of new speakers and the preservation of their heritage language for communication is the ultimate goal. Besides the potential impact of documenting variation in the revitalization of KK, I have shown here the relevance of collecting data from non-fluent speakers to advance linguistic theory. Data from KK can contribute to the examination of potential relationships between language decay and incomplete second language acquisition in revitalization processes. Despite the recognition that speech communities of endangered languages typically comprise speakers of different proficiencies, the need to document beyond traditional, fluent speakers has not been highlighted enough. Language revitalization initiatives have been taking place in Latin American for some time now; however, the impact of such efforts in language variation and change has not yet been documented thoroughly. While language change accelerated by endangerment has received some attention, there is not yet enough discussion of changes instigated by revitalization processes. This will be only possible if language documentation projects not only acknowledge but also embrace different types of speakers. In sum, by focusing our documentary efforts on fluent speakers alone, we would be missing opportunities to contribute not only to revitalization efforts but also to linguistic theory.

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Voegelin, Charles F. & Florecen M. Voegelin. 1977. Is Tübatulabal de-acquisition relevant to theories of language acquisition? International Journal of American Linguistics 43 (4). 333–338. Zentella, Ana Celia. 1997. Growing up bilingual: Puerto Rican children in New York. Oxford (UK) & Cambridge (MA): Blackwell.

Gabriela Pérez Báez

7 Addressing the gap between community beliefs and priorities and researchers’ language maintenance interests 1 Introduction San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec (SLQZ)1 is spoken by around 3,000 speakers divided between the home community in Oaxaca, Mexico, and a sister community in Los Angeles, California. In San Lucas Quiaviní, the language continues to be learned by children; in Los Angeles there is virtually no language transmission yielding active child speakers. Migration is considered the greatest threat to the vitality of SLQZ: it has resulted in a reduction of about half the speaker base in San Lucas, including a 45 % reduction in the number of children under age 10 growing up in San Lucas speaking SLQZ (Pérez Báez 2009, 2014). Language maintenance is not a community concern in San Lucas for various reasons. First, the reduction in the San Lucas population due to migration is visible to the community but not in terms of it representing a reduction in speaker base and a threat to the long-term survival of the language. Second, there is a widely held belief that children are born speaking the language associated with their place of birth. As such, language reproduction occurs naturally according to the local vision, thereby making language maintenance unnecessary. Third, the fact that children continue to acquire the language as L1 obscures the decline in the number of SLQZ-speaking children due to migration. Finally, local priorities such as parental demands for Spanish-only education may not be conducive to the development of language maintenance efforts. This paper recounts the community attitudes towards language endangerment that I have encountered over more than 10 years of fieldwork in San Lucas. I focus on the challenges they present for language maintenance in the context of proposals made in the documentation and revitalization literature of the last 20 years or so. Within the community of academics concerned and committed

1 The language is lumped with San Juan Guelavía Zapotec under ISO 639-3 zab.

Gabriela Pérez Báez, Smithsonian Institution

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to sustaining the world’s linguistic diversity, the expectation is that any activities that a community-external researcher may want to carry out should be done in a collaborative manner (cf. Czaykowska-Higgins 2009; Dobrin 2008; Dwyer 2006, 2010; Rice 2006, 2010, 2011 inter alia). However, it is also considered that language maintenance and revitalization cannot succeed if these activities are not initiated by members of the relevant community (Crystal 2000; Grenoble and Whaley 2006; Nettle and Romaine 2000). Other more restricting positions overtly state that community-external linguists are not to advocate for maintenance and revitalization without the explicit invitation from a community to do so (Hinton 2002) or that community external linguists in fact have no place in these endeavors (Kipp 2000). As a researcher interested in participating in the development of strategies aimed at ensuring the survival of SLQZ, I have been faced with the need to reconcile this theoretical background with the urgency to develop a language maintenance strategy that can capitalize on the language’s still vital condition. This paper explains the approach I have taken in response to this conundrum. I first expound in Section 2 on the rationale for the present study. Section 3 provides an ethnographic description of the San Lucas Quiaviní community as to create the necessary context for an exposition, in Section 4, of the complexities around language endangerment and maintenance in San Lucas. I then explain, in Section 5, the approach I have taken and the ethnographic knowledge gained over time, with the purpose of improving my understanding of the social priorities of the community. This in turn becomes critical for the development of initiatives that respond to specific community priorities all the while opening spaces for conversations about language maintenance. This approach is contextualized in Section 6 within the literature on the recommended interactions between an external linguist and a community. I focus on the problems posed by the passivity prescribed for linguists as it relates to language maintenance and argue that such passivity is not appropriate to every context, following Dobrin (2008) and Holton (2009). The hope is that the experience working with San Lucas Quiaviní will contribute to what I consider to be a much needed and not yet robust number of case studies in the literature that can inform the discipline as to the possible approaches one might take when working with a community in a language endangerment situation.



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2 Rationale Much attention has been devoted in recent years to the need to improve the interaction between field linguists/language documenters and the communities where the work is carried out. This is considered especially important and delicate in the context of endangered languages. Highly experienced and respected field linguists have articulated proposals for ethical research and, more specifically and relevant to the topic at hand, for the role of the field linguist in language documentation, maintenance and revitalization (cf. Hinton 2001, 2002; Grenoble and Whaley 2006; Benedicto et al. 2007; Dobrin 2008; Czaykowska-Higgins 2009; Rice 2006, 2011; Grenoble and Furbee (eds.) 2010; Yamada 2011, inter alia). The primary concern, as was thoroughly described in Czaykowska-Higgins (2009) which builds upon various works, notably Cameron et al. (1992), is for fostering community-based language research, to mean research that is mindful of the language communities’ interests and needs and that responds to such needs in a manner that is collaborative. The collaboration is to be devoid of power relations reminiscent of the social oppression to which so many endangered language communities have been subjected throughout history. It is often considered, however, that the collaboration is to be initiated by the language community. More specifically, it is stated that it is not up to the linguist to advocate for maintenance and revitalization without the explicit invitation from a community to do so (Hinton 2002: 151) and that these endeavors fall strictly under the purview of the relevant language community, sometimes even to the exclusion of community-external linguists (Kipp 2000). There are therefore a variety of statements now in the literature that can amount to sometimes contradictory or at least confusing recommendations that make the task of developing a mutually gratifying interaction between a community and an external linguist more daunting than it already is. I was motivated to write this paper, and indeed to co-edit the volume in which this paper appears, upon the realization that the experiences I had had as an external linguist working with two different Zapotec languages could not be comfortably placed within the aforementioned theoretical context. The first reason for this was that my experiences were taking place in a context that is different from those from which the aforementioned literature frequently draws, Canada, United States, Australia and New Zealand. The literature presenting case studies of interactions between a community and a community-external researcher in other parts of the world is scant and this has been widely acknowledged. For instance, Hinton (2001) acknowledges that the focus of The green book of language revitalization in practice (Hinton and Hale 2001) is North America. So does Rice (2006). Penfield et al. (2008) specify as early as in its title that the best practices proposed are for the North American indigenous language context.

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Rice (2011) specifically asks whether models and the basic definitions of concepts such as community and active engagement are applicable or even appropriate outside Canada, the United States, Australia and New Zealand. Dobrin (2008) and Holton (2009) respond to this regional dominance by presenting two cases outside these four geographic areas to show that flexibility and cultural sensitivity are primary over any attempts at making universal recommendations about community interactions by external researchers. Crippen and Robinson (2013) argue for acceptance of situations where collaboration is not viable or desirable. It is with the hope to contribute to an expanding discussion around the concept of collaboration in the context of linguistic research that I write this paper. The case study presented in this paper is of interest because the cultural particulars in San Lucas Quiaviní, which I detail in Sections 3 and 4, are quite different from those in the majority of the case studies reported in the literature. Quite often, an endangered language community is reported as having recognized its language’s endangered status and when collaborations are established with a linguist, the community recognizes that a linguist may be able to contribute to the community’s efforts. Neither of these conditions have been present in the case described here. Upon introduction to San Lucas Quiaviní, one finds a community where children continue to speak the local Zapotec language. However, within my first field season in Summer 2002 it became evident that a community that had maintained its language despite colonization, homogenizing nation-building policies, Spanish-only education and rampant discrimination could see the demise of its language due to large-scale migration. The direct evidence I collected on the matter through years of community visits and ensuing interviews with dozens of community members both in San Lucas and in Los Angeles revealed a language endangerment situation that was not visible to the community itself. To the topic at hand, this raised for me questions about the responsibility I had towards the community because making the research available to the community, as is recommended, amounted to advocating for language maintenance. Yet, the strong positions articulated in the literature limiting the role of anyone external to the community in revitalization presented a quandary. In order to explain this predicament and the strategies I implemented in response to it, I provide in Section 3 a detailed overview of the cultural context at play in San Lucas Quiaviní.

3 Ethnographic overview The data presented in this section is drawn from field research grounded on the Tripartite Model of Sociolinguistic Research (Wölck 1985). At the core are case



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studies done both in San Lucas Quiaviní and in Los Angeles, California among San Lucas immigrants, based on participant observation while residing in community homes for about a month at a time (Summer 2002, 2003, 2004, January and October 2007, April and October 2008). Participant observation was complemented by more targeted interviewing in order to develop community profiles following Wölck (1985), for both the home and the diaspora communities (Summer 2003, October 2007, April 2008). Subsequent spot checks in the form of targeted interviews to fill data gaps were conducted also in both locales with the most recent visits conducted between 2011 and 2013.

3.1 San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec SLQZ is spoken by less than 3,000 speakers in San Lucas Quiaviní, Oaxaca, Mexico, and a sister community in Los Angeles, California. In San Lucas, the language continues to be learned by children. In contrast, in Los Angeles there is virtually no language transmission yielding active child speakers. More importantly, migration has resulted in a reduction in San Lucas of about half the speaker base, including a reduction of about half the number of children under age 10. Further, frequent travel and exchanges between the San Lucas and the Los Angeles communities are visibly motivating a shift to Spanish among San Lucas-based speakers of Zapotec. SLQZ is a Zapotec (Otomanguean) language. It is spoken amidst numerous Zapotec varieties located in and around the Tlacolula Valley in the Central Valleys region of Oaxaca, Mexico. More specifically, it is considered to belong to the Central branch of Core Zapotec as proposed in Smith-Stark (2007) and to the Central language area of the language complex proposed by Kaufman (personal communication). Zapotec languages exhibit complex patterns of interaction between vowel phonation, tone and stress for lexical contrast and grammatical marking. The patterns that SLQZ exhibits are particularly complex. SLQZ is described to have four vowel phonation types: modal, checked, creaky and breathy (Munro and Lopez 1999; Chávez Peón 2010). The complexities of the interaction between vowel phonation and tone have led to debates about the contrastive nature of tone in SLQZ. Munro and Lopez (1999) claim that tone is predictable from its interaction with complex vowel patterns and need not be marked orthographically. Chávez Peón (2010) provides evidence in support of considering tone as contrastive in SLQZ on the basis that each of the four tones described for the language – high, low, rising and falling – occur on modal vowels. The former analysis is at odds with what

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has been claimed for other Zapotec languages, while the latter is in line with the general acknowledgment of tone as contrastive in these languages. Other features of SLQZ are consistent with features in other Zapotec languages: VSO word order that can be modified in topic and focus constructions; tense, aspect and mood marking through prefixes which find cognates across Zapotec languages; valence changing prefixes that are reflexes from the proto-language; frequent use of body part terms in locative constructions; among other features (Lillehaugen 2006; Munro and Lopez 1999; Munro 2015; inter alia). SLQZ also exhibits unique features such as a highly complex pronominal system with 12 contrasts in the third person alone (Munro 2003). Compare this with much shallower systems such as that in Juchitán (Isthmus) Zapotec, a related Central Zapotec language which only features a three-way human-animal-inanimate contrast in the third person, and even with other pronominal systems in closely related languages spoken in the Central Valleys of Oaxaca. Comprehensive dialectology studies have not been conducted in the Central Valleys region. However, mutual intelligibility reports by speakers of SLQZ suggest that the language features enough differences that make it mutually intelligible only with a handful of Tlacolula Valley varieties out of two dozen communities in the valley (Pérez Báez 2009: 70–73).

3.2 Domains of SLQZ use In San Lucas, children remain largely monolingual in Zapotec until their entry in school. State-run schooling is offered in San Lucas from nursery school (preescolar) through middle school (telesecundaria, a system in which instruction is transmitted through TV broadcasts and is facilitated by a teacher). The language of instruction is Spanish. In the nursery school, this has been the case until very recently even though the school is officially a bilingual school. Through schooling, bilingualism rates in the population aged 5 and older have climbed from 41.6 % in 1970 to 82.5 % to 76.9 % in 2010 (INEGI 1970, 2010). The rate of SLQZ speakers in the community, ages 5 and older, remains at 98 % since 1995 and monolingualism is at 15 % (INEGI 1995, 2000, 2005, 2010). Day-to-day social interaction within the home and the community constitutes the primary domain of SLQZ use. Spanish is, however, present in an increasing number of domains. In San Lucas itself, Spanish is the language of instruction in the local schools. Spanish is dominant in the local state-run health clinic. Medical doctors and nurses have been Spanish-speaking and from outside San Lucas, and while volunteers from the community are assigned to the clinic, Spanish is the dominant language in this domain. A cultural center was in operation in



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San Lucas for some four years and constituted primarily a domain of Spanish. A variety of courses from veterinary medicine to folk dance and music were taught in the center, all by Spanish-speaking teachers from outside San Lucas. There is an initiative to build a library in the center, which will be dominantly equipped with books in Spanish as only a handful of publications exist in SLQZ. A computing center with satellite Internet access and more recently a couple of computer and Internet rental shops in addition to the now ubiquitous presence of cell phones has made the domain of electronic written communication widely available. This domain, however, is dominated by Spanish: written communication, for instance on Facebook, is in Spanish only, even between close relatives such as siblings who would most likely speak to each other in Zapotec otherwise. Social interaction outside San Lucas is also dominated by Spanish. San Lucas residents commute to Tlacolula de Matamoros, the main commercial town located 6 miles north of San Lucas. Tlacolula itself is originally a Zapotec town where a shift to Spanish has left the town with very few elderly native speakers of the local variety. As such, any interaction with Tlacolula residents is in Spanish. This includes a large number of administrative dealings such as utility payments, social welfare collection, processing of personal identification documents, banking, etc. A very active market in Tlacolula attracts merchants from surrounding towns, many of which are speakers of Valley Zapotec varieties. Communication between these merchants and San Lucas residents is not always conducted in Zapotec as only certain varieties such as that of San Bartolomé Quialana and San Juan Guelavía are mutually intelligible with SLQZ.

3.3 Migration and language vitality The increasing number of domains of Spanish use in the lives of San Lucas residents is of concern and indicative of current pressures to shift to Spanish placed on SLQZ speakers. For an accurate vitality assessment, one must consider the effects of the migratory patterns that this community has seen for over forty years. Lopez and Runsten (2004) report that the first San Lucas men to emigrate to Los Angeles did so in 1968. Over the next decade, the number of San Lucas migrants in Los Angeles was comprised of some 80 individuals, all men with the exception of three women. In the 1980s the community of SLQ migrants in Los Angeles had grown considerably. Women began to participate in migration more readily then; children became more integrated into patterns of migration as of the nineties. While there are no census data on migration for San Lucas, the town’s own administrative records suggest that half the community of San Lucas now resides

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in Los Angeles (Lopez personal communication; Lopez and Runsten 2004; see also Pérez Báez 2014 for an analysis of available census data). The impact of migration on language vitality among communities of speakers of endangered languages is receiving growing attention in the literature (see for instance Falconi 2011 and 2013; Pérez Báez 2014, 2013a and 2013b). Consider also the case of the Tataltepec and Zacatepec Chatino communities described in Villard and Sullivant (this volume). The authors describe that in both communities, domestic and now transnational migration has resulted in emigration to the United States of 9 % of the Tataltepec population and 6.4 % of the Zacatepec population. The reliance on migrants’ remittances as a form of community income has given English an important place in the language inventory that community members would wish to attain. In this ideal language inventory, English is considered a desirable second language to acquire, at the expense of Chatino, thereby hampering Chatino revitalization prospects. In San Lucas, the impact of migration on language vitality is two-fold. First, once women began to emigrate, couples and subsequently families formed in Los Angeles. Also, some families reunited as children began to participate in migration. The result of this is a reduction in population in San Lucas Quiaviní, which is especially marked in the child population. Mexican census data report a population in San Lucas of 2,156 individuals in 1990. Twenty years later, in 2010, the reported population was of 1,745 people (INEGI 1990, 2010). Among children, census data also reveals a decline. Table 1 shows the four age groups relevant to the child population, showing a steady decline between 1990 and 2010.2 As can be seen in the rightmost column in Table 1, the child population had declined significantly over the course of 20 years. Quite dramatically, the population under the age of 10 has decreased by 49 %. In terms relevant to vitality assessment, this means that the child speaker base in San Lucas has been reduced to almost half in 20 years.

2 I provide four age groups as defined in Mexico’s national census reports. There is no intention to make a claim here as to how a child is defined in legal Mexican terms and in San Lucas Quiaviní cultural terms.



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Tab. 1: Population decline in the child population Age groups

1990

2005

2010

Decline

0–4 5–9 10–14 15–19

223 296 263 250

124 163 204 179

108 162 175 190

52 % 46 % 44 % 24 %

Sources: Archivo Histórico de Localidades, Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía (http://mapserver.inegi.org.mx/AHL/realizaBusquedaurl.do?cvegeo=202330001); accessed 13 march 2014. Censo General de Población y Vivienda 1990 and 2010, Conteo de Población y Vivienda 2005, ­Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía.

Children who are being raised in Los Angeles, whether US- or Mexican-born, generally do not maintain SLQZ as their primary language and exhibit, at most, passive knowledge of it. Pérez Báez (2013b) provides a detailed analysis of the language use patterns in the home among Los Angeles-based families, which is not yielding active child speakers of SLQZ and in which native child speakers of the language shift to Spanish and English sometimes within months of arrival in Los Angeles and even in conversation with siblings and parents. As such, the decline in the number of children growing up in San Lucas Quiaviní is a very close reflection of the decline in the number of child speakers of SLQZ. The second phenomenon affecting language vitality in San Lucas Quiaviní relates to the frequent visits made by Los Angeles residents back to their hometown. Those who emigrated to Los Angeles as adults and who return to San Lucas for either long- or short-term visits generally make active use of SLQZ in their interactions with San Lucas residents, notably with family members. However, those raised in Los Angeles replicate their language use preferences when they visit San Lucas, preferring the use of Spanish and English over SLQZ even with close relatives. Those who have any active use of SLQZ may speak the language with Zapotec monolinguals such as grandparents. However, those who have nothing more than passive knowledge of the language turn the home where they are hosted – an otherwise Zapotec-dominant household – into a domain of Spanish. There are many nuances in how Spanish- and English-dominant returnees become agents of language shift in San Lucas Quiaviní but the point to make is that the population residing in Los Angeles corresponds to the decline in the speaker-base of SLQZ and also comprise a set of agents of language shift now taking place in San Lucas itself (see Pérez Báez 2009 and 2014 for a detailed analy­ sis). Given the reduction in an already small speaker base and in the domains of use of SLQZ, as well as the active presence of agents of language shift in the community, I have argued that the language should be considered endangered (Pérez

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Báez 2009, 2014). My concerns for the vitality of SLQZ, however, are mostly not shared in the community. I turn to the particulars of this in Section 4.

4 The gap between community and researcher concerns about language vitality Since 2002 when I visited San Lucas Quiaviní for the first time, I have been interacting with numerous members of the San Lucas Quiaviní community and of its sister community in Los Angeles. They include numerous families in both locales, individuals across various age groups, parents as well as their children and among children, those raised in San Lucas with and without migration experience as well as those raised in Los Angeles. As part of this, I have conducted interviews with dozens of families in both locales. I have also interacted with four San Lucas municipal presidents and their xtisy (‘town council’) and with members of the various committees in charge of overseeing operations such as schooling and health services. Equally, I have collaborated with teachers in the preschool and the middle school as well as with doctors in the health clinic, all of which are external to San Lucas but are heavily involved in all-important community matters. The conversations with community members revealed from the beginning a lack of concern about the survival of SLQZ. This is in contrast with numerous case studies where the interest in revitalization or reclamation emerged from within the community. These cases range from the widely known and established large-scale revitalization efforts in Hawaii and New Zealand to emerging efforts such as the reclamation work carried out by members of the Šmuwič (Barbareño Chumash) as they reconstruct their heritage language’s lexicon through research into the John P. Harrington collection at the National Anthropological Archives. Yáñez Rosales et al. (this volume) describe the collaboration with two Nahua speaking communities in the south of Jalisco where an interest for language reclamation was already in place by the time the researchers began interacting with the communities. Similarly, Pharao Hansen et al. (this volume) state that an interest for revitalization of the local Otomí variety was already active in the community of Acazulco, Queretaro. The San Lucas Quiaviní context was significantly different. There are many possible reasons for this. One possible reason is that SLQZ continues to be spoken in San Lucas widely enough as to conceal any signs of language shift and the factors behind it. Consider the comments in (1) and (2) which were offered by interviewees in San Lucas Quiaviní in October 2007 in response to my question



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regarding whether they thought that SLQZ could cease to be spoken one day. In (1), the interviewee refers to the fact that there is still a portion of the San Lucas population who is either SLQZ-monolingual or SLQZ-dominant and that is sizeable enough as to maintain an active speech community and as a result, to maintain the language vital. In (2), the interviewee makes a similar point and suggests that given that SLQZ is the primary language of caregivers, this ensures that children are raised with SLQZ as their L1, with the introduction of Spanish as L2 only in school. Do note that at the end of (2), the speaker suggests that the reason why caregivers continue to speak SLQZ with children is because their Spanish competence is not such as to allow them to raise their children in Spanish. This invites the inference that if Spanish competence were higher or at least perceived as higher by caregivers, they might choose to raise their children in Spanish. This, in turn, suggests that as children grow up to be more confident speakers of Spanish than their caregivers were, they may choose to raise their children in Spanish. Certainly, the population of monolinguals which at the moment constitutes 34 % of the population ages 15 and older (INEGI 2005) will eventually pass away, leaving behind a bilingual population. In fact, this has begun to occur. The population nowadays is 85 % bilingual (Pérez Báez 2009), and while ten years ago Spanish was rarely heard in homes or on the streets of San Lucas, interactions in Spanish nowadays abound and are heard regularly among children and young adults. (1) Yo creo que no…yo digo que no…ya es muy complicado porque…todos lo niños ahorita si van a la escuela, o sea, no olvidan su zapoteco, solamente algunos así como que piensan que es este…como que el idioma no tiene importancia y ya quieren hablarle en español a sus hijos. Pero, pero es un poco complicado porque los abuelos, los tíos, todos les hablan en zapoteco. [R09_0014, 5:16] ‘I don’t think so…I would say no…it would be very difficult…all kids, if they go to school, I mean, they don’t forget Zapotec, only some do, it’s like they think that it is… that the language is of no value and then they want to speak with their kids in Spanish. But, but it would be difficult because grandparents, aunts and uncles, everyone speaks to them in Zapotec.’ (2) No, siempre [se hablará]. Porque desde que son chiquitas, les enseñamos que aprenden zapoteco y cuando, cuando ya tenemos hijos, cuando ya tenemos nietos, desde que ya quiere hablar, pues, les enseñamos zapotecos. Cuando ya tiene los seis a siete años va a ir a la escuela y ya aprende un poco el español. Sí, este…nosotros no les enseñamos que habla español desde que quiere hablar pues. Porque hay algunas palabras, no todas las palabras aprendemos en el español. Por eso les enseñamos zapoteco. [R09_0029, 17:33]

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‘No, [it will] always [be spoken]. Because from the time they are little kids, we teach them to learn Zapotec and when, when we have our own children, when we have our own grandchildren, from the time they start to talk, well, we teach them Zapotec. Once they are six or seven years old they will start going to school and will learn some Spanish. Yes, uhm…we don’t teach them Spanish when they start learning to speak. That is because there are some words, we don’t know all the words in Spanish. That is why we teach them Zapotec.’

A second reason may be that while the decline in population in San Lucas is evident, the decrease in the child speaker base may not be so, at least not in terms of how it might affect language vitality. This last point is related to a third possible reason: that while community members express consternation about the lack of SLQZ acquisition among children raised in Los Angeles, there is an acceptance that Los Angeles-raised children are no longer an integral part of San Lucas Quiaviní in the same way as those raised in the hometown. Indeed, children born in San Lucas are registered in the municipal records, a process that transfers community rights and responsibilities to the children. Children born in Los Angeles do not undergo this same process. It is overtly acknowledged that Los Angeles-raised children who are not active speakers of SLQZ impact social interactions in San Lucas in that they are not able to engage with the elderly who are often monolingual Zapotec speakers. However, this concern does not consider the effect that these children might have as agents of language shift. This might be perhaps due to a fourth possible reason and that is a widely acknowledged relationship between place of birth and a person’s L1. Since the early years of this research, San Lucas residents overtly expressed that they did not think SLQZ could become extinct because San Lucas children were born speaking Zapotec. This is illustrated in (3).3 Interestingly, Los Angeles-based parents who raised their Los Angeles-born children as speakers of Spanish as L1 justified their family language policy as owing to the language – Spanish and not English – that these children were born into by virtue of having Los Angeles as their place of birth (Pérez Báez 2013b). In the context of language endangerment in San Lucas, a belief that place of birth determines one’s L1 invalidates any concerns about the possibility of SLQZ going extinct on the premise that as long as children continue

3 This relationship has been described quite overtly in numerous occasions in San Lucas and in Los Angeles, but it has been done either outside recording sessions, or by parents who did not allow for their interview to be audiorecorded. As such, (3) is the best recorded reflection of this belief although not the most explicit.



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to be born in San Lucas, there will continue to be speakers of the local Zapotec language. This in turn renders language revitalization initiatives unnecessary to the community. (3) Pues la verdad, yo creo que aquí, aquí en San Lucas no se va a acabar. Porque en primer lugar los niños que nacen, que, que, que van creciendo, creciendo, pues son primera pues primer lengua de ellos. [R09_0027, 37:20] ‘To be honest, I think that here, in San Lucas, [SLQZ] will not cease to be spoken. This is because, in the first place, as children are born, and, and, and grow up, they grow up and, well, [SLQZ] is their first language.’

There may be other reasons behind the lack of concern for the survival of SLQZ. However, I do not intend to explain here the lack of concern because what is relevant in this paper is an understanding of the community’s views about language vitality.

5 Knowing how to respond Given the above scenario, two questions arise. The first question asks what a researcher is to do in a situation in which she is aware that a language is at risk, but that the dominant suggestion in her discipline is that it is not up to the researcher to initiate advocacy for revitalization. Yet, for the reasons explained in Section 4, it is unlikely that the language community would reach out to the researcher with an invitation to engage in revitalization activities. San Lucas Quiaviní is not the only case in which there is no community concern or awareness as to the endangered status of a language. Crippen and Robinson (2013) describe this for the Dupaningan Agta in the Phillipines. Personal communication with Yasnaya Aguilar Gil and Hilaria Cruz indicates that this was also the case for the Mixe community of Ayutla and the San Juan Quiahije Chatino community respectively, both in Oaxaca, Mexico. In the Chatino cases described in Villard and Sullivant (this volume), the researchers have been approached to teach English rather than Chatino. The lack of community concern or awareness about language endangerment is not uncommon in the Mexican context. The second question is whether the researcher is justified to continue interacting with the San Lucas Quiaviní community if she is not to respond to a situation of concern that is revealed by her research – namely the possibility that SLQZ could go silent. In light of this, I sought to combine needs that were conveyed to me overtly by community members during my many visits to San Lucas and to its sister

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community in Los Angeles with the need revealed by my research to address the endangerment situation of SLQZ. For instance, and as mentioned earlier, access to health care information has been heavily dependent on oral proficiency and literacy in Spanish. Also, teachers and parents were concerned that the schools, notably the preschool, lacked supplies. Young adults were concerned that the knowledge bearers were dying and taking away knowledge of relevance to the community. SLQZ monolinguals were often marginalized in the context of visits from Los Angeles-born children. Over the years, and in collaboration with community members and some (community-external) researchers, I was able to develop initiatives that responded to these specific needs and that opened a space for discussions about language endangerment to emerge. In the next subsections I describe these initiatives.

5.1 Health care information audio CDs As explained in Section 3.2, with medical staff at the local health clinic being community-external Spanish monolinguals, access to medical treatment in this clinic was heavily dependent on Spanish proficiency. Further, health care information materials generally came in the form of posters, brochures and other printed materials. Considering that Zapotec monolingualism rates are still at 15 % and that 34 % of the population ages 15 and older is illiterate in Spanish (INEGI 2005),4 it is clear that access to health information and care is limited for about a third of the San Lucas Quiaviní adult population. It should be noted that literacy in SLQZ is only incipient with a few dozen teenagers who had exposure to reading and writing in the local language. The clinic does have some strategies in place to overcome this problem. For instance, through the Oportunidades (known before as Progresa) program, local volunteers, who are themselves SLQZ speakers, serve at the clinic and can assist in translating. Volunteers are also engaged as translators at health information meetings held regularly throughout the year. Nevertheless, there seemed to be a need for additional materials that residents could consult without depending on translations or scheduled presentations.

4 Readers may notice that while data from the 2010 Census has been provided, the literacy data cited here is from the 2005 Population Count. The 2010 Census data only reports literacy figures for the 15 to 24 age group (http://www3.inegi.org.mx/sistemas/mexicocifras/?e=20&mun=233 last accessed on March 4, 2013 and downloaded as a spreadsheet) thereby neglecting age groups in which attendance to school and literacy rates are lower, hence the use of data from the 2005 Population Count which provides data for all age groups.



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In response, I joined forces with Dr. Angelina López Hernández in late 2006 to create a set of audio CDs recorded in San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec, with a variety of health care topics, and that would be distributed free of charge to all households in San Lucas Quiaviní. Dr. López Hernández is a medical doctor born and raised in San Lucas Quiaviní and a native speaker of SLQZ. She does not practice nor reside in San Lucas, yet she would be in the town a couple of times a week to visit her family, to have her children looked after during her work days, to tend to land matters, etc. Dr. López Hernández knew the doctors in charge of the local health clinic as well as the health issues afflicting the community most. Her profile made her the perfect expert for the development of the content for the CDs. The Audio CD format was selected for two reasons: first, because written materials in SLQZ would not be accessible given the almost non-existent literacy in the local language and second, because most San Lucas households have CD players. Of the 390 households accounted for in the 2000 census (INEGI 2000), 353 reported having an audio player. The Audio CD, therefore, seemed to be an adequate format that would be accessible to most in terms of the technology needed, and accessible to all in that the audio would be in SLQZ exclusively. The clinic was equipped with a CD player to provide a place for those without CD players to consult the CDs. Once Dr. López Hernández and I worked out the scope of the project, we developed a proposal in early 2007 requesting support from the Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas (INALI) who approved the project enthusiastically. The INALI covered travel costs for Dr. López Hernández and me to visit their headquarters and do the recordings, did the reproductions and delivered the CDs to San Lucas Quiaviní. The CDs were organized in sets of three discs, one on women’s healthcare, one on pediatric healthcare, and one on afflictions relevant to the community in general such as high blood pressure and diabetes. In October 2007, we presented the CD sets to the community in a ceremony and luncheon organized by the community authorities. The CDs were hand-delivered at the end of the ceremony to any community members in attendance, and distribution was done through the clinic afterwards. CDs were handed out in both cases entirely free of charge. The project was not uncontroversial. The audio CDs content was of a clinical nature and caused some reactions in families that reject allopathic medicine in favor of local healthcare approaches. However, there were immediate signs that the CDs were welcome. Notably, mothers of young children began to approach the health clinic to request a revision of their children’s vaccination schedules when they diverged from the schedule recommended on the pediatric health CD. Overall, the project accomplished a number of important goals. It made essential healthcare information broadly accessible by presenting it orally in the local lan-

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guage – the format of every day communication in San Lucas. By engaging the INALI, a state institution, in the development of a project intended to broaden information access in an indigenous language of Mexico, the project allowed for the exercise of the right of indigenous people to information in their native languages. In terms of language maintenance, the CDs placed SLQZ in a domain from which it had been mostly excluded. In addition, it showed that SLQZ was a medium as suitable as Spanish for treatment of topics of a medical and scientific nature and created a unique corpus for the language. Finally, and more importantly, the project created an opportunity to discuss other projects that were of social benefit and which would represent the introduction of SLQZ into domains currently occupied by Spanish. The issue of language endangerment was not necessarily overtly discussed, and yet, we were able to make a small dent into a Spanish domain in favor of SLQZ.

5.2 Supporting the language through support to the schools In early 2008, I began a long-term conversation with Prof. Janet Hernández Reyes, then Principal of the Centro de Educación Preescolar Quiaviní, the local preschool. Prof. Hernández Reyes approached me to ask if I might be able to assist the school in securing enough supplies to cover their academic year needs. The situation that Prof. Hernández Reyes described to me was one where the state support that the school receives, in the order of $200–300 US dollars per year, was insufficient to cover the needs for supplies for the year. In addition, the support generally arrived several months into the school calendar year, and teachers were then forced to request monetary contributions from parents in order to stock the school and provide adequate activities for the children. In response, I carried out low-key fundraising efforts through my daughter’s US-based school to assist the San Lucas preschool. In Fall 2008 I delivered boxes of new supplies donated to the San Lucas preschool. The next year, we thought it would be more efficient to collect funds and purchase the supplies on site in Oaxaca City. Donors were so generous that we covered the needs for supplies for the school for two full academic years. The Centro de Educación Preescolar Quiaviní runs one nursery class, one pre-kindergarten class and one kindergarten class serving 45 or so children ages 3–6. Children generally arrive in preescolar as monolingual Zapotec speakers and are able to carry out conversations in Spanish by the time they go onto elementary school. Attendance to preescolar is not mandatory. The school is officially a bilingual school, a denomination that loosely refers to schools in communities where an indigenous language is spoken and where teachers may be themselves



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(but do not necessarily have to be) speakers of an indigenous language. One of the greatest contradictions in Mexico’s policies on linguistic rights is the lack of strategic placement of teachers to match their language skills with the languages spoken in the communities they serve. In other words, it is generally the case that teachers placed in bilingual schools speak a language that is not mutually intelligible or even within the same family as the language spoken in the community where their school is located. This system may be sensitive to the needs of children who are speakers of Mexican indigenous languages as they are introduced to Spanish as a medium of instruction. The system, in and of itself, is not designed to carry out instruction in local indigenous languages nor to protect the vitality of these languages. Rather, teachers have the mandate to ensure that their students become proficient Spanish speakers by the time they graduate and move onto elementary school. In San Lucas, the preescolar has community members assigned to a committee that oversees the operations of the school. They are, of course, native speakers of SLQZ. The school itself, though, had been staffed with teachers who were speakers of languages other than Valley Zapotec varieties until Prof. Hernández Reyes’ arrival. Prof. Hernández Reyes was one of three teachers from San Baltazar Guelavila assigned in 2006 to teach at the Preescolar Quiaviní. The Zapotec languages spoken in San Baltazar and in San Lucas are mutually intelligible. The close relationship that I was able to develop with Prof. Hernández Reyes, her colleagues and the committee members through the fundraising efforts and ensuing support to the school allowed me to begin conversations with them about the role of SLQZ in the school. Now, these conversations required a great deal of sensitivity on my part: my research showed that San Lucas parents place high expectations on the schools to ensure that their children will acquire Spanish proficiently. Parents overtly state that Spanish should be the medium of instruction because children are acquiring SLQZ in the home and, therefore, consider that Spanish proficiency ought to be a priority in the schools. This is illustrated in (4) where I conversed with a mother of two young children about whether SLQZ should have a presence in the school or not. In (4), the interviewee made an effort to find a way to justify how Zapotec could have a place in the school. Her response to the first question showed that the only value the interviewee could see in incorporating SLQZ into the school curriculum was as a transition language. I sought confirmation of this by making an explicit question about whether the value she saw was as a transition language. The interviewee confirmed her position and clearly stated that beyond its value or its place as a transitional language, there is no other justification for incorporating SLQZ in the classroom.

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(4) Researcher: ¿Crees que sería útil [que se enseñara el zapoteco en la escuela]? ¿Crees que le serviría a los niños? Interviewee: Pues sí, sí nos serviría porque en un inicio, cuando empezamos a ir a la escuela como no sabemos español, no entendemos prácticamente nada lo del libro. Es como si cuando la gente emigra y van a la escuela en inglés pero ni sabe a qué va porque no le entiende nada. Es lo mismo, nos pasa con el español. Entramos a la escuela y no sabemos ni qué está diciendo el maestro porque no sabemos español. Researcher: ¿Entonces como idioma de transición estaría…sería útil? Interviewee: Solamente o sea para que entendiéramos qué nos están diciendo. Pero de ahí ya no. [R09_0013, 9:10] Researcher: ‘Do you think it would be useful [for Zapotec to be taught in school]? Do you think it would benefit children?’ Interviewee: ‘Well yes, it would be beneficial to us because at first, when we first go to school, since we don’t know Spanish, we essentially don’t understand anything that’s presented in the textbooks. It’s like when people emigrate and they attend school in English but don’t even know why they attend because they don’t understand a thing. It’s the same for us with Spanish. We start school and we have no idea what the teacher is saying because we don’t understand Spanish.’ Researcher: ‘So, [SLQZ] would be useful [in school] as a transition language’ Interviewee: ‘Only [as a transition language] so that we can understand what we are being told. But beyond that, no.’

Example (5) is part of a dialogue in which the same interviewee explains that families with the means send their children to Tlacolula de Matamoros, the administrative center of the Tlacolula Valley where San Lucas is located, for their schooling. Tlacolula is 6 miles north of San Lucas. In the 1980’s and 1990’s, access to Tlacolula from San Lucas was difficult requiring long walks across fields in the dark of dawn and yet, education in Tlacolula was considered worthwhile enough to be pursued. Nowadays, Tlacolula is a short 15 minute bus ride from San Lucas but schooling in Tlacolula represents a financial investment and an effort that not all are able to make. However, those with the means are willing to make this investment. The interviewee and her siblings have in fact all attended school in Tlacolula. In (5), the interviewee explains that Spanish proficiency for the children motivates parents to send their children to school in Tlacolula and incur the related costs. The dialogue in (5) came about as part of a discussion about observable language shift among children who attend Tlacolula schools. Given this context, what I saw as a fabulous opportunity to collaborate with Prof. Hernández Reyes and her staff to introduce SLQZ into the classroom as a medium of instruction alongside Spanish, was not a goal that was in line with parental interests.



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(5) Researcher: Como los niños que se van a Tlacolula [a estudiar] que usan el español más tiempo que el zapoteco, en comparación con otros chicos que están aquí [en San Lucas] en la escuela. Por ejemplo, una madre que habla zapoteco, si el niño le habla en español, ¿se ve mal? ¿lo regañan? ¿o la señora cambia al español? Interviewee: No, no los regañan porque para ellos es mejor que hablen el español y precisamente para eso los mandan a Tlacolula, para que aprendan el español. [R09_0013, 12:00] Researcher: ‘So, children who go to Tlacolula [for school] and speak more Spanish than Zapotec in comparison with children who attend school here [in San Lucas]. For instance, a mother who speaks Zapotec, if her child speaks to her in Spanish, is that frowned upon? Would the child be scolded? Or would the mother shift to Spanish?’ Interviewee: ‘No, [the children] wouldn’t be scolded because for [the parents] it is best if [the children] speak Spanish and that is precisely why the send them to Tlacolula, so that they can learn Spanish.’

Now, there is a vast body of research showing that there are benefits to educating children in their native language even in contexts where their native language is in competition with a language of wider communication or of dominance, and there are numerous models of bilingual education showing the efficacy that well designed bilingual education programs can have in educating children who will grow to become proficient speakers of two languages. Discussing the benefits of additive bilingual education in the context of the Quiaviní preschool needed to be approached with great sensitivity given the aforementioned value afforded to Spanish-only education. An opportunity to introduce these issues into the conversation emerged as the school supplies from the collection efforts were delivered to the school. The first year, the preschool staff issued official documentation stating receipt of the supplies, and complemented these with drawings from a number of children, made with the new supplies, and featuring words written by the children both in Spanish and SLQZ. The second year, the teaching staff developed an activity in which children created handmade bilingual books on themes such as family, where each page had an illustration by the child, with relevant vocabulary written in Spanish as well as in SLQZ. At that point, I thought it was time to share with the school what I had learned through my research about concerns for a loss of traditional storytelling in the community and to consider developing a more ambitious activity to open some more space in the classroom for SLQZ without clashing with the parents’ expectation for their children to be taught Spanish in the school. My research had shown that while there was no overt concern about endangerment afflicting SLQZ, there was a great deal of concern about the waning storytelling tradition in the community. Parents in their 30s and 40s indicated that while they had been raised within an active storytelling tradition, they did not

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remember the stories and were not sharing the stories with their own children. I shared this with the preschool committee and teaching staff and we developed a project in which the school would establish a story time slot within their week and invite a knowledge bearer to tell a story in SLQZ to the children. The story would then be recorded and archived in the school, and the set of recorded stories would constitute a resource for future activities such as the development of handmade illustrated books, dissemination of compilations on CD, etc. In June 2011, we secured funds from the Endangered Language Fund5 to purchase the necessary equipment to do the on-site recordings and archiving in collaboration with a second linguist, Dr. Mario Chávez Peón. The activity faced numerous setbacks beginning with the fact that Prof. Hernández Reyes and her staff were rotated out of San Lucas and to other communities. These rotations are done on a schedule and while we expected two of the teachers to be rotated out, we also expected Prof. Hernández Reyes to remain in San Lucas one more year to see the project through. Despite this, the project was carried out and created additional opportunities for incorporation of the local language and knowledge into the preschool curriculum. The new staff included one speaker of a Zapotec variety that is also mutually intelligible with San Lucas Quiaviní, Prof. José Ángel Martínez Nicolás, who became the Principal of the preschool and the point person for the storytelling project. The other two teachers, one being a speaker of Triqui and one being a Spanish monolingual, provided technical support for the project. Prof. Martínez Nicolás conducted the storytelling sessions. During these sessions, a knowledge bearer would be invited from the community, often from among the students’ grandparents or from among the committee members, to tell a story. Children would sit in a half circle out in an open courtyard around the storyteller. The recording equipment would be set up ahead of time and operated during the session by one of the teachers. Prof. Martínez Nicolás would introduce the speaker and facilitate an interactive follow up activity with the children. The story would be told strictly in SLQZ and Prof. Martínez Nicolás would rely on his variety of Zapotec in his activity with the children, without missing opportunities to include Spanish where appropriate. For instance, if counting was involved in the story, the counting would be done in Zapotec and in Spanish. I oversaw the project during the 2011–2012 academic school year, with support from Dr. Chávez Peón, who visited San Lucas twice during the year. Together, we trained a community member, Ms. Alicia Morales López, in the use of ELAN and a practical orthography for the transcriptions. By the end of the academic year,

5 Grant awarded in June 2011, PI Gabriela Pérez Báez.



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the 12 stories recorded had been transcribed. The most important outcome of this activity, however, was that it motivated teachers and parents to open a space for the local language and culture in the school curriculum. And this was done without ever confronting parents – in fact, parents became actively engaged in follow-up activities – and mostly without my involvement. Even during the year of the Endangered Language Fund grant, Prof. Martínez Nicolás turned the storytelling activity into a culture and knowledge endeavor. He planned the creation of illustrated books using the transcriptions of the stories recorded and also conducted organized visits to community homes for discussion, demonstration and documentation (audio and video) of cultural activities such as tortilla making. Of course, children were exposed to those activities on a regular basis, but the fact that the school approached the parents and the homes and made it all part of their curriculum served as an acknowledgement that the school does not need to exclude the local culture nor the language as it pursues the goal of educating bilingual children who are proficient in Spanish.

5.3 Future prospects As I write this article, the conditions seem right for the development of next-phase initiatives in support of the long-term survival prospects of SLQZ. The interaction I have had with many people from San Lucas since my first visit in 2002 has put me in a position in which I am well known and accepted and in which I can approach many for open discussions about language endangerment and language revitalization. I remain mindful of potential conflicts between what certain segments of the population may be interested in, for instance parents with regards to the language that is to be used as a medium of instruction in the schools, and about what I might think would be ideal opportunities for revitalization initiatives. So I continue to be led in my efforts by the cues that I receive from the community. Specificallly, Prof. Martínez Nicolás has continued the practice of inviting parents and grandparents to the school for storytelling time and he reports that children have now become engaged, on their own initiative, in telling stories in their native language. I met with Prof. Martínez Nicolás in September 2014 and we devised together a project in which stories would be narrated and illustrated by children. The language and art resulting from the exercise would be preserved in quality hand-bound books that children could have as keepsakes at the end of the school year. This project would bring together oral storytelling, orthographic representation of the language, and the visual arts. We scheduled an initial workshop in which I provided orthography instruction for the school teachers and a Oaxacan artist provided an initial book-binding workshop. From January to June

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2015, the school worked on the development of the stories and their visual renditions by the students. In June 2015 we held a final workshop to further assist in the orthographic rendition of the stories in Zapotec and production of the handbound books. All workshops involved both children and parents. This activity is of relevance not only as a language maintenance endeavor within the community but also because it supports regional efforts to promote the use of a practical orthography that is applicable to all Valley Zapotec languages. This orthography was developed by a group led by Roberto Padilla Pérez and Ausencia López Cruz, both linguists and speakers of two different Valley Zapotec languages, through consultations over several years with representatives from numerous Valley Zapotec communities. The opportunity for this effort to reach San Lucas emerged by capitalizing on the storytelling project at the preschool and on the relationship that Dr. Chávez Peón had with the local middle school around a creative writing project that led to the publication of works by local students (Chávez Peón and López Reyes 2009). Ausencia López Cruz, Dr. Chávez Peón and I shared the load and carried out a number of orthography workshops from July to November 2012 in which the Valley orthography was used. The illustrated storybook project at the preschool opened a new opportunity to continue to share the Valley Zapotec orthographic system in San Lucas. As mentioned above, two workshops were conducted, first in December 2014 focusing on teacher training, and the second in June 2015 involving parents as well. In both cases, the Zapotec writing skills acquired by caregivers may ultimately support and foster the use of Zapotec in their children’s writing, thereby breaking the trend of exclusion of Zapotec in the domain of written language. A short-term goal is to involve the Los Angeles sister community in future revitalization activities. In January 2007 and April 2008 I conducted field research amongst San Lucas residents in Los Angeles which included extensive interviews with 19 San Lucas Quiaviní parents with children born and/or raised in Los Angeles. What emerged during these interviews was a combination of family language policies in which about half the parents considered that their children needed to be raised as Spanish speakers and therefore addressed their children strictly in Spanish, and parents who continued to speak Zapotec to their children but were faced with resistance from the children who would respond in Spanish and when possible English and did not develop more than passive skills in SLQZ (Pérez Báez 2013b). I returned to Los Angeles in October 2011 to observe the celebration of the yearly Patron Saint festivities which revealed the dominance of Spanish on important cultural activities such as the prime San Lucas Quiaviní celebration in which Zapotec is otherwise dominant back in the home community. I also returned in February 2013 to conduct interviews with children and young adults raised (not necessarily born) in Los Angeles. To the extent possible,



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I interviewed children whose parents I had interviewed almost five years earlier. What emerged in the interviews this time around was a growing interest among young adults to reengage with San Lucas in meaningful ways. In response, I have been in regular conversation with two college students of San Lucas origin living in Los Angeles, offering mentoring and educational opportunities to both as to facilitate their engagement with the San Lucas language and culture. In September 2014, I was able to provide support to a student of San Lucas origin studying her junior year as a Biology major so that she could participate in a language and flora documentation project I directed in the Zapotec community of La Ventosa in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. This activity was prompted by the student’s own expression of interest for learning how to combine science and culture in a scholarly endeavor. The student is now actively developing her thesis project on the study of the flora and language of San Lucas Quiaviní and has made the commitment to develop her own language skills as to become a proficient speaker of SLQZ. The challenge now lies in the need to streamline these various efforts so that they are sustainable. This challenge is the result of having overcome an even greater challenge after many, many years (over ten years, in fact): opening an opportunity to engage in conversations about language revitalization for San Lucas Quiaviní. It has been through activities aimed at responding to some of the needs communicated to me by the community that a space emerged through which we, collaboratively, could begin to discuss language revitalization. The careful reader will of course note that there is much that needs to be done before we can reach the point where a programmatic language revitalization effort is in place. It is not the goal of this paper to argue that the activities carried out to date constitute a language revitalization program. Rather, the goal has been to describe how – in a context where language revitalization is needed but where the conditions for a community-external linguist to engage in language revitalization as prescribed by those experienced in revitalization in North America were not present – an active, sensible and informed stance has created the conditions that may be conducive to developing effective long-term collaborative language revitalization in San Lucas.

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6 The San Lucas Quiaviní experience in the context of current trends in revitalization In this section I contextualize the San Lucas Quiaviní experience within the passivity prescribed for linguists interested in engaging in language maintenance and revitalization. I begin with one of the strongest positions I have encountered: As an outsider, I would feel very uncomfortable if I were to advocate to a speech community that it ought to try to keep its language alive. It is entirely up to the community or to individuals within a community as to whether they want to put in the effort to develop new speakers for their language. Community members have the right to advocate within their community for the survival of their language; someone from outside the community does not. The right to language choice includes the right to choose against a language. This is the logical result of believing that maintaining an indigenous language is a matter of human rights, a belief virtually all language advocates must share. The outside expert’s role is to assist in providing the means for language survival or revival to motivated community members and perhaps to provide encouragement and a sense of hope that it can be done. (Hinton 2002: 151–152) [emphasis mine]

There are several questions with which I have been faced as a community-external researcher. The first question is whether I should make known to the community the language shift and ensuing endangerment situation that my research revealed. There is tension, as per the above quote, in whether I had the right to do so even when I have a responsibility to make my research results known to the community. Yet, reporting on the endangerment situation of SLQZ amounts to advocating for language maintenance. After all, why would I bother to report on these findings if I did not think the situation needed to be addressed? However, the above quote suggests that in an attempt to make results available to the community, thereby engaging in language maintenance advocacy, I would be committing something close to a human rights violation. Confident that the decision to make the research results known to the community was correct, the second issue was in devising the appropriate way to make this information known to the community. I have explained in Section 5 a strategy based on identifying and addressing needs overtly articulated by the community and creating, in the process, an opportunity to talk about language endangerment. This allowed for conversations about whether Spanish acquisition should be a condition to receiving adequate health care information or whether there was a need to put into practice existing linguistic rights legislation to provide the relevant information in the local language. It also prompted conversations between teachers and parents about the content of the education their children are to receive in the schools and whether the local culture and language have



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a place in it or not. I cannot imagine that motivating these conversations is an affront to the community’s rights. In fact, the experiences recounted in this paper indicate that the act of creating opportunities for the community’s rights, linguistic and otherwise, to be discussed and possibly exercised have had positive outcomes. One more point to consider is that the presence of an external researcher and their work will inevitably impact the community to some degree. Consider the scenario described in Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro (this volume) of the authors’ interaction with the Wixárika community of El Colorín. The researchers initially engaged with the community with the purpose of carrying out research into language attitudes. The language attitudes which they docu­ mented indicated that the community looked favorably at the ongoing language shift and actively supported the use of Spanish over Wixárika. However, as the authors report, it was through the interaction between community members and external researchers over the course of the research that expressions of interest for revitalization began to emerge from within the community. The authors recognize that any research endeavor will have an impact on any given community and in the Wixárika case, this impact led to a collaboration in language revitalization. Further, works such as Dobrin (2008) and Holton (2009) show that there are a myriad cultural situations that require a myriad different stances and that the primary role of the ethics-driven linguist is to define their stance on the basis of the particular cultural situation. Failure to do this would lead to a potentially unethical situation as Dobrin (2008) explains. In this regard, consider the Xinka case described in Rogers (this volume) where the community’s desired outcome of the documentation carried out by the author was clearly not to revitalize the language but to have it support the consolidation of a distinct identity. In the Xinka case, then, advocating for language revitalization would have been detrimental and conflicting with community desires and expectations. But the lack of interest in language revitalization in the Xinka case is quite different to that in San Lucas Quiaviní, as I have described in this paper in detail. As such, there was no clear signal that my persistent interaction with San Lucas Quiaviní residents had an adverse effect or that it disrespected the community and its priorities in any way. I do recognize that in contrast with the Wixárika case, I sought more actively to capitalize on emerging opportunities of various kinds in order to create the conditions that would lead to talking about language endangerment and revitalization with community members. But this all amounted to simply taking an active rather than a passive stance with regards to the impact that a research endeavor may inherently have. Would it not have been wrong if I had walked away from San Lucas Quiaviní without sharing the results of my research with the community? Have any of the outcomes of my interaction with the San Lucas Quiaviní commu-

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nity been unethical or damaging to the community in any way? Over the course of my interaction with the community, no one has ever suggested that this may have been the case. The warmth with which I am welcome in San Lucas at every one of my visits gives me the confidence that I have always acted respectfully.

7 Conclusion I have presented in this paper the case study of a language endangerment situation which does not yet have community-wide recognition. I have argued that my proactive stance to foster discussions and resulting initiatives aimed at revitalization were warranted given the sociocultural context at hand. I have described said context in the spirit of the volume to which this paper contributes: to broaden our views about language endangerment and the possible ways in which concerned linguists might be able to engage ethically in language revitalization. The case study presented here does not align with most of the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand experiences in that the endangerment state of the language is not as advanced as in most of the cases from the regions described in the literature. Considering that most endangered languages are not in these regions, it is likely that many other language endangerment scenarios will not exhibit conditions similar to those in the better documented regions. Consider the myriad situations that could be found in Mexico and South America, one of the most linguistically and culturally diverse regions of the world. The value of the existing literature in language revitalization is not as a source of universals of community engagement but rather as case studies that inform our practice. I therefore wish to echo the questions raised, for instance, in Holton (2009) and Rice (2011) and the advice given by Dobrin (2008) to extend our knowledge about a community to the field of ethnographic anthropology, in order to stress the importance of approaching engagement with endangered language communities in a culturally-appropriate manner. The experience that I have gained in my engagement with San Lucas Quiaviní suggests to me that to place the burden of choosing for or against a language on an endangered language community alone constitutes yet another unfortunate consequence of policies that promote monolingualism as a norm. If societies were more open to multilingualism, if schooling advocated for additive bilingualism, and if the focus were on the development of stable diglossia, language communities would not be under the pressure to choose one language – a dominant, growing language usually – over another – often an endangered language. In a multilingual environment, the question should not be about choosing one lan-



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guage over another but rather about the strategies that could allow a community to acquire the languages that it deems necessary for its well being. In conversation at a conference with a good colleague, he mentioned that he wondered whether linguists ought to get involved in language revitalization or not. My answer at the time was an unhesitant ‘yes’, but without much substance to explain why indeed we are in a position to make a contribution towards the preservation of linguistic diversity. The San Lucas Quiaviní experience has made it evident that various lines of research in linguistics have indeed much to contribute to the myriad language endangerment scenarios at play nowadays. A hugely promising area is that of language acquisition for revitalization which is producing fascinating reports about the cognitive benefits of multilingualism. Ethnography-based sociolinguistic work can provide information of great value to the successful development of collaborative revitalization initiatives. Language documentation can provide language communities with valuable skills to enable them to carry out the documentation internally. We, and more important, the language communities with which we work, may be better served if we approach our interactions with culturally-informed openness.

References Benedicto, Elena, Demetrio Antolín, Modesta Dolores, M. Cristina Feliciano, Gloria Fendly, Tomasa Gómez, Baudillo Miguel, and Elizabeth Salomón. 2007. A model of Participatory Action Research: the Mayangna Linguists’ Team of Nicaragua. In Maya Khemlani David, Nicholas Ostler, Caesar Dealwis (eds.), Proceedings of the XI FEL Conference on ‘Working Together for Endangered Languages – Research Challenges and Social Impacts’, 29–35. Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia: SKET, University of Malaya and Foundation for Endangered Languages. Cameron, Deborah, Elizabeth Frazer, Penelope Harvey, M. B. H. Rampton & Kay Richardson. 1992. Researching language: Issues of power and method. London: Routledge. Chávez Peón, Mario E. 2010. The interaction of metrical structure, tone and phonation types in Quiaviní Zapotec. Vancouver: University of British Columbia doctoral dissertation. Chávez Peón, Mario & Román López Reyes. 2009. Zidgyni zyala rnalaza liu ‘Vengo de la luz del amanecer, recordándote’. Cuatro poemas y un cuento del zapoteco del Valle. Tlalocan XVI. 17–49. Crippen, James A. & Laura C. Robinson. 2013. In defense of the Lone Wolf: Collaboration in language documentation. Language Documentation & Conservation 7. 123–135. Crystal, David. 2000. Language death. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Czaykowska-Higgins, Ewa. 2009. Research models, community engagement, and linguistic fieldwork: Reflections on working within Canadian indigenous communities. Language Documentation & Conservation 3 (1). 15–50.

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Dobrin, Lise. 2008. From linguistic elicitation to eliciting the linguist: Lessons in community empowerment from Melanesia. Language 84 (2). 300–324. Dwyer, Arienne M. 2006. Ethics and practicalities of cooperative fieldwork and analysis. In Jost Gippert, Nikolaus P. Himmelmann & Ulrike Mosel (eds.), Essentials of language documentation, 31–66. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Dwyer, Arienne M. 2010. Models of successful collaboration. In Lenore A. Grenoble & N. Louanna Furbee (eds.), Language documentation: Practice and values, 193–212. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Falconi, Elizabeth A. 2011. Migrant stories: Zapotec transborder migration and the production of a narrated community. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan doctoral dissertation. Falconi, Elizabeth A. 2013. Storytelling, language shift, and revitalization in a transborder community: “Tell it in Zapotec!”. American Anthropologist 115. 622–636. Grenoble, Leonore A. & N. Louanna Furbee (eds.). 2010. Language Documentation: Practice and values. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley. 2006. Saving languages: An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hinton, Leanne. 2001. Language revitalization: An overview. In Leanne Hinton & Kenneth Hale (eds.), The green book of language revitalization in practice, 3–18. San Diego: Academic Press. Hinton, Leanne & Kenneth Hale (eds.). 2001. The green book of language revitalization in practice. San Diego: Academic Press. Hinton, Leanne. 2002. Commentary: Internal and external advocacy. Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 12 (2). 150–156. Holton, Gary. 2009. Relatively ethical: A comparison of linguistic research paradigms in Alaska and Indonesia. Language Documentation & Conservation 3 (2). 161–175. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 1970. IX censo general de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 1980. X censo general de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 1995. I conteo de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 2000. XII censo general de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 2005. II conteo de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática (INEGI). 2010. XIII Censo de población y vivienda. Mexico: Instituto Nacional de Estadística, Geografía e Informática. Kipp, Darrell R. 2000. Encouragement, guidance, insights and lessons learned for native language activists developing their own tribal language programs. Browning, MT: Piegan Institute. http://lakotalearners.com/Darrell%20Kipp.pdf (accessed 13 March 2014). Lillehaugen, Brook Danielle. 2006. Expressing location in Tlacolula Valley Zapotec. Los Angeles: University of California Los Angeles doctoral dissertation. Lopez, Felipe, & David Runsten. 2004. Mixtecs and Zapotecs working in California: Rural and urban experiences. In Jonathan Fox & Gaspar Rivera-Salgado (eds.), Indigenous Mexican migrants in the United States, 249–278. La Jolla: Center for U.S.-Mexican Studies and Center for Comparative Immigration Studies.



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Munro, Pamela. 2003. Preserving the language of the Valley Zapotecs: The orthography question. Paper presented at Language and Immigration in France and the United States: Sociolinguistic Perspectives, University of Texas, September 25–26. Munro, Pamela & Felipe H. Lopez. 1999. Di’csyonaary X:tèe’n Dìi’zh Sah Sann Lu’uc ‘San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec Dictionary’. Los Angeles: University of California, Los Angeles Chicano Studies Research Center. Munro, Pamela. 2015. Valence alternations in the Tlacolula Valley Zapotec lexicon. In Natalie Operstein & Aaron Huey Sonnenschein (eds.), Valence changes in Zapotec: Synchrony, diachrony, typology. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Nettle, Daniel & Suzanne Romaine. 2000. Vanishing voices: The extinction of the world’s languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Penfield, Susan D., Angelina Serratos, Benjamin V. Tucker, Amelia Flores, Gilford Harper, Johnny Hill Jr. & Nora Vasquez. 2008. Community collaborations: Best practices for North American indigenous language documentation. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 2008 (191). 187–202. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2014. Determinants of language reproduction and shift in a transnational community. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 2014 (227). 65–81. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2013a. Bilingualism and schooling and their unexpected role in language maintenance in an immigrant community. Anthropological Linguistics 54 (4). 350–370. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2013b. Family language policy in the diaspora community of speakers of San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec. Language Policy 12 (1). 27–45. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2009. Endangerment of a transnational language: The case of San Lucas Quiavini Zapotec. Amherst: University at Buffalo doctoral dissertation. Pharao Hansen, Magnus, Néstor Hernández-Green, Rory Turnbull & Ditte Boeg Thomsen. This volume. Life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation: Navigating the micro-politics of language revitalization in an Otomí community in Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 215–245. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Rice, Keren. 2011. Documentary linguistics and community relations. Language Documentation & Conservation 5. 187–207. Rice, Keren. 2010. The linguist’s responsibilities to the community of speakers. In Lenore A. Grenoble & N. Louanna Furbee (eds.) Language documentation: Practice and values, 25–36. Amsterdam: John Bejamins Publishing Company. Rice, Keren. 2006. Ethical issues in linguistic fieldwork: An overview. Journal of Academic Ethics 4 (1–4). 123–155. Rogers, Chris. This volume. Indigenous authenticity as a goal of language documentation and revitalization: Addressing the motivations in the Xinkan community. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 247–271. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Santos García, Saul, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro (Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit). This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: The account of a community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Smith-Stark, Thomas. 2007. Algunas isoglosas zapotecas. In Cristina Buenrostro, Juan José Rendón, Leopoldo Valiñas, María Aydeé Vargas Monro, Otto Schumann, Samuel Herrera

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Castro & Yolanda Lastra (eds), Clasificación de las lenguas indígenas de México: Memorias del III Coloquio Internacional de Lingüística Mauricio Swadesh. 69–113. México: UNAM. Villard, Stéphanie & J. Ryan Sullivant. Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 273–304. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Wölck, Wolfgang. 1985. Beyond community profiles: A three-level approach to sociolinguistic sampling. Plurilingua. 5. 31–44. Yamada, Racquel-Maria. 2011. Integrating documentation and formal teaching of Kari’nja: Documentary materials as pedagogical materials. Language Documentation & Conservation 5. 1–30. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa Herminia, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres & Rocío Rojas Arias. This volume. Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 109–141. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

Liliana Sánchez

8 The linguist gaining access to the indigenous populations: Sharing cultural and linguistic knowledge in South America 1 Introduction Many linguistics students and researchers develop an interest in conducting research on indigenous languages in South America. Many researchers come from countries and regions different from those where the indigenous languages are spoken and come from different cultural backgrounds (Bowern 2010). In the past two decades, new legislation and efforts from indigenous organizations have begun to emerge in South America with the goal of protecting indigenous language rights (Grinevald 1998). This has created the need for a better understanding of the administrative and political conditions in which research on indigenous languages is and can be conducted in this region of the world. As Bowern (2010) points out with respect to a new paradigm for ethics in linguistics, there is variation in the responses of academic institutions to establishing guidelines for ethical research. While some institutions such the University of Toronto’s Research Office exempts data collection based on elicitation from human subjects review, the Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies has proposed to increase the requirements for ethical approval in research concerning aboriginal languages (Bowern 2010: 897). This type of variation in guidelines generates some uncertainty regarding what is appropriate ethical behavior in data collection and research on indigenous languages. For linguists interested in less documented and less studied languages of South America the issue of how to approach indigenous speech communities is especially important in the context of the assertion of indigenous communities rights in the region, given the different levels of development of cultural and linguistic policies by these indigenous communities and their national states. In this paper, I would like to present three aspects of the complex relationship that many indigenous communities have with the countries/states of which

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they are members or in which they are geographically located (with a special focus on indigenous languages and communities in Peru) that affect the way in which a linguistic researcher may approach indigenous communities. The first one is the varying degrees of connection that indigenous communities have with the states in which their territories are located. The second one is the difference in representation at the local and state levels that indigenous communities have. The third one is the existence of legislation and ongoing government projects that aim at producing equality in the way in which indigenous communities and their cultural and linguistic rights are represented. The pieces of legislation and the ongoing processes that are discussed here address language policies that support the revitalization and maintenance of indigenous languages. The primary goal of introducing these complexities is to provide linguists interested in conducting research on indigenous languages of South America, and especially of Peru, with an approximation to what is involved in developing a research project that is mindful of the current situation of indigenous languages and cultures. A second goal is to inform them of current efforts being undertaken by government institutions, indigenous representatives and local communities of scholars in order to promote language maintenance and revitalization. The paper is structured as follows. Section 2 focuses on the complex relationships that may exist between indigenous communities and local, regional and national governments providing examples from Peru where I have conducted research on Quechua languages. Section 3 presents a series of steps that might be helpful in securing proper access to indigenous communities’ knowledge that is respectful of the communities’ rights and of the existing legislation with examples from current legislation on indigenous languages in Peru. Finally, in Section 4, I present two projects being currently undertaken in Peru: an accurate ethno-linguistic map of Peru and a National Language Policy document. These projects are part of a series of institutional approaches to the defense of indigenous peoples’ rights and the promotion and strengthening of indigenous communities, their languages and cultures. Section 5 concludes.

2 The spectrum of indigenous communities in South America and Peru The relationship between indigenous communities and the states in which they are geographically located, and of which they are considered to be a part, varies widely in South America. There are several factors that contribute to this complexity such as a) the degrees or levels of integration into the larger society or



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nation-state, b) the geographical location of the indigenous community and c) the self-perception of the community members, among others. In terms of the first factor, there is a wide spectrum of communities. It includes indigenous communities that have decided to remain isolated from the larger society and, despite their wishes, are still considered part of a political unit defined as a nation-state; communities with high degrees of integration into the national society that may be currently experiencing a language shift towards a majority national language; and communities with intermediate degrees of integration.

2.1 Integration into the larger society The so-called “uncontacted” indigenous peoples in South America are geographically located in the Amazonian forest of Brazil, Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Peru and Venezuela. These countries are themselves characterized by a wide variety of language policies and legislation that affects indigenous communities as well as a wide range of integrating and discriminating practices that may reflect or violate official policies and current legislation. Bolivia, Colombia, Ecuador, Venezuela and Peru are countries that guarantee some aspects of indigenous language rights in their Constitutions. More specifically, Bolivia (INE Bolivia 2012),1 Colombia (Ministerio de Cultura 2013), Peru (Ministerio de Cultura 2015) and Venezuela (National Assembly of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela 2015)2 have laws that promote and protect indigenous language rights. I will now illustrate the diverse situations of indigenous peoples in terms of their integration into the larger society with examples from Peru. Among the “uncontacted” peoples in Peru mentioned by Survival International’s website are: the Panoan languages Cacataibo, Isconahua, Mastanahua, Murunahua (or Chitonahua  – not listed in the Ethnologue), and Yora; and the Arawakan languages Matsigenka, Mashco-Piro and Nanti.3, 4 Due to the mobility of some members of these groups, there are linguistic descriptions for some of these languages. For example, among the Panoan lan-

1 http://www.ine.gob.bo/indicadoresddhh/archivos/educ/nal/Ley%20N%20269.pdf (accessed 4 November 2015). 2 http://www.asambleanacional.gob.ve/uploads/documentos/doc_0de81968cbc690034f1682a4cc1bdd339d1b3133.pdf (accessed 4 November 2015). 3 http://www.survivalinternational.org/tribes/isolatedperu (accessed 4 November 2015). 4 The ISO codes for these languages are: Cacataibo (cbr), Isconahua (isc), Mastanahua (mcd), Yora (mts), Matsigenka (mcb), Mashco-Piro (cuj), Nanti (cox).

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guages listed as spoken by “uncontacted” peoples by Survival International there are a variety of linguistic and anthropological references on Cashibo-Cacataibo published by the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) since the 50’s as well as more recent publications such as a vocabularies by Shell (1987) and recent work by Zariquiey and Fleck (2012). With respect to Isconahua, a National Science Foundation grant has been recently awarded to researcher Jose Antonio Mazzotti and students from Tufts University and the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru to document the language through a series of videos in collaboration with native speakers of the language.5 There is also a second edition of a vocabulary by Loos (2008) of Mastanahua, originally published in 1976 by the SIL. Murunahua, also known as Chitonahua, is not listed in the Ethnologue (Simon, Lewis and Fennig 2013), while Yora, listed in the Ethnologue, has apparently no linguistic documentation. Regarding Arawakan languages, for Matsigenka there is an SIL dictionary as well as other documentation (e.g. Snell et al. 2011) that can be found in the Ethnnologue.6 There is also some current work on Nanti (Crowhurst and Michael 2005; Michael 2008, 2012a, 2012b). To the best of my knowledge there is no grammatical description or linguistic work done for Mashco-Piro, although it is listed in the Ethnologue. According to AIDESEP, a non-government organization that includes a large number of indigenous organizations and that I describe in the next section, a National Commission in Peru formed by representatives from different government agencies has declared five national reservations for “uncontacted” peoples: a) Mashco-Piro, b) Kugapakori or Nanti, c) Nahua, d) Isconahua and e) Murunahua in accordance with Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization that protects the rights of tribal and indigenous peoples.7 Peru is one of the countries that have ratified this Convention in South America. The other countries are: Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador and Venezuela. Countries that have ratified the Convention are legally bound to respect the rights conferred by it to indigenous peoples. In this respect, linguists must ensure that specific agreements between researchers and communities are not in violation of indigenous peoples’ rights. More information on the

5 The information on the project can be found on the NSF site: http://www.nsf.gov/news/news_ summ.jsp?cntn_id=125113&org=NSF (accessed 29 October 2015). 6 See http://www.sil.org/sil/news/2012/matsigenka-dictionary.htm. (accessed 29 October 2015). 7 See http://www.ilo.org/indigenous/Conventions/no169/lang--en/index.htm. (accessed 29 October 2015).



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legal status of indigenous “uncontacted” or first contact indigenous communities in Peru can also be found at the Ministry of Culture.8 At the other extreme of the continuum are communities that are currently experiencing language shift towards Spanish, the dominant language in the country. One such community is the Lamas Kechwa-speaking community. Indigenous organizations such as the FEPREKSAM (Kechwa Peoples Federation of San Martin) and educational leaders in the community are engaged in the revitalization of the Lamas Kechwa language despite what appears to be an on-going process of language change and language shift documented in Sánchez (2003). There are also communities where the process of language shift that favors the socially dominant language is welcome by most members of the community, for whom language identity is not necessarily part of their self-perception. In some of my experiences in the northern highlands of the Ulcumayo district, in the province of Junín in the Peruvian Andes, this was a particularly challenging situation, especially since it may be the case that only the elder members of the community speak the language fluently. Contacting them might prove difficult given that most teachers might not necessarily see the use of an indigenous language as a practice they want to promote due to decades and even centuries of stigmatization of the indigenous languages. Identifying teachers involved in the social sciences curricula (those who teach history for example) might be helpful in approaching individuals who value cultural and linguistic traditions. It is quite important to realize that, even though some villages and towns in the Andean regions might not be actively represented by indigenous associations and might not have a self-perception that highlights their indigenous background, their cultural and linguistic rights are protected by national legislation in Peru.

2.2 Geographical locations Many indigenous speech communities throughout the world are located in two or more bordering countries and are therefore divided by geopolitical borders. In some cases, geopolitical borders do not necessarily create a division in the cultural and historical continuum that characterize indigenous populations, but they do introduce a different set of language policies as well as legislation regarding the status of languages in each nation-state. Such is the case of the Tikuna people geographically located on different sides of the border between three

8 See http://www.cultura.gob.pe/sites/default/files/paginternas/tablaarchivos/2014/03/ actatercerasesion.pdf (accessed 29 October 2015).

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countries: Colombia, Peru and Brazil, and the status of the Aymara and Southern Quechua-speaking communities in the border of Peru and Bolivia. Depending on the degrees of integration of these communities with the larger society, there might be different perceptions of the degrees to which a community is part of a cultural and linguistic continuum and, at the same time, part of separate political entities. In the case of the Southern Quechua-speaking community, there are clear dialectal differences that have been bridged by many researchers who have conducted research on both sides of the border. In many cases, contact on different sides of the border has been reached through college-level institutions such as the Universidad de San Simón in Bolivia that hosts the M.A. Program in Bilingual Intercultural Education known as PROEIB Andes.9 This program has graduated MA students who are speakers of Quechua from Ecuador, Bolivia and Peru as well as speakers of other indigenous languages. Thanks to this program some international collaborative work has taken place. Between 1999 and 2000, Zúñiga, Sánchez and Zacharías (2000) conducted a study at the request of Peru’s Ministry of Education on the demand and need for bilingual education in Quechua and Spanish and in Aymara and Spanish in five provinces of the southern Andes in Peru. In that study, students in the MA program from Bolivia, Ecuador and Peru participated as research assistants. In this case, formal contact was made through official channels. The Bilingual Intercultural Education Office at the Ministry of Education in Peru contacted PROEIB Andes. The basis of this collaborative effort was a strong long-term relationship between Peruvian and Bolivian linguists and educators dedicated to Bilingual Intercultural Education. Linguists interested in conducting fieldwork in Peru or other countries in South America can benefit from a deeper understanding of longstanding national and international relationships between researchers and institutions. Discontinuous geographical locations may also arise as the result of displacement. Some indigenous communities might be geographically displaced communities. For example, there are Shipibo-Konibo communities that have migrated from their original locations in the Amazon region along the Ucayali River (and other rivers) to urban areas such as the cities of Pucallpa, Iquitos and Lima, the capital of the country in the coastal region. This migration has been attributed to the decline in productivity of Shipibo traditional activities such agriculture, hunting and fishing due to the unscrupulous exploitation of natural resources by national and international companies (Zavala and Bariola 2008). Displacement

9 http://www.proeibandes.org/(accessed 29 October 2015).



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in this case is not necessarily detrimental to the affirmation of indigenous identity or to language preservation and revitalization. To the contrary, the Shipibo community in Cantagallo, Lima represents a significant force in terms of asserting language rights and indigenous identity in a highly discriminatory urban environment that has been traditionally characterized by the imposition of cultural and linguistic assimilation, sometimes in brutal ways (Zavala and Bariola 2008). The Shipibo community has established agreements through their representatives with the municipal authorities of the city and is currently involved in projects with local universities such as the the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru as well as with international researchers on the exploration of their culture and language. An example of such types of projects is Barrio Shipibo, a project conducted by the Interdisciplinary Amazonian Group (Grupo Interdisciplinario de la Amazonía) from the Pontifical Catholic University of Peru to support the Shipibo community in their relocation efforts as well as in their efforts to obtain adequate intercultural education in Lima. The Shipibo community in Cantagallo Lima can be contacted through a Facebook page in Spanish.10

2.3 Self-perception of indigenous peoples Regarding self-perception of indigenous peoples, it is very important that  – in attempting to gain access to indigenous language knowledge – linguists become aware of the complex relationship that different indigenous communities may have with respect to their self-perception. One important aspect of Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization is that of self-perception. Convention 169 states the following regarding identification of indigenous and tribal peoples: The Convention does not define who are indigenous and tribal peoples. It takes a practical approach and only provides criteria for describing the peoples it aims to protect. Self-identification is considered as a fundamental criterion for the identification of indigenous and tribal peoples.11

This includes communities where there is historical continuity as an area of traditional indigenous background even if they do not have speakers of indigenous languages but rather individuals who are engaged in the recovery and revitali-

10 https://www.facebook.com/limashipibo?ref=ts&fref=ts (accessed 4 November 2015). 11 See http://www.ilo.org/indigenous/Conventions/no169/lang--en/index.htm (accessed 4 November 2015).

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zation of their languages. The emphasis on self-identification is very important in order to understand that there might be a continuum of levels of affirmation of the indigenous community and integration into nation-state wide systems. In practical terms for researchers in linguistics, this means that it is necessary to be aware of and respect how populations perceive themselves as well as be mindful of the need to comply with regulations and protocols and to be informed of ­indigenous populations’ rights.

3 Necessary steps before starting a project 3.1 How to approach indigenous communities The World Health Organization recommends identifying appropriate indigenous institutions to consult about conducting research: If researchers without previous experience of working with a particular indigenous group are interested in pursuing a research topic with that group, they should first ascertain if there is an appropriate indigenous institution to consult. In some developed countries, extensive indigenous-controlled structures are in place. A phone call or visit should be made to the research office, if one exists, or to the head of the health department or to the local leaders to discuss the possibility of collaboration. In developing countries, an independent indigenous infrastructure is uncommon. If direct contact with the community is not feasible, an approach to local government departments may be the best channel. Local NGOs may in some cases be able to provide advice on how the RI could establish appropriate initial contacts with indigenous communities.12

In the context of linguistics, Dwyer (2006) has identified five steps in planning and executing a fieldwork project, which she terms the five Cs: (i) establishing criteria for selection of a field site: (ii) establishing contacts with native speakers, academics and local officials; (iii) avoiding cold calls by the researcher, namely showing up without being previously introduced by individuals in close contact with the community; (iv) establishing cooperative relations between community consultants and researchers, and (v) determining appropriate compensation. In this subsection, using examples from Peru, I present information on how to try to establish contact with:

12 World Health Organization: http://www.who.int/ethics/indigenous_peoples/en/index8. html (accessed 4 November 2015).



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a. Indigenous organizations. b. Educational authorities (school principals, bilingual teachers). c. Educational non-governmental organization (NGOs) that work with the indigenous communities.

3.1.1 Indigenous-controlled organizations In the case of Peru, an example of a macro-level organization that protects indigenous rights of the Amazonian peoples is AIDESEP. As stated in their webpage, the Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana (Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian Rainforest) is a Peruvian organization presided by its National Council that represents several organizations located in the northern, central and southern regions of the Amazon macro-region. It comprises 65 federations that represent 1,500 communities, approximately 650,000 indigenous people. Each federation or organization has its own local representatives. These communities represent 16 language families. Some of these organizations are a conglomerate of nations and peoples that may be part of the same region but may not necessarily have geographical continuity. For example, CODEPISAM is the Council for the Development of the Indigenous peoples of the San Martin region and represents the Awajun, Kechwa, and Shawi peoples in three adjacent provinces Rioja, Lamas and San Martín, respectively. At the same time, the Awajun people located in the Amazonas region have a different organization representing them called ORPIAN.13

3.1.2 Ministry of Education At the level of local government departments, one institution that is usually present throughout Peru is the Ministry of Education through elementary schools. While not all indigenous populations are reached by the educational system (for example, some of the “uncontacted” peoples previously mentioned), most indigenous populations have at least one elementary school.14 Teachers may be members of the community themselves or they may be from outside the community and with varying degrees of connection. If teachers are members of or are

13 http://www.aidesep.org.pe/organizaciones-regionales/(accessed 4 November 2015). 14 However, access to the schools might be difficult depending on the geography or the weather conditions.

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supported by a local or regional NGO, their level of commitment to the community may be greater.

3.1.3 Educational NGOs Well-known education-driven NGOs can be found in the Andean and Amazonian regions of Peru. In the southern Andes, Pukllasunchis15 and the Programa Alianza para la Educación Rural Ruta del Sol16 are examples of education-driven NGOs that work in close contact with schools that serve indigenous populations and/ or are engaged in language revitalization processes. The program Ruta del Sol for example works in the following regions through or with the institutions listed in their webpage: Apurimac – CADEP – Centro Andino de Educación y Promoción José María Arguedas Ayacucho. NERA – Núcleo Educativo Regional Ayacucho. TAREA – Asociación de Publicaciones Educativas.17 Cusco – CADEP – Centro Andino de Educación y Promoción José María Arguedas18 – CESIP – Centro de Estudios Sociales y Publicaciones19 – FE Y ALEGRÍA 44 – RER – Red Educativo Regional – TAREA – Asociación de Publicaciones Educativas – Fundación Hope Huancavelica – EDUCA – Instituto EDUCA

15 http://www.pukllasunchis.org/(accessed 4 November 2015). 16 http://www.rutadelsolperu.org/secciones/quienes-somos (accessed 4 November 2015). 17 http://www.tarea.org.pe/index.php (accessed 4 November 2015). 18 http://www.cadep.org.pe/(accessed 4 November 2015). 19 http://www.cesip.org.pe/(accessed 4 November 2015).



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Junín – EDAPROSPO – Equipo de Educación y Autogestión Social20 In the Amazonian region one of the most prestigious education-driven NGOs is FORMABIAP, a program for the professional development of bilingual teachers in the Amazonian regions of Peru.21 This institution was created in 1998 as part of an agreement signed by the Ministry of Education, the Instituto Superior Pedagógico Público Loreto (ISPPL) and AIDESEP. It has a longstanding tradition of working with AIDESEP and the Ministry of Education in teacher training and bilingual intercultural education through the Instituto Superior Pedagógico Público Loreto ISPPL, in Iquitos, the capital of the Loreto region.22

3.2 Respect for the rights of indigenous populations In many countries, there is special legislation that protects indigenous peoples rights and their culture. Knowing local legislation about indigenous rights to the preservation of culture and language is very important before establishing personal relationships and requesting permission or seeking access to indigenous populations through indigenous organizations, education officials or NGOs. The relationship between language, culture and identity must be respected when identifying research questions and data collection techniques in accordance with the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2008). Several countries in South America have recently passed laws that regulate the legal status of indigenous languages. For example, Venezuela passed the Law of Indigenous Languages (National Assembly of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela 2008) and Bolivia passed the General Law of Language Rights and Language Policy (INE Bolivia 2012).23 In 2011, Peru’s Congress passed the Prior Consultation Law 29785 in accordance with Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization. According to this law, indigenous peoples have the right to be consulted before any adminis-

20 Contacts for these institutions can be found on the Ruta del sol webpage: http://www. rutadelsolperu.org/secciones/quienes-somos (accessed 4 November 2015). 21 Programa de Formación de Maestros Bilingües de la Amazonía Peruana  – Institute for the Education of Bilingual Teachers in the Peruvian Amazonian Region http://www.formabiap.org/ (accessed 4 November 2015). 22 See Vallejos’ article in this volume. 23 Earlier this century a similar law was passed in Mexico (see Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz and Verdín Amaro in this volume).

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trative or legislative measure that may affect their collective rights, their physical existence, their cultural identity, their quality of life or their development is taken by the state. The state is required to consult about plans for regional and national development programs and projects that may affect indigenous rights. The Prior Consultation Law also requires that consultation take into account linguistic diversity. In areas where they are needed, official interpreters registered by the state must be part of the consultation process.24 The law also requires the creation of an official database of indigenous peoples with official self-determined denominations, geographical, and cultural relevant information, a list of representative organizations and an ethnolinguistic map. The existence of a Prior Consultation Law is one of the most important legislative accomplishments in favor of indigenous rights in Peru. It makes consultation by the state a legal requirement but it also sets standards for the way in which indigenous peoples must be approached for any type of project that may affect their rights such as research projects on their languages and cultural identity. In addition to the Prior Language Consultation Law, a Linguistic Rights Law (29735) was passed in 2011 in Peru. In its first article it states: 1.1 The goal of this law is to state the individual and collective linguistic rights established in article 48 of the Political Constitution of Peru. 1.2 All native languages are the expression of a collective identity and of a different way to conceive and describe reality, therefore they should have the necessary conditions for their maintenance and development in all of their functions.25 Law 29735 guarantees the individual and collective rights of indigenous peoples to speak their languages, to be served by state institutions in their language, and to receive Bilingual Intercultural Education in their language and in Spanish, the shared language of the country. According to this law, indigenous languages are official languages of Peru. In this context of recent legislation, it is of vital importance that, in addition to establishing effective connections through indigenous associations, local government authorities, NGOs, educators and community members, linguists also become acquainted with the laws that protect individual and collective linguistic rights of indigenous peoples.

24 The Ministry of Culture has already certified 168 indigenous interpreters. http://www. cultura.gob.pe/sites/default/files/content_type_archivos/archivosPDF/2014/07/registro_de_ interpretes_y_traductores_260614_0.pdf (accessed 4 November 2015). 25 Translation by the author.



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Article 18 of Law 29735 is of particular relevance to researchers in linguistics: Article 18: Compilation and publication of research. The state promotes research on, and knowledge and revitalization of indigenous languages as well as publication of research and compilation of literature and oral tradition in bilingual editions through national research institutions as a means of preserving traditional knowledge and wisdom as well as the world vision of indigenous peoples.26

In Colombia, Law 1381 – passed in 2010 (Ministerio de Cultura, Colombia 2013) – dictates norms related to the recognition, promotion, use, preservation, and strengthening of the languages of the ethnic groups in Colombia and about their linguistic rights and those of the individual speakers. The first article of Law 1381 states: The present law is of public and social interest and has as its goal to guarantee the recognition, protection and development of the individual and collective linguistic rights of ethnic groups with their own linguistic tradition as well as promotion and use of their languages which will be from now on be referred to as native languages. Native languages are those currently spoken by the ethnic groups living in the country: those of Indo-American origin spoken by indigenous peoples, Creole languages spoken by people of Afro-descendant origins, the Roma language spoken by the Roma or gypsy peoples, and the language spoken by the people of the Archipelago San Andrés, Providencia and Santa Catalina.27, 28

Given the legal framework that has been put in place in different South American countries, a series of subsequent projects are being undertaken to ensure enforcement of these laws. For example, at the nation-state level in Peru, the educational system has been traditionally in charge of compilation and involvement in research on indigenous languages. Multiple NGOs have also shared this commitment with varying levels of success and with some nation-wide coordination. As I show in Section 4, currently great efforts are being made, through the Ministry of Education and the Ministry of Culture, to develop effective language policies that allow for greater articulation of the local, regional and national institutions.

26 Translation by the author. 27 Translation by the author. 28 http://www.mincultura.gov.co/areas/poblaciones/publicaciones/Documents/Ley de Lenguas 2013.pdf (accessed 4 November 2015).

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4 Projects at the national government level There is currently a need to integrate individual linguistic research projects into nation-wide projects to connect community, regional and nation-state language policies. In this section, I introduce two projects that are currently being undertaken by the General Direction of Bilingual Intercultural and Rural Education of the Ministry of Education and the Vice-minister Office of Intercultural Affairs at the Ministry of Culture in Peru. I became aware of these projects as part of a group of linguists invited to provide feedback by the institutions in charge of the projects. The first one is the creation and development of a complete and accurate ethno-linguistic map of Peru and the second one is the development of a National Language Policy document that incorporates proposals from indigenous organizations, leaders and community members as well as indigenous educators for the revitalization and promotion of indigenous languages and cultures in compliance with Law 29735. These two projects are concerned with setting ethical guidelines for gaining access to indigenous communities. The ethno-linguistic map will allow researchers in linguistics to be aware of the geographical and political distribution of speech communities and the extent to which the languages, dialects, and language varieties have been identified and named by the speech communities themselves. The National Language Policy document will allow researchers to find ways of connecting their findings with the projected goals of the indigenous communities for language planning purposes.

4.1 Development of an accurate ethno-linguistic map of Peru Law 29735 charged the Ministry of Education with the elaboration of an accurate ethno-linguistic map. In Chapter II, Article 5, the law states that: By supreme decree The Ministry of Education is responsible for the elaboration, officialization and update of the ethno-linguistic map of Peru as a language planning tool that allows appropriate decision-making regarding the recovery, preservation, and promotion of indigenous language use.29

Article 5, section  2 states that the ethno-linguistic map should determine the number of indigenous and rural communities that belong to a specific ethno-linguistic group. In order to determine the number of speakers of indigenous lan-

29 Translation by the author.



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guages the Ministry of Education was assigned the task of establishing, in coordination with the National Institute of Statistics and Informatics, the necessary mechanisms to determine by quantitative and qualitative means how predominant is an indigenous language in a specific area. The ethno-linguistic map created by a group of linguists from the Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos and other research institutions at the request of the Office for Bilingual Intercultural and Rural Education (DIGEIBIR) at the Ministry of Education has been recently published as part of the Documento Nacional de Lenguas Originarias del Perú (Ministerio de Educación del Perú 2013).30 This group worked in close collaboration with personnel from the National Institute of Statistics and Informatics (INEI). This map contains information on language use of indigenous languages at different levels of geopolitical units (populated centers, districts, provinces and regions).31 The information provided by the INEI was contrasted with information provided by representatives of indigenous organizations and by linguists who have extensive fieldwork experience in different regions. All the materials related to the ethno-linguistic map and the project are currently being transferred to the Vice-ministry of Intercultural Issues at the Ministry of Culture. Some of the most challenging issues with which the research team had to deal are the fact that census information is given at the level of populated centers, which may or may not necessarily coincide with a homogeneous speech community (see Yáñez Rosales et al., this volume). Linguists with specific knowledge of the communities as well as representatives of indigenous peoples were called to participate in workshops and meetings with the research team in charge of elaborating the map as well as with representatives of the Ministry of Education Office for Bilingual Intercultural Education to contribute with information about speech communities. Of particular relevance were: the self-identification and naming of indigenous languages by the communities, the recognition of different levels of dialectal variation and the levels of multilingualism in indigenous languages that characterize many Amazonian communities as well as bilin-

30 A more schematic ethnolinguistic map was previously created by INDEPA (Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo de Pueblos Andinos, Amazónicos y Afroperuanos – National Institute for the development of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples, a Unit of the Ministry of Education) http://www.indepa.gob.pe/mapa2.html (accessed 4 November 2015). This map has been published in the Revista Peruana de Medicina Experimental y Salud Pública. Print version ISSN 1726–4634. Rev Peru Med Exp Salud Publica vol.27 no. 2 Lima Apr./June 2010. http://www. scielosp.org/img/revistas/rpmesp/v27n2/a19fig01a.jpg (accessed 4 November 2015). 31 For a similar effort to generate a survey of indigenous languages in Brazil called Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística, see Moore and Galucio (this volume).

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gualism in indigenous languages, and Spanish and processes of language shift. Another quite important issue is determining the status of a language as in need of revitalization or as severely endangered. All this information will be extremely relevant to researchers in linguistics to identify projects that may contribute to the documentation of endangered languages and to revitalization efforts.

4.2 Development of a national language policy document for indigenous languages Since 2012, the Ministry of Education has also engaged in the development of a National Language Policy document focused on the importance of respecting the indigenous people’s rights to their culture and territories. This document has been the result of a series of consultations and workshops organized by an advisory team headed by researcher Fernando García from FORMABIAP at the request of the Office for Bilingual Intercultural and Rural Education at the Ministry of Education. In these workshops, proposals were requested from participants from most regions of Peru on three categories: status of indigenous languages, acquisition of indigenous languages, and indigenous languages corpora. In addition to proposing the recognition of territorial rights of indigenous peoples, there is also a proposal to recognize and use indigenous languages and to respect indigenous peoples’ rights to self-denomination and the existence of their dialect or language variety without subordination to other languages or varieties of language. In its present form the proposal includes the creation of a national research institute dedicated to indigenous cultures and languages and of regional offices of bilingual intercultural education in indigenous areas. Indigenous representatives have also proposed the modification of article 48 of the Constitution that discriminates against indigenous languages with lower numbers of speakers as it only declares official those languages that are predominant in a specific region. As some speakers have very low numbers of speakers they cannot be treated as predominant. According to the press note released by the Ministry of Education (SERVINDI 2012), among these are the Quechua dialects Chachapoyas, Huaral, Yauyos-Chincha, Waycha Wanka and Shausha Wanka as well as Amazonian languages Amahuaca, Arabela, High and Low Perené, Capanahua, Caquinte, Chamicuro,



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Harakbut, Iñapari, Iquitu, Isconahua, Kukama-Kukamiria,32 Maijuna (Orejón), Muniche, Murui (Huitoto), Murunahua, Nanti, Ocaina, Omagua, Resígaro, Secoya (Putumayo region), Shiwilu, Taushiro, Yaminahua, Yine, Jaqaru and Cauqui.33

5 Concluding remarks In this paper, I have made an initial attempt to provide a brief sketch of what could constitute appropriate ways of gaining access to South American indigenous populations for linguistic research, using examples from Peru. While indigenous populations have varying degrees of connection with the countries/states in which they are geographically located, their rights are protected by international agreements such as the International Labor Organization’s Convention 169 and in South American countries such as Peru their rights are increasingly recognized and protected by recent legislation. There are therefore initial steps that need to be followed by linguists trying to obtain access to indigenous populations. These include knowledge of the relevant legislation and knowledge of representative indigenous organizations. In the case of Peru, for example, the Previous Consultation Law sets guidelines for the way in which consultation with indigenous organizations must be sought for research projects. In the possible absence of such organizations, officially recognized NGOs and government offices such as state schools (under the supervision of the Ministry of Education) may provide initial access to indigenous communities. There are also some current government projects whose aim is to protect indigenous languages and cultures and foster their revitalization and development. These projects will hopefully result in a process of cooperation between the community of researchers in linguistics and the indigenous speech communities in order to preserve, document, revitalize, develop, and strengthen their rich cultural and linguistic traditions.

32 See more about the efforts to revitalize Kukama-Kukamiria in the article by Vallejos, this volume. 33 http://servindi.org/actualidad/79299 (accessed November 4, 2015).

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References Bowern, Claire. 2010. Fieldwork and the IRB: A snapshot. Language 86 (4). 897–905. Congreso de la República del Perú (Congress of the Republic of Peru). Ley 29735. El Peruano. July 5, 2011. Crowhurst, Megan & Michael Lev. 2005. Iterative footing and prominence-driven stress in Nanti (Kampa). Language 81 (1). 47–95. Dagget, James. 1991. Dilemas que se presentan en los primeros contactos con un grupo étnico aislado. Amazonia Peruana 11 (20). 49–64. Grinevald, Colette. 1998. Language endangerment in South America: a programmatic approach. In Lenore A. Grenoble & Lindsay J. Whaley (eds.), Endangered languages: Current issues and future prospects, 124–159. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dwyer, Arianne. 2006. Ethics and practicalities of cooperative fieldwork and analysis. In Gippert Jost, Mosel Ulrike & Nicolaus Himmelmann (eds.), Essentials of language documentation, 31–66. Mouton de Gruyter. SERVINDI. 2012. Perú: Presentan estado de lenguas originarias y bases para una política nacional de lenguas. http://servindi.org/actualidad/79299. (accessed 29 October 2015). Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo de Pueblos Andinos, Amazónicos y Afroperuanos. 2010. Mapa Etnolinguístico del Perú. http://www.indepa.gob.pe/(accessed 29 October 2015). Instituto Nacional de Estadística (INE). 2012. Ley N0 269. http://www.ine.gob.bo/ indicadoresddhh/archivos/educ/nal/Ley%20N%20269.pdf. (accessed 29 October 2015). Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI) Peru. 2015. Series nacionales. http://www. inei.gob.pe/(accessed 29 October 2015). International Labor Organization. 2012. Convention 169. http://www.ilo.org/indigenous/ Conventions/no169/lang--en/index.htm (accessed 29 October 2015). Lev, Michael. 2008. Nanti evidential practice: Language, knowledge, and social action in an Amazonian society. Austin, TX: University of Texas doctoral dissertation. Lev, Michael. 2012a. Nanti self-quotation: Implications for the pragmatics of reported speech and evidentiality. Pragmatics and Society 3 (2). 321–357. Lev, Michael. 2012b. Possession in Nanti. In Alexandra Aikhenvald & R. M. W. Dixon (eds.), Possession and ownership: A cross-linguistic typology, 149–166. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lewis, M. Paul, Gary Simons & Charles Fennig (eds.). 2015. Ethnologue (17th Ed.). Dallas, TX: SIL International. Loos, Eugene. 2008 [1976]. Materiales para estudios comparativos de la familia Pano: frases y textos del dialecto mastanahua. Datos Etno-Lingüísticos: Colección de los archivos del ILV 48. http://www.sil.org/resources/archives/30094 (accessed 29 October 2015). Ministerio de Cultura, Colombia. 2013. Ley 1381. http://www.mincultura.gov.co/areas/ poblaciones/publicaciones/Documents/Ley de Lenguas 2013.pdf (accessed 29 October 2015). Ministerio de Educación del Perú. 2013. Documento Nacional de Lenguas Originarias del Perú. Lima: Ministerio de Educación del Perú. http://www2.minedu.gob.pe/filesogecop/ DNL-version%20final%20WEB.pdf (accessed 29 October 2015). Moore, Denny & Ana Vilacy Galucio. This volume. Perspectives for the documentation of indigenous languages in Brazil. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés



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Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 29–58. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. National Assembly of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela. 2008. Ley de idiomas indígenas. http://www.defensoria.gob.ve/dp/Leyes/Indigena/03_Ley_de_idiomas_indigenas.pdf (accessed 12 June 2014). Rice, Keren. 2006. Ethical issues in linguistic fieldwork: An overview. Journal of Academic Ethics 4 (1–4). 123–155. Santos García, Saul, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro. This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin & New York Mouton de Gruyter. Sánchez, Liliana. 2003. Quechua-Spanish bilingualism: Interference and convergence in functional categories. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Shell, Olive A. (compiler). 1987. Vocabulario cashibo-cacataibo. Serie Lingüística Peruana 23. Yarinacocha: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano. Snell, Betty A, Mary Ruth Wise, Irene Chávez, Anita Collantes, Venturo Cruz & J. Epifanio Pereira. 2011. Diccionario matsigenka-castellano con índice castellano, notas enciclopédicas y apuntes gramaticales. Lima, Perú: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano. http://www.peru.sil. org/resources/archives/43040 (accessed 29 October 2015). Survival International. 2015. The uncontacted indians of Peru. http://www.survivalinternational. org/tribes/isolatedperu (accessed 29 October 2015). United Nations. 2008. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Vallejos, Rosa. This volume. Structural outcomes of obsolescence and revitalization: documenting variation among the Kukama-Kukamirias. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 143–164. Berlin & New York Mouton de Gruyter. World Health Organization. 2012. Indigenous peoples and participatory health research. http:// www.who.int/ethics/indigenous_peoples/en/index8.html (accessed November 4, 2015). Zariquiey, Roberto & David Fleck. 2012. Body-part prefixation in Kashibo-Kakataibo: Synchronic or diachronic derivation. International Journal of American Linguistics 78 (3). 385–409. Zavala, Virginia & Nino Bariola. 2008. Enra kopiai, non kopiai. Gender, ethnicity and language use in a Shipibo community in Lima. In Mercedes Niño-Murcia & Jason Rothman (eds.), Bilingualism and identity: Spanish at the crossroads with other languages, 151–174. Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Zúñiga, M., L. Sánchez & D. Zacharías. 2000. Demanda y necesidad de educación bilingüe: Lenguas indígenas y castellano en el sur andino. Lima, Peru: Ministerio de Educación (Peru’s Ministry of Education), German Cooperation Agency (GTZ) and Germany’s Financial Cooperation (KFW).

Magnus Pharao Hansen, Néstor Hernández-Green, Rory Turnbull, Ditte Boeg Thomsen

9 Life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation: Navigating the micropolitics of language revitalization in an Otomí community in Mexico 1 Introduction It is by now a well-established fact that language communities are not homogeneous in their linguistic norms and practices. It is also well established that linguistic variation often correlates with variation in attitudes about how one should speak (what linguistic anthropologists today call metalinguistic ideologies), even if there may be quite large discrepancies between conscious and unconscious language attitudes. In the context of language documentation and revitalization, such variation presents a challenge to the linguist who must find ways of representing the language in a way that is acceptable to both contemporary and future speakers. In a language revitalization context, often a small number of speakers participate each with their own idiolect in the form of unique linguistic repertoires and each with their own ideas about what makes the language valuable and worthy of revitalization. And in the end the success of the revitalization project depends on the ability of these speakers to agree to pass on some form of the language, hopefully one that they can all consider legitimate, to a new generation. In this paper we describe a case in which language attitudes and linguistic variation also covary with the role of the language within the life histories of individual speakers participating in a language revitalization project. Further, we show that the challenge faced by revitalization projects is increased when the local political framework does not unambiguously establish which speakers have the authority to represent the linguistic community and authenticate a linguistic

Magnus Pharao Hansen, Brown University Néstor Hernández-Green, CIESAS Tlalpan-Mexico Rory Turnbull, Ecole Normale Supérieure, PSL Research University Ditte Boeg Thomsen, University of Copenhagen

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standard. When speakers have different views of what constitutes the source of linguistic authority, this may lead to tensions that are difficult to resolve without attending directly to the underlying discrepancy in assumptions. We argue that by recognizing how individual language preferences and views of linguistic authority are tied to the ways that speakers understand themselves and their lives, linguists may find it easier to mediate when tensions arise between participants in the project, and ultimately increase the likelihood of revitalization success.

1.1 The politics of community based language revitalization Standard practice today for linguistic documentation and revitalization is “community based” fieldwork. In the early days of linguistic fieldwork, linguists often worked alone with one or two informants and generally did not consider the possibility that the community of speakers might want access to their research output. In contrast, the current ideal for descriptive work on endangered languages sees the linguists as a kind of specialist consultant for a community of speakers who are working to preserve their language (Cameron, Rampton, and Richardson 1993; Dwyer 2006; Dobrin 2008; Gerdts 2010). This change in research ethics came partly from the realization that traditional linguistic fieldwork was often exploitative in nature, and from the increasing awareness of linguists in the role they might play in reversing language shift by working collaboratively with speakers of endangered languages. Recent fieldwork literature describes in detail the ethical issues of intellectual ownership and community involvement (Dwyer 2006), and describe how truly collaborative fieldwork takes into account the fact that the research objectives of linguists and community members frequently differ (Collins 1998; Mosel 2006; Musgrave and Thieberger 2007; Whaley 2011). Indeed, the discourse that emphasizes collaboration and community involvement has become so pervasive that some linguists have felt it necessary to defend the merits of “lone wolf research” as ethically defensible and appropriate in some cases, for example when the goal is simply to document an endangered variety and there is no community interest in revitalization (Crippen and Robinson 2013). One implicit challenge with many of these ethical principles of collaborative research is that they tend to be tacitly based on an ideal in which the community of speakers is considered to have relatively homogeneous interests and objectives. And even the very idea of revitalizing or preserving “a language” tacitly assumes that the community in question shares a single linguistic variety. However, as pointed out by Whaley (2011), such assumptions are frequently at odds with reality. Linguists often find that both linguistic and ideological variation is rampant in even the seemingly most coherent and homogeneous com-



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munities (Dorian 2001, 2010), and that political or interpersonal tensions play a role in determining how revitalization efforts are received (Canger 1994; Kroskrity 1998; Suslak 2010). The studies by Pérez Báez, by Rogers, and by Villard and Sullivant in this volume provide further examples of cases where community attitudes impede revitalization efforts, or make them impossible. Whaley (2011) argues that simplistic assumptions of linguistic and ideological homogeneity in the community, as well as a lack of appreciation of the complexity of local social dynamics and the risk for linguists to be overly controlling of the revitalization project, are among the factors that contribute to “endangering” projects designed to counteract language endangerment. Costa and Gasquet-Cyrus (2013) similarly argue that linguists should not only expect but also accept the existence of ideological differences and even conflict within revitalization movements. Contrary to Kroskrity (2009), they argue that rather than promoting a process of “ideological clarification” prior to engaging in a project of language revival, the linguist should not aim at resolving conflicts between different ideological positions, since such heterogeneity is inherent in the constitution of any social movement. Rather, they argue the aim should be to foster a discussion within the community of speakers that may or may not eventually lead to a unified view of the future of the language. This argument, which holds that there are no neutral positions within the context of language revival, points to the traditional distinction between the linguist as an objective scientist and the linguist as a politically engaged activist – suggesting that perhaps, at least in language revival contexts, such a distinction is not possible.

1.2 Revitalization as linguistic prescription Linguists have traditionally tended to see themselves as describing linguistic norms, rather than as producing them (Milroy & Milroy 1999: 3). While language documentation is indeed basically descriptive, we would argue that there is a fundamentally prescriptive aspect inherent in the idea of language revitalization: it entails the proposition that a specific way of speaking should be used more than it is. Probably few linguists would feel comfortable in assuming the authority to tell a community how or what to speak. Hinton (2002: 151–152) has commented specifically on how the prescriptive aspect of language revitalization requires community support for the linguists to be able to feel at ease. It is the community that prescribes a set of norms and the linguist is simply in charge of documenting and circulating them. A certain authority is inherent in the linguist’s specialist knowledge and the fact that she often represents a politically dominant community. Such an authority cannot simply be divested, but must be taken into account.

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Others have pointed to the authority that is sometimes considered inherent in the medium of writing itself, which may make a community perceive a written text in their language as necessarily posing a claim to authority even when the linguist specifically avoided making such a claim (Canger 1994). Ultimately, in a revitalization context, the question of authority is inescapable.

1.3 Language and authority in North American and Latin American contexts The view of the linguist as facilitator of the establishment of a linguistic norm for an already existing community often fits well when the linguist is working at the request of the political authority of the community. Here the linguist is simply a kind of consultant working on the task of formally codifying a linguistic norm which has already been selected by the political authority who will also be responsible for promoting it to gain community acceptance (Haugen 1966). Such a relation is possible when indigenous speech communities have their own political authorities, such as it is often the case in the contemporary USA and Canada, where linguists today are occasionally approached by tribal governments to act as expert consultants when a community has already decided to preserve or revitalize their traditional languages (Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 193–194). This relation is facilitated by the fact that today in the USA and Canada indigenous groups have relatively high degrees of ethnic identity and political autonomy – at least regarding internal issues such as cultural politics – and that they are conceived of as independent nations within a larger nation state.1 Many tribal governments have officials specifically dedicated to handling questions of cultural and linguistic heritage. Such officials may choose to engage linguists as consultants, or choose to either support or disavow specific products of linguistic description, or to promote specific ideologies of language use. There are many examples where North American Native communities have explicitly claimed the political authority over their language in relation to linguists and other outsiders. The Hopi tribal government resisted the Hopi Dictionary project (Hill 2001) and the Jemez Pueblo decided to prohibit the writing of their indigenous language (Whiteley 2003) (see also the cases described by Collins 1998, Kroskrity 2009, and Loether 2009). Nonetheless, some of the most successful language revitali-

1 This has not always been the case; historically the US and Canadian states have played an active role in the attempted eradication of indigenous languages through Anglophone educational policy (McCarty 2013).



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zation projects have not been undertaken by tribal governments, but by groups of community members who have organized to form a revitalization project and contacted linguists to assist them, often with only subsequent involvement and support by the tribal government. This is the case for the Master-Apprentice programs organized by the The Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival, and for the Mohawk immersion schools of Kahnawake (both described in Grenoble and Whaley 2006: 193–194; see also Hermes 2012 and McCarty 2013). In contrast, in many parts of Latin America, indigenous speech communities are not constituted or conceived as politically independent nations, but are simply considered citizens who happen to speak a local vernacular that differs from the language used in administration. Indigenous communities are often simply towns or localities where a particular language is spoken. In many cases there is little or no sense of ethnic identity among different communities of speakers of the same language, local political identities being more salient. This means that in Latin America language revitalization projects are often initiated by linguists or by small sub-groups within the speech community who for different reasons take an interest in promoting the indigenous language. (See also the studies by Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro as well as Yáñez Rosales et al., this volume for examples of how revitalization projects may be initially caused by outside academic interest which in turn sparks interest in the community.) In the absence of ethno-national political organization of indigenous groups, different countries and linguistic groups in Latin America have taken different approaches to organizing cultural and linguistic preservation or revival. In Guatemala, in the midst of genocidal campaigns against them, the different Mayan speech communities and indigenous linguists collaborated with North American linguists to establish an academy with the responsibility for supporting and developing the indigenous languages (England 2003; Romero 2012; Warren 1998). (See also Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna, this volume, for a case in which a political institution assumed responsibility of language revitalization efforts in Nicaragua.) In Mexico, the geographic context of this paper, the government assumed a responsibility for the usage of indigenous languages after the revolution, seeing indigenous languages as a barrier to the development and modernization of the indigenous peoples. The first half of the 20th century saw a series of ideological and institutional struggles between hispanista and indigenista educators. The former considered the best approach to the eradication of indigenous languages and their replacement by Spanish, and the latter considered the best way to modernize the indigenous populations and their languages so that the values of modernity could be accessed through the native medium of knowledge. Eventually the hispanistas won, and a program of

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subtractive bilingual education was instituted, aimed at gradually familiarizing indigenous students with Spanish during primary school, so that from middle school all education could be carried out exclusively in Spanish (Heath 1972). From this point on, the Mexican government did little to encourage or support local efforts to organize or promote the use of indigenous languages. The Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP) assumed the responsibility of creating linguistic standards to be used in indigenous primary education in collaboration with the Instituto Lingüístico de Verano (ILV), the affiliate body of the US missionary organization Summer Institute of Linguistics International (Hartch 2006). Up until the end of collaboration between the SEP and the ILV in the early 1980s, the tradition in Mexico was for linguists to work not for the communities, but for the Mexican government, as a partner in its education policy. The strong governmental control of indigenous education and organization has likely contributed to the fact that throughout the 20th century there have been few community efforts to promote or support the use of indigenous languages. Indeed, as demonstrated by Pérez Báez and by Villard and Sullivant in this volume, it is frequently the case that there is little or no community interest in reviving the local language. There are exceptions to this general picture, and the Otomí community provides one of them. In the Mezquital region, the region with most speakers of Otomí, the ILV representatives worked with the community to establish an Academia de la lengua, with the function of standardizing, developing and supporting the Mezquital variety of Otomí (Hernández Cruz, Victoria Torquemada and Sinclair 2004). This level of organization and promotion has effectively established the Mezquital variety of Otomí as the prestige variety of the language. Another exception is the Toluca Valley, where the Otomí community that we are here describing is located. Here indigenous communities comprising three different linguistic groups (Otomí, Mazahua and Matlatzinca/Tlawika) organized into a formal network to better lobby for recognition of their rights. The establishment of local or regional language academies, or of indigenous political and ritual networks can be understood as local strategies to work around the tradition of government control of the cultural and linguistic resources of indigenous communities. In the following, we describe how this political framework affects the way that the Otomí of San Jerónimo Acazulco in the Toluca valley organize their project of language revival, and how different views of linguistic authority coexist within the project.



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1.4 San Jerónimo Acazulco: Power and language The authors have been participating in a community based effort to revitalize the Otomí language in the community of San Jerónimo Acazulco, (Otomí: Ndöngǘ [ndõŋɡṹ]) since 2009. We arrived in Acazulco with the plan of linguistic documentation of the endangered and undocumented variety of Otomí, but soon became involved in the community’s ongoing efforts to raise interest in the language among the youth. We were asked to produce written materials in the language in order to apply for recognition as an indigenous community by the Mexican state (Pharao Hansen, Turnbull, and Boeg-Thomsen, 2011). During several field periods since then, we have produced and disseminated three successive editions of a booklet of basic Otomí lessons, supported a course of Otomí classes for children taught by community members, taught an English course to youths in order to foment a cultural and linguistic interchange, and are in the process of elaborating a didactic grammar, vocabulary and a set of lessons for future classes. In addition, Néstor Hernández-Green has produced and published a small grammar, in collaboration with Efrén Maíz, the organizer of the community Otomí classes. This grammar is meant to support the teacher during classes, and is published by the Comisión Para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas (CDI) (Organización Civil Ndöngü 2014). San Jerónimo Acazulco is a community in the cold pine-clad hills 3000 meters above sea level in the Sierra Madre Occidental in Central Mexico. Until the 1980s the community was socially marginalized and characterized by poverty and a reliance on subsistence agriculture and occasional wage labor in the nearest city. The completion of a highway through the community’s land provided new economic opportunities, which the people of San Jerónimo Acazulco exploited with great success. They turned their ejido (community land) into a tourist attraction, which is now well known in the area as a place where the large urban population of the Valley of Mexico comes to enjoy the experience of nature on the weekends. Due to this development, recent decades have seen rapid economic growth in the community, but also a significant break with traditions. The local political authorities elected by the community are the delegado, who represents the community in the municipality of Ocoyoacac, and three comisariados with responsibility for communal property, ejidal property and potable water. All of these officials are young men in their thirties and none of them speak Otomí. They are generally supportive of the language revitalization project and have allowed the Otomí classes to take place in the offices of the delegación, but they do not themselves participate in the project and do not consider it to fall within their jurisdiction.

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Since 2008 the local government of San Jerónimo Acazulco is in the process of lobbying for recognition of status as an indigenous community, which would give access to certain sources of governmental support from the CDI. In Mexico the status of a given community as “indigenous” is achieved if the community can demonstrate a relation to one of the recognized ethno-linguistic groups. In theory the relation depends on the percentage of speakers of the indigenous language in the community, but in practice the percentage of speakers in census data matters less than the degree of public visibility of the community. For a community in which the language is in decline to be considered indigenous, the indigenous language and heritage must be documented and promoted in ways that make the community visible and recognizable as “indigenous” to municipal and state authorities. To achieve this goal, the community of Acazulco applied for membership to the organization of indigenous communities of the Toluca Valley. This organization was established in 1977 with the signing of the Pacto del Valle de Matlatzinca (Pact of the Matlatzinca Valley), in which a Consejo Supremo (Supreme Council) was established for each of the different indigenous ethnic groups in the valley. Each of the signatory communities elected a Supreme chief to sit on the council. Acazulco was not among the original signatories, but in 2010 they applied for recognition as an indigenous Otomí community with right to representation in the council. As part of the application for representation in the Consejo Supremo, the community democratically elected a council of cultural leaders, separate from the political authorities of the community. The Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ is headed by a Jefe Supremo [Supreme Chief], his female counterpart designated la mujer otomí (the Otomí Woman), a community chronicler, and a language teacher. The titles are invariably given in Spanish, and it does not seem that anyone has coined Otomí terms for these titles. The somewhat peculiar title of Supreme Chief for the cultural authorities of each community may have been taken in reference to the political structure of U.S. Indigenous nations. Mexican indigenous communities have not generally used the title jefe for their authorities, a title which in a Mexican context seems to evoke the tribal organization of North American Indians. The Supreme Chief represents Acazulco in this organization as well as in many public occasions of cultural relevance. Acazulco’s claim to indigenous status, as well as its visibility, is enhanced simply by having a Supreme Chief. The Otomí council has moral but not political authority, and their standing in the community is partly undermined by the fact that most of them, partly due to their age and lack of participation in the workforce, belong to the lower socio-economic rung of the community. This lack of status makes it difficult for them to persuade local youth of the value of their language.



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Within the indigenous council, authority is contested among the proficient speakers, each of whom holds different ideologies about what type of authority legitimates a linguistic standard. In one view, a legitimate standard is upheld through a “hierarchy based” view of authority according to which authority is determined by age, gender, kinship network and standing in the politico-religious cargo system; in this view the legitimate standard is simply the standard of the person with the highest standing. Another “tradition based” view sees linguistic authority as embodied in the ways of speaking of ancestors, so that claims about the correct usage tend to be supported by childhood memories of specific speech situations. In this view, the speech of the elders of the community and, importantly, their memories of the speech of their own elders, can be considered a true and authentic representation of the language. When talking about how to use the language, some community members repeat verbatim (or in ways that represent the memory as a verbatim repetition) the voices of those family members who used it in the past. A third “modernist” view sees linguistic authority as dependent on formal education and literacy, so that authority comes from being able to read or write the language or having received schooling as a native language educator. A fourth “purist” view sees the legitimate language as being the one that has no discernible influence from Spanish, meaning that the ability to create neologisms and avoid loanwords is highly valued. In this way the linguistic ideologies are associated with linguistic choices and with notions of who gets to claim status as an authoritative speaker2. At the same time the questions of values and ideologies are embedded in complex interpersonal dynamics among the speakers participating in the revitalization project that raises the stakes of linguistic choices made in the process of documentation and revitalization. This social setting in which multiple structures of authority are embedded and counterpoised to each other, and in which rapid economic development has created gaps between generations and between social classes, provides the context for our discussion of the sources of micro-political tensions in the small subgroup of the language community who were interested in revitalizing the indigenous language.

2 It is important to emphasize that concrete language use can never be expected to be a simple function of conscious ideology. It is quite common to find discrepancies between speakers’ conscious and unconscious language attitudes (cf. Kristiansen 2003; Maegaard 2005).

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2 The Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ and the ­revitalization project The Supreme Chief of San Jerónimo Acazulco, head of the Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ, is Don Feliciano Soler, an 87 year old man who speaks the indigenous language as his first language. He was first a consultant for the linguists working on simple documentation, but then in turn he requested a published book in the language to present to the state-level authorities as additional proof that Acazulco has an indigenous language and is therefore an indigenous community. So, the documentation project turned into a community-based revitalization project. Another early participant in the revitalization project was Don Felipe Sánchez. Don Felipe was trained as an Otomí teacher and had established a basic cultural and linguistic education program in town before the arrival of the linguists. He became a key collaborator with the linguists in both the revitalization project and the documentation work. Another main participant was Doña Trinidad Beltrán (74), who sometimes collaborated with Don Felipe and participated in teaching the children and who also became involved in the revitalization project early on. In the following we will concentrate on showing how these three major players in the revitalization project each have different views of what constitutes a legitimate linguistic authority, which combined with the linguistic variation between them presented formidable challenges to the project. First we describe the Otomí language, and some of the intra-personal variation between the three main participants in the project.

2.1 Otomí themes and variations: Dialectal and individual Otomí is the name of a group of closely related languages that belongs to the Otomanguean language family and is spoken by ca. 180,000 people in central Mexico, most of them in the states of México and Hidalgo. Most varieties of Otomí are considered endangered languages (Lastra 2001a) and many varieties have undergone considerable linguistic change under the influence of Spanish (Hekking 1995; Hekking and Bakker 2007). All varieties of Otomí are characterized by a complex phonology and verbal morphology, and linguists have struggled with aspects of grammatical and phonological analysis since the 1930s (Soustelle 1937; Sinclair and Pike 1948; Leon and Swadesh 1949; Wallis 1964). Large advances in analysis and documentation have happened in the past decades (Hekking 1995; Hernandez et al. 1998; Lastra 2001b, 2006; Palancar 2009). The Otomí variety of San Jerónimo Acazulco is currently almost completely undescribed, the only publica-



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tions about it being a few texts and a two page ethnographic description in Lastra (2001b) plus a few publications by the present authors. Lastra defines the Otomí variety of Acazulco, as well as the neighboring variety of Santiago Tilapa, as being most closely related to the highland varieties spoken in the northern sierra of Puebla and Veracruz, which she defines as belonging to the Eastern dialect group. The Acazulco variety is also linguistically conservative, for example retaining the complex system of verbal conjugational classes found in colonial Otomí (Cárceres 1907; Palancar 2011) which was lost in the better described innovative varieties of Hidalgo and Queretaro (Palancar 2009). It also conserves phonemic and grammatical distinctions that have been lost in most other dialects such as the three-way distinction between voiced, voiceless, and aspirated stops, and the dual number. The people of Acazulco refer to their language as yühǘ [jũhṹ] and not as hñähñu as the speakers of the prestige dialect of El Mezquital, Hidalgo do. In the present study we use the exonym Otomí, originally from the Nahuatl language, to refer to the language and related ethnic identity of the people of Acazulco, in spite of the fact that some other communities advocate the use of endonyms. The people of Acazulco invariably identify themselves as Otomíes when speaking in Spanish, and do not see any problem with this label. The advantage of the term Otomí is that it makes visible the affinity of the people of Acazulco with other speakers of Otomían languages – although they do not share the same endonym. The people of Acazulco use the term Otomí exactly for this purpose.

2.2 Intra-speaker variation The problem of disagreements about crucial elements of culture between members of the same community has been recognized since Dorsey’s (1885) description of Omaha customs, where he frequently noted his informant Two Crows’ denial of the existence of certain customs described by other informants (Sapir 1938). Early field linguists studying variation between speech communities often worried mostly about finding the truly authoritative informant (sometimes defined, perhaps tongue-in-cheek, as the NORM “non-mobile, older rural male” [Chambers and Trudgill 1998: 29]). This approach to language was challenged with the development of sociolinguistics, and the realization that linguistic variation often correlated with social variables, such as class, age or language attitudes (Labov 1972). Outside of the field of sociolinguistics, intra-community variation in endangered languages has often been understood primarily as caused by varying degrees of linguistic competence, for example Dorian’s (1977, 1981) concept of the “semi-speaker”, which is often used as a basis for typolo-

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gies of speaker competence (see also Grinevald’s 2011 approach to the issue of speaker typologies). Linguists and anthropologists have since learned to accept and indeed to expect community-internal variation, and there is some evidence that linguistic variation is particularly prevalent in minority languages that are in a process of contraction (Cook 1989; Dorian 2010). Variation and how to valorize it presents a particular obstacle in linguistic revitalization where communities are often eager to establish a set standard for what is to be considered as correct speech that can be passed on to future generations. This causes an implicit pressure to distinguish explicitly between correct and incorrect forms of speaking. The question of which standard to choose may be further complicated by intra-community discussions about who may claim status as an authoritative speaker, creating a complex interaction between notions of authenticity, identity and language variation (Bucholtz 2003). At the same time, in revitalization contexts there is often a paucity of speakers who are dominant in the indigenous language, and the dominant speakers may not be able or willing to participate in the project. Thus, the responsibility for passing on the language may fall on speakers who are dominant in the majority language and speak the indigenous language with less confidence. The indigenous language speech of such speakers, sometimes called semi-speakers, may display considerable influence from their first language. One question for a revitalization project then becomes how to evaluate such speech. Should it be considered legitimate variation, or should it be discouraged? In the following we make no such judgments, rather considering all variation among speakers who participate in the project to be potentially legitimate variation regardless of whether it seems to be caused by interference from Spanish.

2.3 Phonological variation There is considerable phonological variation between Otomí speakers in Acazulco. Several phonological distinctions appear to be lost among some speakers – for example the distinction between mid-high and mid-low vowels. Some variation appears to correlate with gender, and some with age.3 Historically the vowel

3 In the previous sections we have used the practical Otomí orthography used for the revitalization project in order to reflect the way the words are used in written materials in the community. This orthography uses diaereses to mark vowel nasalization, underlined letters to mark midlow vowel quality, and diacritical marks to mark tone. In the following sections which describes linguistic variation we use an IPA-based orthography to make it more accessible to linguists.



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system of Acazulco Otomí had nine distinct monophthong vowels /i e ɛ ɨ ɘ ɑ u o ɔ/ as well as a distinction between oral and nasal vowels for five of the vowel qualities. However, the distinction between the mid vowels /e/ and /ɛ/, and /o/ and/ɔ/, seems to be currently undergoing a merger among some speakers, perhaps under the influence of Spanish. Figure 1 shows mean first and second formant values for the mid back vowels taken from 90 word productions by Don Feliciano and Don Felipe. As the figure shows, Don Feliciano produced [o] and [ɔ] quite distinctly. Don Felipe’s vowels, on the other hand, show considerable overlap, especially in terms of F1 (vowel height), suggesting that he has merged the two categories.

Fig. 1: Mean first and second formant frequencies for/ɔ/and/o/for two male talkers. Ellipses indicate 95 % confidence intervals.

Following IPA conventions, the acute accent marks high tone and the caron marks rising tone. Low tone is left unmarked.

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2.4 Variation in spatial language One of the topics we set out to document was the use of spatial language. Here we consulted many more speakers than the primary three. We had 10 speakers describe the 71 spatial scenes in the stimulus set Topological Relations Picture Series (TRPS; Bowerman and Pederson 1992). The TRPS stimulus set is aimed at eliciting location predications, and for each of 71 drawings of relations between two entities, the consultant is asked “Where is the X?”. The ten consultants generally used the same set of predicates and constructions in this task, although they differed in which patterns they preferred to use. However, in use of a general location verb, significant variation was found. Acazulco Otomí distinguishes between animate and inanimate location, reserving the verb khǎ for inanimate entities and requiring ’mbɨi or a more specific position verb for animate beings (people, animals and occasionally agaves). So, for instance, Don Feliciano would correct the question ábɨ rà khǎ nɨ pɨ̌ʃkhwa? (TRPS 67, “where is the owl?”) to: 1)

ábɨ rà mı�h k’a pɨ̌ʃkhwa?4 where 3.icp sit det.sg owl “Where does that owl sit?”

Both he and Doña Trinidad consistently distinguished between animate and inanimate location with different verbs and also explained the difference to us. Attending to the animate/inanimate distinction and categorizing scenes as different by means of separate verbs appear to be fundamental to Otomí; it is also salient in other varieties, such as Sierra Otomí (Dow 2005). The rest of our consultants generally honoured this distinction as well, but a couple of them were less consistent and sometimes extended khǎ to animate beings: 2)

rà khǎ a mbo 3.icp be prep in “The cat is under the table.”

meʃa table

nɨ det.sg

mbíʃtu cat

(2) was uttered by a male consultant whom we were referred to by other speakers in the village as another linguistic and cultural authority whom we would benefit

4 Gloss abbreviations conform to the Leipzig Glossing Rules. Apart from these standard abbreviations, the following abbreviations are used in this article: AUG – augmentative, CPL – completive, ICP – incompletive, PC – property concept, PO – primary object, PREP – preposition.



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from speaking with. It would seem that strict linguistic differentiation between animate and inanimate is not required to be appreciated as a linguistic authority by the community. In order to examine the orientation system in Acazulco Otomí, we had 6 pairs of speakers play a director-matcher game, Man and Tree (Levinson et al. 1992). In this game, one speaker describes a set of photos and the other has to find the matching photos in his/her own set. Many of the photos only differ as to spatial configuration, and to solve the task, speakers have to employ a frame of reference (FoR). Each pair played the game twice, swapping roles. To test whether choice of spatial terms would depend on the interlocutors’ own location the game was played in different parts of the village and facing different directions, rotating the table when the players swapped roles. For 5 out of 6 pairs, the speakers routinely and successfully employed a geocentric frame of reference, using four directions: a rí gwaní (“uphill”, east), a rí thót’i (“downhill”, west), a ʃõ ̌nthɘ (“at mountain”, north) and a mbɔ̌ tɨdí (“where the ocote pines stand”, south) / a rí khóni (“across, where it is flat”, south). Among the 5 successful pairs employing geocentric directions, all relied on reference to the same central east-west axis represented by a rí gwaní (“uphill”) and a rí thót’i (“downhill”). Whether these directions are used so abstractly that they can be categorized as absolute or whether they are geomorphic (in the senses of O’Meara and Pérez Báez 2011) needs further investigation, but in experiments as well as spontaneous speech they are used consistently by all fluent speakers for communication about location on the east-west axis both within the village and in the surrounding area. Equally consistent across participants and loci for playing was the use of a ʃõ ̌ nthɘ (“at mountain”) to indicate location north of something else. As for its counterpart, i.e. south, there was, however, some variation. Most pairs consistently referred to south with a mbɔ̌ tɨdí (“where the ocote pines stand”), whereas other pairs used instead a rí khóni (“across, where it is flat”). Both terms were used and understood fluently in their respective pairs, and it is possible that this type of variation pertains to either family (two of the pairs were close relatives) or, more systematically, to subtle differences in angles or position of the loci of playing on either side of the main road following the uphill-downhill axis. The last pair was a mother and her non-fluent son. They used a relative frame of reference, utilizing loanwords from Spanish for left and right, but they used these terms differently and thus did not manage to match the photos. Beside supporting the more general finding that the relative FoR is not routinely employed in Otomí communication about orientation (see also Hernández-Green et al. (2011) for a discussion of Spanish loans in spatial language in another variety of Otomí), this kind of variation points to an important challenge for revitalization:

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different linguistic FoRs require different types of nonlinguistic routine attention (cf. Pederson et al. 1998), and switching between linguistic FoRs when speaking different languages (here: Otomí and Spanish) may thus prove more demanding than acquiring vocabulary, syntax and traditional greetings for speakers who acquire Otomí as their second language.

2.5 Morphological variation Most of the morphosyntactic variation among the three consultants is related to verb agreement. Don Feliciano tends to express 1st person object only by using the 1st person enclitic =ga; in addition, he sometimes omits the TAM/subject proclitics when the context is sufficiently clear to establish reference. Don Felipe and Doña Trinidad, on the other hand, consider this as lacking correctness, and they rarely fail to express 1st person object with the suffix -gi/-ki ‘1po’ (primary object); they rarely omit TAM/subject proclitic either. The kind of morphemes in bold used by Doña Trinidad in (3a) are missing in Don Feliciano’s speech in (3b), where the omission of the 3rd-person proclitic is permitted by the lack of a referential 3rd-person agent in constructions such as these. 3)

a. bi ’ndah-ki=ga 3.cpl give-1po=1 ‘I got a real fever.’ {txt} (Lit. ‘It gave me fever.’)

dahtá aug

pá=tshɛ heat=alone

b. ’ndah=ka k’a ’ɨ-mbɨ give=1 det.sg pain-belly ‘I get a stomach ache.’ {txt} (Lit. ‘It gives me stomach ache.’) Another difference among the consultants is that a structure similar to secondary predication in other Mesoamerican languages (secondary predicate + primary predicate, P2 + P1; see Aissen & Zavala 2010) is used widely by Doña Trinidad (and other female speakers as well), as shown in (4), while it has not been found in the speech of Don Felipe or Don Feliciano.



4)

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P2 P1 /ʃí [d-ra zɔ] [ʰká mbɘn]=k’a ’ndónkhwa purp irr-pc.icp good 3.irr(adv) come.out=det.sg carrying.net ‘So that the carrying net is well done.’ {txt} (Lit. ‘So that [it will be good] [it will come out] the carrying net.’ The two pairs of brackets enclose the secondary and the primary predicate, respectively)

This type of linguistic variation is significant both because it correlates in certain ways with language ideologies, and because it often ends up being the cause of discord, triggering latent interpersonal or ideological differences. The next section describes how this happens.

3 Ideologies of authority and authenticity None of the three main speakers in the project had close personal relationships with each other. What united these people was their interest in promoting the language and their willingness to work with linguists in doing so. The relation between the men was overtly antagonistic and competitive, whereas both men had a good working relation with Doña Trinidad. In the following we will describe the life histories of the main participants in the project which will demonstrate how attitudes towards the language and motivation to participate in a revitalization project are highly individual and associated with differences in life experience and personal outlook. It is also clear how this variation can cause interpersonal tensions that may jeopardize the possibility to make a revitalization project coherent.

3.1 Don Feliciano: A hierarchical view of authority Don Feliciano, the Supreme Chief of Acazulco’s indigenous council, grew up as a monolingual speaker of the indigenous language for the main part of his childhood. His father was abusive and violent, and only allowed Feliciano a total of three months of schooling during his childhood. This experience nonetheless gave Feliciano a taste of learning and a deep appreciation of the value of literacy. He says about the village in the past that “traían vendados los ojos, no sabían ni leer ni escribir, la gente abusaba de ellos” (their eyes were blindfolded, they didn’t know how to read or write, and outsiders would take advantage of them). As a

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young man Feliciano taught himself to read and write, and went on to occupy political posts within the community and to hold several positions of authority within the civic religious hierarchies of the community. During his period as a local politician in the 1960s, the community received electricity, a development for which Don Feliciano takes credit. Don Feliciano simultaneously highly values modernization through education and technological development, but also deplores the loss of religious traditions and of traditional agricultural practices. He has an extensive knowledge of traditional lore, which he generously shares with community members who frequently seek him out for that purpose. In relation to the language, his interest is two-fold: First, he wants to help the community advance by securing recognition as an indigenous community. This is the reason he wants some kind of tangible evidence for the fact that they speak an indigenous language. He does not have much faith in the possibility of revitalization. Rather, he has a strong interest in what Moore (2006) terms memorialization, that is, to record the ways in which his ancestors spoke, so that it will not be forgotten. He argues that the ideal outcome would be the production of a dictionary that records every word that his parents spoke, and which records each word “exactamente como debe ser (exactly as it should be)”. When working with linguists, he is extremely patient, speaking slowly and repeating when asked. He is emphatic that it does not matter how long it takes, but that he wants us to write down each word precisely as he says them. His speech has several idiosyncrasies relative to other speakers: he uses a non-standard form of the morning greeting, and what are apparently shortened forms of some suffixes, and he uses the dual number category more frequently than many other speakers do. He frequently abbreviates his utterances leaving out morphemes when they can be inferred by context, and employs many Spanish borrowings, which he adapts to Otomí phonology. He does not read or write the indigenous language, and when shown samples of written language he is discouraged by the use of letters that do not exist in the Spanish alphabet. For Don Feliciano linguistic authenticity is a function of political authority: authentic language is the language that is able to get things done. This point of view is essentially pragmatic, focusing on the practical value of language as an instrument. This view is also expressed in his desire for the dictionary, which he sees as serving the primary function of providing the community with political legitimacy. He also considers legitimate language to be marked by the adequate recognition of social roles and hierarchies, by the use of the proper terms of respect, such as correctly greeting one’s kúmbaytó’mbé (compadres [i.e. kinsmen related not through blood but through ceremonial relations]) and elders. As an elder of the town and the Supreme Chief, he sees himself as a linguistic authority, and his language as inherently authentic. When he talks about “getting it right”



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he means “writing it exactly as I say it”, and he does not generally draw upon memory of past speech situations as a means of building authenticity or authority. When asked specifically what authority decides what authentic Otomí is, he answered that to be an authority you are elected by the community: “El pueblo me eligió porque confían en mí.” (The community elected me because they have confidence in me)

3.2 Don Felipe: A modernist and purist view of authority Don Felipe was the language teacher appointed by the Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ. He acquired passive knowledge of the language in childhood – his parents would speak Otomí to each other, but not to him. However, he had a compelling mystical narrative about how he came to take an active interest in reviving the language, which we paraphrase here. For most of his life, he did not think much about Otomí at all. When he was about 40 years old he was widowed, and a series of events took place that changed his view of the language. Shortly after he lost his wife, he had a dream in which a group of elders approached him and entrusted him with a large old tome of knowledge. He interpreted the tome as representing knowledge of the traditional heritage of the community, and understood the dream to be encouraging him to take an active interest in promoting the local language and cultural tradition. At the time, he was a soccer coach, and one day as his local team was playing against their archrivals, he started yelling instructions to his players in Otomí, using expletives and demonstratives that even those who did not speak the language knew well enough to understand. The other team was flabbergasted and lost the game. From this day on, the players gave him the nickname khak’wa “Like that!” which was one of his exclamations during the game. He began studying the language on his own, using books written on other similar varieties, and conversing with a friend who was a more proficient speaker. The two started a musical group that would perform songs in the indigenous language while garbed in folkloric dress. He also took the initiative to organize and teach the first Otomí language course in Acazulco, offering free classes for the children of the town twice a week in the town hall, and for the rest of his life he was the prime mover behind the Otomí language classes in Acazulco. One day he chanced a meeting with an official from a state college for bilingual teachers, and he decided to take a certification course. They required him to take an exam to demonstrate his proficiency in the indigenous language (of which they spoke a different variety), and then accepted him into the course. Here, he took classes in basic linguistics and pedagogy, and received a diploma as an indigenous language instructor. Each day on

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his way to class, he noticed a small bird singing close to the school. One of his classmates was a young woman from another indigenous community and Don Felipe admired her work ethics and beauty, although they never talked and he never saw her outside of the school grounds. On the last day of classes, she finally talked to him and told him that what he was doing was praiseworthy and that he would be a good teacher. She gave him a book about the language. As he left that day, the little bird appeared again singing as he was leaving the school, and Don Felipe realized that the young woman and the bird were one and the same, and that they were manifestations of his deceased wife encouraging his efforts. Don Felipe used this mystical narrative to justify his own linguistic authority as coming not simply from books, but from a supernatural source, clearly beyond reproach by those who would question his source of knowledge. Don Felipe’s speech was different from that of many others in that he appeared to be following a clear purist language ideology, avoiding Spanish loan words as much as possible by inventing neologisms and discouraging the use of crude language, even to the degree of inventing neologisms for indigenous words that sound similar to rude words in Spanish. At the same time, his fluency was limited and he rarely had extended conversations with fluent speakers of the language. Indeed, around fluent speakers, he tended to avoid speaking in Otomí, or he took a didactic stance and corrected their pronunciation or their use of loan words. This behavior was perhaps encouraged by his self-image of having authority as a language teacher. This won him few friends among the more fluent speakers, none of whom considered him a legitimate or authentic speaker. Don Feliciano particularly disliked Don Felipe, who he felt undercut his authority as a speaker and a Supreme Chief by correcting him in public even during ceremonial occasions. Perhaps because of his lack of colloquial fluency, Don Felipe focused on literacy in his classes, and had a good understanding of the practical orthography developed for the language. The fact that Don Felipe knew how to write the language garnered a modicum of respect from some of the elders. In terms of orthography, Don Felipe preferred a highly detailed script that marked all phonemic distinctions, including tones. His understanding of the language system was good, and he was invaluable in helping the linguists translate and transcribe recorded speech. He knew the language was tonal, but he did not have full awareness of how tonal distinctions manifest (nor do any of the fluent speakers, who all recognize tonal minimal pairs but have a very hard time describing what makes them different), but nonetheless he insisted that the local orthography should be as phonemically accurate as possible. This may also be partly because the standard orthography, based on Mezquital Otomí, does not indicate tone, and by indicating tone the local orthography can be argued to be “even more correct” than the standard orthography. This was part of a larger argument of his, which sees



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Acazulco Otomí as the most ancient and most original, and the other varieties of Otomí as adulterated or debased. His pronunciation was extremely clear, almost exaggeratedly so, but he did not distinguish between high-mid and low-mid vowels (see section 2.3), and in conversation his rhythm and intonation differed from that of the fluent speakers. He took strong exception to the elision of morphemes and the unclear pronunciation he perceived in Don Feliciano’s speech. He also argued that since the traditional indigenous language name of the town is not a direct translation of the Nahuatl name Acazulco a new direct translation should be preferred instead. Don Felipe saw linguistic authority as stemming from academic knowledge and from an analytic awareness of how language is to be used. He had a high degree of respect for linguistic knowledge and analysis. He gave authenticity and authority to his own neologisms by rationally arguing for their use. He would argue that his terms were preferable because they were not offensive, because they were not loanwords, or because they established a less ambiguous reference to objects in the world. Don Felipe died suddenly in 2012, which was a hard blow to the language course. The classes are now organized by Efrén Maíz, a young man who is in the process of learning Otomí. He relies on the assistance of two fluent speakers (one of them Doña Trinidad) to help him teach. His pedagogical method emphasizes conversational competency rather than literacy.

3.3 Doña Trinidad: A traditionalist view of authority Doña Trinidad is a widow and a great grandmother who lives with her extended family as head of the household. She is a fully fluent speaker and spoke only Otomí throughout her youth. She appreciates Otomí especially because of the way it connects her to her family, her parents, her late husband and her in-laws. She says that, “mbwɨ ndídí tegá hín dra põhka gídi jõɁmphɨgá, porke drí jũhṹ. mbwɨ ndí míhká, k’ɨ mtáɁgambé jũhṹɨ. Hím bra põdí gin yɔ ra jõɁmphɨ. … bi jũhṹɨ, ora ʃo ngentho di yɔgá ra jũhṹ. (When I grew up I didn’t know how to speak Spanish, because I am Otomí. When I was born our parents were Otomíes, they didn’t know how to speak Spanish… They were Otomíes, well now I also speak Otomí.)” She tells of learning the language through instruction by her parents in the daily tasks of the household. Her mother would issue orders and she would obey, gradually expanding her vocabulary as well as her repertoire of household skills. Doña Trinidad did not teach Otomí to her children, who apparently did not want to learn it, but she speaks it regularly with some of her older relatives such as her sister in-law. For Doña Trinidad her language is a part of her social identity and

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something of which she is proud, a pride in tradition also reflected in the fact that she is one of the few women in Acazulco who still wear the traditional woolen skirt. All other speakers to/with whom we have talked consider her speech exemplary and fully legitimate. She uses few Spanish loan words, although she does not seem averse to using them. She has a high degree of metalinguistic awareness and recognizes minimal pairs and paradigms, and explains them in lay terms. She is illiterate and consequently has no orthographic preferences. When she has time she participates in Efrén’s classes, and she does so because she believes it important for children to hear a proficient speaker. She acknowledged Don Felipe’s efforts and recognizes that he was not a proficient speaker, but argues that people should not criticize him unless they are themselves willing to teach the language. She says her reason for participating in the teaching program is that it would be beautiful for local children to learn about their roots, and about what it means to be an indigenous Acazulco person. When she talks about how to use the language she repeats verbatim the voices of those family members who used it in the past, quoting what seems to be her memory of their exact words. For her, the final source of authenticity is her memory of how those past people spoke to her, often remembering the exact situation in which words were spoken, and using the tone of voice in which they were said. When asked what authority decides what is legitimate Otomí is, she answered “Bueno, todos nosotros que crecimos con el otomí, los de mi generación, todos lo sabemos hablar bien. Solamente hay que invitarlos a todos a una junta para que nos pongamos de acuerdo de cómo hablarlo bien. (All of those of us who grew up speaking Otomí, my generation, we all know how to speak it right. We just need to invite them all to a meeting and decide together what is the correct way to speak it.)”5

4 Conflicts and solutions From the short biographies of the three primary community members who showed an interest in participating in revitalization work in Acazulco, it should be obvious that there are several possible sources of micro-political tension. Each

5 At Doña Trinidad’s suggestion, such a meeting of as many of the native speakers as possible was organized, but did not turn out exactly as planned as it only came to include Doña Trinidad and two of her friends who all agreed on a single usage.



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individual is motivated by a specific set of life experiences and ways of understanding the value of Otomí, and each has a highly personal way of conceptualizing the relation between authority and authenticity, which would make it exceedingly difficult for them to agree on a single standard for speaking and teaching. At the same time, each has a different set of strengths and weaknesses to bring to the project, which would make it highly desirable if it were possible to make the three work together respecting each other’s unique abilities. Now that Don Felipe has passed away, many of the tensions have disappeared or become irrelevant. Nonetheless a new set of tensions have come into play by the fact that the current Otomí teacher Efrén Maíz is even less proficient as a speaker of Otomí than Don Felipe was, although he has much better personal relations with all involved. In the collaboration between Feliciano, Trinidad and Felipe, micro-political tensions arose in several areas: – Personal competition: The need felt by participants to bolster their own sense of identity by taking on an authoritative role may lead to competition, which is waged by dismissing the forms of knowledge other speakers have and elevating one’s own criteria of authenticity. – Different understandings of the nature of linguistic authority and the source of authentic language: Linguistic authority can be derived from the political and social authority of the speaker, from the degree of academic preparation and literacy, or from memories of the speech of older generations. Each of these in turn implies different criteria of authenticity valuing either referential/communicative adequacy, theoretical adequacy, or historical adequacy. The role of purism as a challenge to revitalization has often been noted (e.g., Dorian 1994), but the possible role of other more subtle differences in ideologies of authorities has generally been left unexplored. – Different understandings of what makes language valuable: In the case of Acazulco, this understanding varies from the politically pragmatic approach exemplified by Don Feliciano, to the highly social value ascribed to the language by Doña Trinidad, to the highly personal way in which Don Felipe tied his own identity as a teacher to his love for his wife. – Linguistic variation: The evaluation of linguistic variation as either neutral or problematic is tied to both interpersonal relations and the perception of different degrees of proficiency. Doña Trinidad had a good personal relation with both Don Felipe and Don Feliciano, and both of them spoke highly of her proficiency. However, because of their mutual competition the two men each deprecated the proficiency of the other in relation to their own criteria of authority and authenticity. – Gender and social class. The norms about who has the right to claim particular kinds of authority in particular situations are often gendered. Even when

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they are unspoken, there may be powerful social constraints on women when working together with men in a revitalization project like this. In Acazulco, Doña Trinidad does not seem to feel restrained in her participation, although perhaps her ability to work well with both of the male participants is partly due to the gendered norms of conduct. Nevertheless, we have experienced a clear tendency for male participants to be socially dominant in ways that make female participants uncomfortable in mixed gender interview situations. Similar restrictions can be expected to arise from class distinctions, but this did not play a role in this specific project, probably both because of the relative socio-economic homogeneity of Acazulco, and because none of the participants were from the upper layers of Acazulcan society. – Orthographic choices: This is one area of ideological variation that has received ample attention from linguists, exactly because it is often a crucial point in determining the success of a revitalization project. Should orthographies be more phonemic or phonetic, designed to be easy to type, read or learn, or similar to or different from Spanish orthography? How important is similarity to orthographies of other Otomí varieties? Should tone be marked or not? Or maybe a standardized orthography is not necessary at all? (See Bartholomew [1979] and Bernard [1980] to see how linguists have argued about this question for Otomí specifically). – Primacy of discursive/pragmatic, lexical/grammatical or literary competences: is it more important to teach the norms for what to say to whom and when or to teach how to form new utterances, or how to read and write the language? All of these areas of tension are tied to each other in complex ways so that stances taken on one issue may have effects on others. Each of the areas of micro-political tension may lead to eruptions of conflicts as participants and linguists work together towards establishing a set of norms. In the case of Acazulco, tension regarding orthography has been minimal, because the two most proficient participants do not read the texts produced by the linguists. Rather in our experience conflict has erupted mostly because of interpersonal animosity and competition, and due to tension between fully fluent speakers and semi-speakers. One such case happened when Don Feliciano objected to Don Felipe being mentioned as “maestro” in the text material, since he was not a “real” maestro but rather an “instructor” (i.e. someone who teaches without having a teacher’s education). Another example was when Don Felipe told the linguists that Don Feliciano was really too old and feeble minded for his statements to be considered authoritative (in actuality, Feliciano has an outstanding memory). In both these cases the participants criticized each other in private to the linguists, which put the linguists in



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the awkward position of either having to tacitly or explicitly validate or challenge their mutual critiques.

5 From speaker typologies to the speaker as individual As can be seen from the description of how individual speakers construct their own personal ideologies of language based on their life experiences and stances, it is not necessarily informative or useful to divide speakers based on linguistic competence. As Dorian (2010) notes, linguistic variation need not correlate with competence, and neither do linguistic ideologies. Classifying Don Felipe as a “semi-speaker” or an “L2 speaker” would perhaps tell us something about his standing relative to other more fluent speakers. However, it would not explain how it is that in spite of such a classification he can create a position of linguistic authority for himself through the use of a specific set of language ideologies. It also does not explain why some first language speakers have accepted that position. Similarly, what separates Don Feliciano and Doña Trinidad is not their degrees of competence, but their ideologies of authority – which for each of them forms an integrated whole with their lived linguistic experience. For Don Feliciano, appreciation of the language did not come from the fact that it was spoken by his abusive father, but rather from the prestige it could bring him in the social circles of Acazulco where Otomí was valued, such as in the sphere of religious organization. On the other hand, Doña Trinidad remembers her Otomí speaking parents fondly, and they became her main source of value for the language. In short, language ideologies are not simply a function of the metalinguistic discourses circulated in a community, but also of the lived experience that make some ideologies resonate with our subjective sense of self, more than others. If linguists begin to understand language ideologies as more than simple circulating political discourses, we will become able to make much closer analyses of how language ideologies circulate and thrive in communities, and the task of “ideological clarification” (Kroskrity 2009) or “ideological manipulation” (Loether 2009) will become much easier. In the end, language revitalization is not carried out by linguists and communities, but by a group of individuals who relate to their community in different ways, who have different social and political visions, and who choose to participate in the project of revitalization for different reasons. Dwyer (2006) considers the role of the linguist in a revitalization context to be that of the mediator, mediating between a Western academic set of ideologies and the ideologies of

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the community. We think that, at least in a socio-political context such as the one found in San Jerónimo Acazulco, the role of the linguist should also be that of the mediator between the individuals who participate in the project, and their different ways of conceptualizing its goals. This requires the linguist to strive towards achieving a strong empathic understanding of the people with whom they work, because this is necessary in order to mediate between opposing views and ideologies, and also in interpersonal conflicts. By building strong relationships with the participants and by relating to them as individuals with individual goals and needs, we both diminish the risk of having the project be experienced as exploitative or otherwise disappointing by the participants, and increase the likelihood of the revitalization project succeeding.

6 Authority in language revitalization and in Acazulco In Mexico, and probably in many contexts in Latin America and elsewhere, linguists interested in working with language revitalization are confronted with the challenge that there are no clear political structures that can support and authenticate a linguistic standard. Rather in many cases there can be different groups within a language community who have different reasons to be interested in revitalization, which may or may not be compatible. As Costa and GasquetCyrus (2013) point out, this frequently or perhaps inevitably means that as a linguist taking a neutral position in relation to these different views is not an option. When a language community has a political organization where the authority to authenticate linguistic issues is clearly defined, the choice of political position of the linguist is obvious, and this has been the case in many of the best documented cases of language revitalization projects in the USA and Canada (McCarty 2013). But when this is not the case, as tends to be the case in Mexico, the linguist has to navigate the micro-political context in a way that makes a positive outcome of the project most likely. Sometimes this may entail assisting the community in creating a political structure that can support the project, and at other times this requires simply accepting that it is only possible to work with a segment of the community and tailor one’s efforts to the ideologies and wishes of that segment. That is, in relation to the question mentioned in the introduction regarding whether to engage in a process of “ideological clarification” or whether to simply accept and embrace the presence of ideological conflict, we would neither commit fully to Kroskrity’s strategy of ideological clarification as consensus building, nor to Costa and Gasquet-Cyrus’ conflictive view with its emphasis on choosing



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sides. Rather the choice of doing either should be taken within a specific political stance (sometimes relatively micro-political as in the case of Acazulco, sometimes relatively macro-political as in the case of Provence). We argue that the linguist should strive for ideological clarification by first understanding the views, ideologies and stakes for the individuals who are investing their time and interest in the project. Then the choice of when to strive for consensus and when to accept heterogeneity can be made with a clearer view of the possible outcomes. In the context of San Jerónimo Acazulco, where the community of speakers is small but the amount of ideological and interpersonal tension and linguistic variation is considerable, we have found the role as mediators striving to build consensus to be the best option. It has allowed us to maintain good relations with the participants, in spite of their divergent views, and to mitigate some of the interpersonal conflict by working to understand the different views involved, so that the process of ideological clarification can proceed and a consensus can be formed. Currently one challenge for the revival project concerns the question of whether the community should opt for a strategy based on memorialization or regeneration (Moore 2006). In the former case, the production and circulation of a canon of knowledge of certain words, phrases and discourses, may be enough to form a basis for the reproduction of a cultural identity, and for achieving the political recognition that seems to be the main goal of Don Feliciano.6 In the latter case, the main objective would be to foster communicative competence in the children who attend the weekly classes with Efrén Maíz and Doña Trinidad, such as they both envision. But just like the linguistic ideologies of Don Feliciano, Doña Trinidad and Don Felipe were motivated not simply by conscious choices but also by the role that the language played within the context of their lives, in the same way, perhaps the conscious choice of revitalization strategy matters less than what kinds of experiences it engenders in the children and youths who will carry the future of the Otomí language in Acazulco.

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6 See also the Xinka case described by Rogers (this volume), which proposes that such strategy may be viable when the community is primarily in search of a shared ethnic identity.

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Palancar, Enrique L. 2009. Gramática y textos del hñöñhö Otomí de San Ildefonso Tultepec, Querétaro. 1. Universidad Autónoma de Querétaro: Plaza y Valdés Palancar, Enrique L. 2011. The conjugations of Colonial Otomi. Transactions of the Philological Society 109(3). 246–264. Pederson, Eric, Eve Danziger, David Wilkins, Stephen Levinson, Sotaro Kita & Gunter Senft. 1998. Semantic typology and spatial conceptualization. Language 74(3). 557–589. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. This volume. Addressing the gap between community beliefs and priorities and researchers’ language maintenance interests. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 165–194. Berlin and Boston: de Gruyter Mouton. Pharao Hansen, Magnus, Rory Turnbull & Ditte Boeg Thomson. 2011. From academic salvage linguistics to community-based documentation in only three weeks: Report from a collective and interdisciplinary fieldwork on Acazulco Otomí. Paper presented at the 2nd International Conference on Language Documentation and Conservation (ICLDC), Friday, February 11, at the University of Hawai’i. Rogers, Chris. This volume. Indigenous authenticity as a goal of language documentation and revitalization: addressing the motivations in the Xinkan community. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 247–271. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Romero, Sergio. 2012. “They don’t get speak our language right”: Language standardization, power and migration among the Q’eqchi’ Maya. Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 22(2). 21–41. Santos García, Saul, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro (Universidad Autónoma de Nayarit). This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Sapir, Edward. 1938. Why cultural anthropology needs the psychiatrist. Psychiatry 1(1). 7–12. Sicoli, Mark. 2011. Agency and ideology in language shift and language maintenance. In Tania Granadillo & Heidi A. Orcutt-Gachiri (eds.), Ethnographic contributions to the study of endangered languages, 161–176. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Silverstein, Michael. 1998. Contemporary transformations of local linguistic communities. Annual Review of Anthropology 27. 401–426. Soustelle, Jacques 1937. La famille Otomí-Pame du Mexique central. Paris: Institut d’Ethnologie doctoral dissertation. Suslak, Daniel. F. 2011. Ayapan echoes: Linguistic persistence and loss in Tabasco, Mexico. American Anthropologist 113 (4). 569–581. Urban, Greg & Joel Sherzer (eds.). 1991. Nation-States and Indians in Latin America. Austin: University of Texas Press. Villard, Stéphanie & J. Ryan Sullivant. Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 273–304. Berlin and Boston: Mouton de Gruyter. Voigtlander, Katherine & Artemisa Echegoyen. 1985 [1979]. Luces contemporaneas del Otomi: Grámatica del Otomi de la Sierra. Mexico, D.F.: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano. Wallis, Ethel E. 1964. Mezquital Otomi verb fusion. Language 40 (1). 75–82.

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Whaley, Lindsay. 2011. Some ways to endanger an endangered language project. Language and Education 25 (4). 339–348. Whiteley, P. 2003. Do “language rights” serve indigenous interests? Some Hopi and other queries. American Anthropologist 105 (4). 712–722.

Chris Rogers

10 Indigenous authenticity as a goal of language documentation and revitalization: Addressing the motivations in the Xinkan community 1 Introduction The four Xinkan languages (ISO codes: xin, qco, qda, qhq, qsd)1 were once spoken widely throughout southeastern Guatemala, and possibly beyond (Campbell 1972, 1979, 1997; COPXIG 2004; Rogers 2010; Sachse 2010). However, language transmission declined early during European colonization and ceased entirely in the middle of the 20th century due to the extreme social and political atmosphere in Guatemala. This has resulted in a complete shift away from the use of these languages to the use of the national language, Spanish. There is currently only one ‘speaker’ of any of the Xinkan languages: he is able to understand audio recordings of past fluent speakers of Xinkan well, but has difficulty producing novel utterances without significant practice  – he has commented that he is more comfortable with the Guazacapán Xinka audio than the other varieties (see below). There are also a few men and women who have varying abilities in understanding one of the Xinkan languages or who have self-identified as remembering when Xinkan languages were spoken more widely – they often produce idiomatic expressions of varying accuracy to validate their claims. All of these individuals are over the age of 75. Interestingly, in response to the general trend of cultural reaffirmation in Guatemala, there is a strong presence of heritage Xinkan community members interested in these languages. These individuals range in age from 16 to 40 years old, and do not have memories of ever hearing Xinkan spoken beyond isolated

1 Until recently (within the last five years) the Xinkan languages were classified as a single language in the academic literature under the ISO-code [xin]. However, current practice is to be more precise by providing an ISO-code for each of the four known languages. Information on the Xinkan languages can be found under any of the five ISO-codes listed above. Chris Rogers, Brigham Young University

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phrases and words by their grandparents (if they knew them). In their lifetime there have been no spaces preserved for the use of the Xinkan languages. They consequently approach the Xinkan language once spoken closest to the towns where they reside, as a foreign language. Nevertheless, despite having never acquired Xinkan, these community members use one of the varieties as a symbolic marker of intercommunity and personal identity. For example, community members from the town of Chiquimulilla take special interest in Chiquimulilla Xinka as a representation of their cultural heritage. It is interesting that this developing identity is focused around language rather than more tangible cultural practices (e.g., clothing). However, this group of community members is not concerned with either revitalization or preservation of the Xinkan languages, because they lack the resources, infrastructure, and a speaker base (see the discussion of similar situations in the contributions by O’Meara and Guada­ rrama; Yañez Rosales et al.; and Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna, this volume). For this community, scientific language documentation is more valuable than the applied outcomes of that documentation. Language ­documentation is viewed as a means to an end: a way of claiming and creating an authentic indigenous identity. This identity, in turn, provides them with access to social and political resources. Their motivation to document their languages is consequently different than the one typically assumed by the community of academics concerned with sustaining the world’s linguistic diversity. A more in depth discussion of the characteristics of the Xinkan community is presented below, in Section 3. For many academic scholars interested in and committed to language documentation and revitalization, efforts are begun and sustained for a variety of reasons. Often these reasons are based on a system of assumptions about the central significance of language to humans, such as: the value of linguistic diversity, human rights violations, or the scientific value of each language (see Rogers and Campbell [2011] for references to these assumptions). However, in the Xinkan community, language documentation and revitalization are not motivated by these same assumptions, but by more pragmatic requirements to develop a unique cultural and social identity. This difference in motivations creates a useful context for appreciating the Xinkan community and for highlighting how an outsider academic linguist can and should be involved in the language planning activities of the community. This chapter discusses the motivations of the Xinkan community to participate in language documentation against the background of accepted motivations and outcomes in the larger academic community. This discussion of motivations in turn contributes to the ongoing dialogue about the difference between community motivation and academic motivation in choosing to be involved with lan-



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guage documentation and revitalization; the general goal being to improve the way language revitalization and documentation are practiced (see Pérez-Báez, this volume, for similar discussions about community and linguist motivation). In order to properly contextualize this claim, a brief overview of the accepted motivations suggested in published, academic sources is provided first, in Section 2. In Section 3, I then explain the sociolinguistic context of the Xinkan community, highlighting three specific conflicts of identity in appreciating Xinkan motivation, all of which have to do with language: (1) a conflict between the Spanish speaking population and the Xinkan community; (2) a conflict between a Spanish speaking community with historical ties to native communities and the Xinkan community; and (3) a conflict between other native language communities and the Xinkan community. In Section 4, I discuss some of the linguistic peculiarities of the Xinkan languages which are being used to resolve these conflicts in favor of the Xinkan community identity. Lastly, in Section 5, I conclude with comments about how the Xinkan community’s motivation might inform ideas and thinking about language documentation and revitalization methodology and planning.

2 Endangered languages, language ­documentation and language revitalization Over the last few decades the realities of the world’s linguistic diversity has been made apparent (e.g., Fishman 1991; Krauss 1992; Crystal 2000; Nettle and Romaine 2000; Brenzinger 2007). Languages, and their inextricably related cultures, are being replaced (sometimes forcibly) as their speakers face the demands of globalization and conformity. This has led linguists to suggest that large numbers of the world’s languages will become “extinct” in the next 100 years (e.g., Crystal 2000; Krauss 1992; Romaine 2007). More tangible estimates report that 34 % of the approximately 7,000 languages in the world are threatened and another larger percentage are already extinct or about to become so (Lewis, Simons, and Fenning 2014). Similarly, UNESCO notes that based on the reports of individuals worldwide 43 % of the world’s languages are “endangered” and will be lost by the end of this century (Moseley 2010). Most recently, the Catalogue of Endangered Languages confirms the UNESCO findings that 43 % of the world’s languages are endangered (Campbell, Lee, Okura, Simpson and Ueki 2013). As a result of this situation, the global community in general, and the speakers of these languages in specific, experience a loss of identity, diversity, humanity, culture, and knowledge.

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Guided by concrete assumptions about the importance of linguistic diversity to many areas of human culture and development, language endangerment is met by specific actions and activities which aim to stabilize and increase the number of languages spoken around the world. Consequently, it does not come as a surprise that, in response to these real and projected losses, documentation and revitalization of native languages and cultures has gained new importance and urgency among scholars and language communities around the world (e.g., Grenoble and Whaley 1998, 2006; Hinton and Hale 2001; Harrison, Rood and Dwyer 2008; Grenoble and Furbee 2010, Austin and Sallabank 2011). As twin heads in a global effort to respond to the crisis of endangered languages and to conserve the world’s intangible linguistic heritage, language documentation and revitalization result in: (1) the preservation of and access to linguistic records, and (2) increasing the social profile and use of these languages. Focused on these scholarly activities and ideals, significant advances have been made in establishing necessary best practices and methods for language documentation and revitalization activities (Fishman 1991; Grenoble and Whaley 1998; Hinton and Hale 2001; Errington 2003; Gippert, Himmelmann and Mosel 2006; Moseley 2010; Whaley 2011; Crippen and Robinson 2013, inter alia). However, much of this discussion on best practices has been, and continues to be, developed from the perspective of North American, European, Australian, or New Zealand scholarship. There is nothing inherently wrong with this emphasis, but often these best practices are transferred ‘in theory’ to other areas around the world, but in practice are difficult to follow. In fact this volume provides evidence that for many scholars and community members the suggested best practices do not always seem straight-forwardly applicable. One example of this difference between suggested best practices and the needs of practicing field linguists and language communities is the fact that outside of the scholarly published materials on language endangerment (cited above), the motivation to engage in revitalization and documentation is not always about preserving or increasing linguistic diversity or its value to human culture and development. Consequently, the expectation that the ‘correct’ response to language endangerment results in increased numbers of speakers of a language may not always be appropriate. This difference in expectations and motivations means that what is valued as a response to the loss of linguistic diversity is dependent on a specific community context. Collectively, the work cited above suggests specific motivations for participation in language endangerment, language documentation, and language revitalization. Crystal (2000: 27–67) is a good summary of these motivations: “because we need diversity”, “because language expresses identity”, “because language are repositories of history”, “because languages contribute to the sum of human



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knowledge”, and “because languages are interesting in themselves”. However, in many communities around the world the motivation to engage in language documentation and revitalization comes from different sources, such as their desire for individual and community recognition or the opportunity to make a political statement (both of which contribute to the motivations in the Xinkan community). These are not identical to the accepted responses cited by scholars and academics in the literature mentioned above. Members of these communities around the world value their linguistic and cultural heritage but belong to communities that have been marginalized, or completely ignored, by their local and national governments. Cultural marginalization can occur for many reasons, such as, the number of speakers in a community, political inequality (with the marginalized community being dominated), low levels of education, poverty, or civil rights infractions such as racial prejudice, among others. In light of the cultural and linguistic reaffirmation in various places throughout the world this marginalization and the desire to end it motivates involvement with language documentation and revitalization. Occasionally, specific legislation is created to support these marginalized communities in these efforts. This has been the case in Guatemala and is discussed in detail in the next section. However, this legislation (which often comes from various national and international sources) is a double-edged sword. It creates protection for and support of human and linguistic rights, but it also has motivated, required, or demanded that individuals claim an indigenous heritage in order to receive these benefits. This has the potential of motivating interest in language only as it provides the equity and rights needed; marginalized communities are consequently required to claim linguistic identity and legitimate authenticity in an environment of extreme competition for social, political, economic and cultural resources (see Jancewicz, MacKenzie, Guanish, and Nabinicaboo 2002; Harrison, Rood and Dwyer 2008; MacCaluim 2007; and Warren 1998 for some specific examples). Communities which can be characterized this way potentially find motivation for language documentation and revitalization in political or social activism  – rather than the preservation of linguistic diversity. Many communities throughout Latin America fall within this categorization. Members of the Xinkan community, for example, have commented to me that they are not interested in language revitalization programs, but in opportunities to create political and social legislation which would benefit individuals or their local communities.

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3 The sociolinguistic context of Xinkan identity In many ways the Xinkan community is a contemporary construct. There has never been a community of individuals united linguistically, geographically, or politically called Xinkan until after 1995 (see the discussion about the Acuerdo sobre Identidad y Derechos de los Pueblos Indígenas below). Even now, in fact, only people active in community building refer to a “Xinkan community”, most refer to themselves as Pipil (a Uto-Aztecan language spoken in the geographical region where the Xinkan languages were used). A group of non-Mayan speaking individuals has been mentioned in the general regions occupied by the current Xinkan community since the earliest records of European colonialization. However, these references do not refer to the term “Xinka” until the late 18th century (Maldonado 1770; Calderón 1908; Lehmann 1920; Termer 1948; Sachse 2010). This label does not appear to be a term with any specific meaning in the language (though see Rogers 2010 for speculation about its etymology)2 and it seems to have come into use by some individuals only after years of colonial policies of grouping and characterizing groups of people for administrative needs. Similarly, historical records and personal narratives indicate a group of loosely connected, independent communities in terms of cultural and social organization (Calderón 1908; Schumann 1967; Feldman 1974, Dary 2003; Sachse 2010). Consequently, throughout the recorded history of the Xinkan languages, speakers represented a high level of variation in a relatively small geographic area. In consequence of the adoption of the term ‘xinka’, published sources refer to a specific linguistic variety by the town, or in some cases the neighborhood, where it was used (Maldonado 1770; Calderón 1908; Lehmann 1920; Schumann 1967; Campbell 1972, 1979, 1997; Kaufman 1977; COPXIG 2004; Rogers 2010; Sachse 2010). The four known languages are labeled now as “Guazacapán Xinka”, “Chiquimulilla Xinka”, “Jumaytepeque Xinka”, and “Yupiltepeque Xinka”; other noted varieties about which little or no information is known include: Sinacantán Xinka, Jutiapa Xinka, and North Chiquimulilla Xinka (Calderón 1908; Lehman 1920). These Xinkan towns are all in the department of Santa Rosa in Guatemala, and consequently this can be considered the contemporary geographical region of the Xinkan community.

2 Anything suggested about the etymology of the term “xinka” is purely speculative, as far as is known it holds no meaning in any of the Xinkan languages. It was used in the earliest known record of the Xinkan languages (Maldonado 1770), as szinca. Spelling for this term has fluctuated since then as sinca, sinka, xinka, or xinca.



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Linguistically, the last fully fluent speakers of any of the Xinkan varieties claimed the four general varieties were mutually unintelligible. This has been corroborated by linguistic evidence, which clearly shows separate (though similar) grammatical systems (see Rogers 2010). The last speaker of Xinkan mentioned in the introduction (above) self-identifies as a Guazacapán Xinka user, while the self-identified remembers come from a variety of communities and consequently recall different language varieties. Linguistically, the term “Xinkan” is used to refer to these language varieties as a group. Culturally, the term “Xinkan” has come to symbolize more than a shared cultural and linguistic past, it identifies a group of communities as being cohesive and united on the national and international stage. Membership in this community is a matter of political or social self-identification rather than linguistic or cultural identity. Individuals belonging to the Xinkan community do not speak a Xinkan variety, nor do they have the opportunity of learning Xinkan because of the absence of a speaker base. Similarly, individuals belonging to the Xinkan community do not practice a single set of cultural behaviors beyond the dominant Spanish speaking national culture; elements of a historical “Xinkan culture” are unclear (at best) and have long since been eroded in favor of the national culture (Feldman 1974; Warren 1998; Adams and Bastos 2003). Instead, community membership is claimed within the context of native identities in Guatemala as a way of joining the current national (and international) discussion of and support for cultural and linguistic diversity and reaffirmation. Nationally, Guatemala officially recognizes “Xinkan” as one of their native communities and consequently grants it certain rights under law (see below). However, without a spoken language or distinctive culture, community members struggle to highlight their uniqueness and separateness from either the dominant Spanish-speaking culture or the various Mayan speaking communities in Guatemala. This uniqueness and separateness is essential in taking advantage of the privileges granted to the Xinkan community, and community members are motivated to participate in language documentation and revitalization activities by this potential outcome; that is, these activities are means to an end, rather than community goals themselves.

3.1 The Xinkan community in Guatemala It is widely known that Guatemala’s social and political history is checkered with opposition, oppression, conflict, and prejudice which have resulted in the loss of and shift away from the behaviors and practices of native communities – including language use. This has resulted in civil and political unrest throughout the

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country for centuries (Muñoz 1993–1999). Relatively recently, however, a number of communities have begun to recuperate cultural and linguistic losses through the reaffirmation of their cultural and linguistic heritages. These efforts have been aided by key legislations and policies which seek to acknowledge the value of and need for cultural and linguistic diversity in Guatemala. In 1995, after years of civil war, the Acuerdo sobre Identidad y Derechos de los Pueblos Indígenas, (Agreement on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples) was signed, which for the first time officially recognized Guatemala’s native Mayan, Xinkan and Garifuna communities. This legislation specifically recognizes the “discrimination, exploitation and injustice” practiced on and in the native communities of Guatemala and that this has affected individual rights and national and political participation. In response to this history the Agreement specifies the value of each community’s language, culture and identity. This is a favorable piece of legislation in Guatemala. However, the discussion of indigenous peoples throughout the Agreement centers on languages descending from “a common Mayan root” and their surrounding cultures and communities (Acuerdo sobre identidad, 1997). Mention is made of the Xinkan community as being distinct from these linguistic and cultural sources, but little is said beyond that. This is most likely because little was (and is) known about the Xinkan languages, communities, and culture. Their identity is officially recognized but not defined, and for many Guatemalans this recognition is considered a lip service only (Adams and Bastos 2003; Muñoz 1993–1999; Smith 1990: 3; Warren 1998). Nevertheless the descendants of the Xinkan speakers also want (and deserve) the opportunities specified for their Mayan speaking neighbors. This creates the need to define the Xinkan identity, and following the wording in the Agreement, this is done through the use of language, culture and community. Xinkan community members are consequently very interested in using these parameters as a way of carving out a social and political space for their community: one that is different from the national Spanish-speaking culture; different from the Mayan-speaking culture; and different from the Spanish-speaking descendants of native language speaking people (called ladinos in Guatemala). This is a challenging task since on the surface all self-identified Xinkan community members speak only Spanish, participate only in the national culture, and belong to a group of non-indigenous communities. The Xinkan community must claim native ancestry (i.e., that they are the descendants of previous generations of native Guatemalan individuals) while showing that they are distinct from the Mayan languages and cultures, and the Spanish-speaking majority. The Agreement established the fact that Xinkan community members do have native ancestry, but for many Guatemalans Xinkas are ladinos and are not considered to form a culture or community different from the national culture



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(Warren 1998: 9). From the perspective of the Xinkan community, this implies a need to differentiate Xinkan-ness from the ladino culture  – to reaffirm their indigenous identity. The Agreement also recognized indigenous communities in need of protection, but does so in terms of Mayan linguistic and cultural history. Indigenous practices, communities, and opportunities are specified throughout the Agreement in terms of Mayan-ness; in fact, for many, the Mayan community is the indigenous population of Guatemala. From the perspective of the Xinkan community this implies the need to differentiate Xinkan-ness from Mayan-ness. The challenge for the Xinkas is in showing that the Agreement is not just political lip service, but that Xinkas are authentically unique and indigenous in Guatemala. They must show that the Xinkan community has different goals and motivations from the Mayans and the Ladinos.

3.2 Defining Xinkan identity Relatively recently (within the last seven to ten years) many individuals – men and women who self-identify as Xinkan – have organized themselves to meet the needs of authenticity and uniqueness inherent in the wording of the Agreement. As a result two governance organizations have been formed: the Consejo del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala (Council of the Xinkan People of Guatemala, COPXIG) and the Parlamento del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala (Parliament of the Xinkan People of Guatemala, PAPXIG). Both of these organizations have been officially recognized by the national Guatemalan government, and they work in tandem in expressing interest in the Xinkan languages as a means of defining Xinkan identity. It is important to note that members of each of these organizations do not always agree on the necessary scope of the efforts and activities in which they are engaged. In order to avoid taking sides on specific issues, I have agreed with both organizations to not mention individuals by name or to quote their comments to me (beyond the general comments about the community) in published sources outside of the community (Pharao Hansen et al., this volume, also discuss the negotiation of micro-politics in a language community). Both COPXIG and PAPXIG recognize the need to identify what it means to be Xinkan (as evidenced by their interest in creating activities and policies which create a single community identity – see below) despite the obvious lack of linguistic and native cultural resources. Since community members approach their Xinkan identity as basically a foreign culture and language, activities seem to focus on highlighting the uniqueness of Xinkan in relation to both ladinos and members of Mayan-speaking communities. As the published documents about the Xinkan languages (cited above) are the most tangible and accessible aspect of

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Xinkan culture, all of these activities revolve around aspects of Xinkan grammar. This means community leaders are very interested in language documentation efforts as a source of new information on Xinkan identity. However, prolonged documentation is not valued as no new information is likely to emerge. This is perhaps not surprising; since there are really no speakers of any of the Xinkan languages, prolonged-documentation is simply not possible. In this vein, community leaders realize that creating a new speaker population is unrealistic and unimportant. However, in my association with community members I was often asked to “explain” the grammatical principles of the Xinkan languages, my role being a linguistic teacher and/or source of information. Importantly, because prolonged documentation is not possible, collaboration in this community is limited to these roles. Four activities stand out as being especially important in creating a Xinkan identity: (1) weekly Sunday gatherings, (2) youth scholarships, (3) the creation of folk etymologies and histories, and (4) an elementary school module. The following are brief descriptions of these activities as I have observed them, or as they have been discussed with me by community members. The importance of language documentation in these activities is specifically noted below.

3.2.1 Sunday gatherings about cultural and linguistic revalorization The Xinkan community leaders from both COPXIG and PAPXIG hold a meeting each Sunday afternoon to encourage their youth to learn about and appreciate their heritage. Participants in these gatherings are usually between the ages of 15 and 22. Activities in these gatherings do not usually follow a specific agenda, but often revolve around discussing interesting aspects of Xinkan grammar, chatting about possible word meanings, sharing pictures of local places of interest, eating, and enjoying the company of others. These gatherings are open to everyone interested in participating, whether they are a descendant of a Xinkan speaker, are a Mayan speaker, are a Spanish speaker, or are a foreign linguist. I spent time in the community regularly during the summer months between 2007 and 2010, and visit more sporadically now. I came ready to help in whatever way the community asked; consistently, my role was to teach and lead discussions about aspects of the grammar of the Xinkan languages.



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3.2.2 Community youth scholarships Soon after the organization of PAPXIG and COPXIG, the community leaders offered “scholarships” for high-school aged individuals to “work with a Xinkan speaker”. The scholarships covered the cost of travel to the home of one of the self-identified ‘speakers’ of the languages mentioned above (called “Elders” by the community organizations and given the respectful title “Tío” or “Tía” – literally ‘uncle’ and ‘aunt’ respectively). These young people (often in groups) are asked to spend an afternoon with the community elders and try to learn about the Xinkan past. They focus on discussing the time when the Xinkan elders recalled the languages being spoken more widely and openly and on learning Xinkan expressions the elders could produce. This program was originally funded by donations and grants from NGOs and community members. However, since starting this program, funding has been revoked because of internal conflict between PAPXIG and COPXIG. These scholarships are no longer being offered; though young people are encouraged to perform these activities as volunteers. Some of the Xinkan elders have also lost interest in participating in this type of program, though each has commented about the importance they place on Xinkan culture and identity (personal communication).

3.2.3 Folk etymologies and histories Individuals active in building the Xinkan community and identity make it a point to inform others (from the community and beyond) about the history of words and of the Xinkan culture. This is done in person in community gatherings (mentioned above) or through social media, such as Facebook. Since both the Xinkan languages and cultural characteristics (what is known of it) are unique in Guatemala, the dissemination of this information provides community members with a uniqueness of which to be proud. This helps create community identity and define Xinkan-ness. The information community members share is often based on the information in the linguistic descriptions of one of the languages, though no effort is made to corroborate the details. It is simply accepted as a part of Xinkan identity. For example, one community member is fond of showing morphological derivations of Xinkan words and then concludes with a statement along the lines of “the Mayan languages don’t have evidence of this”. These morphological derivations do not always follow actual Xinkan grammar, but they serve a unifying function for the community. One example of the types of information community

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members value is the Xinkan word for ‘town’ aɬtepet (borrowed from Nahuatl). As expected, this word is not morphologically complex in Xinkan. Even though community members have been told it is not a native Xinkan word, they insist that it is, and that it has the following components aɬ ‘penis’ tepet ‘unknown’. Community members then point out that it is probably the case that historical Xinkan culture and ideology defined a village by where men and women were supposed to reproduce, and that this is very different from the Spanish-speaking or Mayan-speaking conceptualization of a town. While inaccurate, this type of information dissemination creates a unique bond among community members, one that is different than the Spanish-speaking or Mayan-speaking communities around them.

3.2.4 Elementary school module Over the last few years an elementary school module has been developed and implemented in a few public schools within the Xinkan geographical territory. This program is extra-curricular and focuses on teaching the children of self-identified Xinkan community members about Xinkan culture and languages. The goal is not for children to learn any of the Xinkan languages or for them to gain culturally specific skills, but to appreciate the difference and cultural value of these languages compared to those which surround them. The information used in this program is occasionally taken from published grammatical sources, but most often from the information gathered from the other community activities discussed above. While not all schools use this module, and it is rarely consistent in achieving its goals, it is an aid in defining the Xinkan community and identity. The children who participate in this program are the children of individuals who are active in the Xinkan community, and so learn about the ideals and claimed identities of their parents. These adults, in turn, discuss this program in community gatherings or in meetings with representatives from other indigenous communities or political organizations; often community leaders use the elementary school program as a point of comparison with efforts in Mayan-speaking communities. In this light the attitude observed and communicated to me is “now the Xinkan community is at least as organized as the Mayan-speaking communities, we deserve at least the same amount of recognition” (personal communication). These community activities are focused on linguistic ideas (as they are accepted by the community), but serve a specific agenda for community members and leaders. When in political arenas, community leaders are able to point to the uniqueness of Xinkan and its authentic identity as a community. This often



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creates opportunities for community members to gain access to the social, political, and economic resources which the Agreement guarantees for them. Outside the agenda to prove indigenous authenticity, these activities also help community members gain a new respect for their unique heritage. After years of social inequality, they are learning to revalue their languages and culture, and they are accepting them as part of their individual identities. However, interest in language documentation and revitalization is short-lived. Community members approach their language as a foreign language and, because there are few (if any) opportunities to put into practice the information they acquire, quickly lose motivation to learn anything about it. Learning a new language can be difficult for anyone and if the identity of your heritage does not require in-depth knowledge about this language, interest wanes quickly. In fact, in my involvement with the community activities above (specifically in the Sunday gatherings), community members show interest in gaining a practical understanding of those aspects of Xinkan grammar that stand out as ‘different’, but not in acquiring these aspects.

4 Five linguistic traits that are important to the Xinkan community motivation As a result of the specific needs of the Xinkan community, community members consider language documentation to be the most valuable language-related activity (rather than revitalization, for example). Language documentation provides evidence for their unique and specific claim to indigenousness, it provides authentication of their claims for community identity and treatment, and it unites the community through the strongest connection available to their ancestral past. However, it is also true that not all outcomes, conclusions, or discoveries of empirical language description (such as grammatical descriptions, dictionaries or transcribed tales) are of equal importance to the community. It is not general traits and properties of languages that are of particular interest here, but those elements of the language(s) that highlight, support and authenticate the creation of their identity. As a means of illustration, I highlight those aspects of language descriptions (such as COPXIG 2004; Rogers 2010; and Sachse 2010) in which community members have shown particular interest, or about which community members have placed particular emphasis in commenting about and developing their collective identity. Rogers (2010) describes the grammatical elements of the languages in detail, compares them across the family, and reconstructs a common ancestral language, Proto-Xinkan. Xinkan grammatical descriptions contain scientifically

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and linguistically interesting typological descriptions and characteristics. For example, Xinkan languages belong to the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area and (as a group) are said to have a lexically specified restriction on vowel occurrence (often referred to as vowel harmony), a large number of glottalized consonants (ejective obstruents and glottalized sonorants) in the phonological inventory, the use of glottalized consonants as a grammatical mechanism to distinguish verbal aspect, a prominence of grammatical/verbal aspect over tense or mood, semantic verb alignment, a unique marking of verb categorization, VOS word order, and agglutinating morphology. Furthermore, descriptions of the languages clearly show that, despite being spoken in a relatively small geographic area, these languages were independent languages (among themselves) and isolates – they do not form a historical/genetic group with any other known language or languages (see Rogers 2008, 2009, 2010 and Sachse 2010 for references to Xinkan research). As a professional linguist, trained in the tradition of North American linguistics, I find each of these elements of value and worthy of additional study. However, in my interactions with the community, only a small subset of these characteristics has garnered any particular interest. The specific elements community members mention and comment on are: 1. Linguistic isolate 2. Word formation and morphological typology 3. Vowel harmony 4. Glottalized consonants 5. Peripheral status within the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area Community members show little, or no, interest in any other grammatical properties of any of the Xinkan languages. As examples show below, each of these five elements distinguish “Xinkan” from other languages, and consequently they also distinguish the developing Xinkan community from all other cultural and linguistic communities. Each of the five characteristics are discussed in turn.

4.1 Linguistic Isolate By definition, a linguistic isolate stands in contrast to all other languages in the world. It is a language that is not grouped with, descended from, or related to any other known language in the world, in terms of historical change. Xinkan languages are related among themselves but are unrelated to all other languages – and of particular importance here, to Spanish or any of the Mayan languages. Xinkan languages are consequently typologically and genetically not similar to the other languages spoken in the community.



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As two other examples of this typological and genetic difference between the Xinkan languages and the languages spoken in the Xinkan community, I give examples of both the vowel co-occurrence restrictions and semantic verb alignment (see Rogers 2010 for details). Over the years of sporadic documentation of Xinkan languages, however, some linguistic connections have been suggested (Brinton 1885; Calderón 1908; Campbell 1972, 1979; Lehmann 1920). Nevertheless, each of these suggestions has been discredited based on scientific principles and methodology (Campbell 1978; Rogers 2010). It is not uncommon for community members to know and understand the implications of these conclusions, and comments about the Xinkan identity in public spaces (such as social media, or in political gatherings) mention them. For example, I have often heard community members involved with PAPXIG and COPXIG make comments or display attitudes like: ‘Xinkan is an isolate. That means we are different from the Mayan groups, and that we were here [in Guatemala] before the Spanish [Europeans] arrived; Xinkas have always been a separate [cultural] group.’ The general attitude about being a linguistic isolate is that even though the majority of Guatemalan indigenous populations and towns are Mayan speaking, the fact that Xinkan is an isolate automatically distinguishes the community from all others and gives legitimacy to claims of cultural affirmation and community creation.

4.2 Morphological typology Morphological typology is linguistically not very interesting, because it seeks to characterize languages in terms of holistic properties rather than typological parameters (Shibatani and Bynon 1995). Nevertheless, it is not uncommon for language descriptions to mention the general properties of morphological derivation and inflection, for the purpose of surface comparisons between languages. In this vein languages are characterized in a number of different ways in relation to the number of allowable morphemes per word and meanings per morpheme. These characterizations result in labels such as analytic (or isolating), fusional, agglutinating, or polysynthetic.3 Xinkan languages are mildly agglutinating, occasionally having more than one morpheme per word. However, the maximum is three morphemes in a single word making the languages appear, in general, to be more isolating or fusional than other languages. As an example of compari-

3 Of course, many different labels have been suggested since the early days of the Comparative Linguists in the 1800s for these ideas and properties. In using the labels above, my intention is not to take a particular theoretical stance but to use them as general descriptive terms.

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son Xinkan languages display patterns of word formation similar to English or Spanish, but quite distinct from Mayan languages; of course, the actual content of morphological meaning is different in every language. As a means of comparison, (1) gives a sentence in Guazacapán Xinka and (2) gives a sentence in Kaqchikel (Mayan).4 (1) Xinkan word formation5 xuk’a-y tumuki’ tenuwa eat.compl-3sg.tr all zapote ‘Juan ate all the zapote.’

Hwan Juan

(2) Kaqchikel word formation A Xwan x-u-tij clf Juan compl-3sg.erg-eat ‘Juan ate all the beans.’

r-onojel 3sg.erg-all

ri kinäq the bean

While not drastically different, the differences are apparent. This is especially true for the Xinkan community members, who, if they choose to learn a Xinkan language or a Mayan language, approach them as a foreign language. These obvious differences are often mentioned in conversation about the uniqueness of Xinkan languages. The general attitude of the community reflects pride in and understanding of the surface differences between the different languages in Guatemala. However, as a functional communicative tool, community members see Xinkan with indifference (and skepticism).

4.3 Vowel harmony Emphasis on the uniqueness of the Xinkan languages and community often revolves around more concrete linguistic facts. For example, Xinkan vowel

4 Kaqchikel is often mentioned by community members as a point of comparison to the Xinkan languages. There are a number of Mayan languages spoken around the Xinkan geographical area, but this language has a unique connection to the community. A local linguist, a speaker of Kaqchikel, acts as an advisor for community development activities, including language documentation. The community finds great pride in showing that Xinkan languages are different than the language spoken by this linguist. I have used Kaqchikel as a point of comparison here for this reason. 5 The abbreviations in this paper are: 3sg = third-person singular, clf = classifier, compl = completive aspect, erg = ergative marker, and tr = transitive verb



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harmony is a point of pride for some community members. Xinkan languages have six vowels as shown in Table 1 with long and short contrasts. Tab. 1: Xinkan vowel inventory

High Mid Low

Front

Central

Back

i e

ɨ

u o

a

Phonologically, vowels are grouped according to harmonic groups based on the height and the periphery of the vowels in the vowel space. Only vowels in the same group can ever co-occur in a word; the low vowel is neutral and occurs with all other groups. The groups are: High peripheral vowels High central vowel Mid vowels Low vowel (neutral)

[i, u] [ɨ] [e, o] [a]

The vowel group for each word is determined in the lexicon. In some ways this is different than other vowel harmony type systems, since the grouping and organization does not belong to the phonological component of the grammar (i.e., there are no phonological alternations which correspond to vowel co-occurrence). This type of lexical restriction is unique cross-linguistically because of this absence of phonological variation expected in vowel harmony systems, and the uniqueness of the behavior of the high central vowel compared to the other high vowels (see Rogers 2008, 2009, and 2010 for the details). Throughout the world vowel co-occurrence restrictions are not uncommon, but in Mesoamerica this is a unique and unusual pattern. It clearly distinguishes the languages from Spanish or any of the Mayan languages. Occasionally, it is my privilege to be asked to participate in a Sunday afternoon gathering in the community. On one such occasion, individuals asked me to help them understand some of the intricacies of Xinkan grammar. At the time I was professionally very interested in Xinkan vowel harmony (in fact, I still am), so I spent some time explaining what I then knew about this phenomenon. I was excited to share this part of their heritage languages with them, but unsure if the community would find it relevant or interesting. Afterward, I asked participants if they felt that there was any value in learning about these vowel restrictions. I

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did not record any responses at the time, but wrote down the following comment in my field notes after talking to one of the more active community members a few days later. “Yes, it is very interesting. I don’t think I understand it all or why my language is like that, but it clearly is different from languages like Kaqchikel or Spanish. This is important to help the community understand that it is unique; that we are Xinkas.”

As this quote shows, this community member clearly felt that linguistic facts are important for the definition of the Xinkan community and identity because it distinguished them from either Spanish or Mayan languages.

4.4 Glottalized consonants Similarly, in speaking to community members about the linguistic properties of the Xinkan languages, and knowing that they approach them like a foreign language, I frequently ask what aspects of the grammar they find especially difficult. The presence of glottalized consonants is prominent in their responses. The Xinkan consonant inventory is largely symmetrical and uses glottalization as a source of phonemic contrast. The consonant inventory of Guazacapán Xinka is shown in Table 2.



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k

Ejective

p’

t’

k’

Voiceless

Affricates

Voiceless

s

lateral

rhotic

glides

ʔ h

tʃ

Ejective

Liquid

ṣ̌

Glottal

t

Velar

p

Palatal

Alveolar

Voiceless

Fricatives

Nasal

Retro-Flex

Labial Stops

Alveopalatal

Tab. 2: Xinkan consonant inventory

ts’

Plain

m

n

Glottalized

m’

n’

Plain

l

Glottalized

l’

Voiceless

ɬ

Plain

r

Glottalized

r’

tʃ’

Plain

w

y

Glottalized

w’

y’

Crosslinguistically, this inventory is interesting because of the considerable number of glottalized consonants and the presence of a number of glottalized sonorants. However, of particular interest to the discussion about community identity is the following response I have written down in my field notes from another community member about the difficulty of the Xinkan grammar: “Well, it [the language] is all a bit strange, but for me it is the glottalized sounds. I’ve learned that Xinkan had these consonants that are called “glottalized” and that they require a constriction in your throat. I can’t make these sounds without choking myself, so I don’t do it. I like that this is a way to show that Xinkan is different than other groups, but it is too difficult to produce.”

This quote shows that for this community member, the usefulness of the languages is doubtful as a tool of communication. The community member cited above is not unwilling to learn to produce the glottalized sounds, and in general

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community members are uninterested in practicing and producing them, but they are considered quite foreign when compared to their native language (Spanish). Even though these sounds are produced with varying accuracy, they are often mentioned as one unique quality of the Xinkan languages; the linguistic properties they exhibit are highly valued as a means of community identity. Mayan languages, in fact, do have glottalized consonants (such as the voiced bilabial implosive [ɓ]), but not nearly as many as the Xinkan languages – a point of which community members are aware and which strengthens their claims of authenticity.

4.5 Peripheral status within the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area Lastly, within the community, Xinkan languages are constantly being discussed in terms of being on the periphery of the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area. The Xinkan community, culture and languages do not exist in a bubble, nor have they ever. In fact, it is well known among scholars and community members that Xinkan languages are linguistically part of the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area (see Campbell, Kaufman, and Smith-Stark 1986). Similarly, the Xinkan languages show evidence that the speakers of these languages were also in contact with non-Mesoamerican languages. This means that, despite being genetically isolated, the languages have been influenced by many other languages in and out of this linguistic area, including: Spanish, many Mayan languages, a few Uto-Aztecan languages, Tol, Misumulpan, possibly Chibchan languages, and most likely others. Linguistically, there is evidence of this influence through language borrowing in many aspects of each of the Xinkan languages (though to varying degrees for each language). Vocabulary has been added, morphemes have been altered, word order has been affected, and other syntactic structures have been changed. Nobody would ever doubt that the Xinkan languages are and were spoken in Mesoamerica. The Mesoamerican Linguistic Area is defined based on the following five core criteria as cited in Campbell, Kaufman, and Smith-Stark (1986: 555): 1. A specific type of nominal possession (e.g., his-dog the man = ‘the man’s dog’) 2. Relational nouns 3. Vigesimal numeral systems 4. Non-verb-final basic word order 5. A series of specific semantic calques Other properties of this area also exist, but are considered non-core, or non-essential, in defining this language area.



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For the community, Xinkan languages are thought of as being on the periphery because, while they appear to exhibit all of the core (definitional) properties of the linguistic area mentioned above, many of the non-core properties are not true for Xinkan. In terms of the scholarship about linguistic areas, this does little to alter the place of Xinkan as a member of the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area. For the community, however, it is evidence that the borrowing and contact inherent in a language area was different for speakers of the Xinkan languages. They claim that this is evidence that something that can be called the ‘Xinkan community’ has always been present in Guatemala and that this community has been culturally and linguistically distinct from the rest of the country for thousands of years. A more in-depth discussion of the Xinkan languages in relation to the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area or in terms of typological traits is outside the scope of this paper,6 as the goal here is to discuss the community motivations in being involved with language documentation and revitalization. Community members often concentrate on learning about grammatical aspects of the languages in their Sunday gatherings. However, since there is no speaker base, all linguistic information about Xinkan comes from past efforts in documenting them. Consequently, language documentation is highly valued among community members, as long as it serves their needs and desires as discussed above. Community members value the unique identity that language documentation brings, but not necessarily the languages as a part of that identity. Grammatical descriptions of the Xinkan languages clearly underscore that they are unlike any of the other languages surrounding them and these linguistic differences are used by community members as a reason to separate themselves from the Mayans (and the Mayan linguistic agenda), from the ladinos, and from the non-indigenous Spanish speakers.

5 Motivation, language documentation, and revitalization The world’s linguistic diversity is seen as a valuable commodity by many scholars, activists, and language community members around the world. Often the concern over the loss of this diversity is gathered under one terminological

6 In fact, aside from Campbell, Kaufman, and Smith-Stark (1986), no specific published research exists on the place of the Xinkan languages within the Mesoamerican Linguistic Area. This would be an advantageous area of future work. Rogers (2010) and Sachse (2010) provide the data necessary for this type of work.

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umbrella “language endangerment”. However, the classification of any language as “endangered” is necessarily a secondary classification – the endangered status of a language is dependent on a number of primary classifications and descriptions. For example, for many linguists, an endangered language is a secondary classification of: (1) language demographics, (2) language and cultural shift, (3) intergenerational transmission, (4) amount of descriptive documentation, or (5) human rights violations affecting its speakers. In practice, a language can be empirically classified as endangered for any single one of these factors or a combination of more than one of them. Nevertheless, discussions about language endangerment are beneficial as they codify needs and motivations for and by communities and linguists. Based on specific assumptions (mentioned above) the vitality of a language can be quantified and a specific set of outcomes can be developed which will help reach the community’s and/or linguist’s goals. Diagnostics of language endangerment (and the concomitant needs and motivations) are often used by linguists and local communities to set goals and expected outcomes for language related projects. Generally, the terms language documentation, language revitalization, language conservation, or language preservation (as examples) are used to talk about and understand these planned outcomes. However, specifically, the types (and names) of activities which are related to endangered languages are not homoge­ nous and the differences are important. Each of the activities and expectations are appropriate only for a specific community context. For example, language revitalization in the Xinkan community should not be considered a focus for language activities, research and/or projects; community identity creation is more appropriate. In speaking about the marginalized communities around the world (and in Latin America in specific) the twin heads language documentation and revitalization do not seem appropriate. Language documentation is a broadly defined activity covering descriptive and empirical work with/on a language. Language revitalization involves strengthening an already existing language whose communicative function is diminishing. However, as the Xinkan community indicates, revitalization is not always appropriate or desirable. An emphasis on revitalizing Xinkan would be difficult and in some ways might weaken the growing community identity. A better way of describing language-related activities, research, and/or projects in this type of community is language documentation and community creation. Community creation is required in situations where an indigenous community has been identified (and defined in political terms) but where there is no cultural or linguistic heritage unifying this community. For these communities recognition among community members, other indigenous groups, and national



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cultures is among the highest priorities. A community cannot act towards language maintenance if they do not have a unique language or unique cultural identity. These communities struggle for the linguistic and sociopolitical recognition that is assumed in discussions of language documentation and revitalization. For the Xinkan community in Guatemala this is precisely the issue. Language documentation and the ensuing discussions give authenticity to their claims of cultural otherness. This is also true for many other communities throughout Latin America (and probably beyond). These language communities represent a very significant contribution for our understanding of the best practices of language documentation and revitalization. Language diversity and linguistic rights are imperative, but often these are secondary concerns. Establishing the right to join in the discussion of these topics as an independent cultural group is fundamental. A language community is not a fixed homogenous organization and neither should our response to and expectations for the loss of the world’s linguistic diversity be. The current organization of the Xinkan community is one way of developing cultural identity, and this identity and organization will likely change as time goes by and this identity is developed more. At this stage of community development, language-related activities have a very specific task, to prove every community member’s authentic indigenous identity.

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Campbell, Lyle. 1972. Mayan loan words in Xinca. International Journal of American Linguistics 38 (1). 187–190. Campbell, Lyle. 1978. Quichean prehistory: linguistic contributions. In Nora England (ed.), Papers in Mayan linguistics, 2nd, 25–64. Columbia: Dept. of Anthropology, University of Missouri. Campbell, Lyle. 1979. Middle American languages. In Lyle Campbell & Marianne Mithun (eds.), The languages of Native America, 902–1000. Austin: University of Texas Press. Campbell, Lyle. 1997. The linguistic prehistory of Guatemala. In Jane Hill, P.J. Mistry and Lyle Campbell (eds.), Papers in honor of William Bright, 138–192. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter. Campbell, Lyle, Terrence Kaufman & Thomas C. Smith–Stark. 1986. Meso-America as a linguistic area. Language 62 (3). 530–570. Campbell, Lyle, Nala Huiying Lee, Eve Okura, Sean Simpson & Kaori Ueki. 2013. New knowledge: findings from the catalogue of endangered languages. http://hdl.handle. net/10125/26145 (accessed 15 October 2015). Consejo Del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala (COPXIG). 2004. Gramática y diccionario xinka: una descripción e introducción al idioma. Chiquimulilla, Santa Rosa: CECI. Crippen, James A. & Laura C. Robinson. 2013. In defense of the Lone Wolf: Collaboration in language documentation. Language Documentation & Conservation, 7. 123–135. http:// nflrc.hawaii.edu/ldc (accessed 15 October 2015). Crystal, David. 2000. Language death. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Errington, Joseph. 2003. Getting language rights: The rhetorics of language endangerment and loss. American Anthropologist 105 (4). 723–732. Feldman, Lawrence H. 1974. Papers of Escuintla and Guazacapán: A Contribution to the History and Ethnography of South-Eastern Guatemala. Greeley, Colorado: University of Colorado. Fishman, Joshua. 1991. Reversing language Shift: Theoretical and empirical foundations of assistance to threatened languages. Clevedon: Mulitlingual Matters, Ltd. Gippert, Jost, Nikolaus P. Himmelmann & Ulrike Mosel (eds.). 2006. Essentials of language documentation. New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley (eds.). 1998. Endangered languages: Current issues and future prospects. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley (eds.). 2006. Saving languages: An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grenoble, Lenore A. & N. Louanna Furbee (eds.). 2010. Language documentation: Practice and values. Amsterdam, Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Harrison, K. David, David D. Rood & Arienne M. Dwyer (eds.). 2008. Lessons from documented endangered languages. Philadelphia, PA: John Benjamins Publishing Co. Hinton, Leanne & Ken Hale (eds.). 2001. The green book of language revitalization in practice. San Diego: Academic Press. Jancewicz, Bill, Marguerite MacKenzie, George Guanish & Silas Nabinicaboo. 2002. Building a community language development team with Québec Naskapi. In Barbara Burnaby & Jon Reyner (eds.), Indigenous languages across the community, 77–84. Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University. Kaufman, Terrence. 1977. Areal linguistics and Middle America. In Thomas A. Sebeok (ed.) Native languages of the Americas, volume 2. 63–87. New York: Plenum Press. Krauss, Michael. 1992. The world’s languages in crisis. Language 68 (1). 4–10. Lehmann, Walter. 1920. Die sprachen des südöstlichen Guatemala (Xinka und Pupuluca von Conguaco). In Walter Lehmann, Zentral-Amerika Teil 1. Die Sprachen Zentral-Amerikas in



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Shibatani, Masayoshi & Theodora Bynon (eds.). 1995. Approaches to language typology. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, Carol A. (ed.). 1990. Guatemalan Indians and the State: 1540 to 1988. Austin: University of Texas Press. Warren, Kay B. 1998. Indigenous movements and their critics: Pan-Mayan activism in Guatemala. New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Whaley, Lindsay. 2011. Some ways to endanger an endangered language project. Language and Education 25(4). 339–348. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa Herminia, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres & Rocío Rojas Arias. This volume. Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: the case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 109–141. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

Stéphanie Villard and J. Ryan Sullivant

11 Language documentation in two communities with high migration rates1 1 Introduction The transnational migration of indigenous Latin Americans to the United States is sizable, with the majority of migrants being of Guatemalan or Mexican national origin. Many of these people speak languages which are the subjects of language documentation and revitalization programs (Huizar Murillo and Cerda 2004). Because the intersection of transnational/transborder migration and endangered language documentation and description (ELDD) is a recent topic in the field of linguistics, studies examining the effect of migration on indigenous languages’ vitality and maintenance within the community of origin are still scarce. The majority of existing studies deal with the effect of English or Spanish on the pace of language shift from an indigenous language to either one of the languages of wider communication. Furthermore, the indigenous language communities studied show a certain level of vitality, and often migrate from their community of origin to an existing satellite community where the heritage language is still present (Falconi 2011, 2013; Fox and Riviera Salgado 2004; Pérez Báez 2009, 2013, 2014). The communities examined in the present paper are in a state of advanced language shift to Spanish as children are no longer learning the indigenous language and the youngest fluent speakers are over thirty years old. Furthermore, contrary to the communities considered in the studies mentioned above, neither

1 Thanks to Margarita González Hernández, Anatolio Soriano Cortés, María de Jesús Barrada, Javier Ayuso González, Pedro Franco, Anel Franco, Flavia Mateo Mejía, Celiflora Cortés Jiménez as well as the editors of this volume and one anonymous reviewer for their help with various aspects of this paper. We gratefully acknowledge support for our work through the Major Documentation Project Grant MDP0153 (under Woodbury), and the Individual Graduate Studentship Grant (PI: Villard), award number IGS0128, to the University of Texas at Austin, offered by the Hans Rausing Endangered Language Project at the School of Oriental and African Languages, University of London (Villard and Sullivant), and through a Dissertation Improvement Grant from the National Science Foundation, award number BCS-1065082 (Sullivant). Stéphanie Villard and J. Ryan Sullivant, University of Texas, Austin

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of the communities in this paper has a satellite community in the US, and instead migrants tend to disperse themselves among several regions of the US. Given the observation that many Latin American migrants in the US are speakers of indigenous languages, ELDD projects on Latin American languages may involve communities with high US migration rates. As a result, linguists may face issues related to migration and the disruption of communities, which can impact the availability of consultants, and the deleterious effect of English on local language ideologies. The literature so far has not given an account of ELDD projects in this specific situation, this paper aims to provide such an account in hopes of starting a conversation about the specificities and obstacles linguists may encounter when working in communities with high migration rates to the US. We will present descriptions of the sociolinguistic situations in our respective field sites, provide examples of how we accommodated these situations in our projects, as well as offer a few suggestions for linguists embarking on similar projects, which are either absent in fieldwork manuals or are only minimally present in the ELDD literature. We have noted that while there appears to be an overall positive sentiment associated with Chatino identity and language, there has been much less support for communitywide revitalization efforts than would be expected. Our claim is that the community’s exposure to and participation in cyclical migration to the United States and the culture of migration (Cohen 2004) has brought about favoritism towards English language skills over Chatino skills.2 This general inclination compelled us to move away from community-wide revitalization goals in our respective documentation projects, and instead to focus on the empowering of individual speakers in the hopes of fostering, in the long run, grassroots revitalization efforts. Before proceeding, a couple of clarifications ought to be stated. Our intentions here are not to expose the factors that led to language shift in the first place,3 but rather to show how intense migration to the US may preclude community-wide language revitalization efforts. Furthermore, we are not claiming that indigenous communities in Latin America with large migration figures to the US are shifting or ever will shift to English, but rather it is the idealization of English in the speaker’s mind that affects desires for acquisition of the heritage language. Finally, English is not the cause of language shift in these communities, since

2 We readily acknowledge that all the factors leading to language shift from Chatino to Spanish also lead to a devaluation of Chatino skills. 3 Chatinophone shift to Spanish began over thirty years ago in both communities, and non-Chatino Spanish speakers were present in Tataltepec well before then.



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this process well preceded the coming of English into the picture in both Chatino communities, and in fact, roughly half of all Chatinophones also spoke Spanish forty years ago (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía 1970). Section 2.1 provides information about the respective sociolinguistic situations in the two Chatino communities as well as information about each of the Chatino varieties in question. Section 2.2 discusses multilingualism in the region. Section 2.3 provides information on the patterns and prevalence of labor migration, and Section 2.4 offers insights on the migration discourses. Section 2.5 describes English language usage in the two towns. Section 3 shows our approach to language documentation using examples from San Marcos Zacatepec and Tataltepec de Valdés, and Section 4 concludes our paper and offers some suggestions for researchers.

1.1 Methods The data in this paper come from the authors’ experiences as US-based academic linguists working in two Chatino communities, including our conversations with Chatino and non-Chatino residents of the two locales, as well as our investigations into Chatino vitality and migration prevalence in each community through annotating medical clinic records based on our consultants’ knowledge of these relatively small communities. The data presented in this paper is drawn from our experiences and observations as graduate student linguistic fieldworkers engaged in independent language documentation projects in San Marcos Zacatepec and Tataltepec de Valdés, two Chatino communities which speak mutually unintelligible and highly endangered Chatino varieties. We also informally interviewed community members about their views on Chatino identity and language.

2 Sociolinguistic overview Chatino is a shallow language family in the Zapotecan branch of Otomanguean spoken in southwestern Oaxaca, Mexico (Kaufman 2006). The Chatinophone region occupies the coastal ranges of Oaxaca’s Sierra Sur, from relatively low river valleys to high mountainside towns. As can be seen in Figure 1, to the west and southwest the Chatino communities border Coastal Mixtec-speaking towns and to the east lie Southern Zapotec-speaking communities. Like most indigenous communities in Mexico, all Chatino-speaking locales are in contact with Spanish

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speakers to varying degrees of intensity. In 2006, 42,791 people self-identified as speakers of a Chatino language, 20.7 % of whom were monolinguals (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía 2009).

Map 1: Chatino languages and locations mentioned in the text. Adapted from Wikimedia Commons images by El Ágora, Mario Fuentes Cid and Lokal_Profil.

The family consists of three languages: Zenzontepec Chatino (ISO 639-3 code: czn), Tataltepec Chatino (cta), and Eastern Chatino (Campbell 2013). Eastern Chatino itself is a collection of some fifteen different varieties (including Zacatepec Chatino) which vary considerably from each other, yet no divisions or subgrouping within Eastern Chatino have been demonstrated at this point.4 All Chatino varieties are notable for having, among other things, intricate systems of lexical tone (Cruz 2011; McIntosh 2012, 2015; Sullivant 2013, 2015; Villard 2015; Villard and Woodbury 2012), and complex inflectional paradigms within their

4 Ethnologue 2013 divides Eastern Chatino in four: Western Highland Chatino (ctp), Eastern Highland Chatino (cly), Nopala Chatino (cya) and Zacatepec Chatino (ctz), and describes no subgrouping among the six Chatino languages it identifies. These divisions were based on researcher intuitions and input from a mutual intelligibility survey (Egland 1978), but have not been proven by application of the comparative method.



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verb aspect systems (Campbell 2011; Sullivant 2011a, 2015; Villard 2009, 2012, 2015). The rest of this section will discuss the particulars of Chatino language vitality in Zacatepec and Tataltepec making reference to the demography of the two communities and the domains of usage of their respective Chatino variety, and will briefly mention some discourses about the ongoing shift from Chatino to Spanish.

2.1 Chatino vitality Tataltepec and Zacatepec are the two most endangered Chatino varieties, in which there is a socially integrated and active body of speakers, but most are beyond childbearing age. The two communities are similar, but the position of Chatino within each is slightly different. The Ethnologue gives the vitality of Tataltepec and Zacatepec Chatino as 6b (Threatened) and 7 (Shifting) in the EGIDS scale (Lewis et al. 2015), though our own assessments of Chatino’s vitality according to the EGIDS scale (Lewis and Simons 2010) are 7 (Shifting) for Tataltepec Chatino and 8a (Moribund) for Zacatepec Chatino. The particulars of Chatino vitality in each community, including the demographics of its speakers and the domains of usage, will be discussed in turn.

2.1.1 Demographics Zacatepec Chatino belongs to the Eastern Chatino language, and is only spoken within the small community of San Marcos Zacatepec, which counts about 1000 inhabitants. It is a highly endangered Chatino variety as all its 300 or so fluent speakers are over 40 years old. The population’s ethnicity is almost exclusively Chatino, as few mestizos5 have settled in the community, and those that did generally have had to learn some Chatino for their business to thrive.

5 Mestizo is a cultural label. We follow local usage in this paper and use mestizo to refer to persons who do not identify as Chatino, both people without Chatino ancestry as well as people with Chatino ancestry who do not speak Chatino or identify with the indigenous culture. This usage is distinct from other, more widespread uses of the term which define mestizo as referring to people born of mixed, typically American and European, ancestry (Fernando Lara 2010; Real Academia Española 2001).

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Tataltepec Chatino together with the Eastern Chatino language forms a subgroup within the family (Campbell 2013). Tataltepec Chatino is only spoken only in Tataltepec de Valdés, a small town of some 2600 residents. Unlike Zacatepec, the community is ethnically divided. According to the widely agreed-upon local history, mestizo immigrants began arriving in Tataltepec about a century ago.6 With time, many of these immigrants and their descendants came to dominate Tataltepec’s political and economic activities, including much of the retail activities of the town. Unlike in Zacatepec, contemporary mestizo small business owners do not accommodate Chatino speakers, and perform business solely in Spanish.7

Fig. 1: Chatino vitality in Zacatepec (left) and Tataltepec (right). Number of individuals is listed on the x-axis and age cohort in years on the y-axis. Gray indicates Chatinophone persons, white indicates Spanish monolinguals.

Figure 1 shows the distribution of the population by age and Chatino fluency in both communities (Zacatepec on the left and Tataltepec on the right). In Zacatepec, Chatino skills directly correlate to age: all persons below 25 are Spanish monolinguals, people between 25 and 40 may be semi-speakers of Chatino and native speakers of Spanish, and everyone above 40 is a bilingual Chatino-Spanish. There are no Chatino monolinguals left. Of course, the particularities of each

6 This chronology is supported by early census data. Tataltepec was identified as a “república de indios” or an autonomous indigenous community in the mid eighteenth century, but by 1900, 153 of its 833 residents (18 %) were identified as Spanish speakers (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía n.d.; Villaseñor y Sánchez 1746). 7 Chatinophone Tataltepec resident Flavia Mateo recalls that as a young girl, her first encounter with Spanish was being sent on an errand to buy sugar. The Spanish-speaking merchant did not sell it to her until she was able to name it in Spanish (azúcar) rather than in Chatino (skà).



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household mean that some younger speakers are more fluent than this generalization suggests (even though they characterize themselves as Spanish monolinguals and may be considered ghost speakers as per definitions in Grinevald and Bert (2011)), and some older speakers may be less fluent. The picture of Chatino language vitality is somewhat different in Tataltepec de Valdés. As in Zacatepec, nearly all Chatinophones are bilingual in Spanish and the youngest generation of speakers is almost entirely monolingual in Spanish. In contrast to Zacatepec, however, Chatino speakers are in the minority of every age cohort, as can be seen in Figure 1.8

2.1.2 Domains of usage In both Tataltepec and Zacatepec, Spanish is the dominant language in all public domains except for communication between Chatinophones, whose numbers are decreasing. The towns’ loudspeakers, both those used by the municipal authorities and those used to broadcast paid messages, exclusively make their announcements in Spanish, whereas the authors have heard these messages broadcast in the Eastern Chatino varieties in other communities such as San Juan Quiahije. Spanish is the language of governance, but Chatinophone officials will chat with one another in Chatino in government buildings and a Chatinophone may address them in Chatino if no Spanish monolinguals are present. Both Tataltepec and Zacatepec are governed locally in part by a civil-religious hierarchy.9 One of the features of this system are the yearly ceremonies ratifying the installation of new appointees, which in other Chatino communities are accompanied by elaborate and impressive displays of Chatino oratory (Cruz 2014). In Zacatepec, this event is one of the only instances of publicly used Chatino when one of the village’s elder gives a ritual speech to bless all new entering cargo-holders. In

8 These figures were obtained by asking a Chatino resident of Tataltepec to identify each person listed on a 2012 medical clinic’s census data as either Chatinophone or not. All told, 541 of the 2684 listed residents of Tataltepec and the much smaller outlying hamlets of Plan del Aire and El Ocote were identified as Chatinophone, or roughly one-fifth of the population. Since no explicit criteria were given for “knowing Chatino”, semi-speakers of the language are likely included, so this figure is probably somewhat greater than the number of fluent speakers currently in the town. 9 These civil-religious hierarchies are common throughout Mesoamerica, though the particulars of each system and its implementation are quite varied from place to place. For more detailed studies of civil-religious hierarchies in other Chatino communities see Bartolomé and Barrabas (1996) and Greenberg (1981).

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Tataltepec, on the other hand, these ritual oratories have been replaced by commemorative speeches in Spanish.

2.1.3 Language shift discourses In Zacatepec, non-fluent speakers deplore the loss of the language, and often express regret or blame their parents for not teaching them Chatino. A feeling of nostalgia is budding, as can be seen when a local credit union Caja Solidaria Ki’che-Tzi uses the Chatino name of the community. Nostalgia of the heritage language is generally at its peak when the language in question has completely disappeared from the linguistic landscape but is still fresh in the memory of people. This sentiment may contribute to a community-wide revitalization effort but Zacatepec has not reached this point of language loss and despite the laments, many in the community still feel that Chatino is very much part of their daily life.10 The situation is similar in Tataltepec, where Chatino can still be widely heard in households with older Chatinophone residents. Chatinos in Tataltepec are aware of the shift to Spanish and many blame parents for not teaching the language to their children or blame children for choosing to not speak Chatino. While it may be premature to say that Chatino nostalgia is present in Tataltepec, there have been some instances where children (who are often semi-speakers or Chatino learners) reciting Chatino have been the focus of public events – a chorus singing a translation of the national anthem into Chatino, and the contestants of the Reina Chatina ‘Chatino Queen’ pageant who were made to present themselves in Chatino and answer questions as part of the competition – which suggests that speaking Chatino is no longer taken for granted among the Chatinos of Tataltepec, but is now a skill that is notable and worthy of praise.

2.2 Past and present multilingualism in the region We hold that the ideologies seen today are responses to relatively recent changes. By way of illustration, we will now present evidence of historic multilingualism and language contact in Mesoamerica in general and the Chatinophone region in particular and contrast that to the present situation.

10 See Pérez Báez (this volume) for further discussion of the lack of community awareness of language endangerment in other Oaxacan communities and elsewhere.



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2.2.1 Historic multilingualism Pre-Columbian Mesoamerica was a multilingual place. The existence of the Meso­ american Linguistic Area (Campbell et al. 1986), a zone of structural linguistic convergence born out of prolonged contact between several unrelated language stocks, is testament to this. Such an area suggests that there had to have been some degree of multilingualism (most likely a series of overlapping diffuse networks of multilingualism) throughout the region. Documents from the colonial period clearly indicate that certain populations spoke multiple indigenous languages. Swanton (2008) describes several colonial-period documents from the valleys of Coixtlahuaca and Tamazulapan-Teotongo in the northern portion of Oaxaca’s Mixteca region which contain writing in Mixtec and Chocholtec or Mixtec and Nahuatl, and a few documents that contain all three. A bit closer to the Chatinophone region, a Spanish friar states that the Mixtec of Teposcolula and Yanhuitlán could be plainly understood by nobles and traveling merchants throughout the Mixtec-speaking region whereas peasants would only partially understand the Mixtec of those towns (de los Reyes 1593). Colonial-period documents referring to Chatino are few and far between and there is no extant description of their languages before Belmar (1902).11 Linguistic evidence suggests that they have been in contact with several nearby languages, and this contact has left marks on Chatino and other nearby languages. Some Chatino varieties have borrowed ‘toad’ from Coastal Mixtec (Campbell 2013) and Tataltepec Chatino has also borrowed a now-archaic term for ‘money’, and in the domain of syntax, has adopted the use of ‘companion’ in numeral phrases from a Coastal Mixtec language (Sullivant 2011b). Though we are aware of no evidence of Chatino’s influence on Mixtec, Chatino has been argued to have left its mark on some other languages. Beam de Azcona (2004: 151) labels Coatlán-Loxicha Southern Zapotec nì ‘house’ as a loan from Chatino, and Bartholomew (1980) argues that Chatino (or a language which shared Chatino’s stem-final stress) affected the prosody of Pochutec, which was the only known Aztec language to not have penultimate stress. All of which shows that Oaxaca has been a place where language contact was common, and where some level of multilingualism was present in many of the contact situations.

11 Interestingly, the earliest identified mention of the Chatino languages also suggests multilingualism in the region: Tavárez (2011) recounts the trial of a man accused of translating a supposedly idolatrous text from Chatino into Soltec in 1635.

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2.2.2 Multilingualism today Today multilingualism in the Chatinophone region is much more restricted. Many Chatino speakers (and nearly every speaker in Zacatepec and Tataltepec) are bilingual with Spanish, but knowledge of other indigenous languages is generally absent. Speakers today report no contact with Mixtec speakers or Zapotec speakers that is not mediated through Spanish. Chatino speakers may be bi-dialectal, especially within the fifteen or so communities that form the Eastern Chatino language, where marriages frequently bring together couples from different communities. Occasionally Chatino-speaking teachers from one area learn to speak the Chatino of the town where they are sent to teach, though this is uncommon, and Chatinophones from different places quickly switch to Spanish if there is any communicative difficulty. In spite of Mexico’s self-proclamation as a multicultural and plurilingual nation, the educational system appears to promote a single mestizo culture transmitted by the Spanish language through its use of bilingual education as a path to cultural assimilation (Coronado Suzán 1992; Despagne 2013). This is reflected in the first schools to be placed in indigenous communities, the escuelas castillanizadoras ‘Castillianizing schools’ which aimed to teach all children to speak Spanish through monolingual Spanish education, and hence become integrated into Mexican society.12 Even the later introduction of bilingual schooling has been argued to have assimilationist aims (Comas 1953), resulting an educational system that is neither bilingual not bicultural (Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume). This normative monolingualism has a corollary implication: bilingualism is seen as a transitional state in a community’s march towards Spanish monolingualism (Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume; Sicoli 2010). In Tataltepec, parents can choose to send their children to either a Spanish-only primary school or to the Escuela Bilingüe Porfirio Díaz, which like many “bilingual schools” in Oaxaca features classes entirely in Spanish, with periodic lessons on the local indigenous languages asking children to memorize the spellings of different Chatino words. Parents in Zacatepec can only send their children to a Spanish-only primary school. There is no Chati-

12 Other attempts to impose (urban) Mexican national culture were more concrete and physical: boys were made to wear pants instead of ntykiyàʔ (white cloth breeches), children were made to wear shoes instead of going barefoot or wearing traditional kanyà sandals, and at least in Tataltepec, girls were required to wear their hair in perms rather than the preferred local styles of long straight or braided hair (Flavia Mateo and Modesta Martínez, p.c. 2012).



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no-dominant track within the schools, and Chatino is not offered as a subject in any secondary or post-secondary school in Tataltepec or Zacatepec. Since English presents greater economic opportunity, parents choose to not transmit Chatino to their children and hope they learn English instead. Heritage Chatino speakers feel that they have to pick between one of the languages (Chatino or English), but cannot learn both because it would just be too difficult to achieve. In keeping with the dominant national language ideology promoted by the educational system, parents believe that their children should be first and foremost Spanish speakers, leaving heritage Chatino speakers to feel that they have to pick between maintaining Chatino skills or hoping to acquire English skills. Parents can hope that their children might acquire skills in some other language, but Chatino and English are perceived as “difficult” languages, so learning both seems improbable. Chatino speakers are then reluctant to teach their children Chatino (even at home) because they believe that speaking Chatino does not allow for ever mastering standard Spanish, and furthermore, even if the latter situation was conceivable, it would still impede the prospect of learning English in addition to Spanish. Now that English acquisition is desirable, the language ideology of idealized monolingualism affects notions of what is possible in language learning. People should be monolingual (Spanish), and can desire to speak another language (English), but not a third (Chatino). We argue that English’s new-found status as a desirable language is a consequence of its presence and its perceived utility in labor migration. The next section will discuss the prevalence and effects of labor migration in the two communities.

2.3 Labor migration: The context of two Chatino communities This section discusses the patterns and prevalence of labor migration in the region. First we describe the historic patterns of labor migration and contrast them with the contemporary labor migration, then we show the levels of participation in transborder labor migration in Zacatepec and Tataltepec.

2.3.1 Previous patterns of migration Leaving the home community to find work is nothing new in the Chatinophone communities of Oaxaca. The scarcity of farmland and the poverty of the soils have long conspired to place farmers in the position of not being able to grow all the food they will need during the year. Additionally, the demands of the civil-religious hierarchy, especially the occasional requirement to host feasts for saints,

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required households to procure items they cannot produce on their own, such as candles and liquor, meaning that some amount of paid labor had to be undertaken in order to fulfill a household’s obligations (Greenberg 1981). Typically, laborers would leave their communities to work on large plantations, generally cotton or sugar plantations along the coastal plains south of their villages. Beginning in the mid-twentieth century, coffee began to be planted in large amounts on mountainsides in the region (including the area around Zacatepec), and coffee’s labor-intensive winter harvest soon became a frequent destination for wage seekers. Though this plantation labor does provide a precedent for labor migration, the kind of migration it entails is vastly different in several respects from the transborder migration common today. Firstly, though working for a wage on a coastal cotton plantation required passing from a Chatino-dominant sphere to a mestizo-dominant sphere, no national borders were crossed, and the costs and risks involved in traveling to work were much lower. Secondly, given that plantations (especially coffee plantations) do not need large numbers of workers throughout the year, employment is seasonal, and workers generally would only leave their homes for a few weeks at a time. Thirdly, families often traveled in groups to work on plantations, with most members participating in coffee picking and others tending to meal preparation and watching over their camp. This is in contrast to the current state of migration in which lone migrants13 generally stay for multiple years given the costs and risks involved with crossing the border into the US, and the separation of laborers from their families that can occur as a result of this migration.

2.3.2 The prevalence of migration in Zacatepec and Tataltepec The data for labor migration figures were collected by the authors themselves as official migration figures are only reported by state, not by town or municipality, and the available state-level figures may be flawed for methodological reasons: families of migrants may be reluctant to divulge information to government agents or may consider relatives in the US as still residing in the home. Our longterm presence in each respective community has allowed for solid trustworthy

13 Though certainly true of the first periods of labor migration to the US, this is becoming less the norm as more and more migrants send for their partners and children after settling in the north or even as entire families cross together.



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relationships with several individuals, and migration data was easily collected through interviews with different community members.

Fig. 2: Participation in labor migration in Tataltepec and Zacatepec.

Zacatepec migratory data was collected with the help of one main consultant at first, who ran through every single village household in his mind in a systematic way identifying all the persons who were away in the US at the time as well as the people who had migrated and have returned to the community. The data was reviewed and revised by several individuals in the community over the course of the summer 2012, and always fostered great debate and conversations about migration in general. The figures for Tataltepec were obtained by asking a Chatino-speaking consultant to go over the 2012 medical clinic census rolls and identify all persons who were known to be away in the US currently, as well as all those people who had ever migrated but currently live in Tataltepec. This approach can undercount the actual number of migrants in two respects: the consultants may have forgotten that a given individual is or has been away, and residents can be overlooked entirely. In Zacatepec, the consultants may have forgotten to include a household or individual, and in Tataltepec individuals were removed from the medical clinic rolls. The first confound likely has a small effect given close-knit nature of the communities, while the magnitude of the second confound is harder to determine. Though the medical clinic’s rolls are quickly updated with all reported births and deaths, people who have not visited the clinic in five years may be removed from the rolls, meaning that long-term migrants are absent from both the counts of those currently abroad as well as the total population figures, which has the effect of lowering the overall rate of migration for the two communities.

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In Zacatepec 77 people who are currently in the US were identified, and an additional 63 had returned from working in the US. In Tataltepec 236 people were identified as currently in the US and 88 who have returned. These figures are reported in Table 1 and summarized in Figure 2. Tataltepec and Zacatepec have larger portions of their citizens abroad (9.0 % and 6.4 % respectively) than Oaxaca (3.1 %) and the entire Republic (3.3 %) (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía 2010).14 This is understandable since migration is often more pronounced in marginalized communities where residents perceive fewer opportunities for economic security. These figures do seem low compared to many communities in Oaxaca such as San Lucas Quiaviní for which Pérez Báez (2012, 2013: 55, this volume) notes a 20 % to 50 % decline in population since the beginning of the labor migration in that locale (whereas all Chatino municipalities have experienced population growth between 1990 and 2010). It is noteworthy that the effects of labor migration and the culture of migration are so present even when only about 12 % of the population has migrated. Tab. 1: Participation in labor migration in Zacatepec and Tataltepec. Zacatepec Current migrants Returned migrants Participants in migration Non-migrants Total

77 63

6.4 % 5.2 %

140 1063 1203

Tataltepec

11.6 % 88.4 % 100 %

236 9 % 88 3.4 %

324 2297 2621

12.4 % 87.6 % 100 %

2.4 Migration discourses in Zacatepec and Tataltepec Migration along with migrant remittances–money sent home from abroad–is viewed positively as a path to the survival and stability of the family, and potentially the community as a whole (VanWey et al. 2005). The effects of remittances

14 Since the lack of a satellite community in the United States makes estimating the numbers of all Zacatepec and Tataltepec migrants quite difficult, we have to rely on a method that systematically undercounts migrants. The INEGI state-level and national migration rates reported here only identify persons who have emigrated in the past five years, and are suitable for comparing Tataltepec and Zacatepec’s migration rates to state-wide and national levels, assuming no marked differences in average lengths of residence in the United States for the migrants of each group.



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can be plainly seen in the empty houses of Tataltepec which have been built with remittances in anticipation of a migrant’s return, and the current building boom in Zacatepec undertaken by recently returned migrants. Building booms, both after and in advance of migrants’ returns, has also been seen in, for example, the Zapotec community of San Juan Guelavía (Falconi 2011: 62). The windshield lettering of a large new pickup truck seen on a road near San Juan Quiahije (a Chatino community whose language is currently quite vital) in 2009 read “Sin ser mojado”. The phrase literally means “without being wet”, but can be interpreted as “without migrating”.15 Public texts like this suggest that financial success (as demonstrated by purchasing a vehicle) without leaving one’s community to work abroad is an exceptional event and one worth advertising. English’s perceived benefits to the migrant – in increasing job opportunities, easing navigation of Anglophone cities, and self-defense in interactions with authorities  – makes it a desirable and monetizable skill (Falconi 2011). As discussed in Section 2.3.2., a sizeable number of residents in Zacatepec as well as in Tataltepec have worked or are working in the US, and this has led to the possibility of intense contact with English. However, returning migrants often do not come back to their home community with English skills because their marginalization in the US and their fairly short stays (typically of three to five years) offer them relatively few opportunities for the acquisition of English. They usually acquire some greetings and basic vocabulary, which they use in the community in our presence or among friends. They often express regrets for not having had the chance to learn it while in the US. There is a discourse that criticizes the negative effects of migration, but these are reckoned to ultimately be the fault of individual migrants for succumbing to substance abuse, joining street gangs, or abandoning spouses and dependents in favor of starting new families in the US.

2.4.1 Tataltepec’s pro-migration mural Many walls in the villages and towns of Oaxaca are painted with informative murals, the rural analogue of the urban or roadside billboard. For a fee or for a free coat of paint, property owners will allow an out-facing wall of their buildings to be painted over with an informational mural. The most frequent subjects are

15 Since some undocumented migrants crossed the US border by wading or swimming across the Rio Grande, undocumented migrants are said to be “wet”.

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political candidates, concerts, rodeos and wrestling matches, but another prominent topic is public health. Figure 3 shows an information-dense mural that evidences the wider pro-migration attitude present in Tataltepec and beyond. The mural, which is far larger than most, is divided into three panels. On the first panel are the images of a chile, a banana and a bunch of grapes and texts which reads “Migrants: 684 people.16 Chief jobs in the US: Construction 9 dollars per hour, commerce 8 dollars per hour, industry 20 dollars per hour.” The banner text of the second panel asks “How much does it cost to support a family with five or more members?;” then lists a number of foodstuffs and other consumable household goods with their prices per half kilo given in Mexican pesos,17 arriving at a weekly grocery bill of MXN 235.50. The third panel gives the weekly and daily wages of three common jobs (farmer, builder, and rancher) in Tataltepec in Mexican pesos. The disparity between the wages is remarkable. Not only are the US wages reported in a foreign currency that is seen as ten times as valuable as national currency, they are also reported by hourly wage, whereas the local jobs’ wages are quoted as daily and weekly amounts. Though the mural does not explicitly endorse migration, we believe it strongly implies that one should migrate, since one can make much more money more quickly in the US than in Tataltepec. According to the figures in the mural, in less than three hours of work in the US, the grocery bill is paid for, while a worker in Tataltepec could have to spend more than an entire day’s wages to buy the same goods. While the creators of the mural are not known, they have painted the initials “IMSS” standing for the Mexican Social Security Institute, a governmental organization tasked with public health and social security, on the first panel, which we take to indicate either actual authorship, the source of the data, or else an attempt to borrow the institute’s authority for the mural.

16 This figure is far higher than the number of migrants we identified for Tataltepec. This figure may include the long-term migrants that could not be identified using our methods, or this is a figure for the municipio (roughly, ‘county’) which includes data from Tataltepec de Valdés and the equally populous Santa Cruz Tepenixtlahuaca, or both. 17 At the time the mural was painted 1 USD ≈ 12 MXN, though people in Tataltepec and Zacatepec generally reckon at a rate of 1 USD = 10 MXN.



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Fig. 3: Factors that influence family progress (photo Ryan Sullivant)

2.4.2 The monetary value of English Given that there is a widespread largely positive discourse surrounding migration, and that migration is seen as a path to family survival and stability, it is unsurprising then that English would be seen as a valuable skill to acquire. Though a command of English is not absolutely essential to living and working in the United States, knowing English is seen as a useful skill for economic opportunity, and to a lesser degree, for self-defense and navigation of Anglophone domains in the US (Falconi 2011). When people were asked why someone in Zacatepec and Tataltepec would want to learn English, the responses were often in economic terms: knowing English opens up access to more and better jobs both in the US and in the tourism sector of nearby Puerto Escondido, which sees large numbers of North American and European tourists.

2.5 English in Zacatepec and Tataltepec As it was mentioned earlier in this paper, despite the large number of people who have migrated to the US, the English language is rather absent within the communities under examination. Every so often, we would be saluted in the street in English by a few individuals who are known in the community for having spent a long time in el norte, but outside of greetings and interjections (chiefly Oh my God), no other English is ever spoken.

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One domain where English is common today in Zacatepec and Tataltepec is naming practices. Amid the Eduardos and María del Carmens born in these two communities in the past decade, there are Britnys, Cyntias and Kevins. The presence of English names is not unique to these communities, as English names are present on yearly lists of common baby names both within Mexico18 and throughout the Spanish-speaking world, and an onomastic study of Tlalnepantla de Baz in central Mexico found that 6.5 % of girls and 4.8 % of boys born in the twentieth century had been given English names (López Franco 2009).19 English is a required subject for all secondary school students in both communities and is also offered at all primary schools other than the escuela bilingüe, though the success of these courses in developing English fluency appears to be quite limited. In sum, English is present at a very superficial level in the community. More prevalent is the desire to learn English; we have both been asked by multiple individuals to teach English to children in the communities.

3 Language documentation in a community with high migration rates As field linguists working with endangered languages in the new millennium, the authors’ research agendas had a moral component in addition to scientific goals, as both they and their academic mentors were steeped in notions of responsible linguistic research (Hale et al. 1992). Today, many major funding entities, such as the National Science Foundation’s Documenting Endangered Languages program expect projects “to involve invaluable community input, vision, and collaboration” and “balance the needs of the community with the scientific goals of the project.”… [D]ocumentary products become instrumental in making community

18 Babycenter en español (2012) is one example that cites data from Mexico’s National Registry of Population and Personal Identification (RENAPO). 19 Though it is tempting to draw a connection between labor migration and the adoption of English names, we do not have any data to suggest that migration caused or is augmenting this trend, and an equally plausible explanation could be an increase in Anglophone American cultural influences (e.g. through greater penetration of American programming into Mexican media networks) during the same period. At any rate, the first English given name found in a sample of Catedral de México birth records from 1540 to 1950 was from 1932, preceding the era of largescale migration to the United States (Boyd-Bowman 1970).



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language maintenance and revival programs possible.”20 The authors’ respective grant proposals echoed these expectations and hoped that language revitalization and maintenance would spring up from their documentation efforts. Also in keeping with grantors’ expectations and trends among language documentation projects in Latin America, the authors aimed to train speakers to analyze and document their own languages. Agreeing with Dobrin (2008) and Sicoli (2010) that the prima facie ‘voluntary’ language shifts in process in both communities are in reality the result of political, cultural, and economic marginalization, we could not help but feel a moral obligation to help bring about the revitalization of their vernacular as a viable medium of communication in all realms of daily life. In spite of this perceived obligation, the authors could not fully involve themselves in the creation of a revitalization project because their linguistic research agendas were quite heavy and left little time for revitalization efforts. Additionally, the civil-religious hierarchies of the two communities can undermine the continuity of a project, since all local government officers are switched out annually in Zacatepec and every three years in Tataltepec, meaning that local government support cannot be guaranteed in the mid-to-long term.21 The hierarchy can even disrupt the ability of a private citizen to contribute to such a project, since a household may be assigned the task of sponsoring the costly feast of a saint, and may be driven to devote energies to artisanal tasks like basket-making or to engage in additional wage labor instead of working on revitalization projects. We were also reluctant to devote ourselves fully to revitalization projects since we agreed then with the idea that successful revitalization efforts come from within communities and not through the efforts of an outsider (Crystal 2000; Grenoble and Whaley 2006; Hinton 2001). Over the years, the on-going documentation work within the community, by community members themselves, has helped people in general think in new ways, especially with respect to the value and importance of Chatino. Demonstrating that Chatino could be written, showing that even younger semi-speakers could learn to write Chatino, and through the exercise of transcribing and translating improve their Chatino speaking skills, all bring Chatino to consciousness resulting in a slow increase in the valorization of their heritage language.

20 http://www.nsf.gov/sbe/2013_DEL_Awards.pdf 21 O’Meara and González Guadarrama (this volume) also report difficulties stemming from the changing of local governments. Yáñez Rosales et al. (this volume) reports a similar problem with turnover in school administrations.

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Focusing our efforts away from community level revitalization and instead directing them towards helping individual members who were genuinely interested in small personal projects proved to be a good counter effect to the language ideologies in the community. The following sections describe the course of fieldwork in Tataltepec de Valdés and San Marcos Zacatepec and our focus on collaboration with motivated individuals rather than large community-wide projects. Here, the purpose is indeed to tell a story, tell the story of those individuals who are the protagonists of ELDD projects and who tend to be left out in the literature. These particular narratives are specific to each project, each environment, each language, etc. but still they illustrate some of the issues discussed earlier in this paper. Each story offers a different perspective, a possible scenario which participate to a greater understanding of all the specificities of ELDD projects.

3.1 Tataltepec documentation narrative Sullivant’s fieldwork on Tataltepec de Valdés began as he was looking for a language of research after starting graduate studies. After joining the Chatino research group in 2008 and making a few field trips under the auspices of Woodbury’s Endangered Language Documentation Programme grant (Cruz and Woodbury 2014), Sullivant received a Dissertation Improvement Grant in 2011 through the National Science Foundation’s Documenting Endangered Languages program which allowed for three additional field trips over two years. He chose to study a Chatino language since he would benefit from the support of a body of researchers of Chatino at the university and chose Tataltepec Chatino in particular since this third branch of the family was not yet the focus of any in-depth study. In Tataltepec, he collected texts and collaborated with a small team of Chatino speakers – all fluent speakers according to Grinevald and Bert (2011) – who worked alongside him to transcribe and translate recorded texts. Given that most speakers of Chatino are over thirty years old, and many of the younger persons who are semi-speakers of Chatino are not living in the community, it has proven difficult to find motivated speakers to train in linguistic analysis during the fieldwork periods. In spite of this difficulty, some motivated speakers have been trained in linguistic analysis  – chiefly in transcription skill sets and in orthography development. While the goals of Sullivant’s NSF grant did not include language revitalization, the overall positive image of Chatino led him to attempt some efforts to encourage revitalization in the community. He took meetings with municipal authorities to set about creating a language nest (a project which did not get



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past the planning stages due to a lack of interest and concerns about funding support), and hosted a workshop on the structure of Chatino. Trilingual (Chatino-Spanish-English) vocabularies were distributed within the community and were well-received. While such products are useful for combating harmful discourses denying languagehood to local languages, they are unlikely to lead to reversing language shift by themselves.22 This is not to say that there are no pro-Chatino activists in Tataltepec, in fact, some of the most interested collaborators sought out Sullivant to work with him transcribing and translating the twenty-eight hours of tales, personal histories, and conversations collected by Sullivant and other researchers. As of Sullivant’s visit to Tataltepec in 2012, approximately twenty-one hours of this corpus have been transcribed and translated, some of which have already been accessioned to digital archives.23 What follows are brief profiles of the main collaborators in Sullivant’s documentation of Tataltepec Chatino. Early in his project, Sullivant benefited from the assistance of Alicia Martínez Quiroz (32) who had been trained in linguistic analysis through Terrence Kaufman’s Project for the Documentation of the Languages of MesoAmerica (PDLMA). Beyond her help with linguistic matters, she also was invaluable in finding potential collaborators for Sullivant’s project. In these early stages a large amount of assistance was given by schoolteacher Jesús Jiménez Jiménez (53), who is a supporter of Chatino education, and had participated in earlier attempts to produce a Chatino orthography (Molina Cruz et al. 2011). The team of collaborators also included Modesta Martínez Mateo (49) and Cecilia López Mejía (45) who worked long hours with Sullivant to translate and transcribe the collected materials. Flavia Mateo Mejía is a 64 year old retired schoolteacher who has been quite interested in Chatino for some time. When teaching Zenzontepec-Chatino-speaking schoolchildren in communities such as Llano Víbora, she learned to speak that language, which is unintelligible to speakers of Tataltepec Chatino and is the most divergent member of the family (Campbell 2013). Before that, she had participated in the linguistic research of Leslie and Kitty Pride, missionary-linguists from the Summer Institute of Linguistics who lived in Tataltepec for some sixteen years in the sixties and seventies.24 She has participated in an initiative by the

22 For a more detailed critique of using literacy to revitalize previously unwritten languages, see Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna (this volume). 23 The Endangered Language Archive (http://elar.soas.ac.uk/deposit/0090) and the Archive of Indigenous Languages of Latin America (http://www.ailla.utexas.org/search/collection. html?c_id=13). 24 Besides producing vocabularies of Tataltepec and Eastern Chatino (Pride and Pride 1970, 2004), they have written a memoir of their experiences in Tataltepec (Pride and Pride 2007).

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Center for the Study and Development of the Indigenous Languages of Oaxaca (CEDELIO) to translate and record the Mexican national anthem into various indigenous languages. She is recognized within the community for her Chatino skills, and over the years has been asked to teach Tataltepec Chatino to schoolchildren and to prepare a chorus of heritage Chatino speakers to sing the anthem at public events. She naturally worked closely with the University of Texas linguists who made short excursions to Tataltepec during surveys of Eastern Chatino communities, and has worked closely with Sullivant since he began his fieldwork in the community, teaching him her Chatino and working with him to transcribe and translate the texts he had collected throughout the community. Celiflora Cortés Jiménez is a 30 year old mother of four and part-time schoolteacher who has worked with Sullivant during most of his field sessions. Through her work with the escuela bilingüe, she took an interest in writing and noticed that the orthography commonly used by the schools (Molina Cruz et al. 2011) underrepresented Tataltepec Chatino’s phonology,25 and wanted to learn how to better capture her language in writing. Sullivant worked with her to troubleshoot and develop some revisions to the extant orthography, which Cortés adopted. Since the end of Sullivant’s grant, she has continued to study her Chatino, and has traveled to Oaxaca to participate in lexical tone workshops organized by Chatino linguist Emiliana Cruz.

3.2 Zacatepec documentation narrative Villard’s fieldwork began in 2006 as an early member of the Chatino Language Documentation Project directed by Anthony Woodbury, when she accompanied other project members on a exploratory trip in the Chatino region, visiting a few communities in addition to San Marcos Zacatepec. Villard did fieldwork under Woodbury’s Major Documentation Project grant from the ELDP from 2007 to 2010, then through an Individual Graduate Scholarship from the ELDP from 2010 to 2013 which allowed for a sustained presence in the field for a period of six years. In this regard Villard’s fieldwork experience is atypical of most graduate students’ experiences. One of the reasons why Villard picked Zacatepec as her field site was due to the immediate and overwhelming interest and willingness of the community members to share their knowledge of their language with the total

25 Besides the complete absence of lexical tone notation, the orthography as it was used in the school’s materials failed to distinguish/tiː/from/tyi/(writing both as ) and/k/from/kw/in clusters (writing both as ).



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stranger that she was. This openness and interest in their heritage language was evidenced by the high level of attendance by all ages to Chatino literacy workshops conducted during the first summer fieldwork in 2006. These daily public workshops had the main purpose of demonstrating to Chatino speakers that contrary to what they may have been led to believe, their language indeed could be written just as the languages of wider communication. This venue was also helping Villard identify individual community members particularly interested in language documentation and maintenance issues. When we first started working in the communities, we presumed that general desires for language revitalization would translate naturally into community-wide language revitalization efforts. In Zacatepec, a Chatino immersion after school program was created in 2011 with the support from a state agency. This project enjoyed a very short life partly due to a lack of effective management, or lack of financial funding, poorly-trained teachers, and even more problematic, none of the chosen teachers were recognized as fluent speakers of Chatino. Over the course of the last few years, Villard has had regular conversations about the state of the language with people serving as town authorities, and has offered insights and ideas for revitalization projects but those exchanges never translated into the creation of actual committees that would be responsible for organizing community wide efforts of Chatino revitalization. To follow is the presentation of four individuals who have been central to the documentation process of Zacatepec Chatino, and who have been participating, each of them in their own way, in dusting off and polishing the community’s image of Chatino. Some parts of the following individuals’ presentations were taken from Villard’s dissertation (Villard 2015). Margarita González Hernández is 71 years old, and has been working with Villard on the documentation of her native language since 2006. She is a fluent speaker according to Grinevald and Bert (2011). Chatino is still her main medium of communication as her social circle is mainly composed of people her age with a similar language profile. In that way, she represents the ideal language consultant typically sought by linguists working on the description of endangered languages. She joined the project in 2006, first as a language consultant, i.e. helping Villard figure out the grammar of the language sitting through long hours of elicitation and transcription sessions. She was trained to collect natural speech using a digital recorder and to keep metadata records for all sound files in a notebook. Since then, González has been the principal language documenter for the Zacatepec language documentation project and has excelled at her mission.

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To date, the corpus of texts contains 170 hours of natural discourse with a total of 116 speakers, men and women ranging from 40 to 87 years old.26 The large number of speakers means that about one third of the Chatino speakers in the community have participated in the documentation of Zacatepec Chatino. The range of genres and topics includes among other things, conversations, personal narratives, folk tales, descriptions of the traditional political system, culinary practices, and ritual speech. 95 % of these recordings were collected independently by González while Villard was not present in Zacatepec. This breadth and volume of documentation could not have been achieved without the involvement of a native Chatino speaker and community insider who had been trained as a language documenter. Anatolio Soriano Cortés is 65 years old, and he has been involved in the documentation project since he asked Villard to teach him to write Chatino in the summer of 2011. He is also a fluent speaker of Chatino. He met with Villard every day so that she could teach him how to write his native language. The learning process was difficult but his patience and his dedication allowed him to succeed in his new endeavor, and within a year he was a fluent reader and writer of Chatino. She decided to train him in text collection as well, so that he could collect texts involving men to complement González’s texts which tended to include more women than men. Soriano collected a few hours of texts with some of his acquaintances, but chose to focus solely on his writing, and Villard trained him to transcribe and translate natural speech using a CD player and a simple notebook. Since 2011, Soriano has filled 13 notebooks with transcriptions and translations of many folktales and conversations from various members of the community. María de Jesús Barrada is a 22-year-old ghost speaker of Chatino (following Grinevald and Bert (2011)) who approached Villard during the summer of 2012 to be part of the ongoing documentation project in Zacatepec. Barrada had always hidden her Chatino skills from Villard (as well as others) who assumed they were nonexistent just as it was apparently the case of all people her age within the community. At first, Villard thought teaching her to transcribe Chatino would be difficult if not impossible since she was not aware of her language skills, having never heard her utter a word in Chatino, and more importantly, she had always led Villard to believe that she did not speak Chatino at all. Nevertheless, Villard invited her to learn to write Chatino that summer. They worked on Chatino orthography, and when she was ready, they started working on transcriptions, begin-

26 This corpus is archived at ELAR (http://elar.soas.ac.uk/deposit/0256) and at AILLA (http:// www.ailla.utexas.org/search/view_resource.html?lg_id=231).



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ning with her mother’s texts. Villard figured that she would understand her mother’s speech best. Barrada’s mother also participated in the transcription process at first, repeating each recorded utterance at a slower pace so that her daughter could transcribe the words. As of this writing, Barrada has transcribed and translated some three hours of speech and in doing has increased her own skills and fluency in Chatino. As a result of this additional exposure and interaction with Chatino, Barrada has become less inclined to hide her Chatino skills around her peers – though she is still too shy to claim to speak Chatino with older community members. She reported to Villard that she talks about her work with her friends and that the majority of them say that they would also like to be trained to read and write in Chatino. Economic opportunities for young people are practically nonexistent within the community and language documenting could be seen as a lucrative non-manual part-time job. Javier Ayuso González is a 42-year-old semi-speaker of Zacatepec Chatino according to the definition of Grinevald and Bert (2011). Ayuso predominantly speaks Spanish but has very high levels of Chatino comprehension. Villard has witnessed many such conversations where Ayuso was a Spanish-speaking participant in otherwise Chatino conversations. Ayuso is fully integrated within the Chatino fluent speakers group despite the fact that most fluent speakers know he is not a fluent Chatino speaker. Fluent Chatino speakers (who are all bilingual in Spanish and Chatino in Zacatepec) will switch to Spanish to accommodate ghost speakers, but will not switch to accommodate semi-speakers, despite the fact that semi-speakers in these conversations may produce only Spanish. He entered the project as a cultural consultant and cartographer. He drafted a map of the community with its surroundings, which served as a stimulus in interviews with elders about local geography and history: usually Ayuso speaks Spanish and the interlocutor responds in Chatino. Despite the fact that he is not a fluent speaker of Chatino, he is an ideal candidate for this type of research because of his excellent relationship with most elders in the community and also because of his genuine passion for the region’s history and geography. The Zacatepec documentation project unfolded in directions that Villard had not anticipated. Each new participant would steer the project in new directions, reflecting their own interests and affinities to different tasks within the larger ELDD project. The participation of Barrada was unexpected, as she is the youngest person ever to learn to read and write Zacatepec Chatino. She was the first ghost speaker to openly show interest in learning more Chatino. Her story motivated others in the community to want to follow in her footsteps.

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3.3 Suggestions for field linguists In this paper we have shown how we have adapted our work to the particular sociolinguistic situation in our respective field sites by refocusing our efforts from community wide efforts to collaborative work with motivated individuals. In closing, we would like to offer some further suggestions for field linguists who are working or soon will work in communities with similar situations.

3.3.1 Pro-language attitudes do not entail pro-revitalization attitudes Given that academics can arrive in a fieldwork situation with the expectation that they will shortly be able to set in motion the revitalization of the vernacular language of the community, we can be prone to overestimate a community’s enthusiasm for revitalization and maintenance efforts, especially in cases such as ours in Tataltepec and Zacatepec where almost everyone we met talked about Chatino in very positive terms, and deplored the communities’ shift to Spanish. Positive attitudes towards the local language (even widespread attitudes) do not necessarily indicate that a community is ready or interested in language revitalization. The pro-language attitude may itself be a badge of ethnicity for a community, even if the community may not have any strong desires to maintain or relearn their local language.

3.3.2 Long-term involvement is necessary We agree with many of the authors in the ELDD literature (e.g. Dobrin 2008) that a successful revitalization program is a long-term project that requires the full involvement of the linguist. This long period of involvement is necessary to adequately determine community attitudes in preparation for revitalization projects, assessing the different types of speakers (ghost speakers in particular can be difficult to identify), and to fully assist the community in the long process of revitalization and addressing negative stereotypes (Benedicto, Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna, this volume). A balance must be struck between time spent on ELDD efforts and time spent on revitalization projects, and this balance must be informed by the community’s preparation for and potential for engagement in such a revitalization program. This is especially important for languages without adequate (or any) documentation, where priority should be given to providing a good record of the language (which itself requires much time and effort on the



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linguist’s part), as well as for early-career linguists whose professional demands may not value the products of revitalization efforts as equal to other works.

3.3.3 Include all types of speakers in the documentation project The involvement and participation of a variety of types of speakers was the key to the success of the Zacatepec documentation project. Ghost speakers and semi-speakers represent a very large portion of the population in Zacatepec, and categorically excluding them from language documentation and revitalization may hamper long-term revitalization efforts, since it is from this generally larger semi-speaker group that some of the most involved activists for language revitalization emerge (Grinevald and Bert 2011: 50; Vallejos, this volume). Furthermore, semi-speakers are often the main caretakers for their grandchildren whose parents have emigrated to the US, and in those households, the children are more immersed in vernacular culture and language than if they were living with their parents.

3.3.4 Teaching English More likely than not, field linguists in these communities will be asked to teach English. Researchers should determine if the request is for a neutral cultural exchange or curiosity, for a show of goodwill, or a condition of one’s presence in the community. Villard deflected all requests to teaching English by pointing out that French was her native language, not English (and was never asked to teach French). Sullivant deflected most requests by pointing out that he had neither the preparation nor the materials to teach English, and in such a situation would be a sub-par teacher. If fieldworkers decide to teach English (or some other language of wider communication), care must be taken to figure out what kind of instruction your prospective students expect and model your teaching or tutoring to that. While boring people with overly dry and technical descriptions of English may eliminate any further requests to teach English, it could also dissuade otherwise enthusiastic and capable speakers from wanting to collaborate on a language project. The amount of effort the community may be expecting may be fairly low. In Sullivant’s experience, the kind of lessons people in Tataltepec wanted closely mirrored the second-language pedagogy being used to teach Chatino in the schools. The parents of a six-year-old boy asked for a list of words in Spanish and English with an audio recording so that the child could listen to English words.

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4 Conclusion We assert that researchers beginning to work in communities with high levels of international migration such as those observed in Mexico and other parts of Latin America should be prepared for lower enthusiasm for community-wide language revitalization programs than may be suggested by the strength of positive local discourses about the language. In these communities, English now factors into ideologies of language and represents a new goal for language acquisition which may reduce community-wide enthusiasm for heritage language maintenance. Researchers should tailor project goals towards empowering individual speakers, which may lead, in the long run, to grassroots revitalization efforts. To this end, we have focused our efforts in these two communities on language documentation activities and the training of motivated speakers of all types in text collection and processing. We also show that this is only possible by means of sustained presence and speaker empowerment through the establishment of long-term documentation projects where local language documenters work all year long (even during the main researcher’s absence) towards the documentation of their native language allowing for an on-going conversation within the community about the state and the value of the language. While teaching, training and collaborating with native speakers in Latin America has been particularly fruitful (e.g. Benedicto et al. 2007; Cruz and Woodbury 2014; Grinevald 2011), the geographic proximity to the United States and the socioeconomic situation of northern Latin American countries have brought about specific issues relevant to language documentation projects. Among those, migration to the US is of particular concern since it can result in the considerable attrition of language communities (and therefore potential language consultants) and increased aspiration for English acquisition at the cost of lowered aspiration for language maintenance or revitalization. In contrast to the highly motivated and engaged communities discussed in the above citations, communities where the culture of migration is more present may lack the sufficient critical mass of speakers who are ready and able to engage in collaborative revitalization projects community-wide.

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Dobrin, Lise M. 2008. From linguistic elicitation to eliciting the linguist: Lessons in community empowerment from Melanesia. Language 84 (2). 300–324. Egland, Steven. 1978. La inteligibilidad interdialectal en México: Resultados de algunos sondeos. Mexico: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano, Secretaría de Educación Pública, Dirección General de Servicios Educativos en el Medio Indígena. Falconi, E. Anne. 2011. Migrant stories: Zapotec transborder migration and the production of a narrated community. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan doctoral dissertation. Falconi, E. Anne. 2013. Storytelling, language shift, and revitalization in a transborder community: “Tell it in Zapotec!”. American Anthropologist 115 (4). 622–636. Fernando Lara, Luis. 2010. Diccionario del español de México. México: Colegio de México. Centro de Estudios Lingüísticos y Literarios. Fox, Jonathan, & Gaspar Riviera Salgado. 2004. Indigenous Mexican migrants in the United States. La Jolla and San Diego: Center for US-Mexican Studies and Center for Comparative Immigration Studies, University of California. Greenberg, James B. 1981. Santiago’s sword: Chatino peasant religion and economics. Berkeley: University of California Press. Grenoble, Lenore A. & Lindsay J. Whaley. 2006. Saving languages: An introduction to language revitalization. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Grinevald, Colette. 2011. Linguistique de terrain sur deux langues en danger: locuteurs et méthodes. Revue Faits de Langues 35–36. 133–178. Grinevald, Colette & Michel Bert. 2011. Speakers and communities. In Peter K. Austin & Julia Sallabank (eds.), The Cambridge handbook of endangered languages, 45–65. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hale, Ken, Michael Krauss, Lucille J. Watahomigie, Akira Y. Yamamoto, Colette Craig, LaVerne Masayesva Jeanne & Nora C. England. 1992. Endangered languages. Language 68 (1). 1–42. Hinton, Leanne & Ken Hale. 2001. The green book of language revitalization in practice. New York: Academic Press. Huizar Murillo, Javier & Isidro Cerda. 2004. Indigenous Mexicans migrants in the 2000 US census: “Hispanic American Indians.” In Jonathan Fox & Gaspar Rivera Salgado (eds.), Indigenous Mexican migrants in the United States. 279–302. La Jolla and San Diego: Center for US-Mexican Studies and Center for Comparative Immigration Studies, University of California. INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). 1970. IX censo general de población: Cuadro 17. Población de 5 años y más que habla alguna lengua indígena, por sexo. http://www3.inegi.org.mx/sistemas/tabuladosbasicos/LeerArchivo. aspx?ct=923&c=16763&s=est&f=1 (accessed 17 October 2015). INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). 2009. Perfil sociodemográfico de la población de habla indígena. http://www.inegi.org.mx/prod_serv/contenidos/espanol/ bvinegi/productos/censos/poblacion/poblacion_indigena/leng_indi/PHLI.pdf (accessed 17 October 2015). INEGI (Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Geografía). n.d. Archivo histórico de localidades geoestadísticas. http://geoweb.inegi.org.mx/ahl (accessed 13 October 2014). Kaufman, Terrence. 2006. Oto-Manguean languages. In Encyclopedia of language and linguistics, 118–124. Oxford: Elsevier. Lewis, M. Paul & Gary F. Simons. 2010. Assessing endangerment: Expanding Fishman’s GIDS. Revue Roumaine de Linguistique 55 (2). 103–120.



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Lewis, M. Paul, Gary F. Simons & Charles D. Fennig. 2015. Ethnologue: Languages of the world, eighteenth edition. Dallas: SIL International. http://www.ethnologue.com (accessed 18 October 2015). López Franco, Yolanda G. 2009. La prénomination à Tlalnepantla de Baz, État de México, au Mexique, tout au long du XXe siècle. Proceedings of the 23rd International Congress of Onomastic Sciences http://yorkspace.library.yorku.ca/xmlui/bitstream/ handle/10315/4006/icos23_688.pdf (accessed 18 October 2015). McIntosh, Justin D. 2012. Tonos y el sandhi del chatino de Santa Lucía Teotepec. Paper presented at the V Coloquio de Lenguas Otomangues y Vecinas, Oaxaca, 20 April. McIntosh, Justin D. 2015. Aspects of phonology and morphology of Teotepec Eastern Chatino. Austin: University of Texas at Austin doctoral dissertation. Molina Cruz, Mario, Flaviano Ramírez Caballero, Cristóstomo Hernández Cortés, Eulalio Ortiz Ortiz, Roberto Mijangos Martínez & Rolanda Cruz Hernández. 2011. Memoria de la experiencia chatina. México: Centro de Estudios y Desarrollo de las Lenguas Indígenas de Oaxaca. O’Meara, Carolyn & Octavio Alonso González Guadarrama. This volume. Accessibility to results and primary data of research on indigenous languages of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 59–79. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2009. Endangerment of a transnational language: the case of San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec. Buffalo: State University of New York at Buffalo doctoral dissertation. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2012. The unexpected role of schooling and bilingualism in language maintenance within the San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec community in Los Angeles. Anthropological Linguistics 54 (4). 350–370. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2013. Family language policy, transnationalism, and the diaspora community of San Lucas Quiaviní of Oaxaca, México. Language Policy 12 (1). 27–45. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. 2014. Determinants of language reproduction and shift in a transnational community. International Journal of the Sociology of Language 2014 (227). 65–81. Pérez Báez, Gabriela. This volume. Addressing the gap between community beliefs and priorities and researchers’ language maintenance interests. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 165–194. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter. Pride, Kitty & Leslie Pride. 1970. Vocabulario chatino de Tataltepec. México: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano. Pride, Kitty & Leslie Pride. 2004. Vocabulario Chatino de la zona alta. México: Instituto Lingüístico de Verano. Pride, Kitty & Leslie Pride. 2007. Solid food is for adults: A pioneering venture with Wycliffe in mountainous South-West Mexico. Bloomington: AuthorHouse. Real Academia Española. 2001. Diccionario de la lengua española. Madrid: Editorial Espasa Calpe, 22nd edn. de los Reyes, Antonio. 1593. Arte en lengua mixteca. México: Pedro Balli. Santos García, Saul, Tutpika Carillo de la Cruz & Karina Ivette Verdín Amaro. This volume. The revitalization of Wixárika: A community project in the midwest region of Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 81–108. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

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Sicoli, Mark. 2010. Agency and ideology in language shift and maintenance. In Tania Granadillo & Heidi A. Orcutt-Gachiri (eds.), Ethnographic contributions to the study of endangered languages, 161–176. Tucson: University of Arizona Press. Sullivant, J. Ryan. 2011a. Tataltepec Chatino verb classes and aspect morphology. Austin: University of Texas at Austin MA thesis. Sullivant, J. Ryan. 2011b. Tyaʔa: el clasificador numérico del chatino de Tataltepec de Valdés. Proceedings of the Conference on Indigenous Languages of Latin America 5. http://ailla. utexas.org/site/cilla5/Sullivant_CILLA_V.pdf (accessed 18 October 2015). Sullivant, J. Ryan. 2013. The tones of Tataltepec Chatino. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society for the Study of the Indigenous Languages of the Americas, Minneapolis, 4 January. Sullivant, J. Ryan. 2015. The phonology and inflectional morphology of Cháʔknyá, Tataltepec de Valdés Chatino, a Zapotecan language. Austin: University of Texas at Austin doctoral dissertation. Swanton, Michael. 2008. Multilingualism in the Tocuij Ñudzahui region. In Maarten E.R.G.N. Jansen & Laura N.K. van Broekhoven (eds.), Mixtec writing and society: escritura de Ñuu Dzahui, 347–380. Amsterdam: KNAW Press. Tavárez, David. 2011. The invisible war: indigenous devotions, discipline, and dissent in colonial Mexico. Stanford: Stanford University Press. VanWey, Leah Karin, Catherine M. Tucker & Eileen Diaz McConnell. 2005. Community organization, migration, and remittances in Oaxaca. Latin American Research Review 40 (1). 83–107. Villard, Stéphanie. 2009. Zacatepec Chatino verb classes and aspect morphology. Proceedings of the Conference on Indigenous Languages of Latin America 4. http://www.ailla.utexas. org/site/cilla4/Villard_CILLA_IV.pdf (accessed 18 October 2015). Villard, Stéphanie. 2012. Tonología verbal en el chatino oriental de San Marcos Zacatepec. Paper presented at the Encuentro Internacional de Lingüística del Noroeste XII, Hermosillo, 15 November. Villard, Stéphanie. 2015. The phonology and morphology of Zacatepec Eastern Chatino. Austin: University of Texas at Austin doctoral dissertation. Villard, Stéphanie & Anthony C. Woodbury. 2012. The typology of tone in San Marcos Zacatepec Eastern Chatino. Paper presented at the Annual Meeting of the Society for the Study of the Indigenous Languages of the Americas, Portland, 6 January. Villaseñor y Sánchez, Joseph Antonio. 1746. Theatro americano: Descripción general de los reynos y provincias de la Nueva España y sus jurisdicciones. Mexico: Imprenta de la Viuda de D. Joseph Bernardo de Hogal. Yáñez Rosales, Rosa Herminia, Dana Kristine Nelson, Melissa Niño Santana, Rodrigo Parra Gutiérrez, Paulina Lamas Oliva, Agustín Vega Torres & Rocío Rojas Arias. This volume. Reclamation initiatives in non-speaker communities: The case of two Nahua communities in the south of Jalisco State, Mexico. In Gabriela Pérez Báez, Chris Rogers & Jorge Emilio Rosés Labrada (eds.), Language documentation and revitalization in Latin American contexts, 109–141. Berlin & New York: Mouton de Gruyter.

Elena Benedicto, Amelia Chantal Shettle and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna

12 Linguistic ideologies as a crucial factor in language revitalization: A look at the Mayangna languages of Nicaragua 1 Introduction Linguists have been collaborating with language communities in the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua for over 30-years since the 1979 Nicaraguan Revolution brought about the appropriate political and social structural conditions for massive language maintenance, revitalization and strengthening. Activities that at the time were recognized as conducive to language revitalization were initiated in the 1980s: creation of grammars, vocabularies and dictionaries; development of language-specific education programs including the production of language-specific textbooks; and compilation of culturally relevant materials, as determined by the community (such as folk tales, oral history accounts, cooking methods, hunting and fishing practices, etc…) that were published for free for the language-specific education programs and for the members of the language community at large. After this 30-year period of continuous work along these lines, there is, however, no evidence that these actions are actually having any substantial effect in the already existing trends of language loss or language shift: those varieties of the language that were healthy are still healthy, and those varieties that had fallen in a pattern of language shift (and subsequent loss) continue to be on that pattern, with increasing numbers of loss of (old and new)1 speakers. This work is an attempt at analyzing what has been done, how that work relates to and interacts with factors commonly accepted as relevant in language

1 ‘Old’ speakers being those adult speakers that stop using the language replacing it with another one, whereas ‘new’ speakers would be the children that would make up the new generations of speakers that do not acquire the language anymore. Elena Benedicto, Amelia Chantal Shettle (Purdue University) and Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna (Universidad de las Regiones Autónomas y la Costa Caribe de Nicaragua)

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revitalization (see Pérez Báez, Rogers and Rosés Labrada, this volume), and what potential alternatives exist to explain the patterns we find, in particular what we can learn from examining underlying linguistic ideologies prevalent in the region. Ultimately, we want to evaluate what responds to general trends of language loss/revitalization across contexts and cultures, and what responds to specific conditions within the context of Latin America. In Section 2, we introduce background information about the relevant communities: the geographical location, the linguistic families, the language varieties involved and their individual linguistic vitality, and we introduce the notion of linguistic hierarchy first observed by Norwood (1993). In Section 3, we take up this thread of linguistic hierarchy and analyze the pattern of language shift observed in the Tuahka communities within the larger context of the social ecology of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua. Section 4 addresses the different factors identified in the Introduction to this volume (Resources, Community Engagement, Linguistic and Dialectal Diversity, Literacy and Institutionalized Education) as they apply to the Sumu-Mayangna communities. Finally, in Section 5 we present and develop our proposal based on long-term personal observations of human behavior in the local context. In Section 6, we conclude with a discussion of the systemic factors identified around linguistic ideologies in this and other papers in this volume, the consequences derived from them, and the implications for any potential future actions.

2 The Mayangna language in context Mayangna (or Northern Sumu) is the language spoken by the communities that inhabit the Northeast region of present-day Nicaragua, though their territory may have been substantially larger before contact (Lehmann 1920: 461–588; Conzemius 1932; von Houwald 1990). This region is part of Nicaragua’s eastern area, also called The (Atlantic) Coast, which, in linguistic terms, constitutes one of the two major linguistic areas of the country, alongside the western Pacífico side. This linguistic (and cultural) division can be observed in the map below:



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Map 1: Nicaragua: geographical location and linguistic distribution (adapted from Benedicto and Hale 2001)

The western Pacífico side is Spanish speaking, culturally identifies as mestizo2 and has no surviving indigenous language.3 The Coast, in the Atlantic eastern side, was originally colonized by the British and shows a larger linguistic diversity, within two politically and culturally defined areas: the North Atlantic Auton-

2 Mestizo is used in the Nicaraguan context to refer to the Spanish-speaking mainstream population; it is a label for a social construct within a given social environment and, as such, it may have different referents within the Latin American context; see, for instance, the contributions in this volume by Villard and Sullivant and Yáñez Rosales et al. for the use of the term in Mexico, as well as Rogers, for the related term ladinos in Guatemala. This (the social constructs systems existent throughout Latin America, their structural complexity and their interaction with language revitalization) is also a realm of contrast and potential comparative analysis with the Anglo-based world (e.g., US, Canada, Australia, New Zealand) of language revitalization. 3 See Salamanca (1994) for an overview of the languages that were once present in the Pacífico. Some works (e.g. the various contributions in Revista de Historia. Comunidades y Pueblos Indígenas de Nicaragua 2002) indicate that important cultural practices remain nowadays among members of those communities that would suggest varying degrees of cultural self-awareness.

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omous Region (RAAN), where the Miskitu are the dominant group, and the South Atlantic Autonomous Region (RAAS), where the Kriol are dominant.4

Map 2: The languages of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua (adapted from Benedicto et al. 2007)

In the south, one finds Rama, a highly endangered Chibchan language, in addition to the dominant Kriol; Garifuna, down to its last speakers (though healthier in Honduras, Belize and Guatemala); and Ulwa, a Southern Sumu language spoken only in the community of Karawala. In the north, we find Miskitu and Mayangna. Mayangna communities are distributed throughout 6 different territories constituting the Mayangna Nation. Official demarcation of the different territories has been ongoing for the last decade5 and is an important part of selfidentity and nation building among the Mayangna.

4 Since the writing of this text, these autonomous regions’ names have been officially changed to Región Autónoma de la Costa Caribe Norte (RACCN), North Caribbean Coast Autonomous Region, and Región Autónoma de la Costa Caribe Sur (RACCS), South Caribbean Coast Autonomous Region. 5 The legislation allowing for this territorial demarcation goes back to the early 2000s: Ley No. 445 Ley del Régimen de Propiedad Comunal de los Pueblos Indígenas y Comunidades Étnicas de las Regiones Autónomas de la Costa Atlántica de Nicaragua y de los Bocay, Coco, Indio y Maíz



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2.1 Linguistic family Mayangna belongs to the Misumalpan family, a small family that has been claimed to belong to what Mason (1939) termed Macro-Chibcha (for discussion, see Campbell 1997; Constenla 1987), though the evidence for this has been considered to be weak at best (Craig and Hale 1992). Mayangna constitutes the Northern branch of Sumu, with Ulwa forming the Southern branch as a separate language (Hale 1991). The (western) Matagalpan branch (already identified by Brinton 1895) and the Sumu branch form a grouping identified as Sumalpan; Miskitu is postulated at this level, as the most distant member of the family. Misumalpa is a term coined by Mason (1939, 1940), on the basis of the names of three of the languages in the family (Miskitu, Sumu and Matagalpa). (1) The Misumalpan Family (adapted from Benedicto and Hale 2001) Misumalpan Sumalpan Matagalpan Matagalpa

Miskitu Sumu

Cacaopera Southern Sumu=Ulwa Northern Sumu=Mayangna Panamahka Tawahka Tuahka Yusku

2.2 Mayangna varieties (linguistic and dialectal diversity) Though earlier work (Lehmann 1920) indicated the existence of several groups of (what we now identify as Northern-) Sumu, each speaking a particular variety of the language, currently only three distinct Mayangna variants have been identified: Panamahka and Tuahka6 in Nicaragua, and Tawahka in Honduras (see Benedicto and Hale 2001 for a characterization of their morpho-phonological distinc-

(‘Regulation of Communal Property of the Indigenous Peoples and Ethnic Communities of the Atlantic Coast, the Bocay, Coco and Indio Maiz Rivers’) (December 2002) and the Ley No. 509 Ley del Catastro Nacional (‘Law of National Land Demarcation’) (November 2004). The actual demarcation has been happening at the end of the decade and has been increasing in its coverage. 6 The spelling tuahka was decided during a community meeting on ‘normalization’ of the language (Normalización 2002), over a previous one, twahka, because the latter reflected a spelling more predominant among the Miskitu and the community sought to signal its own identity marker.

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tions). However, recent contacts by the authors and their Mayangna colleagues with the Mayangna population of the Bocay River seem to indicate the existence of a fourth variant, self-identified as Yusku, one of the groups previously identified by Lehmann. A further complication is that the names, geographical location and linguistic characteristics used by Lehmann to identify linguistic varieties within Sumu in 1920 do not necessarily correlate with the names, geographical locations and linguistic characterization of the varieties existing nowadays. In this paper, we concentrate on the Nicaraguan varieties and groups, for which we have direct evidence.7

2.3 Number of speakers As of the 1980s at least, the Panamahka variety constitutes the majority of Mayangna speakers in Nicaragua, with the Tuahka as a minority. However, as is always the case when dealing with endangered languages, it is difficult to put forth a count of speakers confidently, with numbers varying greatly. Koskinen (2009b) reports on the range of figures available: on the lower end, the Nicaraguan Census of 2005 counted 9,756 self-reported Mayangna individuals (Koskinen 2009b: 779); this number does not make a distinction between Panamahka and Tuahka, though it divides the population between urban (1080) and rural (8676) (Koskinen 2009b: 776) and it does not specify whether that figure reflects speakers of the language or, generally, members of the community. In the upper end, Koskinen reports on the Nicaraguan Sumu organization SUKAWALA (Sumu Kalpapakna Wahaini Lani) whose count was 25,050 people identifying as Mayangna, of which 16,283 are reported as Panamahka and 8,767 as Tuahka (Koskinen 2009b: 779). Earlier, Benedicto and Hale (2001: 96, citing Costenla Umaña 1987) had reported between 10–12,000 Panamahka and around 2000 Tuahka, while Buvollen and Buvollen (1994) had reported lower numbers estimating no more than 5,428 Panamahka and only 1,025 Tuahka. Focusing specifically on speakers, Koskinen (2009a: 748) provides a figure of 6,700, without specifying Panamahka or Tuahka. This figure looks quite low,

7 The same pattern of language-shift that is observed in the Tuahka communities seems to have been reported for the Honduran Tawahka population, through internal contacts between the Nicaraguan and Honduran communities. Though this is very likely true, we do not have direct evidence for it. For numbers and other information on the Tawahka population, see Benedicto and Hale (2001) and Bonilla-Álvarez and Koskinen (2009).



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even when considered within the frame of the lower numbers of the 2005 Census (9,756).8 The table below summarizes the figures mentioned. (2) Tab. 1: Population count Comparative Table. Source

Buvollen and Buvollen (1994)

Benedicto and Census (2005) SUKAWALA Hale (2001) (2007)

Koskinen (2009a)

Panamahka Tuahka Total Mayangna

5,428 1,025 6,453

10–12,000 2,000 12–14,000

N/A N/A 6,700

N/A N/A 9,756

15,283 8,767 25,025

2.4 Introduction to the notion of (Relativized) Linguistic Hierarchy The linguistic groups mentioned in (2) are interlocked in a complex socio-cultural and linguistic network of relations in the area, whose origins may well be traced back several centuries. Norwood (1993) identified what could be considered a linguistic hierarchy for the languages of The Coast, based on the level of multi-lingualism of the different groups in the area: the lower a group is in the social hierarchy, the higher the number of languages they speak. Benedicto and Hale (2001: 97) incorporated the two Nicaraguan varieties of Mayangna into Norwood’s hierarchy:

8 This figure has also other problems. The source that is cited is PROLIBCA (Project on the Indigenous Languages of Central America), with a website that is currently no longer active; however, other alternative sites for PROLIBCA have been identified (see bibliography), one of which cites Adelaar and Quesada (2007) as the source. Nevertheless, the figure that Adelaar and Quesada offer is 8,000 speakers, under which they include the Honduran group (which they call Ulua [sic]) and two dialects in Nicaragua (Panamaca [sic] and Taguasca [sic]) (Adelaar and Quesada 2007: 205). As we have pointed out earlier, Ulwa is a different Sumu language, spoken in the community of Karawala in the RAAS region of Nicaragua, whereas the dialect spoken in Honduras is Tawahka, and the two dialects or varieties spoken in Nicaragua are Panamahka and Tuahka.

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(3) Population and Language associations in the Atlantic Coast (Benedicto and Hale 2001) Mestizos Spanish Creoles English, Spanish Miskitus Miskitu, English, Spanish Panamahka Panamahka, Miskitu, Spanish Tuahka Tuahka, Panamahka, Miskitu, Spanish The picture, however, proved to be more complex than this, and Benedicto (2005) and Benedicto et al. (2006) began to show that prevalent patterns of language shift (a process by which a community abandons their heritage language and adopts another as their L1) showed that the Language Hierarchy constituted in fact a Relativized Linguistic Hierarchy, that is, while a group may be dominant in a given area, they may be subordinated in a different area. For instance, the Miskitu are clearly dominant in the north, as evidenced by other groups such as the Mayangna shifting their identity language to Miskitu. However, in the context of the RAAS in the south, Miskitu is clearly subordinated to Kriol,9 as evidenced by the patterns of language shift towards Kriol on the part of the Miskitu (Koskinen 2009b: 778,783; Koskinen 2010: 164 and throughout).10 Patterns of similar language shift are also observed among the Rama and the Garifuna, who have also developed their own varieties of Kriol (Grinevald 2005: 211–214; Koskinen 2010: 140). The case of the Ulwa (Southern Sumu) is interesting in that, whereas they are geographically in the RAAS, their shift language is Miskitu indicating a Northern hierarchy; however, their multi-lingual pattern, which includes Kriol, also suggests a southern alliance, which is reinforced by the closer economic and trading relations with the RAAS capital Bluefields. An interesting property of this relativized pattern of linguistic hierarchy is the fact that Spanish, the national language, seems to be excluded from the equation, in the sense that it is not the target language for any pattern of language shift, with the possible exception of urban areas in the Mining Triangle (Northwestern corner of the RAAN), which might indicate the existence of parallel vectors in the existing linguistic hierarchy. The origin for this Linguistic Hierarchy seems to stem from the socio-historic factors that shape colonial history in this area of the world. While the Spaniards had colonized the western Pacífico area of nowadays Nicaragua very early in the

9 At the time that Norwood (1993) first introduced her Linguistic Hierarchy, the spelling Creole was in common use. In the 2000s, it was already common to write Kriol, as the result of normalization practices. See Koskinen (2006, 2010) for details of the processes related to Kriol. 10 See also Jamieson (2003), for ways in which Miskitu and Creole/Kriol identities are negotiated.



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colonizing period (early 1500’s), they left the eastern area practically untouched. For reasons that are not well understood, Spanish colonizers entered the territory through the Honduran coast, north of the Cabo de Gracias a Dios, travelled along the northern banks of the Wangki River between Honduras and Nicaragua and entered into what is nowadays Nicaragua through the territory of the Segovias, in the northeast corner of the Pacífico side (Romero 1996: 36), thus avoiding the nowadays RAAN completely. It wasn’t until the late 1600s, more than a century later, that the British arrived to the Caribbean Coast of the territory and established a commercial alliance with the Miskitu (Romero 1996: 37; Koskinen 2009b: 778). By the time the Spanish colony wanted to secure the mouth of the San Juan River at the southern tip of the nowadays RAAS, the British were quite strongly settled there and a military and political confrontation ensued that took almost two centuries to resolve (in favor of the by then independent Nicaragua). At the time of their arrival, the British established a primary trading relation with the Miskitu and equipped them with weapons (Romero 1996: 40; Jamieson 2001: 6). By arming them, the British made the Miskitu, who prior to their encounters with the British were a minority ethnicity in the region, the strongest indigenous group on the Atlantic coast. Oral traditions of the neighboring indigenous groups abound in stories of slavery and oppression on the part of the Miskitu towards their neighbors, reaching all the way south to Costa Rica (Ibarra 2009); in Nicaragua, this forced Mayangna groups to retreat west into the mountains. By the time the first (Moravian) missionaries arrived in the second half of the 19th century, the preponderance of the Miskitu was well-established, and the decision to use Miskitu as the language of religion was an easy one. Moravian missionaries translated the Bible to Miskitu and conducted religious services in Miskitu (Benedicto et al. 2006: 4; Freeland and Frank 2011). Although literacy was not widespread until the acclaimed literacy campaign of 1980 (see below, Section 4.2.), printed translations of the Bible in Miskitu and religious services conducted in Miskitu did much to boost the social standing and prestige of the language (Benedicto et al. 2006: 3; Freeland and Frank 2011). As a result of this increase in economic and military power, the social standing of the Miskitu population expanded greatly, with linguistic subordination of the other groups following suit (Jamieson 2001: 7). A similar pattern of acquisition of social prestige may be claimed for the English speaking black populations that came, later on, with the arrival of American mining and banana companies to the area (late 19th and first half of the 20th century). Black workers acted as foremen and overseers in these companies, effectively bridging (Miskitu) indigenous laborers and their white American bosses, thus establishing themselves as an intermediate step in the social hierarchy (Green and Hale 1998). This social hierarchy would then extend into

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the linguistic realm, yielding the Sumu>Miskitu>Kriol>English hierarchy of the south. With the historical developments of the late 19th and 20th century, especially the final annexation of the Atlantic Coast to Nicaragua in 1894 (Koskinen 2009b: 778), Spanish entered into the picture and replaced English (Sumu>Miskitu>Kriol>Spanish) as an additional language in the linguistic repertoire but not necessarily as a shift language. These emerging patterns of (Relativized) Linguistic Hierarchy, manifested both in the multilingual patterns observed by Norwood and the language shifts observed later, are, we will argue, evidence of an underlying system of linguistic ideology that ultimately determines whether or not revitalization efforts (that is, reversing language shift) will be successful. In the next section, we examine more in detail the nature of language shift among the Mayangna communities.

3 Language shift (as evidence of linguistic ideology) As we mentioned earlier, we understand language shift here as the process of replacement of the heritage language as L1 with another outside language, usually a dominant language in the environment, to the exclusion of the original heritage language, which is eventually completely abandoned. Understanding the issues that lead to language shift seems to be the (or at least one of the) most crucial factors in figuring out the ineffectiveness of revitalization efforts in the last 30 years in Nicaragua. Language shift is most visible, nowadays, in the Mayangna communities along the Bambana River, most of them Tuahka but not exclusively (Benedicto et al. 2006). Two points characterize this phenomenon: one is that the shift is towards another indigenous language, Miskitu, and not to the dominant national language, Spanish; the second is that Spanish does come into the picture but only in urban areas, that is, in environments that are not per se indigenous. Jamieson (2001) claims that this phenomenon of language shift and its subsequent identity shift is much older and is on the basis of the ‘disappearance’ of many of the Sumu groups that Lehmann (1920) and Conzemius (1932) identified at the beginning of the 20th century. According to him, these groups did not actually disappear but did in fact shift their language to Miskitu and then, using language as an ethnic identifier, shifted their identity to Miskitu. So, in fact, many of the Miskitu communities between Bilwi (on the coast) and the mining town of Rosita (on the western edge of the RAAN) were indeed Sumu communities that



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completed a process of language-to-identity shift.11 This shift in identity was also noted by some neighboring Sumu communities that remember the ethnic roots of their neighbors and recognize their heritage by referring to them as “sumu-miskitu” (Jamieson 2001: 11). This total and abrupt adoption of a new identity purely based off linguistic shift is not unique to Nicaragua, however. In Mexico, language seems to be the primary indicator of ethnicity, according to Sicoli (2011: 174): the Zapotec town of Asunción shifted to Spanish rapidly; when only a few speakers of Zapotec remained, these few were the only people recognized to be of Zapotec ethnicity, despite the population being directly descendant of the recognized Zapotec people. The language shift that we observe nowadays in Tuahka communities can be the current manifestation of the phenomenon identified by Jamieson (2001). The shift documented in Green and Hale (1998) concerning the Ulwa community of Karawala can be another one. Green and Hale show that a small intervention (in this particular case, the arrival of an American company together with a sizeable cohort of Miskitu workers) can have a sudden, quick and catastrophic effect in terms of language shift. For our purposes here, we understand ‘catastrophic’ in the sense of carrying hardly irreversible consequences. As Green and Hale (1998) point out, the town of Karawala basically shifted its language from Ulwa to Miskitu in a matter of only 7 years, and has not recovered from it (Koskinen 2009b: 784). Understanding the nature of language shift is important in what we consider in this paper because not all Mayangna communities undergo this process and it becomes, thus, crucial to understand under which conditions it does and does not happen, if we are interested in language maintenance, revitalization and development. Two factors seem to be relevant when discussing language shift. One is, what is it a manifestation of? And another one is, how is it transmitted? We claim in this paper that language shift in Nicaragua’s Atlantic Coast is in fact a natural consequence of underlying linguistic ideologies that transmit a value hierarchy (which languages are more valued than others) that can be itself a consequence of wider and far-reaching social power structures. Without affecting these underlying linguistic ideologies, we claim, no measure of language revitalization can have a sizeable effect. The second factor that we claim is important is the vehicle of transmission of these linguistic ideologies. As with any biological process,

11 Mueller (1932: 33) also notes that there were about as many Sumu as Miskitu people in the region between Río Grande and Punta Gorda. However, only 60 years later, Buvollen & Buvollen (1994) conducted a study on the demographic make-up of the region and showed that the area was almost entirely Miskitu with the exception of one Sumu (Ulwa) village, Karawala.

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identifying the vector of transmission is crucial in the effectiveness of affecting the process (either to stop it or to spread it). In Benedicto et al. (2006), it was suggested that the vector of transmission was a culturally relevant medium, in the case at hand, the river as the traditional medium of communication at the time. As a consequence, it was not only Tuahka communities that were being affected by language shift (they were the majority along the banks of the relevant river) but also the few Panamahka communities along the waterway. The trigger was, as in the case of Karawala, a sudden massive phenomenon channeled through that vector: the presence upriver of an American company that brought with it a massive number of Miskitu workers. This massive and sudden number of Miskitu workers, as in the case of Karawala, introduced the linguistic ideology through all the communities along the river Bambana, who easily absorbed it from this medium; communities outside of the range of the river did not undergo this language shift. This process happened in the early to mid 20th century. Currently, however, the major vector of transmission may itself be shifting. Roads, up to now almost non-existent, are beginning to open up and habits of transportation are beginning to change from the river to the road. Based on reports by community members, we are beginning to observe language shift (again, to Miskitu) in communities far away where language shift had not been attested previously (e.g. in Awastingni), 12 communities that did not have a road before and that do have one now, a road that is becoming the major path of transportation from the community to other major urban areas and to Miskitu communities; whereas at this point we can only suggest the existence of such correlation, it will be worthwhile to continue monitoring it. A similar effect produced by the creation of major roads and highways and the consequent influx of outsiders, speakers of a dominant language, is described in the contributions to this volume by Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro for Wixárika communities, in Yáñez et al. for Nahua communities, and in Pharao Hansen et al. for Otomí communities. An additional vector of transmission, worth considering, is (formal) education. Systemic education is a relatively new phenomenon in Nicaragua (see Section 4.2.). We will see that, as can be observed in far away locations such as Ireland, the education system is very effective in promoting (the use of) a language when it aligns with active linguistic ideologies (that is, when the language of education correlates with the hierarchically dominant language), thus favoring language shift; when, however, the language of education does not align with

12 Awastingni is a Mayangna community whose territory, officially demarcated and the object of a ruling by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (Koskinen 2009b: 782; Inter-American Court of Human Rights, 2001), is surrounded by Miskitu territory.



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the dominant language, the education system does not seem to have an effect in either slowing down or accelerating the speed of language shift. That is, if the language of education is the language at the top of the linguistic hierarchy according to the prevalent linguistic ideology, this dominant language will play along and contribute to language shift and the eventual dismissal of languages down in the hierarchy. That is the case of, say, Spanish used in schools in indigenous environments throughout Latin America (where it has effectively replaced indigenous languages13), or even in the Spain of the 1950s with respect to other local languages such as Euskera (Basque) or Catalan, when these languages lost a sizeable number of speakers to Spanish, the only language used at that time in the school system. This is also the case of French in France when the ideal of French as the language of culture successfully replaced the local languages, considered patois or dialects of lower prestige. Again, this is the case of English in the United States during the boarding school14 era (and possibly nowadays with languages other than English), when English successfully replaced indigenous languages. If, on the other hand, the language of education is a language on the lower end of the hierarchy under the underlying linguistic ideology, it will not be able to counteract prevalent linguistic ideology and it will not have a sizeable effect on the ongoing language situation. This is, in fact, what happens in Ireland where Irish, lower than the higher-ranked English, taught in schools has not reversed or slowed down the already existing language shift (i.e., no additional L1 speakers have been created);15 or in Mayangna territory where education in the language (see, again, Section 4.2. below) has not been able to reverse the trend in language shift: use of Mayangna-Tuahka (a language down in the hierarchy) in the school system as the language of instruction and as a matter of study has not been able to stop language shift in the communities where it was already in progress.16

13 This is observed in most contributions in this volume having to do with Mexico. 14 For details on boarding schools in the US, see, among others, Adams (1995), Smith (2004) and McBeth (1983). 15 It is unclear what the situation is in Catalunya and the Basque Country, where linguistic ideologies seem to be in fluctuation since the 1970’s, with earlier periods when the local languages seemed to peak in the hierarchy and more recent periods when local languages seem to descend again in the linguistic hierarchy (C. Junyent, personal communication). 16 An anonymous reviewer suggests that ‘A language can be dominant in many ways and at the same does not necessarily have to be the favored language in a group’s ideology.’ In this work, we understand that the linguistic hierarchy is defined by the corresponding linguistic ideology: we use ‘dominant’, not in the sense of ‘imposed’, but in the sense of the top-ranking in the hierarchy determined by the generating ideology.

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Recent work by Freeland and Frank (2011, 2014) in collaboration with Tuahka communities is geared towards analyzing and identifying in a more detailed way exactly what shape this linguistic ideology is taking in the area. The work is still ongoing. In conclusion, linguistic ideologies drive the trends of language shift, neutralizing in most cases actions designed to counteract it. We claim that, without directly addressing linguistic ideologies, no amount of language revitalization will be able to successfully reverse language shift. In the following sections we further elaborate on this line of inquiry and analyze the different variables that can play a role in the processes of language revitalization that have taken place in the context of the Mayangna communities. We show that these factors have applied in the same way both in the communities where language maintenance has taken place and in communities where language shift has taken place. Thus these variables seem to have had little effect on the current processes. We then explore again the role of linguistic ideologies.

4 Factors to consider in language shift In this section we will consider several of the factors that can be considered to potentially affect the success or failure of revitalization efforts (in fact, reversing language shift), specifically those identified in Pérez Báez, Rogers and Rosés Labrada, this volume. We compare them in the two minimally differing areas in Mayangna communities, those undergoing robust language shift and those undergoing robust language maintenance and development.

4.1 The legal system: A ‘healthy’ paradigm Nicaragua’s body of cultural and linguistic legislation constitutes one of the best in Latin America with respect to support for local languages, both indigenous and ‘autochtonous’, such as Kriol and Garifuna (see Benedicto et al. 2004; Koskinen 2010: 141). Such a legal system is the base for policies related to the respect, maintenance and promotion of linguistic diversity that we will discuss in this and the next section. Despite the existence of such a legal framework, however, one of the main problems has been obtaining full implementation and enforcement of this body of legislation. As a result of the social and political events of the 1980s and in an attempt to embrace and promote a multiethnic Nicaraguan nation after the war, laws were



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passed to protect the linguistic rights of all Nicaraguans (Benedicto et al. 2004). The new Constitución Política ‘Political Constitution’ of 1986 already recognized the linguistic rights of the communities of the Coast and the official status of their languages, which was expanded within the framework of the Ley No. 28 Estatuto de Autonomía ‘Law N. 28 Statute of Autonomy’ passed in 1987. This framework culminated with a crucial additional piece of legislation, the Ley No. 162 Ley de Lenguas ‘Law N. 162, Law of Languages’ passed in 1993 (though not officially published in La Gaceta until 1996) granting official status and educational rights to all indigenous and autochtonous languages within the Autonomous Regions of Nicaragua. Article 7 of this Ley de Lenguas states that communities on the Atlantic coast of Nicaragua have the right to education through high school in their native language. The article goes on to explain that preschool should contribute to the development of cultural identity within the people’s own system of ethnic values and respect to the environment. In middle and high school, both Spanish and the community’s language should be introduced as a subject matter with the final objective of being proficient in both languages by the end of secondary schooling (Ley No. 162, 1996). Along with the official status promised by the law is the right to preserve languages with support from the government to be provided as needed: Las comunidades de la costa atlántica tienen derecho a la preservación de sus lenguas. El Estado establecerá Programas especiales para el ejercicio de este Derecho proporcionará los recursos necesarios para el buen funcionamiento de los mismos, y dictará leyes destinadas a promover acciones que aseguren que ningún nicaragüense sea objeto de discriminación por razón de su lengua. [The communities on the Atlantic Coast have the right to preserve their languages. The State will establish programs specifically for the exercise of this right, supply the resources necessary for the enactment of this law, and pass laws designed to promote actions that ensure that no Nicaraguan is the object of discrimination due to their language.] (translation by authors) (Ley No. 162, 1996)

A final piece of legislation that expanded the educational reach of this previous body is the SEAR (Sistema de Educación Autonómico Regional, ‘Autonomous Regional System of Education’), published in 2001, which was supposed to shape a model of education that captures the cultural specificities of the regions and regulates the final transfer of the educational system to the Regional Governments of the Coast, finally integrated into the 2006 General Law of Education, Ley 582. Though all this body of legislation provides official backing, prestige, and state support to increase the vitality of the language and it is currently active and being used as the framework for political and educational actions, its implemen-

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tation continues to be slow and it has been met with a certain level of resistance throughout the years. The relevance of this legislative body for this paper is that it has provided a framework for both the Tuahka and the Panamahka populations. Both communities have participated in the political life and electoral processes associated with these pieces of legislation. Tuahka community members are active in the political life of Rosita, the closest urban center, and a member of the Tuahka community has been a vice-mayor, at least in the last two, mayoral teams. Members of the Panamahka community are active in the political life of Bonanza, the closest urban center, and a member of the community has been either the mayor or vice-mayor at least since the decade of the 2000s. Political campaigns heavily involve the participation of the two communities, and members of both the Tuahka and Panamahka communities have been elected to the Consejo Regional, the legislative camera associated with the Autonomous Government in the RAAN. In summary, the legislative body seems to have applied equally to the two communities with no visible substantial effect on the ‘worth’ associated to one or the other group, and no visible preference for participation in the political life of either group. One should note, however, that these political processes are heavily associated with mestizo (Spanish-speaking) culture, and as such they find themselves in the realm of Spanish, which, as we pointed out in Section 3, seems to be on a parallel vector in the language shift patterns observed in the area.

4.2 Literacy and institutionalized education As a direct result of the events and legislation of the 1980s, a language-specific educational system arose. This system constitutes, despite its shortcomings and margins for improvement, one of the best and better articulated educational systems of the area and probably of Latin America: it recognizes the cultural uniqueness and linguistic rights of the different ethnic groups and, as such, uses their indigenous languages as the vehicle of instruction. The system included different PEBI programs (Programa de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural, ‘Program for Bilingual Intercultural Education’), one for each ethnic/linguistic group. They were introduced early in the 1980s in part as the result of the Literacy Campaign17

17 The literacy campaign or Cruzada Nacional de Alfabetización of 1980 was the Sandinistas’ attempt at curbing the illiteracy rates in the country (75–90 % of the rural population in Nicaragua was illiterate while 50–52 % of the national population could not read or write; Silva 2010) and began with the goal of creating an educated, literate population who could make informed deci-



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initiated by the Sandinistas and in part as the Sandinista attempt to understand, recognize and respect the cultural identity and idiosyncracy of the Atlantic Coast. The Sumu PEBI was initiated in 1985 and by 1990 the program had reached 4th grade, including publication of textbooks in all subject matters (including Mayangna Language, Mathematics and Science) in the Mayangna language. This developed in a concurrent way with the training of teachers, who initially were empíricos (teachers without formal training) in an unprecedented program of human resources training. It included a coordinated effort between the Escuela Normal (teacher training education schools), local universities such as URACCAN and the Ministry of Education. By the mid 1990s, a sizeable body of PEBI teachers were participating in Bachelor’s Degrees in Intercultural Education; by the mid 2000s teacher training Normal schools were specializing in Intercultural Education; and by the 2010s a number of teachers were participating in Masters programs in Bilingual Intercultural Education. Currently (and despite a lapse in the 1990s due to political reasons), all of primary school up to 6th grade has textbooks in the Mayangna language, the textbooks have been revised and re-published at least twice with special emphasis on the cultural adequacy and relevance of the curriculum and the presentation of the content.18

sions during elections. Students were mobilized throughout the country and within six months, half a million people became literate. The campaign was hugely successful (UNESCO 2007, 2011; UNICEF 2011) and it has led Nicaragua to receive five UNESCO prizes over the years for their accomplishments in raising the literacy rate, including the Nadezhda K. Krupskaya Literacy Prize which was awarded in 1980 (Sirias 2008; 25 Años 2005). 18 Textbooks are always sanctioned by the Ministry of Education (though eventually, they will be the responsibility of the Autonomous Government under SEAR) and they are prepared by teams of técnicos, Mayangna personnel that hold positions of technical support in PEBI offices or that are hired by the institution charged with preparing the revision (e.g., URACCAN) under similar professional requirements. The content of the curriculum is the result of negotiations between what is mandated at a national level and the right to reflect and convey their own cultural practices (recognized in Law 162 mentioned above), in a process that has been named contextualización, that is, encoding the content determined by the Ministry in the appropriate cultural context. This is an improvement over the old system of translation of the national content; however, the level of success in reflecting the local culture ranges widely, depending on a number of conditions. Once approved by the Ministry and sanctioned by the communities, they are printed and distributed freely throughout the communities’ schools.

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4.2.1 Primary education The PEBI Program provides education in and on the local language for all the ethnic groups of the Atlantic Coast of Nicaragua. However, this program is only active in indigenous communities but not in urban areas, even in those like Bilwi with a sizeable indigenous population. In particular, all Mayangna communities have primary schools and all those schools teach within the PEBI program. Currently, the Sumu (Mayangna) PEBI program has two offices in the Ministry of Education, in Rosita and in Bonanza, the two mestizo towns closer to the Mayangna territories; they serve and provide technical support to all the communities in all the Mayangna territories covering all 6 grades in primary education. However, Mayangna children in urban areas only have access to education in Spanish. All children in Mayangna communities receive literacy training in their own language and since the late 2000s, there are textbooks for all subject matters in both the Tuahka linguistic variety and the Panamahka linguistic variety. While it is true that initially the textbooks were published in the Panamahka variety, a Tuahka community initiative requested the preparation of textbooks in their own variety during the decade of the 2000s. Initially, there was some resistance on the part of the PEBI leadership. However, with the last curricular revision a version of the textbooks specific to the cultural and linguistic specificity of Tuahka communities was prepared, the books were readied, distributed and are currently being used in those communities.

4.2.2 Secondary education Another positive development, within the realm of institutionalized education, has been the creation of secundarias comunitarias (community high schools) in the last five to ten years. These vary in size and number of grades offered. Secondary education in Nicaragua is divided between ciclo básico (the first three years) and ciclo diversificado (last two years). Most community high schools have ciclo básico, and some of the bigger ones have all five years. Factors that have an effect on this are the number of potential students and the proximity to the mestizo urban centers. Wasakin, the main Tuahka community, has had a community high school that fluctuates in its offering: at times it has offered all five years, and at times only the first three years. Its proximity to the urban center of Rosita, as well as the existence of public transportation to it (albeit irregular) for both students and teaching staff are conditions that play a role in determining the number of years offered. Its situation is similar to that of the high school in Sakalwas, the Panamahka community closer to Bonanza. Despite the general positive effects



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of the existence of these high schools and despite the dispositions in the Ley de Lenguas that education in the native language should cover secondary education, these community high schools unfortunately work under the monolingual Spanish system; there is currently no attempt at implementing a bilingual modality for these high schools, though parents’ awareness is rising and they are beginning to request that change. Since the 2000s, the PEBI system was incorporated within the all-encompassing SEAR, the Sistema Educativo Autonómico Regional, an Autonomy-wide educational system designed to improve and systematize the multi-cultural nature of the education in both the RAAN and the RAAS. Among the actions that have been taken, under the scope of SEAR, is the regular curricular revision of the textbooks to better reflect the cultural set up of the region, to consider gender issues and to avoid issues of ‘hidden’ curriculum.19

4.2.3 Higher education Several institutions have had key roles in developing the Higher Education landscape since the 1980s when a big push in this direction happened, as a result of the social and political events of that time. CIDCA, the Centro de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Costa Atlántica ‘Center for Research and Development of the Atlantic Coast’, though not directly involved in higher education, had an earlier role in mentoring the first generation of university students from indigenous communities in the Pacífico. We address this in the next section (Section 4.3.). Two other institutions in particular developed higher education in the Coast itself: URACCAN (Universidad de la Región Atlántica y la Costa Caribe de Nicaragua, ‘University of the Atlantic Region and the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua’) and BICU (Bluefields Indian Caribbean University), each with several campuses throughout the RAAN and RAAS, each with a prominent, though different, role in the education of the indigenous peoples of the Coast. URACCAN University was created in the mid 1990s as an effort by Sandinista intellectuals to provide a venue for higher education in The Coast that would offer relevant education to its citizens; that is, education in the fields that were relevant for the cultural, linguistic, intellectual, political and economic development of

19 ‘Hidden’ curriculum refers to ideas conveyed not directly but implied in the way of expressing certain concepts. A common example is in the representation of girls and women in textbooks, the kinds of jobs or professions they do, ideals of beauty that are presented and the ideals of ‘proper femininity’ that are conveyed through text or image.

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the region from an endogenous perspective that arose from within the cultures of the region and that could feed into the development of the autonomy process. URACCAN has now four main campuses: in Siuna, Kamla-Bilwi, Bluefields and Nueva Guinea. Siuna has extension campuses in Rosita and Bonanza, where the majority of the Mayangna population is located; the Bilwi campus also has a Mayangna community in its range. URACCAN developed brand new Bachelor’s Degrees in, e.g., Intercultural Bilingual Education, Forestry and Agronomy, Sociology and Community Development. In particular, three generations of Mayangna students, both Tuahka and Panamahka, have graduated in Intercultural Bilingual Education (around 100 individuals) at the extension campus in Rosita. These individuals are currently working as teachers in the PEBI system, in the Ministry of Education as part of the technical teams, in the university as educators, in NGOs, in local development institutions, and in political institutions (at the level of mayors, vice-mayors,20 congress men and women, and even at the ministerial level in the national government). URACCAN is currently engaged in training new generations of Masters students, again with participation of members of both the Tuahka and the Panamahka communities. These individuals constitute the technical, intellectual and political body of the community, merging endogenous indigenous knowledge and exogenous knowledge, to provide the leadership for the development of the Mayangna communities, both Tuahka and Panamahka. Although in the earlier instantiations of the curriculum, classes were conducted mainly in Spanish, as new Mayangna educators rise through the ranks, they can conduct their own subject-matter classes in Mayangna as the language of instruction. Mayangna, as a subject matter, including both Tuahka and Panamahka, has been in the curriculum of URACCAN since its inception. The curriculum includes both classes on the grammatical structure of the language and classes for learning how to teach the language to non-speakers. In both types, both varieties of the language are included. Classes for non-speakers, which are required of all students in all the different Bachelor’s Degrees, are taught in the variety of which the instructor is a speaker (in the Rosita campus, Tuahka instructors tend to be a majority). BICU is a Moravian institution, with campuses in Bilwi and Bluefields. Although BICU also operates in The Coast, it has had less of an effect on the research on and higher education of members of the Mayangna community,

20 Mayoral candidacies in both Rosita and Bonanza are based on a mixed system, where if the candidate for mayor is mestizo the candidate for vice-mayor is Mayangna (Tuahka in Rosita, Panamahka in Bonanza), and viceversa. So political participation is also equally balanced between the two groups.



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since its major area of influence is on the coastal cities of Bilwi and Bluefields, where the presence of Mayangna members is a minority. However, a number of Mayangna individuals have graduated from their campus in Bilwi. These individuals may come from the one Mayangna (Panamahka) community within the territorial range of Bilwi, or may be urban residents in Bilwi or their families may have transferred to Bilwi because of their jobs (Bilwi is the headquarters for the Autonomous government). This population also has access to the URACCAN campus in Kamla-Bilwi. A couple of interesting points arise with respect to our considerations of linguistic ideologies. Although the use of the Mayangna language for academic purposes has been normal21 in the URACCAN extension campus of Rosita-Siuna, and Bacherlor’s theses have been accepted in bilingual mode (Spanish/Mayangna) since the beginning with defenses being conducted in Spanish and Mayangna as the language of the committee members allowed, the situation in the Bilwi campus has been slightly different. During the defense of one of the theses (written in the bilingual mode Spanish/Mayangna), the Kamla-Bilwi administration claimed that Mayangna could not be used during the defense because not all committee members understood the language; they stated that, according to the University’s regulations, only Spanish or English could be used, despite the fact that no member of the committee could understand English (the administration team of the time included members of the Creole community) and despite the fact that the extension campus of Rosita-Siuna had been accepting Mayangna for several years. We take this as one more point of evidence of the hierarchy underlying the linguistic ideologies prevalent in the area: Spanish and English are prestige languages, on the top of the ladder, that can be used to conduct business in higher education; the other, indigenous, languages, at the bottom of the ladder cannot. A second piece of evidence comes from considerations, within the Rosita-Siuna campus, as to which indigenous language to offer for non-speakers. Although Mayangna is currently consistently offered, there was initially a very strong push to offer Miskitu despite the fact that there was no major Miskitu population in the area but there was indeed a substantial number of Mayangna communities

21 In the context of Nicaragua (but also, for instance, in Catalunya), normal and normalization are used as technical terms. Koskinen (2010: 154) states that ‘the normalization process is supposed to make the use of a language that has been historically displaced from certain contexts just as “normal” as the use of any other language by abolishing any social prohibitions around using it and by gradually developing the necessary linguistic resources for its use in new contexts.”

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around that urban center. We take this as evidence that Miskitu, even on the eyes of a non-indigenous administration, had more ‘value’ than Mayangna; thus, that Miskitu is higher on the scale than Mayangna.

4.2.4 Language standardization As part of all this process of shaping an institutionalized system of education and providing both the material and the human resources for its success, a process of normalization of the languages involved took place (see Koskinen 2010: 154, among others). This process, which has a long history of practice in Nicaragua, is different from current ideas of standardization in that it does not seek to find ‘one’ variant to be used by all but to find a system of coding the writing of the language that can capture all the different varieties of it: if the Panamahka say muhni ‘his face’ and the Tuahka say munh ‘his face’, then the system allows for those two different writings, and everybody can recognize and produce both their own and the others’ pronunciation. In what concerns the process for the Mayangna language, the earliest more comprehensive system of writing the language had probably been that of Lehmann 1920, though obviously not directed at the speaking population. By the 1980s, when the PEBI system was being established and implemented, a system was designed that served to prepare the first materials and textbooks. The phonological system of the language, however, has certain peculiarities that were not captured in those earlier versions. By the mid 1990s, a group of teachers, students and other leaders began to meet under the auspices of IPILC, the linguistics institute of URACCAN in Rosita, together with E. Benedicto. A series of workshops ensued during the following next decade that addressed issues ranging from the writing of the sounds of the language, to the respect of all varieties of the language, to the creation of neologisms for the new conceptual areas that were arising in Mayangna (including Linguistics). The Normalización de la Lengua Mayangna (Tuahka y Panamahka) text of 2002 corresponds to the agreements taken in one of the early meetings in July 1999 (Benedicto 2000). Although certain aspects of the system, especially those that were different from the more well-known Spanish system (such as the voiceless liquids –, – and nasals –, , – ), took longer to be commonly used, the system is now in full applicability and being used in the school system (e.g., teachers created a song to introduce the Mayangna alphabet Abidima to preschoolers) and in the last version of the textbooks. The system is now normalized, and it is so for both the Panamahka and the Tuahka varieties of Mayangna. In summary, with respect to literacy and institutionalized education, members of both communities, Tuahka and Panamahka, have had access to it



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from kindergarten and primary school to institutions of higher education. Both varieties have undergone the same process of linguistic normalization that has allowed the language to be written, to be a vehicle of instruction, to be the object of analysis, and to be offered as a second language to be taught in an educational setting. Members of both the Tuahka and the Panamahka communities have had access to higher education, which has allowed them to hold positions of professional responsibility. As a result of access to higher education, members of the Tuahka community work as technical personnel in the Ministry of Education, MINED, in Rosita (the mestizo urban center closer to Tuahka communities) and the coordinator of the PEBI in Rosita is a member of the Tuahka group. Panamahka individuals, on the other hand, work as technical personnel in the headquarters of the Ministry of Education in Bonanza (the mestizo urban center closer to the Panamahka territory) both the positions of coordinator of the PEBI and director of the MINED office in Bonanza are Panamahka. Members of both the Tuahka and the Panamahka communities regularly teach classes on the URACCAN campus in Rosita. And, as we will see in more detail in the next section, the Mayangna Linguistic Team, Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna, that operates out of the Linguistic Institute (IPILC) in URACCAN is formed of three Tuahka members and two Panamahka members. In conclusion, members of both communities, Tuahka and Panamahka, have had access to a formal institutionalized system of education, both at the primary, secondary and higher education level, which has definitely opened the doors to professional development equally.

4.3 Research and local human resources Several institutions have had key roles in developing research and training local human resources since the 1980s when a big push in this direction happened as a result of the social and political events of that time. We have mentioned some of them in relation to their role in higher education in the previous section. CIDCA, the Centro de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Costa Atlántica (the Center for Research and Development of the Atlantic Coast), was an institution created by the Sandinistas with two basic goals in mind: (a) to provide a space to develop research on the Coast and by costeños (members of the Atlantic Coast community) to better integrate the region with the Pacífico region respecting and developing the cultural identity of the Coast, and (b) to train the local human resources of the Coast (Rivas 2007). Generations of costeños and costeñas were trained in the national universities in Managua at the same time that they par-

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ticipated as researchers in research projects on linguistics, economy, forestry in CIDCA; specifically a first generation of Mayangna university students and researchers were trained within the scope of CIDCA’s activities. A direct result of the work carried out during those years is the creation of the publication Wani, a quarterly journal charged with the publication of research on the Coast by local and foreign researchers. With the elections of 1990 and the change to a liberal government, CIDCA underwent a series of changes, being first assigned to the UCA (the Universidad Centroamericana, a Jesuit institution) and later to BICU (Bluefields Indian Caribbean University, a Moravian institution). With this final change, CIDCA moved definitely from its original main headquarters in Managua to the Coast, with headquarters in Bilwi and Bluefields. From the office in Bilwi, and under the leadership of MSc Melba McLean (the author of the first dictionary of the Mayangna-Panamahka language; McLean 1996), several projects were developed to raise awareness and improve the educational conditions of the Mayangna communities. It was also within the framework of CIDCA that the informal group Linguists for Nicaragua was formed in the late 1980s, which attracted linguists mainly from the US and Europe to support the development of linguistic research and materials in the country. We have already mentioned the role of URACCAN as a center of higher education in the Coast (see previous section). URACCAN also became a center for endogenous research, the kind of research that generates knowledge from within the communities and within cultural indigenous paradigms. The research component of the university was organized around the creation of institutos or research centers, among them and more prominently relevant for the Mayangna, the linguistic institute IPILC (Instituto para la Promoción e Investigación Lingüística y Revitalización Cultural ‘Institute for Linguistic Promotion and Research and Cultural Revitalization’), the institute for traditional medicine IMTRADEC (Instituto de Medicina Tradicional y Desarrollo Comunitario, ‘Traditional Medicine and Community Development Institute’), and the women’s studies institute CEIMM (Centro de Estudios e Información de la Mujer Multiétnica, ‘The Multi-ethnic Women’s Studies and Information Center’). It is within the framework of IPILC and the initial Bachelor’s in Intercultural Bilingual Education that the first teams of Mayangna linguists are formed in the late 1990s and early 2000s. Under the example of work by members of Linguists for Nicaragua, such as Ken Hale with the Ulwa or Colette (Craig) Grinevald with the Rama, the Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna emerged as a permanent professional team of linguists that would eventually take over the tasks associated with linguistic work. The team, in collaboration with Elena Benedicto and several US-based linguistics students, has been continuously working since then, currently with 5 of the original 8 members of the team; three of the members are Tuahka (Modesta Dolores, Gloria Fendly



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and Tomasa Gómez) and two are Panamahka (Demetrio Antolín and Elizabeth Salomón). Participation of Tuahka members has always been part of the team, ever since members of the group demanded that their linguistic variety also be taken into account in the late 1990s (Benedicto and Hale 2001). The team, working under a Participatory Action Research approach (Benedicto et al. 2007) has produced a variety of materials, most prominently a monolingual dictionary of the two varieties of the language, Panamahka and Tuahka with definitions in the language (Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna and Benedicto 2012b) and a grammar written in the language (Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna and Benedicto 2012a), but also a collection of folktales, oral history, children’s dictionaries, etc. The team has also participated in the curricular revision and updating of the primary school textbooks, provides technical support for the school system, belongs to the faculty of URACCAN, and regularly presents at scholarly national and international meetings. The Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna constitutes one of the best human resources team in the area and provides the Mayangna community with invaluable tools for the development of linguistic resources, including the training of future generations. The body of linguistic research generated since the 1980s with Linguists for Nicaragua has been enormous (for a compilation, see Benedicto 2010; Salamanca 2007). It has also changed the face of linguistic research in the sense that it has been carried out mostly by members of the indigenous communities themselves, thus narrowing down the gap between researchers and members of the community. However, despite the availability of materials (in terms of dictionaries and grammars; collections of texts, textbooks and other school materials; and scholarly research materials) and despite the unprecedented development of indigenous human resources for both varieties of the language, Panamahka and Tuahka, the language shift trends (as reported then and now by members of the community)22 that existed before the explosion of linguistic activity in the 1980s have not been altered. Thus, the language shift trends unfortunately continue unaffected.

22 Another indication of the increasing loss of potential speakers is that it is becoming more and more difficult to find Tuahka-speaking youth for the educational programs that either IPILC or the Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna team organize. Tuahka teachers also report that an increasing number of children arrive at the preschool with no linguistic abilities in Tuahka.

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4.4 (Access to) resources Both Tuahka and Panamahka communities are based on a subsistence economy. Most members of the communities practice slash and burn agriculture in the surrounding forests, they hunt and fish in the rivers; both men and women participate in these tasks, though they specialized in specific activities. Communities tend to be removed from urban centers and accessible mainly by dirt roads, with little if any regular public transportation; most of them do not have electricity, though the church and the school building may have a generator. Despite this, all communities have a school building (that may be used in the morning for primary school, in the afternoon for high school and in the evening for adult education). A recent national program has installed computers and Internet satellite connection in the schools of the main communities, both in the Tuahka and the Panamahka areas. However, training of some community members or teachers for the use of that equipment has happened in an irregular way, either as part of the national program or by student volunteers; this training may focus on a variety of actions from searches in the Internet to word processing or social media. Members of communities with relatively easy access to an urban center may also have access to the resources offered by it, such as Internet cafes, now relatively easy to find (as of 2013, Rosita had 3 of them). Most Tuahka communities are relatively close to the urban center of Rosita, whereas Panamahka communities vary, some being equally close to Bonanza and others being a day’s walking distance from it. URACCAN as well as the offices of the MINED (Ministerio de Educación, ‘Ministry of Education’) also provide access to these resources to members associated with them. Urban centers may also host a community of indigenous families, most of whom have been trained in technical positions and may hold jobs in institutions in those urban centers. In such circumstances many will live in the urban center, though some may still commute between the town and the community. In other words, they serve as bridges between community members and outside resources. This is true of both Tuahka communities, which are close to the urban center of Rosita, and Panamhka communities which are, mostly, closer to the urban center of Bonanza. Outside researchers that visit the area regularly also provide a bridge between the community and outside resources. This is again true of both Tuahka and Panamahka communities. URACCAN has, again, strived to provide training that allows members of both communities to access outside resources, both economic and academic ones. The university has been expanding access, mostly via electronic devices, to databases and bibliographic resources. Though not perfect, the crucial point is that the access that both communities, Panamahka and Tuahka, have had, is the same.



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4.5 Community engagement and motivation Despite certain differences in traditional heroes, connected to the land, and folk stories, basic cultural constructs and social priorities are for the most part the same: value and respect for family and the elders, for the environment and nature (not taking more than you reasonably need for you and your family), for reciprocal systems of mutual help, for land and territory. Gender roles as well as religious practices seem to go alongside; both communities are primarily Moravian, though other Christian churches have been introduced (e.g., Maranatha, Baptist) within the recent past in both areas. Holidays, customs and political (un)affiliations23 also seem to mirror each other. With respect to linguistic matters, Tuahka community members have been, if anything, more vocal about the value of their linguistic variety, being quite proactive in demanding that attention be paid to their particular linguistic variety (Benedicto and Hale 2001). The Tuahka group also fought loudly for having their own textbooks created and for recognition in the public arena. The process of acceptance of their variety by the Panamahka majority has been interesting, going from at times strong rejection to curiosity to know how they say certain things and to final acceptance of the difference. A Participatory (Action) Research approach has been adopted in particular by the Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna and in general by the IPILC and URACCAN. In their engagement and research with the communities they have involved both communities, the Panamahka and the Tuahka, and both have been equally responsive to it (Benedicto et al. 2004, 2002; Benedicto et al. 2007). Media programs engaging the communities via radio broadcasting have been very well received by both communities (Benedicto et al. 2001); the language of broadcasting has been at times Panamahka and at times Tuahka, the last one being an extraordinarily well received program conducted by two Tuahka women, followed both by the Tuahka and the Panamahka communities. A potential differential marker, that may turn out to have some relevance, may be a slightly stronger inclination of the Tuahka community to accept outsiders into their territory. Panamahka communities, especially those in the most remote Sauni As territory, are very well organized to defend their territory against outside incursions, increasingly frequent lately by displaced poor farmers from

23 The older generation especially is known for advising not to get associated with external political organizations, claiming that they are above all Sumu. This is less and less the case as younger generations of both groups tend to participate in political life with similar percentages of alignment with the national or regional organizations.

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the Pacífico side. This goes alongside their traditional rejection to accept Miskitu individuals and families within their communities and the near absence of mixed families (where one of the spouses is Mayangna and the other is not, most commonly, Miskitu). In the very exceptional cases when an external family has been accepted (to our knowledge, one single family of mestizo origin in a community nearby Bonanza), that family has completely assimilated to Mayangna culture, with their children attending Mayangna school and learning the language. The Tuahka, on the other hand, occupy a territory that has been more prone to incursions by the Miskitu (Benedicto et al. 2006); Wasakin, the main Tuahka community, has a good number of Miskitu and mixed Miskitu-Tuahka families. There also have been a number of mestizo settlers (colonos), who have not culturally assimilated, contrary to what happened in the Panamahka community mentioned above. Interestingly enough, a recent phenomenon that has been detected is the illegal sale of communal land after the official demarcation of traditional communal lands (a process for which the communities through their indigenous organizations fought hard). This has been reported both in Tuahka territory as well as in the eastern-most Panamahka community. Curiously enough, that Panamhaka community has also been reported to begin to undergo a strong, quick and unprecedented language shift process towards Miskitu. Panamahka communities alongside the Bambana river, that have also undergone language shift in the past (Benedicto et al. 2006), however, are not known to have relinquished any part of their territory. Whether there really is a correlation between these two factors (land relinquishing and language shift) is a question to investigate, as well as whether one is a cause for the other or viceversa, or both the consequence of some other factor.

5 Linguistic ideologies In the previous sections we have analyzed several factors that could potentially be responsible for why one variety of Mayangna, Tuahka, is undergoing a rapid process of language shift, while another one, Panamahka, is not. Eventually, what is more puzzling is that, after three decades of linguistic maintenance and revitalization work along well-established and professionally-accepted parameters, that pattern has remained basically unchanged, thus indicating that the above-mentioned parameters may not be that effective in what they were purportedly designed to do: to stop language shift and boost language revitalization.



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In fact, we have seen that the pattern does not cut exactly along the lines of Panamahka/Tuahka: while Tuahka communities are indeed affected by the language shift pattern, there is also a small number of Panamahka communities that are affected as well.24 That is, there is nothing inherent in being Panamahka that immunizes that community against language shift. Once we rule out the factors analyzed in Section 4 (e.g., literacy and education, the protection provided by the legal system, the existence of trained local human resources, access to material resources) as potential culprits, we are left with little else but to explore the role of deeply embedded linguistic ideologies. Ideologies are tightly knit to societal power structures and speakers are rarely aware of them at a conscious level but they drive human behaviors at a deep level. In that sense, we make the distinction between linguistic ideology (or ideologies)25 and linguistic attitudes: linguistic ideology being abstract, systemic and unconscious, and linguistic attitudes being the manifestations overtly and consciously expressed by individuals. Those two do not necessarily correlate, that is, there may be lack of consistency between the underlying ideology and the surface attitude (Kroskrity 2004; Leeman 2012).26 Eventually, we suggest, no language revitalization action will produce any real effects unless we identify the underlying active linguistic ideology and act directly on it. Here we suggest the existence of a linguistic ideology system that also underlies both the patterns of bi- and multi-lingualism already observed by Norwood (1993) and the language shift on which we focus here. These two phenomena cannot be reduced to a simple phenomenon of language contact, as the shifting Mayangna communities are also in contact with mestizo Spanish-speaking towns, and they seem to be impermeable to it. We propose that such a system is context-dependent and originates in the historical developments of the 17th-19th centuries in the area. By context-dependent, we mean that the effects of such power hierarchy are modulated by the social context in which they take place: in an indigenous-marked context, where the hierarchy signals the primacy of the

24 These Panamahka communities seemed to be in the same river path as the affected Tuahka communities (Benedicto et al. 2006). 25 We recognize that there may be a set of linguistic ideologies (in the plural). We use the singular form, linguistic ideology, as a mass noun, to refer to the overall set encompassing all the smaller subsets of ideologies that conforms a system. 26 A similar misalignment between the overt attitudes expressed and the underlying ideologies can be observed in Villard and Sullivant’s (this volume) account of the nostalgia expressed by the Chatino community members about their language and their continuous lack of use of the language. Pharao Hansen et al. (this volume) also point out such misalignments in their work about Otomí communities.

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Miskitu over the Mayangna, Mayangna speakers will shift towards Miskitu, the language above Mayangna in the hierarchy; in a non-indigenous context, in the absence of Miskitu as a dominant element, the next dominant language over27 will be activated and Mayangna speakers will shift to it. That is what happens in mestizo urban areas, where Mayangna populations shift towards Spanish, the language that is above Mayangna in that particular realization of the hierarchy. The origins of the current underlying linguistic ideology lie, we claim, in the historical events of the 17th century, when the existent social structures were destabilized and changed by the arrival of the British to the area and their alliance with the, until then small, group(s) of what would end up being considered Miskitu (Romero 1996).28 Whether the British used the Miskitu as a surrogate in the area for their commercial purposes, or the Miskitu used the British to establish their own power structure (Ibarra 2009) is in a way irrelevant for our purposes here. The point is that the Miskitu obtained a position in the social power hierarchy above the other indigenous groups and this created the conditions for subsequent social and linguistic subordination. Initial evidence for this linguistic ideology system comes, as we have indicated before, from an asymmetrical language hierarchy that is manifested by two main phenomena: an asymmetrical and unequal multilingualism and by language shift. The use of language in religion also constitutes an indicator of this power differential: Moravian missionaries chose Miskitu as the language of religion and for most of the last century, religious services have been conducted in Miskitu. Even nowadays, and despite the existence of a bible and good hymnbook in Mayangna, religious services are conducted in Miskitu in Tuahka communities, while Panamahka communities (especially in Sauni As) conduct their services in Mayangna. Further evidence of this linguistic ideology based on a social power structure comes from informal observations noticed over the course of the years and by conversations with the members of the Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna. In those, a gap could be observed between direct and overt opinions about the language,

27 It is not clear whether this kind of system involves a direct dependency of Miskitu under Spanish (Mayangna>Miskitu>Spanish) or if it indicates a parallel non-interactive context-dependent vector (Mayangna>Miskitu; Mayangna>Spanish). There is, to our knowledge, no data available about language shift (or lack thereof) regarding Miskitu and Spanish that indicates not merely multi-lingualism among the Mikitu but whether Miskitu ever shifts to Spanish (there is, as we mentioned, evidence of Miskitu shifting to Kriol in the RAAS, but this again could be considered an ‘indigenous’ context). 28 Romero (1996), following other historical sources, indicates that there may have been distinct original groups that ended up merging together under one language and one culture.



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which tended to be positive, and more general comments not directly linked to language by the speaker, which tended to be more negative in nature. Among the first, speakers would openly manifest that they valued their Tuahka language, they considered it important since they were Tuahka and that it was an important value to pass on to their children. These overt attitudes contrasted with their actual non-scripted behaviors, which revealed that they would use (almost exclusively) Miskitu in conversations with their children and though able to use Tuahka with other adult speakers, the default was also Miskitu. Additionally, in open ended conversation not directly aimed at language, Tuahka speakers would, in contrast with the previous direct attitudes, express opinions in a much more negative view, such as that Tuahka is of a lesser quality as a language (in comparison to Miskitu) and that Tuahka has been “contaminated” by Miskitu (while Panamahka has remained “pure”). These opinions seemed to be shared by Panamahka who considered Tuahka language practices “contaminated” by Miskitu and Tuahka speakers almost like traitors for abandoning their own language. In terms of social standing, Tuahka community members seemed to imply that Miskitu individuals living among them enjoy a higher social status. Stereotypically, Miskitu men are considered to be “hardworking” and “successful” while Tuahka are considered to be “lazy” as compared to the more “decisive” and “enterprising” Miskitu. It is considered amongst the Tuahka as a good move for one of their women to marry Miskitu men. Panamahka, on the other hand, maintain a more strict restraint against mixed marriages than the Tuahka do. In sum, the Panamahka do not seem to react to Miskitu stereotypes of primacy and, when confronted with them, they reaffirm their own identity and self-worth (sometimes even with disdain for the Miskitu). On the other hand, they seem to share with the Miskitu their negative stereotypes of the Tuahka. The Tuahka seem to have internalized these negative stereotypes about themselves, while the Panamahka have mostly been able to resist the absorption of such negative stereotypes. All this suggests a deep seeded ideology that associates negative things with Tuahka and positive things with Miskitu, power with Miskitu and subordination with Tuahka. This system, where Tuahka is at the bottom, seems to be shared by all parties: Miskitu, Tuahka and Panamahka. A more systematic examination of the situation was initiated by Freeland and Frank Gómez in the late 2000s. A pilot project with the community was initiated, followed by an intensive course of fieldwork and combined workshops under the auspices of IPILC. However, due to logistic problems, the full course was not completed and final results have not been systematized with the participant community members. As such, we only have the initial report in Freeland and Frank Gómez (2014), which seems to corroborate the informal observations men-

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tioned before, as well as some encouraging new data (e.g., that indicated that the ‘capacity’ to speak Mayangna may not have been totally lost and there was, thus, a potential thread to recover it). At any rate, it still remains a puzzle to identify the deep reasons why some communities react to negative stereotypes by reaffirming their identity while others succumb and absorb such negative stereotypes.

6 Conclusions and final remarks We have shown that Panamahka and Tuahka are two distinct groups of Mayangna people who maintain very similar ways of living, share a common cultural tradition, share the same socio-political space, but are facing very different linguistic prospects. We have examined several factors that could be relevant in this (Legal Framework, Literacy and Institutionalized Education, Linguistic and Dialectal Diversity, Access to Resources, and Community Engagement) and found they behave in very much the same way. However, despite such similarities, Tuahka continues to lose speakers to the dominant indigenous language Miskitu despite the many steps taken toward maintenance and revitalization in the last 30 years. The imperviousness of actions taken has led the authors to postulate a system of linguistic ideology based on a social power hierarchy originating with the historical developments of the 17th-19th centuries. A pattern of correlating social factors has been identified (including attitudes towards language as well as towards the relative status of the dominant Miskitu vs. the subordinate Tuahka, the role of religious practices, and the tolerance levels with respect to mixed marriages). While the Tuahka seem to be sensitive to this power hierarchy, the Panamahka seem to have resisted it, for reasons that are at this point not clear. An interesting, though by no means new, observation is that the gap between, on the one hand, what we think and say that we believe and, on the other hand, the actual belief system that underlies our concrete and specific actions (of which we are, commonly, unaware) is, more often than not, wider than we think. This gap exists in all areas of human behavior (from interpersonal relationships to corporate policies) and our attitudes towards language do not escape it. Other contributions to this volume have also pointed out the divergence between (overt) attitudes and (covert, underlying) ideologies. It seems sensible to postulate that until negative associations with the language are eliminated, it is probably unlikely that any further maintenance or revitalization efforts will be successful or have any lasting effects within the Tuahka communities. This involves the necessary identification of the underlying lin-



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guistic ideology system, and the subsequent modification to eliminate negative associations.29 Therefore, it seems reasonable to conclude that, in matters of language maintenance and revitalization, priority should be given to identifying the particular linguistic ideology of a community. As a crucial factor in language maintenance and loss, tools need to be designed to identify specific stereotypes, and actions must be implemented to address negative associations. As long as such stereotypes are present and unaddressed, more traditional language revitalization efforts do not seem to have much effect. To meet these needs, further research is needed to develop systematic tools to identify ideologies and ways to improve negative ideologies. This is not to say, of course, that work such as grammars, dictionaries, etc. should not be undertaken. This kind of work is good for other, or subsequent, purposes, linguistic work especially, and it may even be the basis for some revitalization work (e.g., as it has happened in the reclamation cases of the Myaamia (Leonard 2007; Rinehart 2006) and the Wampanoag (Makepeace 2010), but we should be aware that per se they do not do much for maintenance or revitalization. Although the role of linguistic ideologies may well be universal and not unique to the situation of Latin America, the particular ways in which linguistic ideologies are shaped or parameterized may very well be specific to Latin America; different contributions to this volume have shown specifically the range of particular instantiations of those community ideologies (e.g., in Pérez Báez, in Villard and Sullivant, in Pharao Hansen et al., in Rogers, and in Yáñez Rosales et al.). One factor, in particular, may be of interest in the Latin American context: we might want to re-consider actions arising out of an (underlying unconscious) belief system that holds literacy in higher standard than orality. This includes a widely ranging span of actions, from literacy-based school systems inserted in orality-based cultures,30 to the production of publications or booklets for folk-

29 Whether this is at all the role of an outsider linguist is a matter of debate. Maybe the role of such a person is just to point out the existence of such matters and leave it up to the community to begin a discussion about the matter (or not). For discussion on similar matters, see Pérez Báez (this volume). 30 This is not to say that language-specific school programs are not valid. It only means that we should be aware of the implications and of the effects they may have. Some of those effects may be more negative than positive in precipitating the demise of the local language (e.g., by imposing literacy over orality, by transmitting cultural values of the dominant language community [e.g., part of what is called the ‘hidden curriculum’; Jackson 1968 and, especially for Latin America, Freire 1970], by favoring one dialectal variant over another, etc.).

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tales, dictionaries or grammar sketches. For a language to be reinforced in a cultural system that is basically oral, actions need to be designed that work in that oral environment and that address the linguistic ideologies existing in that particular environment. As linguists doing linguistic work and interested in language revitalization, we need to be aware of this and explore alternative options. A good example of sensitivity to these factors are the actions (based on modern L2 teaching methods, such as Total Physical Response) designed by the team working on Wixárika (Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume). The emphasis on the written word as an indicator of an underlying linguistic ideology brings up one more factor to consider when dealing with ideologies in language revitalization. We need to consider not only ideologies internal to the communities, but also those external to the communities (see Shettle, 2015), including both those of the dominant groups (whether they are those associated with a national language such as Spanish, or another indigenous language such as Miskitu) and those of the academic world we are immersed in and that we, as linguists, bring into the equation. Ideologies stemming out of academia are revealed not only in the kinds of materials we tend to produce, but also in the kinds of actions we tend to foster and in the priorities we tend to set up. Beyond the preponderance of written materials over oral materials, we also tend to have classroom set ups instead of language activities attached to culturally-relevant manifestations (see, for instance, Baldwin 2014 and McCarty et al. 2013, for an insider’s perspective on the need for language and cultural revitalization to go in tandem). And although some scholars indicate the need to do documentation based on the needs of revitalization (e.g., Yamada 2011, as pointed out in Santos García, Carillo de la Cruz, and Verdín Amaro, this volume), academic priorities required by funding agencies de facto determine what is and what is not done, as is pointedly noted in Villard and Sullivant’s work (this volume). In sum, for a revitalization project to be successful, it needs to pay attention to both internal and external ideologies,31 and it needs to be rooted in the community and out of community cultural practices; it is useful, thus, to think that even though the general abstract principles may be universal, there is no single recipe-for-all in terms of successful revitalization, and that solutions need to be parametrized according to these considerations.32

31 One might even argue that until the Spanish-speaking shopkeeper in Villard and Sullivant’s work (this volume) stops asking for azúcar and begins to use skà, nothing will really change. The same can apply to academia’s ideology driven requirements. 32 Most of our thoughts on the language/culture connection in language revitalization and on the community-specificity of any approach stem from interactions with Daryl Baldwin, Myaamia,



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An additional factor that may be unique to the situation in Latin America (as opposed to, say, the United States or other Anglophone contexts) is the mosaic of interacting and overlapping languages co-occurring in a multilingual environment that is not uncommonly found in Latin America; we may find several indigenous or local languages interacting with one another and at the same time manifesting varying degrees of interaction with the national dominant language, or even with a language of immigration such as English (cf. Villard and Sullivant, and Pérez Báez, this volume). In this sense, it is particularly interesting when the national language seems to be irrelevant in the inter-linguistic relations; we addressed this issue through the Relativized Linguistic Hierarchy, which reflects the fluctuating nature of dominance and dependency in context-dependent situations.

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who states (personal communication): “Language has both a cultural and community context and we don’t like to over objectify language, but rather treat language as a means of expressing our knowledge system. One path to revitalizing our physical, mental, and verbal expression of culture is through a tribally built educational system that emphasizes language use. Each group engaged in language revitalization has different levels of cultural and community resources to draw from for contextual support. It’s for this reason that the pathway towards accomplishment looks different for each group. Based on our own experience, we move forward and achieve our own defined levels of success through much trial and error, utilizing all available resources, and most importantly striving for in-group consensus at different stages along the way. It’s an intergenerational building process that imagines a future most of us won’t live to see.” This emphasis on the process is also a notion very embedded on actions taken by communities and institutions (such as URACCAN) in Nicaragua, with identifiable roots in Freire (1970).

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Index Page numbers in italics indicate figures, maps, and tables. ABRALIN (Associação Brasileira de Linguística; Brazilian Linguistics Association) 40, 49, 52, 55 Abreu, João Capistrano de 30 Acazulco. see San Jerónimo Acazulco, Mexico Acervo Digital de Lenguas Indígenas “Víctor Franco Pellotier” 70–71 Acuerdo sobre Identidad y Derechos de los Pueblos Indígenas. see Agreement on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples Adelaar, Willem 311n8 advocacy, ethics of 166–168, 177–187, 188–189 The Advocates for Indigenous California Language Survival 219 Agreement on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples (Guatemala) 254–255, 259 Aguilar Gil, Yasnaya 177 Ahtna Regional Linguistic and Ethnographic Archive 12, 66–67 AIDESEP (Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana; Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian Rainforest) 198, 203, 205 Aikanã/Kwaza project 8 Aikhenvald, Alexandra Y. 45 AILLA (Archive of the Indigenous Languages of the Americas) 75 Alaska ––Ahtna Regional Linguistic and Ethnographic archive 12, 66–67 Algic (language family) 5 Algonquian (Blackfoot) 160 Amahuaca (language) 210 Amazonia. see also Kukama-Kukamiria (language) ––bilingual teachers 205 ––countries included in 197 ––Gavião and Suruí of Rondônia 36–39

––language documentation projects 33–39 ––Puruborá language 33–36 ––“uncontacted” indigenous peoples 197–198 Amías Murayari, Rosa 143n2 Amoxcalli Nahuatlahtolli (Nahuatl Language Library), Ayotitlán, Mexico 127–128 Anchieta, José de 30 Antolín, Demetrio 329 Arabela (language) 210 Arawakan languages 160–161, 197, 198 Archive of indigenous languages of Chiapas (Archivo de los idiomas indígenas de Chiapas) 71 Archive of the Indigenous Languages of the Americas (AILLA) 75 archives ––design 76 ––indigenous access to 12, 59–60, 64–66, 69–70, 72–73, 76 ––institutional archives 12, 70–71, 75 ––local language archive 13, 64–65, 73 ––Mexico 59–79 ––neutral locations for 69–70, 69n4, 74 ––NNAILA 61–63 ––preliminary results and raw data 65 archives, digital ––CIESAS (Mexico) 70 ––indigenous access to 59, 61 ––Internet access issues 12–13, 69, 74 ––jukebox archives 12, 60, 66–67, 69–70 ––Museu Emílio Goeldi, Brazil 35, 39 ––NNAILA 61–63 ––PROGDOC 43 ––requirements 59 Archivo de los idiomas indígenas de Chiapas (Archive of indigenous languages of Chiapas) 71 Argentina ––Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198

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 Index

––local archives 64 Aruá (language) 45, 55 Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana. see AIDESEP assimilation policies ––bilingual education 282 ––Mexico 82, 219–220, 282, 282n12 Associação Brasileira de Linguística 40, 49, 52, 55 Asunción, Mexico 315 Asurini language survey 50, 51t Athabaskan 159, 160 at risk languages 7t attitudes ––of latent-speakers 152 ––vs. linguistic ideologies 333, 333n26, 335 ––metalinguistic ideologies 215 ––of neo-speakers 154 ––and revitalization attitudes 298 ––San Jerónimo Acazulco, Mexico 215–245 ––toward language endangerment 165 ––toward neo-speakers 159 ––toward teachers from outside the community 9–10, 14, 67–69, 122, 123, 133–134 attrition 109n1, 146, 147t, 154 Austin, Peter K. 12 Australia ––ethical guidelines 195 ––jukebox archive model 60, 66–67 Australian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Studies 195 authenticity ––as goal of language documentation and revitalization 20, 247–271 ––ideologies of 231–236, 237 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 159 ––linguistic authenticity 232–233 ––and linguistic variation 159 authority. see linguistic authority; political authority Autonomous Regional System of Education. see SEAR Autonomous University of San Luis Potosi (Mexico) 71–72 Awajun people 203 Awastingni, Nicaragua 316n12

Aymara (language) 200 Ayotitlán, Mexico ––bilingual schools 122–123 ––challenges 130, 132–136 ––community profile 115–121 ––current projects 127–132, 129f ––future 132–136 ––history of initiatives 122–123 ––language documentation 134 ––language reclamation initiatives 10, 109–141 ––language shift, history of 118–119 ––library 127–128 ––linguistic landscape 110, 128–130, 129f ––location 115–116 ––Nahuatl as a second language courses 127, 130–131, 137 ––projects and methods 111–115 ––sociolinguistic profile 116–117 ––symbolic memory 119–121, 133 ––violence in 119 Ayuru. see Wayoro Ayuso González, Javier 297 Aztec languages 281 baby names 290, 290n18 Bakairi 33 Bakairi-Ikpeng 33 Baldwin, Daryl 338n32 Bambana (river), Nicaragua 316 bamboo clarinets 38 Banco do Brasil 39 Barbareño Chumash (Šmuwič) 174 Barrada, María de Jesús 296–297 Bartholomew, Doris 281 Basque (Euskera) 317, 317n15 Baure (Arawakan) 160–161 Beam de Azcona, Rosemary G. 281 Belmar, Francisco 281 Beltrán, Doña Trinidad ––background 224, 235–236 ––linguistic ideology 239, 241 ––morphological variation 230 ––relationship with others 231, 237–238 ––spatial language 228 ––traditionalist view of authority 235–236

Index 

Benedicto, Elena 310, 311–312, 311t, 316, 326, 328 Berkeley Language Archive 76 Bert, Michel 20, 146, 292, 295, 296, 297 BICU (Bluefields Indian Caribbean University) 323, 324–325, 328 bilingual education ––Amazonia (Peru) 205 ––Aymara 200 ––Ayotitlán, Mexico 122–123 ––classroom materials and activities 125, 326 ––goals 124–125 ––higher education 323–326 ––language reclamation 10, 137 ––Mayangna 321, 322, 324, 325, 326–327 ––Mexico’s dysfunctional policies 15, 92, 123, 135–136, 137, 181 ––Nahuatl 114, 121–123, 123–127, 135–136, 137 ––Nicaragua 14–15, 319–322, 321n18, 324 ––Panamahka 322, 324, 326–327 ––PROEIB Andes 200 ––Quechua 200 ––replacive bilingualism 83, 181–183, 282 ––San Lucas Quiaviní, Mexico 170, 180–185 ––teacher training 135, 321, 324 ––terminology 113n2 ––textbooks 321, 321n18, 322, 326 ––Tuahka 322, 324, 326–327 ––Tuxpan, Mexico 114, 121–122, 123–127, 135–136, 137 Bilingual-Intercultural Educational System (Sistema de Educación Bilingüe e Intercultural) 113 Bilwi, Nicaragua 324–325, 328 Blackfoot (Algonquian) 160 Bluefields, Nicaragua 324–325, 328 Bluefields Indian Caribbean University. see BICU Bolivia ––indigenous rights 197, 198, 205 ––transnational indigenous groups 200 Bonanza, Nicaragua 320, 322, 324, 324n20, 327, 330 Bora people 65 borrowing ––Chatino 281

 347

––fluent speakers 147t, 148 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 147t, 148, 158t ––Otomí 232 ––by speaker type 158t ––Xinkan 258, 266, 267 Bowden, John 12 Bowern, Claire 195 Brazil ––Amazonia language documentation projects 33–39 ––census (2010) 30, 45, 46, 53–55 ––challenges 30 ––Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198 ––DOBES projects 8, 31, 32t ––ELDP projects 8, 31, 32t, 34–36 ––endangered languages 45 ––funding for linguistic research 8, 11, 31, 39, 49 ––Gavião and Suruí of Rondônia, Amazonia 36–39 ––government initiatives 30, 39–43, 46–55 ––INDL 30, 46–51, 51t, 209n31 ––international programs 30–33 ––language documentation 29–58, 33–39 ––language transmission 45 ––linguistic diversity 6, 9, 32t, 43–46, 53–54 ––local archives 64 ––Ministry of Culture 47 ––perspectives for language documentation and revitalization 55–56 ––PRODOCLIN 39–43, 42t ––Puruborá language 33–36 ––survey of languages 47–49 ––transnational indigenous groups 200 ––whistled and instrumental speech 36–39 Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics. see IBGE Brazilian Linguistics Association. see ABRALIN Buvollen, Hai Almquist 310, 311t, 315n11 Buvollen, Hans Peter 310, 311t, 315n11 Cacataibo (language) 197, 197n4, 198 Cameron, Deborah 167 Campbell, Lyle 5–6, 6n8, 266 Canada, linguistic revitalization 218, 240

348 

 Index

Canger, Una 116–117 Cantagallo, Lima, Peru 201 Capanahua (language) 210 Caquinte (language) 210 Cariban (language family) 33 Carib languages 33 Casa de la Cultura, Ayotitlán, Mexico 128 Cashibo-Cacataibo (language) 197, 197n4, 198 Catalan (language) 317, 317n15 Catalog of Endangered Languages. see ELCat Catalog of Indigenous National Languages (INALI) 5 Cauqui (language) 211 CBLR (Community-Based Language Research) 21 CDI (Comisión Para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas) 221, 222 CECA (Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes) 128 CEDELIO (Center for the Study and Development of the Indigenous Languages of Oaxaca) 294 Census of 1990, Mexico 172, 173t Census of 2005, Nicaragua 310, 311, 311t Census of 2010, Brazil 30, 45, 46, 53–55 Census of 2010, Mexico 81, 172, 173t, 178n4, 179 Center for Research and Development of the Atlantic Coast. see CIDCA Center for the Study and Development of the Indigenous Languages of Oaxaca (CEDELIO) 294 Center of Research and Superior Studies in Social Anthropology. see CIESAS Central America. see also specific countries, languages, and peoples ––language documentation projects 8 ––number of languages 5 Centro de Educación Preescolar Quiaviní, San Lucas Quiaviní, Mexico 180–185 Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social. see CIESAS Centro de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Costa Atlántica. see CIDCA Chaco project 8

Chamicuro (language) 210 Chatino 273–304 ––borrowed words 281 ––Chatino Language Documentation Project 294 ––community engagement and motivation 17, 19, 177 ––demographics of speakers 277–279 ––domains of use 279–280 ––earliest mentions 281n11 ––English language, favoritism toward 274, 283, 289 ––field linguists, suggestions for 298–299 ––geographic distribution 275, 276m ––intergenerational transmission 282–283 ––labor migration 283–289, 285f ––labor migration mural 287–288, 288n17, 289f ––language documentation 290–299 ––language endangerment 177 ––language revitalization 292–293, 295 ––languages and locations 276m ––language shift 274, 274nn2–3, 280 ––linguistic variation 10, 276 ––methods 275 ––multilingualism 280–283 ––number of speakers 276 ––sociolinguistic overview 275–290 ––vitality 277–280, 278f, 279n8 Chávez Peón, Mario 169, 184, 186 Cherokee 159 Chiapas (state), Mexico ––archives 71 ––bilingual Tzotzil-Spanish speakers 77n7 Chibchan (language family) 266, 308. see also Rama (language) Chile, Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198 Chiquimulilla Xinka 248, 252–253 Chitonahua. see Murunahua (language) Chocholtec (language) 281 Chumash 174 CIDCA (Centro de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Costa Atlántica; Center for Research and Development of the Atlantic Coast) 323, 327–328 CIESAS 70–71, 75

Index 

Cinta Larga peoples 45 civil-religious hierarchies 279, 279n9, 291 clarinets, in instrumental speech 38 clitics 148–149, 148n4, 155 Coatlán-Loxicha Southern Zapotec 281 Cocama-Cocamilla (language). see KukamaKukamiria (language) Cochimí-Yuman (language family) 5 CODEPISAM (Council for the Development of the Indigenous peoples of the San Martin region) 203 code-switching 152–154, 154n6, 160 Colima (state), Mexico 117 collaboration ––community-based language research 13, 15, 21, 22, 95, 166 ––difficulties 13 ––ethics 21, 167, 216 ––indigenous collaborators 59n1 ––Participatory Action Research 15 ––Peruvian and Bolivian linguists and educators 200 Colombia ––Bora people 65 ––indigenous rights 197, 198, 207 ––local archives 64 ––transnational indigenous groups 200 Comisión Para el Desarrollo de los Pueblos Indígenas (CDI) 221, 222 Common European Framework of Reference for Languages 124–125 community-based language research. see also specific projects ––categorizing speakers 147–148 ––challenges 13–14, 67–69, 72–73 ––collaboration 13, 15, 21, 22, 95, 166 ––community-researcher gap 21–22, 174–177 ––definition 114 ––ideological differences, within communities 216–217, 233, 240–241 ––introduction 18–20, 165–166 ––Participatory Action Research 15 ––researcher rationale 167–168 ––shift toward 21, 112 Community-Based Language Research (CBLR) 21

 349

community-based language revitalization. see also specific projects ––community-led activities 103–104 ––current trends 188–190 ––ethical issues 177–187, 219, 239–241 ––linguistic authority 226 ––politics of 67–69, 216–217 ––success factors 166, 215 ––suggestions 104–105 community creation 268–269 community expectations ––as factor in language endangerment 3 community-external researcher ––as advocate 168, 177–187 ––collaboration with community 166 ––communicating research results to the community 188–189 ––culturally-appropriate engagement with community 190 ––ethics 166, 167–168, 177–187 ––how to approach indigenous communities 202–205 ––impact on community 189 ––necessary steps before starting a project 202–207 ––not having right to be an advocate 188 ––respect for rights of indigenous populations 205–207 ––responsibility to community 188 ––role 337n29 community motivation ––community recognition 251 ––as continuum 16 ––factors in 65 ––language documentation and revitalization 248, 267–269 ––language endangerment 3, 15–18 ––political and social activism 251, 253 ––vs. researchers’ motivation 19, 33, 76, 174–177, 248–249 ––role of external researchers in 18, 167–168 ––and success of revitalization efforts 215, 331–332 community portals 60, 62–63, 63f complex sentences 149 CONACULTA (National Council for Culture and Arts) 128n6

350 

 Index

Consejo del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala (Council of the Xinkan People of Guatemala; COPXIG) 255, 256, 257, 261 Consejo de Mayores (Council of Elders), Ayotitlán, Mexico 114, 119, 127–128, 132 Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes (CECA; State Council for Arts and Culture) 128 Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198, 201–202, 205–206 Conzemius, Eduard 314 COPXIG. see Consejo del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala Cortés Jiménez, Celiflora 294 Costa, James 217, 240–241 Council for the Development of the Indigenous peoples of the San Martin region (CODEPISAM) 203 Council of Elders. see Consejo de Mayores Council of the Xinkan People of Guatemala. see Consejo del Pueblo Xinka de Guatemala country, definition of term 11n11 Couto de Magalhães, General 30 Creoles. see Kriol (language) Crevels, Mily 5–6 criminal groups, hampering research 73 Crippen, James A. 168, 177 Cristero War 118 critically endangered languages 7t crowd-sourced data 62, 76–77 Cruz, Emiliana 2, 294 Cruz, Hilaria 177 Crystal, David 250–251 Csató, Eva A. 64 Cuautitlán de García Barragán, Mexico 112, 115–116, 122 cultural identity. see indigenous identity cultural marginalization 251, 291 Czaykowska-Higgins, E. 21, 95, 114–115, 167 Danielsen, Swintha 160 data accessibility. see under archives degree of study (of Brazilian indigenous languages) 46 degrees of fluency, criteria 50 Dentel, Laure 36

developing languages 8t Díaz, Porfirio 118 digital archive. see archives, digital Dixon, Robert. M. W. 45 DOBES program ––attacks on 40–41 ––Brazil 8, 31, 32t, 39–40, 39n4, 41 ––Mexico 8 ––Peru 65 ––South America 8 Dobrin, Lise M. 101, 166, 168, 189, 190, 291 documentation. see language documentation Dokumentation bedrohter Sprachen (DOBES) program. see DOBES program Dolores, Modesta 328 domains of language use ––Chatino 279–280 ––language revitalization 1 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 170–171, 173, 180 ––and vitality counts 7t, 8t ––Wixárika 104 Doña Trinidad. see Beltrán, Doña Trinidad Don Feliciano. see Soler, Don Feliciano Don Felipe. see Sánchez, Don Felipe Dorian, Nancy 109–110, 146, 225–226, 239 dormant languages 7t, 117 Dorsey, James Owen 225 drug traffickers, hampering research 73 Dupaningan Agta 177 Durango (state), Mexico ––Huichol people 85, 87 ––Nahuatl (language) 117 Dwyer, Arienne M. 12, 202–203, 239–240 dying languages 8t Eastern Chatino 276, 276n4, 282, 294 Ecuador ––Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198 ––indigenous rights 197, 198 education. see also bilingual education; schools ––hidden curriculum 323, 323n19 ––higher education 323–326 ––language revitalization efforts 320–327 ––and language shift 92, 316–317

Index 

––language standardization 326–327 ––primary education 258–259, 322 ––secondary education 322–323 educational NGOs 204–205 EGIDS. see Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) 127n4 ELAR (Endangered Languages Archive) 8 ELCat (Catalog of Endangered Languages) 6, 6n8, 7t, 249 El Colorín, Mexico 89f ––adult literacy workshops 98, 98f, 100f ––bilingual population 88t ––cultural revitalization 104 ––distribution of houses 92–93 ––economic activity 89, 91–92 ––education 88t ––lack of teachers 14 ––language revitalization 93–103 ––language revitalization actions 101–103, 102f, 103f ––language shift 82, 90–93 ––language teaching 97–101, 98f, 99f, 100f, 104 ––linguistic landscape 95–97, 96f ––location 86m, 87, 88, 89 ––monolingual population 88t ––population 88, 88t ––relocation 89, 91, 92–93 ––school 92, 99, 99n13 ––Wixárika language vitality 81–82, 83n2, 88–93, 88t, 91t ELDD. see endangered language documentation and description El Desemboque, Mexico 12, 59n1, 69–70, 74 ELDP (Endangered Languages Documentation Programme) ––Brazil 8, 31, 32t, 34–36 ––Central America 8 ––Mexico 294 ––South America 8 ELF. see Endangered Language Fund El Sauz, Mexico 82 empowering research model 114–115 endangered language documentation and description (ELDD)

 351

––language revitalization 298 ––Latin American 274 ––and migration 273, 274 ––Tataltepec narrative 292–294 ––Zacatepec narrative 294–297 Endangered Language Fund (ELF) 8, 32–33, 184–185 endangered languages. see also ELCat (Catalog of Endangered Languages); language endangerment; specific languages ––Brazil 45 ––causes and consequences 1 ––definition 7t ––language documentation 143–164, 249–251 ––latent-speakers, value in language knowledge of 15 ––Mexico 84 ––number and percentage of 7t, 249 ––as secondary classification 268 ––typology of speakers 146–147, 147t ––variation 143–164 Endangered Languages Archive (ELAR) 8 Endangered Languages Documentation Programme. see ELDP English (language) ––favoritism toward 17, 172, 274, 283, 287, 289–290 ––fieldworkers teaching 299 ––as language of education 317 ethical research ––access to indigenous communities 208, 211 ––advocacy 166–168, 177–187, 188–189 ––challenges in 216–217 ––collaboration 21, 167, 216 ––community-based model 21 ––community-external researcher 166, 167–168, 177–187 ––high-migration communities 290–292 ––informed consent 21, 22–23 ––institutional guidelines 195 ––introduction 20–23 ––language endangerment 3, 20–23, 94n11 ––language revitalization 177–187, 219, 239–241 ––linguist-focused model 21

352 

 Index

––responsibility to community 12, 21, 59–60, 188 ethnographic anthropology 190–191 Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig) ––Chatino languages 276n4, 277 ––classifications of languages 7 ––number of languages in Central America 5 ––number of languages in South America 6 ––number of languages in the Caribbean 5 ––number of living languages in Mexico 5 ––“uncontacted” peoples 197, 198 ––vitality counts and characterizations 8t etymologies. see folk etymologies and histories Euskera (Basque) 317, 317n15 Expanded Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (EGIDS) 7, 117, 277 extinct languages 5, 249 EZLN (Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional) 127n4 federal, definition of term 11n11 Fendly, Gloria 329 Fennig, Charles D. see Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig) FEPREKSAM (Kechwa Peoples Federation of San Martin) 199 fieldwork, linguistic. see also community-based language research ––approaching indigenous communities 202–205 ––ethnography-based 190–191 ––evolution of 111, 112, 114, 216 ––necessary steps before starting a project 202–207 ––respect for indigenous rights 205–207 ––scientist vs. activist orientation 217 ––suggestions for 202–205, 298–299 Fleck, David 198 Flores, José Antonio 101 Flores Salvatierra, María Magdalena 128 fluency, degrees of 50 fluent speakers ––definition 147t, 148 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 14, 143, 148–152, 156, 158–160, 158t flutes, in instrumental speech 38

folk etymologies and histories 257–258 FORMABIAP 205, 210 former speakers 147t, 148, 157 frame of reference, geocentric 229 frame of reference, relative 229 France, language of education 317 Franchetto, Bruna ––ELF projects 8 ––PRODOCLIN 11, 39 ––research 2, 33, 39n4, 41 Frank Gómez, Eloy 318, 335–336 Freeland, Jane 318, 335–336 Freire, Paulo 339n32 French (language) 317 FUNAI (National Indian Foundation of Brazil) 38, 39 funding agencies ––Brazil language documentation 31, 39, 49 ––expected outcomes 19 ––introduction 8, 11 Furbee, N. Louanna 1–2 Gabas, Nilson, Jr. 9, 45, 46 Galucio, Ana Vilacy 9, 45, 46 García, Fernando 210 Garifuna (language) 254, 308, 308m, 312, 318 Garrett, Andrew 76 Garza Cuarón, Beatriz 5 Gasquet-Cyrus, Mèdèric 217, 240–241 Gavião of Rondônia 36–39, 44, 45, 54–55 gender gender, and linguistic authority 237–238 gender indexicals 150–151, 150t, 152, 155, 157, 160 genderlects 146, 160 gender roles 97 General Law of Linguistic Rights of Indigenous People. see Ley General de Derechos Lingüísticos de los Pueblos Indígenas (Mexico) genetic classification of languages 4, 48, 53, 260–261, 266 geocentric frame of reference 229 geographical distribution of speakers ––discontinuous locations 200 ––as factor in language endangerment 3

Index 

geopolitical borders, as factor in language endangerment 3 ghost speakers (former speakers) 157, 296–297, 299 glottalized consonants 260, 264–266 Glottolog 5, 6 Gómez, Tomasa 329 González Compeán, José Luis 72 González Hernández, Margarita 295–296 Good, Jeff 62, 63f Green, Thomas 315 Grenoble, Leonore A. 1–2, 132 Grinevald, Colette ––advisory boards 41 ––classification of speakers 20, 146, 292, 295, 296, 297 ––on delivering fieldwork to a language community 63 ––ethical research 20 group population and speaker numbers 45 GTDL (Grupo de Trabalho da Diversidade Linguística; Workgroup on Linguistic Diversity) 47–48, 53–54 Guarani. see Mbyá Guarani Guatemala. see also Xinkan languages ––academy supporting indigenous languages 219 ––Acuerdo sobre Identidad y Derechos de los Pueblos Indígenas (Agreement on Identity and Rights of Indigenous Peoples) 254–255, 259 ––civil and political unrest 253–254 ––cultural affirmation 247 ––indigenous rights legislation 251, 254–255 ––language documentation funding 11 Guazacapán Xinka 247, 252–253, 262, 265t Guerrero (state), Mexico ––Nahuatl variety 9–10 Haig, Geoffrey 2 Hajek, John 12 Hale, Kenneth 2, 310, 311–312, 311t, 315 Hans and Lisbet Rausing Charitable Fund. see ELDP Harakbut (language) 211 Haviland, John 71 Hernández-Green, Néstor 221

 353

Hernández Reyes, Janet 180–184 Hidalgo (state), Mexico ––Nahuatl speakers 10, 122 ––Otomí variety 225 High Blackfoot 160 High Perené (language) 210 Himmelmann, Nikolaus 40–41 Hinton, Leanne 2, 146, 159, 167, 217 hispanista educators. see indigenista vs. hispanista educators Holton, Gary 166, 168, 189, 190 Hopi 218 Huastec 71–72 Huave (language family) 5 Huichol people ––background 85–86 ––community groupings 87 ––distribution of houses 92–93 ––El Colorín, Mexico 88 ––geographic distribution 81, 83n3, 85–86, 86m ––language shift 81–82 ––Spanish speakers 87t ––Wixárika language revitalization 85–87 ––Wixárika speakers 81, 86, 87t ––Wixárika varieties 87 ––Wixárika vitality 81–82, 88–93 Huitoto (Murui) (language) 211 human resources, and revitalization success 327–329 IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics) 48, 51, 53–55 ICT (Information Communication Technology) 60, 63–64 identity. see also indigenous identity ––identity shift 314–316, 315n11, 316n12, 332, 334, 334n27 ––importance of language in 248 ––sociolinguistic context of 83, 252–259 ideological differences, within communities 216–217, 223, 240–241 ideologies. see linguistic ideologies ILV (Instituto Lingüístico de Verano) 220 INALI. see Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas Iñapari (language) 211

354 

 Index

INDEPA (Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo de Pueblos Andinos, Amazónicos y Afroperuanos; National Institute for the development of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples) 209n30 indigenista vs. hispanista educators 219–220 indigenous communities. see also entries beginning with community; rights of indigenous people; transnational indigenous groups ––access to archives 12, 59–60, 64–66, 69–70, 72–73, 76 ––access to outcomes 63–64 ––authenticity as goal 20, 247–271 ––community portals 60, 62–63, 63f ––indigenous-controlled organizations 202, 203 ––linguists’ approach to 202–205 ––relationship with country/state 195–196, 197, 205–207 ––respect for rights of 205–207 indigenous education system, terminology 113n2 indigenous identity ––importance of language in 248 ––incentives for establishing 54, 131, 248, 251 ––increase in, in Mexico 82 ––language documentation as source of 256 ––proving 131 ––Xinkan elementary school module 258–259 indigenous languages. see also language surveys; specific languages ––Brazil situation 43–46 ––interpreters 206, 206n24 ––Peru national language policy 210–211 Indigenous Languages Documentation Project. see PRODOCLIN indigenous rights. see rights of indigenous people INDL (National survey of languages, Brazil) 46–51, 55 Information Communication Technology (ICT) 60, 63–64 informed consent 21, 22–23, 42

infrastructure, and language endangerment 3, 11–15 Institute for National Historical and Artistic Patrimony (Brazil). see IPHAN institutional archives 12, 70–71, 75 institutional languages 8t Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística see IBGE Instituto de Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional. see IPHAN Instituto Lingüístico de Verano (ILV) 220. see also Summer Institute of Linguistics Instituto Nacional de Desarrollo de Pueblos Andinos, Amazónicos y Afroperuanos 209n30 Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas (INALI; National Institute of Indigenous Languages) 5, 84, 87, 179–180 Instituto Socio Ambiental 45 Instituto Superior Pedagógico Público Loreto (ISPPL) 205 instrumental speech 36–39 Inter-American Court of Human Rights 316n12 Intercultural University of the State of Mexico 131 international documentation programs 29–33, 39, 40 International Labor Organization ––Convention 169 198, 201–202, 205–206 International Mother Tongue Day 126, 131 Internet archives, access issues 12–13, 69, 74 in trouble languages 8t Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística. see INDL IPHAN (Institute for National Historical and Artistic Patrimony) 47, 49, 50, 51–52 Iquitu (language) 211 IRB/REB documents 22 Ireland, language of education 317 Iroquoian languages 61–62 Isconahua (language) 197, 197n4, 198, 211 ISPPL. see Instituto Superior Pedagógico Público Loreto

Index 

Jalisco (state), Mexico. see also Ayotitlán, Mexico; Nahuatl (language); Tuxpan, Mexico ––Huichol people 85, 86, 87 Jamieson, Mark 314–315 Jaqaru (language) 211 Jemez Pueblo 218 Jesuits, language documentation in Brazil 30 Jiménez Jiménez, Jesús 293 Juchitán (Isthmus) Zapotec 170 jukebox archives 12, 60, 66–67, 69–70 Jumaytepeque Xinka 252–253 Junín (province), Peru 199 Juruna 50, 51t Jutiapa Xinka 252 Kahnawake 219 Kamla-Bilwi, Nicaragua 324, 325 Kaqchikel (Mayan) 262, 262n4 Karawala, Nicaragua 308, 311n8, 315, 315n11, 316 Kaufman, Terrence 169, 266, 293 Kechwa peoples 199, 203 Kechwa Peoples Federation of San Martin (FEPREKSAM) 199 Koch-Grünberg, Theodor 30 Kokama-Kokamilla (language). see KukamaKukamiria (language) Koskinen, Arja 310, 311t, 312n9 Kriol (language) ––as autochtonous 318 ––geographic distribution 308, 308m ––language shift 312, 334n27 ––in linguistic hierarchy 312, 314 ––spelling of 312n9 Kroskrity, Paul V. 217, 240 Kugapakori. see Nanti (language) Kuikuro 33, 39n4, 41 Kukama-Kukamiria (language) ––categories of speakers 20, 147–157 ––clitics 148–149, 148n4, 155 ––community engagement and motivation 20 ––community-researcher collaboration 21 ––dialects 145 ––as endangered 145 ––fluent speakers 14, 143, 148–152, 156, 158–160, 158t

 355

––gender indexicals 150–151, 150t, 152, 155, 157, 160 ––geographic distribution 144–145, 145m ––ghost (former) speakers 157 ––indigenous rights 210 ––introduction 10–11, 143–144 ––Kukama dialect 145 ––Kukamiria dialect 145 ––latent-speakers 14, 15, 144, 146, 152–154, 158–161, 158t ––local context 144–145, 145m ––neo-speakers 143, 154–157, 158–159, 158t ––nominalization 149–150 ––number of speakers 145 ––patterns 158t ––subordination 149–150 ––suffixes 149, 155 ––symbolic use of 157 ––as transnational 18 ––variation tolerated 159 Kukamiria language. see Kukama-Kukamiria (language) labor migration. see migration Lacandón 8 ladinos 254–255, 267, 307n2 La Huasteca region, Mexico 10, 122 Lamas Kechwa (language) 199 Lamas Oliva, Paulina 111, 113 Language Archiving Technology (LAT) software 43 language change 14, 144, 159–160, 161, 199 language classifications 44–45 language decay 147, 160, 161 language description ––community rumors concerning 68 ––contents 259, 261 ––data sharing 70, 72 ––threats to 41 language documentation. see also specific countries and languages ––best practices 250 ––challenges 134 ––community motivation 253, 256, 259–260, 267–269 ––endangered languages 1, 143–164, 249–251

356 

 Index

––funding 8, 11 ––in high-migration communities 290–299 ––and indigenous identity 248 ––Latin America, factors unique to 2 ––methodologies 35, 37, 134 ––motivation 250–251 ––non-fluent speakers, importance of 143, 158–159, 160–161, 299 ––recent projects 8 ––resources needed for 11–14 ––results 250 language endangerment. see also endangered languages ––and accelerated language change 159–160 ––community engagement and motivation 15–18 ––‘correct’ response 250 ––ethical issues 20–23 ––expected outcomes 18–20 ––and infrastructure 11–15 ––language documentation and revitalization 9–23 ––in Latin America 3, 6–11 ––and linguistic diversity 9–11 ––motivation for work in 250–251 ––and resources 11–15 ––unrecognized by community 165–194 language maintenance ––community ideology 300, 337 ––and isolation of community 81–82 ––Mayangna 315, 318 ––Nahuatl 110 ––Nicaragua 305, 315, 318 ––Peru 196 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 19, 165–166, 168, 180, 186, 188 ––use of documentary products in 60, 290–291 ––Xinkan 269 language reclamation ––bilingual school programs 10 ––challenges 110, 132 ––community engagement and motivation 16, 174 ––contexts 110 ––dependence on related languages 15

––language documentation as necessary for 13 ––vs. language revitalization 136 ––Mexican government policies 136–137 ––Nahua communities, Mexico 10, 109–141 ––symbolic memory 119–121, 133 language revitalization ––accelerating language change 144 ––authority in 240–241 ––best practices 250 ––challenges 259, 291, 291n21 ––community engagement and motivation 95, 215, 219, 250–251, 253, 267–269, 331–332 ––endangered languages 1, 249–251 ––as ineffective, in Nicaragua 314, 318 ––vs. language reclamation 136 ––language standardization 326–327 ––in Latin America 2, 218–220 ––legal system 318–320 ––linguist as mediator 239–240 ––linguistic authority 226 ––literacy and institutionalized education 320–327 ––as long-term project 298–299 ––memorialization vs. regeneration 241 ––in Mexico 9–10, 82–84 ––micropolitics of 216–217, 236–238 ––non-fluent speakers 14 ––in North America 218–220, 240 ––prescriptive aspects 217–218 ––research and local human resources 327–329 ––resources needed for 11–14, 330 ––results 250 ––success, factors in 318–332, 338 ––“taking the main square” 101–103, 102f, 103f ––Tataltepec de Valdés, Oaxaca, Mexico 292–293 ––varieties (linguistic and dialectal diversity) 309–310 language samples 49, 50, 120, 232 language shift ––and age of population 90–91 ––Chatino 274, 274nn2–3, 280

Index 

––children as agents of 176, 182–183, 186–187 ––community responsibility 95 ––Cristero War as factor in 118 ––distribution of houses as factor in 92–93 ––economic influences 91–92, 93–94 ––education as factor in 92, 316–317 ––and isolation 81–82 ––Kriol (language) 312, 334n27 ––last speaker 136 ––and linguistic hierarchy 311–314, 317 ––and linguistic ideology 314–318, 334n27 ––marginalization as factor in 291 ––masked by social and cultural practices 2 ––Mexican Revolution as factor in 118 ––Mexico 82–84 ––and migration 273 ––Nahuatl 112, 118–119 ––Nicaragua 305, 312, 314–318, 329 ––Panamahka (language) 316, 332–333 ––Peru 199 ––processes of 81 ––Rama (language) 312 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 173, 175–176, 186–187 ––and symbolic memory 136 ––Tuahka (language) 310n7, 314, 315, 316, 329n22, 332–333 ––Tuxpan, Mexico 112, 118–119 ––Ulwa (language) 312, 315, 315n11 ––vectors of transmission 315–317, 334n28 ––as welcomed by indigenous community 93–94 ––Wixárika (language) 81–82, 86, 90–93 language standardization and normalization 325n21, 326–327 language surveys ––Brazil 47–49 ––content specifications 48–49, 52, 53 ––costs 51, 51t ––methodology 49–50 language transmission. see transmission, of language language vitality ––Chatino 277–280, 278f, 279n8 ––community-researcher concerns, gap between 174–177

 357

––counts and characterizations 7t, 8t ––methodology 89–90 ––and migration 165, 168, 169, 171–174 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 165, 168, 169, 171–177 ––Tataltepec Chatino 277–280, 278f, 279n8 ––Wixárika 81–82, 83n2, 88–93, 88t, 91t Lastra, Yolanda 5, 117, 225 last speaker 136, 147t latent-speakers (semi-speakers) ––definition 146, 147t, 148, 152 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 14, 15, 144, 146, 152–154, 158–161, 158t ––role in revitalization 15, 226 ––structural innovations 160 ––Zacatepec Chatino 297, 299 Latin America ––ELF projects 8 ––genetic diversity 2, 4 ––language documentation 2, 8, 9–23 ––language endangerment 3, 6–23 ––language revitalization 2, 9–23, 218–220 ––linguistic background 4–9 ––linguistic diversity 4–6, 9–11 ––linguistic diversity and language endangerment 9–11 ––multilingualism, historic 281 ––number of languages 4–6 ––resources, infrastructure and language endangerment 11–15 ––vitality counts and characterizations 7t, 8t LAT (Language Archiving Technology) software 43 Law 1381 (Colombia) 207 Law 29735 (Peru) 206–207, 208 The Leaders of Great Tuxpan (Tlayacanque huey Tochpan) 121 legislation. see also rights of indigenous people ––Colombia 207 ––Guatemala 251, 254–255 ––Mexico 84, 84n4, 92, 135 ––Nicaragua 318–320 ––Peru 205–207, 208–209, 211 ––and success of revitalization efforts 318–320 ––Venezuela 205

358 

 Index

Lehmann, Walter 310, 314, 326 León, Lourdes de 77n7 Lewis, M. Paul. see Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig) Ley General de Derechos Lingüísticos de los Pueblos Indígenas (General Law of Linguistic Rights of Indigenous People, Mexico) 84, 84n4, 92, 135 linguistic attitudes. see attitudes linguistic authority ––from academic knowledge 235 ––and gender 237–238 ––hierarchical view 223, 231–233 ––ideologies of 231–236 ––informants 225 ––of linguists 217 ––local languages 317, 317n15 ––memory as 236 ––modernist view 223, 233–235 ––purist view 223, 233–235 ––in San Jerónimo Acazulco, Mexico 223, 231–236, 237, 240–241 ––and success of revitalization projects 215–216 ––supernatural 234 ––traditionalist view 223, 235–236 ––of written texts 218 linguistic competence ––bilingualism continuum 124 ––Brazil 55 ––degrees of 225–226 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 151, 154, 159 ––Nahuatl 110, 122, 137 ––Otomí 238, 239, 241 ––Spanish 175 ––and speaker type 146 ––Wixárika 91f, 99 linguistic diversity ––Brazil 6, 9, 43–46, 53–54 ––Caribbean 5 ––Central America 5 ––confusion concerning 43–44, 53 ––and language endangerment 3, 9–11 ––Latin America 4–6, 9–11 ––Mexico 4–5 ––Middle America 5

––mutual intelligibility as determining factor 44 ––South America 5–6 linguistic hierarchy ––dominant languages 317n16 ––and language shift 311–314, 317 ––Nicaragua 311–314, 325–326, 333–334, 336 linguistic ideologies ––in academic community 338, 338n31 ––clarifying 240–241 ––conscious vs. unconscious 223n2 ––context-dependent 333–334, 334n27 ––in dominant culture 338 ––favored languages 317, 317n16 ––internal and external (to the community) 216–217, 223, 240–241, 338 ––in language revitalization 305–344 ––language shift 314–318, 334n27 ––vs. linguistic attitudes 333, 333n26, 335 ––from lived experience 239 ––Mayangna languages 332–336 ––Miskitu 314–316, 315n11, 316n12, 332, 334, 334n27 ––revitalization success 217, 314, 318, 338 ––social power structures 315, 333, 334–335, 336 ––transmission of 315–316 ––use of term 333n25 ––value hierarchy 315 linguistic isolates 5, 260–261 linguistic landscape ––Ayotitlán, Mexico 110, 128–130, 129f ––El Colorín, Mexico 95–97, 96f linguistic prescription 217–218 linguistic revitalization. see language revitalization linguistic rights. see rights of indigenous people Linguistic Society of America 2–3 linguistic variation ––and authenticity 159 ––Chatino 10, 276 ––dialectal and individual 224–225 ––intra-speaker variation 225–226 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 159

Index 

––morphological variation 230–231 ––Nahuatl 9–10, 67–68, 116–117, 133 ––Otomí 10, 225–231, 227f, 239–240 ––phonological variation 226–227, 227f ––spatial language 228–230 ––Zapotec languages 10, 13 linguists, suggestions for ––approaching indigenous communities 202–205 ––before starting a project 202–207 ––long-term involvement 298–299 ––respect for the rights of indigenous populations 205–207 ––speaker types 299 ––teaching English 299 Linguists for Nicaragua 328, 329 literacy ––and academia’s biases 337–338 ––and orality-based cultures 337–338, 337n30 ––and revitalization success 320–327 local language archive 13, 64–65, 73 Loos, Eugene 198 Lopez, Felipe H. 169, 171 López Cruz, Ausencia 186 López Hernández, Angelina 179 López Mejía, Cecilia 293 Los Angeles, California, San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec in ––family language patterns 173, 176, 186–187 ––future revitalization activities 186 ––introduction 17–18 ––language shift 186–187 ––language transmission 165, 169, 176 ––migration 171–174 Low Perené (language) 210 Macro-Chibcha 309 Madera, Mónica 119 Maijuna (Orejón) (language) 211 Maíz, Efrén 221, 235, 237, 241 Manantlán Biosphere Reserve 116 marginalization 251, 291 Martínez Mateo, Modesta 293 Martínez Nicolás, José Ángel 184–186 Martínez Quiroz, Alicia 293 Mashco-Piro (language) 197, 197n4, 198

 359

Mason, John A. 309 Mastanahua (language) 197, 197n4, 198 Matagalpan (language) 309 Mateo Mejía, Flavia 278n7, 293–294 Matlatzinca/Tlawika (language) 220 Matsigenka (language) 197, 197n4, 198 Mattoso Câmara, Joaquim, Jr. 30 Max Planck Institute for Psycholinguistics 12, 40, 43, 65, 70 Mayan (language family) 5, 84, 219, 262, 262n4, 266 Mayan communities 254–255 Mayangna (language) 305–344 ––access to resources 330 ––bilingual education 321, 322, 325 ––community engagement and motivation 331–332 ––in context 306–314 ––geographic distribution 307m, 308, 308m ––higher education 323–326 ––as language of education 317 ––language shift 314–318, 334n27 ––legal system 318–320 ––linguistic family 309 ––linguistic hierarchy 311–314, 334 ––linguistic ideologies 332–336 ––literacy and institutionalized education 320–327 ––number of speakers 310–311, 311n8, 311t ––political participation of speakers 324n20, 331, 331n23 ––primary education 322 ––research and local human resources 327–329 ––revitalization efforts, factors in success of 318–332 ––secondary education 322–323 ––self-identity and nation building 308 ––standardization 326–327 ––varieties 309–310 Mayangna Nation (Nicaragua) 308, 308n5 Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna 21, 327, 328–329, 329n22, 331, 334 Mazahua (language) 220 Mazzotti, Jose Antonio 198 Mbyá Guarani 51t McLean, Melba 328

360 

 Index

McQuown, Norman A. 5 Meechan, Marjorie 153 Meira, Sérgio 33 memorialization 232, 241 memory, symbolic. see symbolic memory Mesoamerican Linguistic Area 260, 266–267, 281 mestizo ––Chatino communities 277, 278 ––definition and usage 277n5, 307n2 ––Nicaragua 307, 307n2, 312 metalinguistic ideologies 215 methodologies ––categorizing speakers 147–148 ––Chatino communities 275 ––documentation of whistled speech of Rondônia, Brazil 37 ––El Colorín language vitality study 89–90 ––impact on community 94 ––language documentation 35, 37, 134 ––language surveys 49–50 ––language vitality 89–90 ––migration rates 285, 286n14 ––Nahuatl language reclamation 111–115 ––reunion of remaining speakers 35 Mexicano (language). see Nahuatl (language) Mexican Revolution, and language shift 118 Mexican Secretariat of Public Education. see Secretaría de Educación Pública Mexican Social Security Institute 288 Mexico. see also specific languages and peoples ––archives 12, 67–75 ––assimilation policies 82, 219–220, 282, 282n12 ––bilingual education policies 15, 92, 123, 135–136, 137, 181, 282 ––Census (1990) 172, 173t ––Census (2010) 81, 172, 173t, 178n4, 179 ––DOBES projects 8 ––ELAR projects 8 ––indigenous identification 82–83, 83n2, 221, 222 ––indigenous population 86, 86n5 ––indigenous rights 84, 84n4, 92, 135, 205n23

––language as primary indicator of ethnicity 315 ––language documentation funding 11 ––language documentation projects 8 ––language families 5 ––language policy 135 ––language shift 82–84 ––linguistic revitalization 82–84 ––linguistic standards 220 ––migration rates 286 ––Ministry of Education 92 ––National Registry of Population and Personal Identification (RENAPO) 290n18 ––number of languages 4–5 ––number of living languages 5 ––Secretaría de Educación Pública 220 Mexico (state), Mexico. see San Mateo Almomoloa, Mexico Mexikan 83n3 Meyer, Julien 36, 39 Michoacán (state), Mexico ––Nahuatl (language) 117 micro-political tensions. see tensions, micro-political Middle America ––definition 5 ––number of languages 5 migration ––geographically displaced communities 200–201 ––and language documentation 273–304 ––and language shift 273 ––and language vitality 168, 171–174 ––monetary value of English 289 ––precluding language revitalization 274 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 165, 168, 169, 171–174 ––San Marcos Zacatepec 283–289, 285f ––satellite communities 273 ––separation of families 284, 284n13 ––Tataltepec de Valdés 283–289, 285f, 288nn16–17, 289f ––undocumented 287n15 Ministry of Culture (Brazil) 47 Ministry of Culture (Peru) 199, 206n24, 207, 208–211

Index 

Ministry of Education (Mexico) 92 Ministry of Education (Nicaragua) 321n18, 322, 324, 327, 330 Ministry of Education (Peru) 200, 203–204, 205, 207, 208–211, 209n30 Miskitu (language) ––geographic distribution 308, 308m ––higher education 325–326 ––language and identity shift to 314–316, 315n11, 316n12, 332, 334, 334n27 ––language family 309 ––as language of religion 313, 334 ––in linguistic hierarchy 312, 314, 334, 335, 336 missionary linguists 30, 31 Misumalpan (language family) 309. see also Mayangna (language) Mixe community, Ayutla, Oaxaca, Mexico 177 Mixe-Zoquean (language family) 5 Mixtec (language) 281, 282 Modern Blackfoot 160 Mohawk immersion schools 219 Moore, Denny 9, 45, 46, 51, 54, 55 Moore, Robert E. 232 Morales López, Alicia 184 Moravian missionaries 313 morphological typology 260, 261–262 motivation of community. see community motivation motivation of researchers 15, 250–251 mouth bows, in instrumental speech 38 Mueller, Karl A. 315n11 multilingualism ––benefits of 190–191 ––linguistic hierarchy 314, 334, 339 ––in Zacatepec and Tataltepec 280–283 multimedia ––data accessibility 74–75 ––Information and Communication Technology 60, 63–64 ––Nenek Project 71–72 Muniche (language) 211 Munro, Pamela 169 Murui (Huitoto) (language) 211 Murunahua (language) 197, 198, 211 Museu do Índio, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 39, 40, 41, 43

 361

Museu Emílio Goeldi, Brazil 34–36, 39, 41, 43 Museu Nacional, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 30, 31, 39, 40, 41 music, instrumental speech 36–39 Muysken, Pieter 41 Nadezhda K. Krupskaya Literacy Prize 321n17 Nahua people 198 Nahuatl (language) 109–141. see also Ayotitlán, Mexico; San Mateo Almomoloa, Mexico; Tuxpan, Mexico ––archives 12 ––bilingual dictionary 124 ––bilingual education 114, 121–127, 135–136, 137 ––challenges 13, 15, 132–136 ––community engagement and motivation 16 ––community profiles 115–121 ––dialect subgroups 116–117, 133 ––dictionary 10 ––Eastern Periphery 117 ––future 132–136 ––geographic distribution 115–116 ––introduction 10, 13, 109–111 ––language shift 112, 118–119 ––linguistic variation 9–10, 67–68, 116–117, 133 ––location 83n3, 117 ––multilingualism, historic 281 ––Nahuatl as a second language courses 127, 130–131, 137 ––reclamation initiatives 121–136, 129f, 137 ––reclamation projects and methods 111–115 ––research attention 84 ––sociolinguistic profile 116–117 ––successes 110 ––symbolic memory 119–121, 133, 136 ––in Uto-Aztecan language family 116 ––vocabulary 120 ––Western Periphery 10, 117, 133 Nahuatl Language Library (Amoxcalli Nahuatlahtolli), Ayotitlán, Mexico 127–128 names for ethnic groups ––confusion with names of languages 44 ––in surveys 53

362 

 Index

names of languages ––alternate names 5 ––changes over time 310 ––confusion with names for ethnic groups 44 ––indigenous language names 44–45, 54 ––in surveys 48, 53 Nanti (language) 197, 197n4, 198, 211 Nathan, David 64 nation, definition of term 11n11 National Anthropological Archives 174 National Council for Culture and Arts (CONACULTA) 128n6 National Indian Foundation (Brazil). see FUNAI National Institute for the Development of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples 209n30 National Institute of Indigenous Languages. see Instituto Nacional de Lenguas Indígenas National Pedagogic University. see Universidad Pedagógica Nacional National Registry of Population and Personal Identification (RENAPO) 290n18 National Science Foundation ––Brazil language documentation projects 32–33 ––Documenting Endangered Languages (NSF-DEL) 8, 143n2, 290, 292 ––Isconahua (language) documentation grant 198 National survey of languages (Brazil). see INDL Navajo (Athabaskan) 159, 160 Nayarit (state), Mexico. see also El Colorín, Mexico; Wixárika (language) ––community engagement and motivation 16 ––Huichol people 81, 81n1, 85, 86, 87 ––Nahuatl (language) 117 ––school instruction, language of 92 NEH-NSF Documenting Endangered Languages fellowship 143n2 Nelson, Dana Kristine 111, 113 Nenek Project 71–72 neo-speakers ––definition 147t, 148 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 143, 154–157, 158–159, 158t

––as teachers 143 New Blackfoot 160 new speakers 305, 305n1 New York State ––Onondaga 61–62, 61n2 NGOs, educational 204–205 Nicaragua. see also Mayangna (language) ––Atlantic Coast languages 306–308, 308m, 311–312, 319 ––bilingual education 14–15, 319, 320–322, 321n18, 324 ––Census (2005) 310, 311, 311t ––colonial era 312–314, 334 ––cultural and linguistic legislation 318–320 ––higher education 323–326 ––language distribution 306–308, 307m, 308m ––language revitalization 305, 314 ––language shift 305, 312, 314–318 ––language-specific educational system 320–327 ––linguistic hierarchy 311–314 ––Literacy Campaign 320–321, 320n17 ––Ministry of Education 321n18, 322, 324, 327, 330 ––primary education 322 ––regions 307–308, 308n4 ––secondary education 322–323 ––Western Pacifico languages 306–307, 307m, 307n3 Nimuendajú, Curt 30 Niño Santana, Melissa 111, 113 NNAILA. see Northeastern North American Languages Archive nominalization 149–150 nongovernmental organizations. see NGOs, educational normal, definition 325n21 Normalización de la Lengua Mayangna (Tuahka y Panamahka) 326 normalization 325n21, 326 North Chiquimulilla Xinka 252 Northeastern North American Languages Archive (NNAILA) 12, 61–63 Northern Sumu. see Mayangna (language) Norwood, Susan 306, 311, 314, 333

Index 

NSF-DEL. see National Science Foundation, Documenting Endangered Languages Nueva Guinea, Nicaragua 324 Oaxaca (state), Mexico. see also Chatino; San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec ––community engagement and motivation 17 ––historic multilingualism 281 ––Juchitán (Isthmus) Zapotec 170 ––migration rates 286 ––murals 287–288 obsolescence 144, 145, 146, 160 Ocaina (language) 211 Ocotán de la Sierra, Mexico 87 Office for the Assistance of Indigenous Communities. see Unidad de Apoyo a las Comunidades Indígenas Old Blackfoot 160 old speakers 305, 305n1 Omagua (language) 211 Omaha 225 O’Meara, Carolyn 62 online archives. see Internet archives Onondaga 61–62, 61n2 Orejón (language) 210 Oro Eo At 44 Oro Mon 44 Oro Nao’ 44 Oro Waram 44 Oro Waram Xijien 44 ORPIAN 203 orthography ––Otomí 226n3, 234, 238 ––Tataltepec Chatino 294, 294n25 ––Valley Zapotec languages 186 Otomanguean (language family) 5, 224, 275. see also Chatino Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ 222, 224–231 Otomí languages. see also San Jerónimo Acazulco, Mexico ––educational materials 221 ––grammar 221 ––intra-speaker variation 225–226 ––introduction 10 ––levels of fluency, and revitalization 14 ––linguistic documentation 224–225 ––linguistic variation 10, 226–231, 227f

 363

––morphological variation 230–231 ––orthography 226n3, 234 ––Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ 222, 224–231 ––phonological variation 226–227, 227f ––spatial language, variation in 228–230 ––speaker typologies 239–240 ––terminology 225 ––Toluca Valley 220, 222 ––varieties 220, 224–225 outcomes ––accessibility to, in Mexico 59–79 ––archives 35, 38, 39 ––benefiting community 35, 36, 38, 42 ––benefiting linguists 36, 41, 42 ––measuring 18–20 ––multimedia products 64, 74–75 ––PRODOCLIN 42 Pacto del Valle de Matlatzinca (Pact of the Matlatzinca Valley) 222 Padilla Pérez, Roberto 186 Paiter. see Suruí of Rondônia Panamahka (language) ––access to resources 330 ––bilingual education 322, 324, 326–327 ––community engagement and motivation 331–332 ––geographic distribution 309 ––higher education 324, 327 ––illegal sale of communal land 332 ––language normalization 326–327 ––language shift 316, 332–333 ––linguistic hierarchy 312, 335, 336 ––Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna 329 ––monolingual dictionary 329 ––number of speakers 310, 311n8, 311t ––political participation of speakers 320, 324n20 Panoan languages 197–198 PAPXIG. see Parlamento del Pueblo Xinkan de Guatemala Parintintin (language) 45 Parlamento del Pueblo Xinkan de Guatemala (PAPXIG; Parliament of the Xinkan People of Guatemala) 255, 256, 257, 261 Parra Gutiérrez, Rodrigo 111, 113 Participatory Action Research 15, 329, 331

364 

 Index

passive speaker. see latent-speaker PDLMA (Project for the Documentation of the Languages of MesoAmerica) 293 PEBI programs (Programa de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural; Program for Bilingual Intercultural Education) 320–323, 324, 326 Penfield, Susan D. 167 People of the Center project 8, 65 Peru. see also Kukama-Kukamiria (language) ––Amazonia 205 ––Bora people 65 ––Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198, 205–206 ––DOBES project 65 ––ethno-linguistic map, development of 47, 196, 208–210, 209n30 ––indigenous communities, geographic distribution 199–201 ––indigenous communities, integration into larger society 197–199 ––indigenous communities, self-perception 201–202 ––indigenous communities, spectrum of 196–202 ––indigenous rights 197, 198–199, 205–207, 208–209 ––language shift 199 ––Linguistic Rights Law (29735) 206, 208–209 ––local archives 64 ––Ministry of Culture 199, 206n24, 207, 208–211 ––Ministry of Education 200, 203–204, 205, 207, 208–211, 209n30 ––National Commission 198 ––national government level linguistic projects 208–211 ––National Institute of Statistics and Informatics (INEI) 209 ––national language policy, development of 196, 208, 210–211 ––People of the Centre project 8, 65 ––Prior Language Consultation Law 206, 211 ––transnational indigenous groups 200 ––“uncontacted” peoples 197–198 Peter, Lizette 159

Philippines ––Dupaningan Agta 177 phonological variation. see linguistic variation Pilot projects, INDL 51t Pipil people. see Xinkan community Pochutec (language) 281 political authority, and linguistic authenticity 232–233 Pontifical Catholic University of Peru 198, 201 Poplack, Shana 153, 154n6 postposition 155 Pride, Leslie and Kitty 293, 293n24 primary data, definition 76–77 Prior Language Consultation Law 206, 211 PRODOCLIN (Projeto de Documentacao de Linguas Indigenas; Indigenous Languages Documentation Project) 11, 39–43, 42t PRODOCULT (Projeto de Documentacao de Culturas Indigenas) 41 PROEIB Andes (Program in Bilingual Intercultural Education) 200 PROGDOC 41, 43 Programa Alianza para la Educación Rural Ruta del Sol (NGO) 204–205 Programa de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural. see PEBI programs Program for Bilingual Intercultural Education. see PEBI programs Program in Bilingual Intercultural Education (PROEIB Andes) 200 Project for the Documentation of the Languages of MesoAmerica (PDLMA) 293 Project on the Indigenous Languages of Central America (PROLIBCA) 311n8 Projeto de Documentação de Culturas Indígenas (PRODOCULT) 41 Projeto de Documentação de Línguas Indígenas. see PRODOCLIN PROLIBCA (Project on the Indigenous Languages of Central America) 311n8 Proto-Xinkan 259–260 Puerto Escondido, Mexico 289 Pukllasunchis (NGO) 204 Punta Chueca, Sonora, Mexico 59n1

Index 

purism 223, 233–235, 237 Puruborá (language) 33–36 Puruborá Documentation Project 34–36 Quechua languages 200, 210 Queretaro (state), Mexico ––Otomí variety 225 Quesada, J. Diego 311n8 RALMEX (Red de Archivos de Lenguas de Mexico) 75 Rama (language) 308, 308m, 312 reclamation. see language reclamation Recuperación de Espacios para la Lengua Náhuatl o Mexicana en Ayotitlán (Recovery of Language Domains for the Nahuatl or Mexican Language) 128 Red de Archivos de Lenguas de Mexico (RALMEX) 75 reduction, speaker base 165, 169, 172, 173 regeneration 241 relative frame of reference 229 relativized linguistic hierarchy 311–314 ––formal education 316–317, 325–326 ––religion 313, 334 rememberers (typology of speaker) ––definition 109n1, 147t ––Nahua communities 109, 109n1, 110, 117, 133–134 remittances 286–287 RENAPO 290n18 reported speech 151, 152, 158t Reserva de la Biósfera de la Sierra de Manantlán 116 Resígaro (language) 211 results. see outcomes revitalization. see language revitalization Rice, Keren 2, 8, 21, 138, 167–168, 190 rights of indigenous people ––Bolivia 197, 198, 205 ––Brazil 197 ––Colombia 197, 198, 207 ––Convention 169 (International Labor Organization) 198, 201–202, 205–206 ––Ecuador 197, 198 ––Guatemala 251, 254–255, 259 ––Kukama-Kukamiria 211

 365

––language rights 197 ––Mexico 84, 84n4, 92, 135, 205n23 ––Peru 197, 198–199, 205–207, 208–209 ––researchers’ respect for 205–207 ––United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples 205 ––Venezuela 197, 205 Ríos, Santín 68n3 Ríos Palma, Guillermina 68–69, 68n3 rivers, and language shift 316 roads, and language shift 316 Robinson, Laura C. 168, 177 Rodrigues, Aryon 40–41, 45, 48 Rogers, Chris 259–260, 267n6 Rojas Arias, Rocío 111, 112, 114, 119, 120, 123 Romero Vargas, Germán 334n28 Rondônia, Brazil ––ethnic groups 44 ––Puruborá language documentation 33–36 ––whistled and instrumental speech of the Gavião and Suruí 36–39 Rosita, Nicaragua ––access to resources 330 ––higher education 324, 325, 326 ––Ministry of Education office 322, 327 ––PEBI program office 322, 327 ––political participation 320, 324n20 Runsten, David 171 rusty speaker. see latent-speaker Sachse, Frauke 267n6 safe languages 7t Salamanca, Danilo 307n3 Salazar Santana, Antonio 68, 68n3 Salomón, Elizabeth 329 San Andrés Coamiata, Mexico 87 San Baltazar Guelavila, Mexico 181 Sánchez, Don Felipe ––background 224, 233–234 ––linguistic ideology 239, 241 ––modernist and purist view of authority 233–235 ––morphological variation 230 ––phonological variation 227, 227f ––relationship with others 231, 234, 237–239 ––as teacher 233–235, 236 Sánchez, Liliana 199, 200

366 

 Index

Sandinistas ––CIDCA 327 ––higher education 323–324 ––Literacy Campaign 320–321, 320n17 San Jerónimo Acazulco, Mexico ––authority in 13–14, 223, 240–241 ––community description 221 ––conflicts and solutions 236–239 ––hierarchical view of authority 231–233 ––life histories, language attitudes and linguistic variation 215–245 ––micropolitics of language revitalization 216–217, 236–238 ––modernist and purist view of authority 233–235 ––Otomí Council of Ndöngǘ and the revitalization project 222, 224–231 ––Otomí language classes 233 ––political authorities 221–222 ––revitalization as linguistic prescription 217–218 ––speaker typologies 239–240 ––traditionalist view of authority 235–236 San Juan Guelavía, Mexico 287 San Juan Guelavía Zapotec. see San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec San Juan Quiahije Chatino community, Oaxaca, Mexico 177, 279, 287 San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 165–194 ––bilingual education 170, 180–185 ––bilingualism rates 170, 175 ––child population, reduction in 172, 173t ––child speakers, decline in 172–173 ––collaboration difficulties 13 ––community priorities vs. researchers’ interests 19, 174–177 ––community-researcher collaboration 22 ––compared to other Zapotec languages 169–170 ––in context of current revitalization trends 188–190 ––domains of use 170–171 ––ethical issues 22–23, 188–190 ––ethnographic overview 168–174 ––future prospects 185–187 ––health care information audio CDs 178–179 ––language endangerment 17–18

––language revitalization 187 ––language shift 173, 175–176 ––language variation 13 ––language vitality, lack of community concern about 174–177 ––migration and language vitality 165, 168, 169, 171–174 ––migration from 286 ––number of speakers 165, 169 ––population 172 ––rationale for study 167–168 ––researcher as advocate 177–187 ––schools 14, 170, 178, 180–185 ––Spanish usage 170–171, 178 ––as transnational 165 ––vowel phonation and tone 169–170 San Luis Potosi, Mexico 71–72 San Marcos Zacatepec, Oaxaca, Mexico 273–304. see also Zacatepec Chatino ––bilingualism 282 ––Chatino language revitalization efforts 295 ––community engagement and motivation 17 ––English in 172, 283, 287, 289–290 ––labor migration 283–289, 285f, 286n14 ––methods 275 ––multilingualism 280–283 ––population 277 ––schools 282–283 ––sociolinguistic overview 275–290 San Martin region, Peru 203 San Mateo Almomoloa, Mexico ––archives 12, 67–69, 74 ––indigenous collaborators 59n1 ––negative attitude toward outside teachers 9–10, 14, 67–69 schooling. see education schools ––archives housed in 12, 68–69, 69n4, 74 ––contributing to language shift 92 ––Guatemala 258–259 ––Peru 203–204 ––support for, as support for language 180–185 ––teacher training, lack of 14

Index 

SEAR (Sistema de Educación Autonómico Regional; Autonomous Regional System of Education) 319, 323 Secoya (language) 211 Secretaría de Educación Pública (SEP; Mexican Secretariat of Public Education) 113, 121–123, 220 security risks 73 Seifart, Frank 64–65, 76 Seki, Luci 31 self-perception of indigenous peoples 197, 201–202 semi-speaker. see latent-speaker SEP. see Secretaría de Educación Pública Seri (language family) 5, 12, 69–70, 74, 75 severely endangered languages 7t Shawi peoples 203 Shell, Olive A. 198 Shipibo-Konibo (language) 200–201 Shiwilu (language) 211 Sicoli, Mark 291, 315 signage. see linguistic landscape SIL (Summer Institute of Linguistics). see Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) Simons, Gary F. see Ethnologue (Lewis, Simons, and Fennig) simple clause 155–156, 157 Sinacantán Xinka 252 Sistema de Educación Autonómico Regional. see SEAR Sistema de Educación Bilingüe e Intercultural (Bilingual-Intercultural Educational System) 113 Siuna, Nicaragua 324, 325 SLQZ. see San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec Smith-Stark, Thomas 169, 266 Šmuwič (Barbareño Chumash) 174 Snethlage, Emilie 30 social networks, as model interface for community portals 60, 62–63, 63f, 71–72, 76–77 Society for the Study of the Languages of America 2–3 sociolinguistics ––context of identity 17, 252–259 ––ethnography-based 190–191 ––linguistic variation 225

 367

Soler, Don Feliciano ––background 224, 231–232 ––hierarchical view of authority 231–233 ––linguistic ideology 239, 241 ––morphological variation 230 ––phonological variation 227, 227f ––relationship with others 231, 234, 235, 237–239 ––spatial language 228 ––as Supreme Chief of San Jerónimo Acazulco 224 songs. see instrumental speech Sonora (state), Mexico. see El Desemboque, Mexico Soriano Cortés, Anatolio 296 South America ––DOBES projects 8 ––ELDP projects 8 ––genetic diversity 4 ––language documentation projects 8 ––linguistic diversity 4, 5–6 ––local archives 64–66 ––NSF-DEL projects 8 ––number of language families 5–6 Southern Quechua-speaking communities 200 Spain ––language of education 317, 317n15 Spanish-only education 165, 168, 183, 282 spatial language 228–230 speaker numbers ––confusion with population 45, 53 ––estimates 45 ––overestimates 55 standardization. see language standardization and normalization state, definition of term 11n11 State Council for Arts and Culture (Consejo Estatal para la Cultura y las Artes) 128 States of Mexico. see specific state, such as Oaxaca (state), Mexico State University of Nayarit (Mexico) 81 Steinen, Karl von den 30 Stenzel, Kristine 2 storytelling, San Lucas Quiaviní, Mexico 184–186 subordination 149–150

368 

 Index

success. see outcomes suffixes 149, 155 SUKAWALA (Sumu Kalpapakna Wahaini Lani) 310, 311t Sullivant, J. Ryan 292–294, 299 Sumalpan (language) 309 Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) ––accord with Museu Nacional, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil 31 ––Cashibo-Cacataibo works 198 ––Instituto Lingüístico de Verano (ILV) 220 ––Mastanahua (language) vocabulary 198 ––Matsigenka (language) dictionary 198 ––missionary-linguists 293 ––study of Brazilian indigenous languages 31 Sumu (language) ––language shift 314–315, 315n11 ––linguistic family 309 ––linguistic hierarchy 314 ––PEBI program (bilingual education) 321, 322 ––political participation of speakers 331n23 Sumu (language family) 309–310. see also Mayangna (language); Ulwa (language) Sumu Kalpapakna Wahaini Lani. see SUKAWALA Suruí of Rondônia (Paiter) ––language classification 45 ––language documentation projects 36–39 ––number of speakers of Paiter 55 ––whistled and instrumental speech 36–39 Survey of Linguistic Diversity (Brazil). see INDL surveys. see language surveys Survival International 197–198 Swanton, Michael 281 symbolic memory 119–121, 133, 136 symbolic use of language 157 “taking the main square” 101–103, 102f, 103f talking instruments. see instrumental speech Tarascan (language family) 5 Tataltepec Chatino 273–304 ––borrowed words 281 ––demographics of speakers 277–279 ––documentation narrative 292–294 ––domains of use 279–280

––as highly endangered 10 ––language documentation 290–299 ––language shift discourses 280 ––location 276m, 278 ––methods 275 ––orthography 294, 294n25 ––sociolinguistic overview 275–290 ––suggestions for field linguists 298–299 ––vitality 277–280, 278f, 279n8 Tataltepec de Valdés, Oaxaca, Mexico 273–304 ––bilingualism 282 ––community engagement and motivation 17 ––English in 17, 172, 283, 287, 289–290 ––labor migration 283–289, 285f, 286n14 ––language revitalization 292–293 ––mestizos 278, 278nn6–7 ––methods 275 ––multilingualism 280–283 ––population 278 ––pro-migration mural 287–288, 288n17, 289f ––schools 282–283 ––sociolinguistic overview 275–290 Tateikietari 87 Taushiro (language) 211 Tavárez, David 281n11 Tawahka (language) 309, 309n6, 310n7, 311n8 Teenek/Huastec 71–72 Telpochtin Teyolehualistli (Youth in Motion) 113, 114, 128–129, 131, 139 Tembé people 45 tensions, micro-political 69, 73, 216–217, 236–238 Tepehuano 83n3 Tequistlatec-Jicaque (language family) 5 Terhart, Lena 160 terminal speakers 146n3 threatened languages 7t Tikuna people 199–200 Tlacolula de Matamoros, Mexico 171, 182–183 Tlalnepantla de Baz, Mexico 290 Tlawika 220 Tlayacanque huey Tochpan (The Leaders of Great Tuxpan) 121

Index 

Toluca Valley, Mexico 220. see also San Jerónimo Acazulco Topological Relations Picture Series (TRPS) 228 Torá (language) 45 Totonac-Tepehua (language family) 5 training of human (indigenous) resources 327–329 ––Internet use 330 ––language documentation 134, 300 ––literacy training 322 ––methods 101 ––multimedia use 75 ––PRODOCLIN 42 transmission, of language ––Brazil 45 ––intergenerational 165, 169, 268 ––interruptions 143, 145, 247 ––oral 64 transnational indigenous groups ––accessibility of archives to local people 65 ––coordination difficulties 17–18 ––differing language policies 199–200 ––internal conflicts 310n7 ––San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec 165 transportation, and language shift 316 Tripartite Model of Sociolinguistic Research 168–169 TRPS (Topological Relations Picture Series) 228 Tsunoda, Tasaku 146 Tuahka (language) ––access to resources 330 ––bilingual education 322, 324, 326–327 ––community engagement and motivation 331–332 ––higher education 324, 327 ––illegal sale of communal land 332 ––language family 309 ––language shift 310n7, 314, 315, 316, 329n22, 332–333 ––linguistic attitude 335 ––linguistic hierarchy 336 ––in linguistic hierarchy 312, 335 ––linguistic ideology 318, 335 ––Mayangna Yulbarangyang Balna 328–329 ––monolingual dictionary 329

 369

––normalization 309n6, 326–327 ––number of speakers 310, 311n8, 311t ––political participation of speakers 320, 324n20 Tuapuritari-Wautiari 87 Tufts University 198 Tupian (language family) 34 Tupi-Mondé 44–45, 54–55 Tupinambarana (language) 54 Tuxpan, Mexico 109–141 ––bilingual schools 114, 121–127, 137 ––challenges 125–126, 132–136 ––community profile 115–121 ––current projects 123–127, 123–132 ––future 132–136 ––history of initiatives 121–122 ––language reclamation 10, 110 ––language shift 112, 118–119 ––location 115–116 ––projects and methods 111–115 ––sociolinguistic profile 116–117 ––symbolic memory 119–121, 133 ––Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl (Young Nahuatl Warriors) 126–127 types of speakers 146–147, 147t Tzotzil-Spanish speakers 77n7 UACI. see Unidad de Apoyo a las Comunidades Indígenas UCA (Universidad Centroamericana) 328 UDG. see Universidad de Guadalajara Ulcumayo district, Peru 199 Ulwa (language) ––geographic distribution 308, 308m, 311n8 ––language shift 312, 315, 315n11 underdeveloped system 29 UNESCO ––Atlas of the World’s Languages in Danger 45 ––endangered language estimates 249 ––literacy prizes 321n17 Unidad de Apoyo a las Comunidades Indígenas (UACI; Office for the Assistance of Indigenous Communities) 113, 127, 130 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples 205

370 

 Index

United States ––boarding schools 317 ––language revitalization 218–219, 240 Universidad Centroamericana (UCA) 328 Universidad de Guadalajara (UDG; University of Guadalajara) 111, 113, 124, 131 Universidad de la Región Atlántica y la Costa Caribe de Nicaragua. see URACCAN Universidad de San Simón, Bolivia 200 Universidad Intercultural del Estado de México (Intercultural University of the State of Mexico) 131 Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México 81n1 Universidad Nacional Mayor de San Marcos 209 Universidad Pedagógica Nacional (UPN; National Pedagogic University) 127, 127n5 University at Buffalo 61–62 University of Guadalajara. see Universidad de Guadalajara University of London School of Oriental and Asian Studies. see ELDP University of Texas ––Archive of the Indigenous Languages of the Americas 75 ––Eastern Chatino surveys 294 University of the Atlantic Region and the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua. see URACCAN University of Toronto’s Research Office 195 UPN. see Universidad Pedagógica Nacional URACCAN (Universidad de la Región Atlántica y la Costa Caribe de Nicaragua;University of the Atlantic Region and the Caribbean Coast of Nicaragua) ––access to resources 330 ––campuses 324, 325 ––as center for endogenous research 328 ––creation 323–324 ––Linguistic Institute (IPILC) 326, 327, 328, 329n22, 331, 335–336 USA ––boarding schools 317 ––language revitalization 218–219, 240

Uto-Aztecan (language family) 5. see also Nahuatl; Wixárika Valley Zapotec languages 186 Van’t Hooft, Anuschka 72 variation. see linguistic variation Vega Torres, Agustín 111, 114, 124–125 Venezuela ––indigenous rights 197, 205 Veracruz (state), Mexico ––Nahuatl speakers 10, 122 vigorous languages 8t Villard, Stéphanie 294–297, 299 vitality assessment 171, 172 Volkswagen Foundation. see DOBES program vowel harmony 260, 262–264 vulnerable languages 7t Wani (journal) 328 Wari’ 44 Wasakin, Nicaragua 322, 332 Wayne, Holm 159 Wayoro 49–50, 51t Whaley, Lindsay J. 132, 216, 217 whistled speech 36–39 Wixárika (language) 81–108 ––adult literacy workshops 98, 98f, 100f, 101 ––children’s classes 99–101, 100f, 104 ––community engagement and motivation 16, 93–97, 103–104, 189 ––geographic distribution 83n3, 85m, 86m ––Huichol people 85–87, 86m, 87t ––lack of teachers 14 ––language revitalization 82–84, 101–103, 102f, 103f ––language shift 81–82, 86, 90–93 ––language teaching 97–101, 98f, 99f, 100f, 104 ––linguistic landscape 95–97, 96f ––number of speakers 81, 86 ––perceived competence of speakers 90, 91f ––researcher-community collaboration 21 ––role of schools in 95, 97n12 ––textbook 98–99, 104–105 ––in Uto-Aztecan family 87 ––varieties 87

Index 

––vitality at El Colorín 81–82, 83n2, 88–93, 88t, 91t Woodbury, Anthony C. 2, 41, 292, 294 Workgroup on Linguistic Diversity (Brazil). see GTDL World Health Organization 202 writing system, evaluation of adequacy 48, 52 Xatsietsarie-Puwarikatia 87 Xingu Park reserve, Brazil 39n4 Xinkan community 247–271 ––community-researcher gap 21 ––conflict with other native communities 249 ––conflict with Spanish-speaking population 249 ––elementary school module 258–259 ––engagement and motivation 17, 20, 21, 248 ––ethical issues 189 ––Guatemala 253–255 ––linguistic traits important to identity 259–267 ––self-identification 253, 254 ––sociolinguistic context of identity 17, 249, 252–259, 255–259, 261 ––Sunday gatherings 256, 263–264 ––terminology 253 ––youth scholarships 257 Xinkan languages 247–271 ––classification 247n1 ––elementary school module 258–259 ––etymology 252n2 ––folk etymologies and histories 257–258 ––glottalized consonants 264–266, 265t ––grammatical elements 259–260 ––linguistic isolate 260–261 ––morphological typology 261–262 ––number of speakers 247 ––peripheral status 266–267 ––Proto-Xinkan 259–260 ––terminology 253 ––vowel harmony 262–264, 263t Yamada, Racquel-María 20 Yaminahua (language) 211 Yáñez Rosales, Rosa

 371

––Ayotitlán fieldwork 112–113, 114, 122 ––tokens of Nahuatl vocabulary 120 ––Tuxpan fieldwork 112, 114, 119, 123, 132 ––UDG Applied Linguistics Program 111 Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl (Young Nahuatl Warriors) 126–127, 139 Yawalapiti (language) 45 Yine (language) 211 Yora (language) 197, 197n4, 198 Young Nahuatl Warriors. see Yaoxocoyome Nahuatl Youth in Motion. see Telpochtin Teyolehualistli Yupiltepeque Xinka 252–253 Yusku (language) 310 Zacatecas (state), Mexico ––Huichol people 85 Zacatepec Chatino 273–304. see also San Marcos Zacatepec, Oaxaca, Mexico ––demographics of speakers 277–279 ––domains of use 279–280 ––as highly endangered 10, 277 ––language documentation 290–299 ––language revitalization efforts 295 ––language shift 280 ––location 276m, 277 ––sociolinguistic overview 275–290 ––suggestions for field linguists 298–299 ––as transnational 17–18 ––vitality 277–280, 278f, 279n8 Zacharías, D. 200 Zapotec languages. see also San Lucas Quiaviní Zapotec ––Asunción, Mexico 315 ––comparisons 169–170 ––introduction 10 ––linguistic variation 10 ––Los Angeles, California 17–18 ––Valley Zapotec languages 186 ––vowel phonation and tone 169–170 Zariquiey, Roberto 198 Zentella, Ana Celia 154 Zenzontepec Chatino 276, 293 Zoró peoples 44, 45 Zúñiga, M. 200