Language Ideology, Policy and Planning in Peru 1783094249, 9781783094240

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Language Ideology, Policy and Planning in Peru

MULTILINGUAL MATTERS Series Editor: John Edwards, St. Francis Xavier University, Canada Multilingual Matters series publishes books on bilingualism, bilingual education, immersion education, second language learning, language policy, multiculturalism. The editor is particularly interested in ‘macro’ level studies of language policies, language maintenance, language shift, language revival and language planning. Books in the series discuss the relationship between language in a broad sense and larger cultural issues, particularly identity related ones. Full details of all the books in this series and of all our other publications can be found on http://www.multilingual-matters.com, or by writing to Multilingual Matters, St Nicholas House, 31–34 High Street, Bristol BS1 2AW, UK.

MULTILINGUAL MATTERS: 161

Language Ideology, Policy and Planning in Peru

Serafín M. Coronel-Molina

MULTILINGUAL MATTERS Bristol • Buffalo • Toronto

To my parents Irineo and Felícita, for teaching me the power of education. To my daughter Flor de María, for her patience and understanding of my long absences while I was working on this book. To my fellow Quechua speakers who constantly struggle to keep our language alive.

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Coronel-Molina, Serafín M. Language Ideology, Policy and Planning in Peru/Serafín M. Coronel-Molina. Multilingual Matters: 161 Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Language policy—Peru. 2. Language planning—Peru. 3. Language and culture—Peru. 4. Sociolinguistics—Peru. I. Title. P119.32.P4C67 2015 306.44'90985–dc23 2015015286 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue entry for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN-13: 978-1-78309-424-0 (hbk) Multilingual Matters UK: St Nicholas House, 31–34 High Street, Bristol BS1 2AW, UK. USA: UTP, 2250 Military Road, Tonawanda, NY 14150, USA. Canada: UTP, 5201 Dufferin Street, North York, Ontario M3H 5T8, Canada. Website: www.multilingual-matters.com Twitter: Multi_Ling_Mat Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/multilingualmatters Blog: www.channelviewpublications.wordpress.com Copyright © 2015 Serafín M. Coronel-Molina. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. The policy of Multilingual Matters/Channel View Publications is to use papers that are natural, renewable and recyclable products, made from wood grown in sustainable forests. In the manufacturing process of our books, and to further support our policy, preference is given to printers that have FSC and PEFC Chain of Custody certification. The FSC and/or PEFC logos will appear on those books where full certification has been granted to the printer concerned. Typeset by Techset Composition India (P) Ltd, Bangalore and Chennai, India. Printed and bound in Great Britain by the CPI Books Group Ltd.

Contents

Figures and Tables Acknowledgments Foreword

ix xi xiii

Part 1: Setting The Scene 1

Why Study a Language Academy? Why Use an Ethnographic Approach? What Do I Want to Know? Methodological Paradigms Data Collection

3 6 7 8 10

2

Theoretical Paradigms: Dynamics of Language Change Language Attitudes and Ideologies Language Dynamics: The Circle of Life Language Policy and Planning

19 19 21 23

3

What are Language Academies Good For? A Quick Trip Around the World A More Leisurely Tour: Points of Interest

31 31 34

4

Language Policy and Planning in Peru: A Brief History LPP in Incan Times LPP in Colonial Times LPP from Independence to Contemporary Times

45 45 48 56

Part 2: High Academy of the Quechua Language: Foundations 5

Quest for Official Recognition Founding the Academy as an Institution Establishing a Home for the Academy v

75 75 84

vi L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

6 Anatomy of an Academy: Structure, Membership, Statutes Academic Assembly HAQL Statutes over Time

88 88 100

Part 3: Inventing Tawantinsuyu and Qhapaq Simi: Ideologies of the HAQL 7 Imagining a ‘Nation’, Idealizing a Language Imagining a ‘Nation’ Rising in the East: ‘Eastern’ vs. ‘Western’ Nationalism Hand in Glove: Language and Nation The Purest Language

107 108 110 116 117

8 Constructing and Deconstructing Expertise Just Who is the Expert Here? Top-Down Over Bottom-Up? Validating Expertise: Does Research Help?

126 126 130 133

9 Allies or Enemies? Collaborating with the HAQL Government Collaborations Community Outreach Institutional Collaborations Regional Affiliates

142 142 144 148 152

Part 4: Empowering Inca Quechua: Language Planning à la HAQL 10 Status Planning with the HAQL Status and the Law Status and Society In Summary: Expanding Domains of Use

159 159 164 174

11 Corpus Planning’s Alphabet Wars: Quechua Graphization Internal Debates External Conflicts Graphization and the HAQL Statutes

177 178 182 193

12 Standardizing and Modernizing Quechua: An Ongoing Dilemma 196 Decisions, Decisions: What Standard to Choose? 196 ‘Make It So’: Codifying the Standard 200 Today, Tomorrow and Beyond: Modernizing the Language 201 Neologisms and Loanwords 204 Renovation 211 In Summary: Revitalized or Not? 211

Content s

vii

Part 5: Spreading the Language of the Apus: Acquisition Planning and Revitalization Struggles 13 Preparing for Pedagogy Preparing for the Classroom Creating the Centro de Enseñanza of the HAQL Curriculum Cost of Studies Curricular Goals Student Perspectives on the Curriculum Instructor Qualifications and Course Programming

217 219 221 223 225 226 227 229

14 Learning Quechua with the HAQL First Level Quechua Class (Introductory) Third Level Quechua Class (Intermediate) Sixth Level Quechua Class (Advanced) In Summary: Acquisition Efforts

231 231 233 238 241

15 Where Do We Go From Here? Final Thoughts and Recommendations HAQL and Language Policy and Planning in Peru Recommendations and Suggestions for the HAQL Local and Global Implications of the Study Future Directions

246 246 247 252 255

Appendix 1: Log of Audio-Recorded Data Appendix 2: Publications Associated with the HAQL Related to Status, Corpus and Acquisition Planning

257 260

References Index

269 281

Figures and Tables

Figures Figure 2.1

Figure 4.1 Figure 5.1 Figure 5.2 Figure 5.3 Figure 6.1 Figure 6.2 Figure 7.1 Figure 8.1

The circle of language life in contact situations. The dotted arrows generally indicate a process of negative language shift, although in some cases shift can occur in both directions (shown by double-headed arrows). The solid lines indicate specifically positive directions of shift Linguistic classification of Quechua dialects Location of Cuzco relative to the South American continent Sign for the HAQL’s former office in the Galerías Turísticas. The current location of the HAQL is Calle Chaparro 231 Quechua Teaching Center of the HAQL. The photo on the left is the sign in Quechua and Spanish; the photo on the right is the façade of the building Organizational chart of the HAQL. As of July 2013, these Statutes were still being used (translation mine) HAQL library Women and men ‘costumed’ for Inti Raymi parade Official seal of the HAQL

89 92 113 130

Functional domains of language use Laws affecting the legal status of the HAQL Conferences sponsored by HAQL

26 82 134

22 47 85 86 86

Tables Table 2.1 Table 5.1 Table 8.1

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x L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

Table 10.1

Laws and government decrees influenced by the HAQL Table 11.1 Alphabets used by different entities Table 12.1 Grammar terminology in Cuzco Quechua Table 12.2 Mathematical terminology in Cuzco Quechua

161 182 208 209

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my gratitude to several people and institutions that provided me with their invaluable support throughout all the years I have been working on this book. I would like to offer very special thanks to my former professor and advisor, Nancy H. Hornberger, for her tremendous support and encouragement both academically and personally through the years. My thanks also go to Teresa McCarty, whom I admire and respect deeply, for her tireless support and encouragement all these years as a mentor, advisor, collaborator and friend. Another person who has had a great influence on my academic life is my compatriot, professor and mentor, Rodolfo Cerrón-Palomino. My deepest gratitude goes to him for helping me discover my potential as an academic and a researcher, and for giving me the opportunity to prove myself in the field. He shared his profound knowledge of theoretical linguistics, especially Andean linguistics, and taught me the value of preserving and revitalizing my native language, Quechua. Of course, without the generosity of the members of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) in Cuzco in opening their doors to me, I would not now be writing these words. I am indebted to them for letting me in to observe first-hand how they work and what they believe. Likewise, I would like to thank all of the generous consultants – of the Academy, of other institutions and of the general public – who gave me their time and insights during very lengthy, open-ended interviews. Paul Heggarty, a British linguist who has spent considerable time in Cuzco with the HAQL, was particularly helpful, not only with his own perceptions and observations, but also in sharing with me a number of bibliographic materials I might not otherwise have been able to find. I thank him for his time and his unstinting collaboration. I owe a special debt of gratitude to Jean Jacques Decoster, the then-director of the Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos ‘Bartolomé de las Casas’ (CBC) and the Colegio Andino, as well as his staff, who so generously offered me their time and assistance. Dr Decoster accepted my request for affiliation with the CBC and for room and board there during my time in Cuzco. He xi

xii L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

also offered me logistical and academic support, opening the doors of their considerable library and the computer laboratory for my use. They all enormously facilitated my work as a researcher. My thanks also go to my research assistant Marcelo Mendoza for his great assistance with both the interviews and the observations of the Quechua classes of the HAQL. Without his help, I would not have been able to gather nearly as much data as I did, and my work would not have been as thorough and substantive. Another friend and colleague who made significant contributions to my thinking and my analysis is Viviana Quintero. She gave me constant moral support and spent hours on the telephone with me, discussing minutiae and giving me a different perspective on any number of observations I had made. She provided a wonderful sounding board for me, and she was also very generous in sharing her own fieldwork experiences and theoretical knowledge of linguistic anthropology with me. Aurolyn Luykx and Zacarías Alavi Mamani were invaluable sources of information about the HAQL affiliate in Cochabamba, Bolivia. Likewise, Madeleine Zúñiga shared with me her own experiences with the HAQL. Their input helped me to put my own experiences and observations in perspective. The following people, in one way or another, offered me moral support, encouragement and/or inspiration to keep working on this book: Joshua A. Fishman, Bernard Spolsky, Harold F. Schiffman, Daniel A. Wagner, Mohammed Maamouri, Ofelia García, Rosaleen Howard, Ana Celia Zentella, Frank Salomon, Judith Maxwell, Bret Gustafson, Mercedes Niño-Murcia, María Elena García, José Antonio Lucero, Paul Firbas, Jorge R. Alderetes, Lelia Inés Albarracín, Paul Heggarty, María Gladys Vallieres, Michel Vallieres, Silvia Ortiz, John H. McDowell, Bradley A. Levinson, Beth L. Samuelson, Larry Mikulecky, Hector Jaimes, Gerald Campano, James Damico, Michael Ndemanu, Miguel Rodríguez-Mondoñedo and José del Valle, among others. Their work, expertise and words gave me inspiration and invaluable insights. I owe them all my sincerest thanks. The Department of Literacy, Culture, and Language Education in the School of Education at Indiana University Bloomington (IUB) has been very supportive for the opportunity to continue developing my scholarship, teaching and service. I have learned a great deal from my colleagues and students here that has helped me to see things from new perspectives, which has enriched my analytical and interpretive capacities. Last but certainly not least, my gratitude goes to the reviewers for their robust and insightful input to improve the content of the book. Also, I am very thankful to the Multilingual Matters editors John Edwards and Kim Eggleton for giving me the opportunity to publish this book. Without the help of all these fine people, this work would never have been completed.

Foreword

Before the Spanish invasion and subsequent destruction of the Inca Empire in the first half of the 16th century, Quechua held the status of a lingua franca and was used as the official vehicle of the imperial administration. Recognized by the Spanish conquerors as a ‘general language’, thanks to it, they easily subjected a hundred ‘nations’ of different languages that under the language policy of the Incas had achieved supra-ethnic linguistic understanding. However, once the Spaniards took control, Quechua lost its status of official language and took second place as the devalued language of a subjugated population. Nevertheless, the formerly functional, ecumenical nature of the language would be effectively exploited by the Spanish administration in the service of catechesis among most of the conquered population. Indeed, per the Crown’s evangelizing policy, civil and ecclesiastical authorities would undertake true language planning avant la lettre, in regard to both the status and the corpus of the language. It would be the Third Council of Lima (1582– 1583) which would promote the Cuzco dialect as the language of evangelization, not only of the originally Quechua-speaking population, but also of the people who were still in the process of becoming Quechua speakers at the time of the Conquest. However, a century later, the collective passion that had burned in the colonial authorities for the use of Quechua as an evangelizing instrument gradually faded as the consolidation of Spanish domination and colonial exploitation progressed. At the same time, Quechua-Spanish bilingualism was increasing among the subjugated population. Thus, the language lost the instrumental role it had played until then, increasingly being replaced by Spanish, a move supported by new legislation coming from the Crown. Henceforth, Quechua would be relegated to a purely oral, informal use among the largely illiterate population. Its sporadic cultivation for written and even literary expression by the Creole, mestizo, and even indigenous elite, would not change the status of the slowly shrinking language for the rest of the colonial and republican period. Indeed, not being the language of the framers of the new republic, the Creoles and mestizos, Quechua not only remained the language of the xiii

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oppressed population but an obstacle to the state educational and administrative plans. This situation, inherited from colonial times and entrenched in the republic by the descendants of its founding fathers, is the stage on which the fate of Quechua and attempts to claim it as a national language and co-official with Spanish have been discussed since the second half of the 20th century. In the context outlined here, Serafín Coronel-Molina offers us a detailed and comprehensive study on the role of the High Academy of the Quechua Language, an institution founded in 1953 with the goal of contributing to efforts to reverse the continuing subordinate status of Quechua in contemporary Peruvian society. His painstaking research, conducted in Cuzco, home of the Academy, constitutes a thorough, careful study of the institution and its operations both organically and societally. The result is this book, which gives us an objective, dispassionate assessment of the actions taken or omitted by this institution. Considering the fundamental axes of language planning – status planning, acquisition planning, corpus planning, modernization and revitalization – Coronel-Molina explores the role played by the HAQL, showing, to his regret, the precarious, not to say illusory, nature of the institution at every level studied. Unfortunately, and the author no doubt agrees with us, all of it was to be expected, from the time that this became seen as one more of so many efforts that challenge the norm. Because in a society such as Peru’s, with deeply entrenched, endemic social, economic, cultural and ethnic differences, there seems to be no room for the use of any language other than Spanish. In this context, and as the experience of over half a century shows, all linguistic vindication remains only on paper or in the domain of good intentions. Serafín Coronel-Molina’s book is the best proof of this. Rodolfo Cerrón-Palomino Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú

Part 1 Setting the Scene

1

Why Study a Language Academy?1

The first answer to the question posed in this chapter’s title is a personal one. Being a native Quechua speaker born in Huancayo, Peru, which is located in the central Andes, I have always felt a deep attachment to the language and a continuing identification with the people. For most of my adult life I have been interested in the efforts to maintain and revitalize Quechua, and involved in fieldwork to study the language. In fact, I have traveled widely throughout the Andes – including several visits to Cuzco while doing fieldwork for one of my jobs before I began my graduate studies – interviewing native speakers, not only on their attitudes towards the language, but also collecting narratives of their life experiences. This work also provided the sociolinguistic data to help construct dictionaries and perform linguistic and dialectological studies. I have also visited many bilingual schools throughout the Andes, when I was working at the Instituto Nacional de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Educación (INIDE), to evaluate the use to which the schools were putting the bilingual materials the Ministry of Education had provided them. I consider myself an activist for Amerindian languages, especially for the Quechua language, and an Indigenous scholar (an ‘organic intellectual’, as Antonio Gramsci [1971] would say). Thus, I have long been interested in the work of any agency that was involved in maintenance and revitalization efforts for Quechua and other Indigenous languages of the Americas. I have been collecting archival data about, and following the multiple activities of, the High Academy of the Quechua Language in Cuzco, Peru (HAQL) since 1998. This book is the direct result of that long interest. Apart from my personal reasons, worldwide, the number of languages being spoken is gradually diminishing: many vernacular languages with only a minimal number of speakers are dying out to cede their places to more dominant languages, such as English, Spanish, French and other major languages of the developed world (Crystal, 2000).2 Such a phenomenon is not going unnoticed, nor is it being allowed to happen in many areas without a struggle. Governmental and non-governmental organizations, Indigenous/ grassroots organizations, academic institutions, linguists, language planners, 3

4

Par t 1: Set t ing the Scene

concerned officials and even many of the speakers of these languages in many countries are trying to find ways to maintain, preserve or expand the domains of use of these slowly dying languages. Given this situation, case studies of what certain groups or countries have done can be beneficial, since often such experiences can be extrapolated to other places, or object lessons learned from their successes and failures. This is the context in which the present study was conducted. As a case study of the efforts of the Qheswa Simi Hamut’ana Kuraq Suntur, or HAQL, located in Cuzco, Peru, the present work offers insights into practices and ideologies that have occasionally served the Academy in meeting its goals, but often have hindered their efforts as well. Quechua is an Indigenous language spoken by an estimated six to twelve million people throughout the Andean region of South America (Albó, 1999: 20; Cerrón-Palomino, 1987: 76; Grinevald, 1998: 128; Hornberger & Coronel-Molina, 2004: 19–20). With such a large community of speakers, it would hardly seem to warrant categorization as an endangered language, and yet that is exactly the situation in which many linguists and language planners classify it. For instance, Mannheim (1991: 27) calls it an ‘“oppressed language” in that its functional development has, since the European invasion, been the political, economic, and ideological prerogative of nonQuechua speakers’. As Hornberger and King (2001: 166) note, there are a host of unfavorable political, social and ideological circumstances that contribute to its endangered condition. Given this fact, and the strong desire that many people have to preserve and/or revitalize it, the attention given in recent decades to ways of preserving it becomes understandable. The goal of the present investigation is to contribute to the body of knowledge surrounding the use and conservation of an endangered language from a very specific point of view: the contribution to Quechua language planning, maintenance and revitalization made by the HAQL. My hope is that highlighting one institution’s efforts, actions and motivations can give other professionals and organizations ideas for strategies to try or pitfalls to avoid in their own areas. Language academies in general have a long history of setting the linguistic standards for, or prescribing the parameters of, the languages they support. They serve as arbiters of standard orthography, lexicon and usage for their languages, ultimately providing a unifying foundation, at least for the written language, for all the speakers of all varieties of a given language. In theory, their goal is to linguistically unite a broad speech community, to offer its members a common linguistic bond and to encourage maintenance and even spread of their language. However, there are those who would argue that language academies’ main goal is not, in fact, to serve such a unifying purpose. Rather, as the argument goes, they seek to promote the linguistic, political and sociocultural ideologies of the upper classes that have

Why Study a L anguage Academy?

5

traditionally formed them and carried out their work. Some of these critics argue that the HAQL has a similar hidden agenda. Far from contributing to a unifying goal, the Academy ultimately fractionates the Quechua-speaking community through elitist ideologies and policies that are not always based on solid linguistic theory and practice (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 63; Cooper, 1989: 8–14; El-Khafaifi, 1985; García, 2005: 21; Heggarty, 2000; Itier, 1992; Marr, 1998: 221–225, 1999; Nahir, 1974; Niño-Murcia, 1997). I undertook the study of the HAQL, the original Quechua language academy, to establish just what its positions, ideologies and practices consist of, and whether these do indeed benefit or hinder the progress and development of the language. Specifically, I examined how this academy functions in the maintenance and/or revitalization of Quechua in the Andean regions where it exercises its influence. To understand why it is important to study a language planning agency in Peru, it is helpful to understand something of the linguistic background of the region. Peru is a multilingual and pluricultural country in which the dominant language is Spanish, and the status of the numerous Indigenous languages, including the many varieties of Quechua, has fluctuated greatly depending on what political group is in power. Quechua is slowly dying out in some areas, as many of its speakers come to believe that the only way they can better their lives is to turn their backs on their mother tongue and learn to speak the Spanish of the dominant class: Although Quechua grammar and vocabulary have not atrophied, today, at the end of the twentieth century, monolingual Quechua speakers lead an atrophied existence, cut off from political, economic, social, and cultural arenas that affect their everyday lives. For this reason, many Southern Peruvian Quechua speakers have found knowledge of Spanish— even very limited knowledge—to be an indispensable resource. So Quechua speakers have a complex and often ambiguous set of responses to domination by Spanish Peru, including varying degrees of Quechua language maintenance and second-language survival skills in Spanish. (Mannheim, 1991: 27) There are many individuals and groups who strongly believe that to lose Quechua in this region would be a great cultural and linguistic loss. One proposed approach to attempt to prevent further loss, and perhaps even to revitalize Quechua in areas where it has declined dangerously, is to standardize the written language and improve the status of the language in general. Language academies in many parts of the world have played, and continue to play, a fundamental role in such language planning processes, and so it would be logical to suppose that the HAQL might serve the same role. Given the precarious state of Quechua in the Andean region, and some of the criticism that has been leveled at the HAQL and its potential to impact

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maintenance and/or revitalization, it is reasonable and even necessary to study the role it currently plays in language planning processes for Quechua in Peru.

Why Use an Ethnographic Approach? Given the amount of material that seems to be available on language academies worldwide, one might wonder about the relevance of an ethnographic study to investigate the efforts and achievements of one. I believe that such an ethnographic study is very important for the simple reason that archives and propaganda can never tell the whole story. As Ferguson (1996: 277) so aptly notes, ‘All language planning activities take place in particular sociolinguistic settings, and the nature and scope of the planning can only be fully understood in relation to the settings’. Thus, without understanding the sociolinguistic setting within which the language academy functions, one cannot fully appreciate the work it may accomplish, the members’ ideologies and attitudes, nor how these influence their work and their achievement of conservation goals. There have been no ethnographic studies done of the HAQL that I have been able to discover. If the Quechua Academy itself has any kind of historical or promotional literature, it is currently not readily available internationally. Thus, my research fills a significant void in the literature on language policy and planning (LPP) in general, and the Quechua language academy in particular. At the local level, the results of this study can provide information for policy makers and educators in Peru and other Andean countries, enabling them to decide on the value of such institutions for language planning, and to what degree they might be helpful in policy areas, such as status, corpus and acquisition planning, educational policy, etc. This study could inform policy, thus benefiting the HAQL, governments and educational systems. From the available literature, it appears that no one has ever doubted the role that language academies have in LPP, maintenance or revitalization; but neither has anyone actually gone to the field to observe and record directly the kinds of work that the academies do. All of the available information to date is historical, apparently based on archival records and self-reports. Ethnography is the most effective way to determine whether these records and histories reflect reality. In addition, the kinds of details revealed are much more useful than a simple recounting of projects carried out and their results. They can provide concrete evidence to language planners and researchers in other areas of the world of what does or does not work in a specific type of situation under certain sociopolitical conditions. Ethnography is a particularly hands-on way to gather qualitative data on a given population, as well as enabling comparisons between what that

Why Study a L anguage Academy?

7

population claims to do or believe, and what they really do or believe. One of the key elements of ethnography is its capacity to enable the researcher to really get inside the lives of the group from which s/he wants to learn, to gain their confidence and be accepted as one of them, so that they go about their daily lives without constraint (Spradley, 1980). Although ethnographic observation was my primary means of collecting data, archival research was also useful in collecting non-observational types of data, such as decrees, bylaws, past meeting minutes, memoranda, official letters, books published by the HAQL, journals, newspaper articles, workshop/conference proceedings, agreements, radio programs, government policies, laws, lists of Academy members, a full set of the published issues of their official journal, Inka Rimay and even copies of students’ class notes. Also, in more recent years, sources, such as the internet, blogs, Facebook and YouTube, have also been a rich source of information, although of course, such information must be weighed carefully for validity value. Thus, I have read innumerable documents written by Academy members, and from these, I gained a very clear picture of the ideologies the HAQL holds and the portrait they attempt to present of themselves to the public. Nevertheless, I found that what they had published did not always correspond with what they did or how they acted. This revelation is perfectly in line with contemporary thinking regarding information validity. It has been shown time and again that in evaluating the credibility of information in a given document, the source of the information is at least as important as the information itself. Thus, by the same token, it would be helpful to have other sources of information outside the HAQL, since the members’ own ideological, political or other leanings influence the picture they paint of the Academy.

What Do I Want to Know? Language academies have a long history worldwide of seeking to standardize their respective languages, with various motives. In the case of many less commonly spoken languages, those motives include a desire to revitalize a dead or dying language. My research focuses on one such institution, the HAQL in Cuzco, Peru. My investigation was guided by four principal questions that pertain to the three subfields of language planning, and to the top-down/bottom-up nature of the Academy’s language planning activities. (1) Status planning: in what ways does the HAQL contribute to Quechua language maintenance and/or revitalization? How do its positions, ideologies and practices influence members’ work in this area? How much do the HAQL members actually use the language on a daily basis, for what purposes, under what circumstances and in what forms (i.e. written or spoken)? What expectations does the public have of the HAQL,

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Par t 1: Set t ing the Scene

and how do these affect its activities in the three spheres of language planning? (2) Corpus planning: what are the members’ positions, ideologies and practices concerning lexical and orthographic standardization, and lexical modernization and purification of Quechua? What impact do these positions, ideologies and practices have on the Academy’s ability to achieve its goals? (3) Acquisition planning: in what specific activities is the HAQL involved, and at what level? How do the members’ ideologies influence their activities? This question is also related by extension to language revitalization: what outreach efforts does the HAQL perform in neighboring rural or urban communities in the department of Cuzco, and how do these serve its language planning goals? (4) What kinds of projects does the HAQL carry out and with whom does it collaborate to achieve them? In what ways, if any, does it work with other regional and international branches of the Academy, local schools and top-down institutions, such as government planning agencies and non-government organizations (NGO)? In what ways, if any, does it accept and encourage participation from the grassroots level in its activities? These questions form a basic organizational framework for the present book, and their answers point to the ultimate utility of the HAQL. They also have implications for possible directions for improvement of the Academy and provide insights at a more general level into what does and does not work in terms of encouraging maintenance and/or revitalization of a language within circumstances similar to those pertaining to the HAQL. The book is divided into five sections, each focused on a different aspect of the Academy and its efforts in language planning. Part 1 provides an overview of general background information, including a brief introduction to the dynamics of language change; an equally brief history of a selection of language academies; and an overview of language planning and policy in Peru from Incan times to the present. Part 2 highlights the history of the founding and the organizational structure of the HAQL, while Part 3 delves into its ideologies. Part 4 is where the Academy’s language planning and policy efforts per se are discussed, focusing on status and corpus planning, and Part 5 deals with acquisition planning. Before we begin these discussions however, I would like to give some background on the methodologies I used to gather my data.

Methodological Paradigms While my research questions are squarely situated within the field of language planning, it is the fields of sociology of language, sociolinguistics

Why Study a L anguage Academy?

9

and ethnography of communication that provide the study’s methodological framework. All are fundamental for any study that seeks to examine the ways that languages and societies interact. Both sociolinguistics and the sociology of language are intimately connected to the functioning of languages within societies, differing only in the direction of their focus; in fact, many consider them to be a single field. The overlap between fields is notable, not only between sociolinguistics and the sociology of language, but also with linguistic anthropology (Duranti, 1997: 13; Hymes, 1974: 83). According to those who differentiate between these fields, sociolinguistics, or microsociolinguistics as it is sometimes called, is more concerned with how language reflects society. That is, the focus is on how language is influenced by society, structurally or otherwise, or on how it is used in communication by a society; for instance, ‘how language varieties and patterns of use correlate with social attributes such as class, sex, and age’ (Coulmas, 1997: 2; see also Mesthrie et al., 2000: 5), and tends to be the focus of linguists, dialectologists and other researchers in language-oriented fields (Coulmas, 1997: 2). The sociology of language, or macrosociolinguistics, on the other hand, takes society as its primary focus and looks at how language use affects societal organization, as well as ‘the manner in which social and political factors influence language use’ (McKay & Hornberger, 1996: ix). Or, more specifically: The sociology of language is the study of the characteristics of language varieties, the characteristics of their functions, and the characteristics of their speakers as these three constantly interact, change, and change one another, both within and between speech communities. (Fishman, 1971: 222) Taken at the societal level, this would include such discussions as language ideologies and attitudes, societal multilingualism and, obviously, language policy (Hornberger, 1988: 11; Hudson, 1980: 5; Richards et al., 1992: 339–340). It can be used to analyze everything from small group interaction to ‘large group membership, language use, language and behavior norms, and changes in these norms’ (Fishman, 1971: 226). In an earlier paper, Fishman (1968: 8) identifies some ‘topics that represent the traditional core of this field, e.g. multilingualism and ethno-national solidarity, long-term trends in language maintenance and language shift, language standardization and language planning’. Clearly, the sociology of language is a very appropriate methodological framework for issues of language planning, which is above all a political endeavor related to a society’s use of languages. Regardless of whether a researcher employs a more micro or macro approach, however, it is generally agreed that both paradigms are necessary for a ‘full understanding of language as a social phenomenon’, and in fact, ‘[m]any

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questions can be investigated with equal justification within micro- or macrosociolinguistics’ (Coulmas, 1997: 2). Fishman (1989: 453) is equally adamant that the two are ‘conceptually and methodologically complementary’. My own examination goes both ways, focusing sometimes on the language and how it is used to structure social reality, and sometimes on the society and its institutions (e.g. the Academy and its functions in society) and the wider sociopolitical spectrum that influences language maintenance and revitalization. For this reason it is important to understand both the kinds of analyses that these two fields can yield, and the dynamics of their interaction. One very useful analytical method arising from microsociolinguistic research is the ethnography of communication, or ethnography of speaking, originally proposed by Hymes (1974) and drawing from both anthropology and linguistics. Saville-Troike characterizes ethnography of communication as a means of elucidating: the patterning of communicative behavior as it constitutes one of the systems of culture, as it functions within the holistic context of culture, and as it relates to patterns in other cultural systems. A primary aim [. . .] is to provide a framework for the collection and analysis of descriptive data about the ways in which social meaning is conveyed, constructed, and negotiated. (Saville-Troike, 1996: 351) The ethnography of communication is, then, a methodological approach used in the sociology of language to study the subtle interactions and communicative functions attempted by participants in a communicative exchange (Fasold, 1990: 39). Since one of the goals of my research is to analyze the actual uses and functions of Quechua that the Academy incorporates into its daily activities, the ethnography of communication offered a very useful approach for framing my observations and analyzing my data. Observing and recording face-to-face interactions and similar communicative events in the community or among the Academy members themselves, professional activities such as national and international conferences, and daily activities of the Academy such as meetings, allowed me to verify information provided in interviews or through archival materials. It also allowed me to analyze the dynamics of the members’ relationships with the communities and with each other, as well as their ideologies and attitudes, where other types of data collection could not reveal this kind of information.

Data Collection As previously mentioned, I have been collecting archival data about and following the multiple activities of the HAQL in Cuzco, Peru since 1998.

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I have been in communication with several members of the HAQL for many years and I have visited Cuzco several times. I was in Cuzco from June to September 2002, observing and participating in the activities of the HAQL. This was when all my observations and the bulk of my data collection took place. Since returning from my fieldwork, I have maintained contact with several top members of the HAQL who were willing to share ongoing information with me regarding the evolving situation of the Academy, as well as with numerous other scholars and practitioners working on Quechua in the Andes. All were offered the opportunity to give their informed consent to my use of their conversations with me. Anyone who declined to give me such consent has not been included or mentioned in the present work. Besides my copious handwritten fieldnotes, I also took still photos in some situations where these would be useful for recording visual details. I also tape recorded all of the interviews, and several of the events I observed or participated in, as well as a few spontaneous conversations that took on something of the nature of an unstructured interview (see Appendix 1). Such audio recordings offered some tremendous advantages in my observation, since they could provide a more reliable and complete record than the most accurate note-taking. The photos in particular captured some paralinguistic features – such as postures, gestures, clothing and even the signs we carried during the Inti Raymi parade – that might have been lost in a simple written record. Some researchers question the use in the field of devices such as computers, audio recorders and cameras, arguing that their very presence disrupts the normal flow of interactions, since the subjects are always aware that they are being recorded and may therefore act differently than they would in the absence of the equipment. However, with or without such recording or data gathering devices, ethnographers will always experience the participant– observer’s paradox. This paradox arises from the inescapable circumstance that to collect information, we will always need to be present, and the very fact of our presence will influence the interaction in some way. Hence, the best solution, as Duranti points out, is to simply be aware that there will always be some influence, and: to understand the different ways in which the presence of certain types of social actors (e.g. ethnographers) or artifacts (e.g. cameras, tape recorders, notebooks, questionnaires) play a role in the activity that is being studied, and the different kinds of transformations that each medium and technique produces. (Duranti, 1997: 117–118) Obviously, I cannot be 100% sure that my consultants were acting in their most normal manner when I was present, but I can make some assumptions based on their apparent comfort level in my presence. For the most

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part, they all seemed to accept me at face value and seemed very comfortable when I was around, perhaps because I was so obviously willing to participate in whatever they wanted me to participate in. Because I worked side by side with them, that made it easier for them to accept me as very nearly one of them. On the other hand, regarding other equipment that might have caused them to change their behavior, I did not use anything more invasive in their presence than a regular still camera, and that only on special occasions such as ceremonies, graduations or the Inti Raymi parade. These were all occasions at which it is normal for someone to take pictures, so it is unlikely that my taking pictures at those times would have caused a change in their normal behavior for such circumstances. However, before any of these circumstances could come up, I first had to work my way into my research setting.

Getting past the gatekeepers I had anticipated that in my capacity as a native speaker of Quechua, my entry into the Academy and into the confidence of the members would be somewhat smoother than that of the average foreign investigator. To a certain degree, I was right, since I could share in and understand their cultural patterns. However, I was still somewhat surprised to meet with the degree of mistrust and suspicion that I did at the beginning, and I was also surprised at my own reaction on meeting them for the first time: When I first arrived, they were in a meeting of the Board of Directors. The librarian greeted me and directed me into the room where they were meeting. Everyone seemed suspicious when they saw me for the first time. I felt nervous and a little intimidated by the elegance of their clothes, since I was dressed simply in jeans and a sweater. Almost everyone wore a suit and tie, and their shoes were so highly polished they gleamed. They all seemed rather arrogant to me. When I gave them the letter from Dr. Hornberger, and they learned that I was a doctoral candidate from a university in the United States, their attitude changed completely. The president read the letter out loud, and when they found out I was a native Quechua speaker, they began to talk to me in a familiar way. The men called me wayqichay and the women called me turachay (‘my dear brother’ in both cases). They offered me all their help in carrying out my investigation. (Fieldnotes, 17 June 2002)3 These Academy board members were the so-called ‘gatekeepers’ (Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995: 34), the people in charge of controlling access to the world of the Academy and its members. Once approved by these gatekeepers, I could begin my observations. Even so, I found it

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interesting that while they willingly included me in many of their activities and public events, they were unwilling to let me observe or participate in their executive meetings, saying that these meetings were only open to members. I only managed to attend one such meeting, after which they seemed to remember that although I had so easily ‘become one of them’, I still was not a member. Despite this one type of exclusion, I nevertheless felt that I had a good opportunity to gain an insider’s viewpoint on the workings of the Academy, seeing the world of everyday life within its walls. I gained the confidence of many of the members, and I often invited them out for lunch or a beer, and had long and interesting conversations this way with a number of Academy members. After a while, some of them also began to invite me out for lunch or drinks, and even introduced me to their families. On one occasion, the president and some top members invited me out for drinks, and imbibed rather heavily. The president became so relaxed that he started playing the guitar and singing in Quechua, and it was interesting to see this human side to him. Another day, another member invited me on a tour around Cuzco. Another move that helped to convince them of my sincerity of interest in the Academy, and thus helped open the door to my presence there, was the purchase of a large number of the publications that they offer. In purchasing so many books and journals at one time, I brought myself to their attention, and also showed them that I was very interested in their activities.

Ethnographic observation In my role as participant observer, I tried to make myself useful in the Academy offices. I became good friends with the secretary of the HAQL and frequently helped him out with a number of clerical and administrative duties, such as composing letters, organizing a filing system for the computer files, photocopying, answering the phone, selling books, assisting students in enrolling in Quechua classes, and printing and sending invitations for HAQL-organized ceremonies and other events. These activities gave me the opportunity I needed to spend time at the main office so I could observe the activities of the rest of the HAQL staff. I also found a more immediate way to be of service at the beginning of my stay in Cuzco. They were in dire need of an office calculator, so I bought one for them. As a gesture of friendship to the staff of the HAQL main office, I bought a CD of Andean music performed in Quechua, and we often listened to it while we worked. I also participated in a number of activities either organized or sponsored by the Academy, or those that they simply chose to attend, such as the Inti Raymi (Festival of the Sun). I participated in the parade leading to the festival

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site, along with the Academy members, all of us dressed in traditional ponchos and ch’ullus (colorful knit wool hats with ear flaps). We all carried signs indicating that we represented the HAQL, and shouted ‘¡Kawsachun runasimi! ¡Kawsachun! ¡Haylli Qusqu llaqta! ¡Haylli! ¡Kawsachun Qhiswa Simi Hamut’ana Kuraq Suntur! ¡Kawsachun!’ (Long live Quechua! Yea! Up with Cuzco! Yea! Long live the High Academy of the Quechua Language! Yea!). After the parade, all of the Academy members went to a restaurant for lunch. Before the food was served, the president of the Academy gave a long speech in Quechua, and throughout the meal, there was a great deal of friendly conversation exchanged all around the table. I was impressed that the majority was in Quechua. I gave a number of talks in the Academy at their request, related to LPP, Quechua dialectology, teaching methodologies, opportunities for funding to study abroad and the use of the internet to preserve and disseminate Quechua. Not only general members of the Academy, but also teachers and students of the Quechua Teaching Center of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (QTCHAQL) attended these presentations. These talks turned out to have an additional, originally unintended use: besides serving as an ice-breaker between me and the Academy members, it also enabled me to connect with people who eventually became consultants for my standardized interviews. I was also invited to participate in a number of ceremonies, ranging from their students’ graduation exercises, to awards recognizing special achievements by various members. I assisted with the distribution of diplomas, certificates or other awards, and in one case I gave the presentation speech for awards to three Academy authors of bilingual Quechua–Spanish books. These ceremonies were generally conducted in a mix of Quechua and Spanish, with a majority in Quechua. On one occasion, a number of the high-ranking members invited me to join them at a conference being held at the affiliate Academy in Urubamba. I was able to tape-record parts of our conversations, as well as some of the conference. I was impressed and interested to note that they chose to speak Quechua during the trip, although the conference itself was bilingual, with some presentations in Spanish and some in Quechua. On another occasion, there was a general strike over the privatization of the state-run electric companies. SUTEP, the teachers union in Cuzco, participated in this strike by holding their own hunger strike at the union hall. One of the striking teachers was a member of the Academy and a number of the Academy members invited me to accompany them to visit her. In all these ways, I went about building up my social network, and establishing collaborative relationships with people who would eventually become key consultants. I also gained a better understanding of the daily activities and lives of the HAQL members. These were the kinds of activities that

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could give me insight into just how much, for example, they used Quechua in their everyday lives outside of the Academy walls. My non-participant observation was much more limited, being limited mostly to observing Quechua classes from the back of the classroom, audiorecording some ceremonies and festivities without participating directly (in total, I recorded six public events and spontaneous conversations, all related to the activities of or performed by members of the HAQL), and occasionally observing daily activities at the HAQL without helping the secretary with his work. On those occasions, I would simply wander around the Academy observing people as they performed the daily routines of their jobs, conversing with them from time to time. This was not a practical approach most of the time, since often the office was quite busy and they needed my help, or were busy attending to clients and could not chat with me. Sometimes I simply sat in the library pretending to read, while actually observing what was going on around me.

Ethnographic interviews As indicated earlier, well-designed interviews can be an essential data collection tool, and I made good use of these. One of the questions I had to consider in planning my interviews was which language I would use to conduct them, Spanish or Quechua. After all: language is more than a means of communication about reality: it is a tool for constructing reality. Different languages create and express different realities. They categorize experience in different ways. [. . .] In setting out to discover the cultural reality of a particular group of people, the ethnographer faces the crucial question: What language shall I use for asking questions and recording the meanings I discover? The answer to this question has profound implications for the entire ethnographic enterprise. (Spradley, 1979: 17; emphasis in the original) Thus, the decision I made could have a significant impact on the course of my investigation. On the one hand, I was investigating the Academy’s use of Quechua, and so it would seem reasonable to have conducted the interviews in that language. On the other hand, all of the Academy members were native bilingual speakers of Spanish as well as Quechua, so it would not cause them problems to be interviewed in either language. I ultimately decided on Spanish, primarily because of the current underdevelopment of the Quechua language in terms of available vocabulary to talk about any subject that might come up, although two or three members did actually code-switch with me quite a bit. Also, a number of the people I interviewed, particularly newer members of the Academy, were not fluent enough in Quechua to make it practical to use that language. Thus, I felt

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I could elicit more information in Spanish than in Quechua. As a final consideration, my assistant was not fluent in Quechua, and so it was necessary for him to be able to conduct interviews in Spanish. Another important factor in my decision was the fact that I was planning to interview not only HAQL members, but also members of other institutions that promote Quechua, and community members at large (see Appendix 1 for the names and positions of all those I interviewed; ‘HAQL’ refers to interviews with HAQL members, ‘MOI’ to those with members of other institutions, and ‘CM’ to those with members of the Cuzco community at large). Given this varied population, it seemed logical to develop the interview questions in the language I could be sure that all consultants spoke, which was Spanish. Therefore, although I developed three different but interrelated instruments for the three distinct populations I intended to interview, they were all designed in Spanish. I did, however, have the opportunity to observe a number of spontaneous conversations and official ceremonies carried out in Quechua, so in this way I obtained evidence of the public use of the language. As a brief aside, I should explain the conventions I use in this work for reproducing written and oral quotations. First, all translations from Quechua to Spanish are my own. All translations from Spanish to English were done by Linda Travis, a professional translator; this includes quotes from both my interviews and from Spanish-language publications. I did the back-translation and I had ultimate say over all translations. Having said that, it should be noted that when quoting written texts, I have chosen not to include the original Spanish (or Quechua) text, but rather, only the English translation of it, in the interest of conserving space. On the other hand, when quoting conversations or interviews, I have included the speaker’s original utterances in Spanish or Quechua (in italics, to differentiate it clearly from its translation) to give more authentic voice to the speakers. With my instruments ready, I had recourse to my social network to identify and make contact with prospective consultants. Ultimately, between the two of us, my assistant and I interviewed 37 different people. These people were chosen at random, without regard to their professional affiliations, gender, social status or age, although all consultants ended up falling between the ages of 25–75. Given that most of my consultants were chosen from attendees at these conferences and through my research assistant’s social network, they had at least an undergraduate college degree and were professionals in one field or another. Professions ranged from school teachers, university students and professors, to other professionals including engineers, lawyers, journalists, economists, an administrator in the City Council, a representative from the local branch of the Ministry of Education, administrators of other institutions, a policeman, a musician, a librarian, an artist and a tour guide, among others. The one exception was a street vendor I met in the Plaza de Armas near the HAQL’s office; although he did not have a college education, he was very well informed, and had some familiarity with the HAQL.

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Analysis and reporting of ethnographic data All of the sources of data discussed above have helped in triangulating my data. Given my various sources, I did not have to rely solely on subjective information obtained from the interviewees and my observations, but also on objective data, such as information printed in the Inka Rimays and that found in HAQL files and other written records from various sources. My data also provided outsiders’ opinions of the works of the HAQL. This was essentially a descriptive study, and the revelations obtained through observation were the core data. Ultimately, because the study itself was more subjective than objective, I relied more heavily on qualitative than quantitative means of analyzing my data. The results of any quantitative data, which were not many, ultimately fed into my qualitative analysis, helping to reinforce the conclusions of the more qualitative findings. Such quantitative data include numbers of students in the Quechua classes, how long a cycle of courses lasts, number of members over the years and other types of numerical information that might be used to infer things about the methodologies and ideologies of the Academy, particularly regarding language instruction and acquisition. I used triangulation techniques to compare my observations, the findings from interviews and information from archival sources (which were offered to me by participants). This enabled me to correlate what people told me with what I saw actually happening. It was interesting to look at not only the Academy members, but also members of the Cuzco community and members of other institutions (e.g. language planning organizations), to see to what degree they all coincided in their opinions regarding the perceived role and activities of the Academy in their areas of influence. The kind of information I was specifically looking for included Academy members’ perceptions of and attitudes towards linguistic usage by community members and vice versa; community members’ perceptions of how useful, effective, accessible, etc., the academies’ practices were in the areas of corpus, status and acquisition planning; and the degree and domains of Quechua use in the communities and by the Academy members, respectively. I found some interesting and sometimes contradictory patterns of usage that often gave the lie to some external critics of the Academy’s efforts, but at the same time, occasionally supported other types of criticisms. In sum, ethnography turned out to be a very successful research approach for my purposes. The close personal interaction that this methodology permits greatly facilitated my investigation of language attitudes, ideologies, positions and practices within the HAQL, as well as their daily activities, uses of Quechua and their efforts concerning LPP related to the Quechua language. While I might have been able to answer most of my research questions without it – and I am not convinced that this is the case – its use has

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assuredly enhanced and enriched my data and my understanding of the nature of the HAQL.

Notes (1) The content of this book has been expanded and updated from the work produced in the author’s doctoral dissertation (Coronel-Molina, 2007). (2) The bibliography is divided into two parts. Primary sources, which are indicated with an asterisk, are print materials such as archives and records of the HAQL and limited-distribution publications that are not easily accessible to the public. Secondary sources, being so much more common throughout this work, and much more publicly available, are not indicated with any special symbol. (3) Nancy Hornberger personally knew several of the members of the Academy. Her letter explained the purpose of my research, and served to introduce me to them. Furthermore, all the Academy members I met, as well as any other informants I interviewed, were given informed consent forms to sign.

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Theoretical Paradigms: Dynamics of Language Change

Languages are not static entities any more than cultures are. They can experience such changes as shift, decline and death, or maintenance, revival and spread. There are many factors, both spontaneous and planned, that might influence such changes in a language. Some of the more spontaneous factors include language attitudes, ideologies and loyalties. Language choice is somewhat unique in that it is a factor that could be unconsciously planned or spontaneously chosen. On the other hand, more consciously planned factors include language policy and planning (LPP), revitalization, and reversing language shift (RLS).

Language Attitudes and Ideologies The concept of linguistic culture, in particular language ideologies, is very relevant to a discussion of LPP in general. According to Schiffman, linguistic culture is: the set of behaviours, assumptions, cultural forms, prejudices, folk belief systems, attitudes, stereotypes, ways of thinking about language, and religio-historical circumstances associated with a particular language. That is, the beliefs (one might even use the term myths) that a speech community has about language (and this includes literacy) in general and its language in particular (from which it usually derives its attitudes towards other languages) are part of the social conditions that affect the maintenance and transmission of its language. (Schiffman, 1996: 5) The attitudes, beliefs and ideologies a group holds towards a language – that is, elements of its linguistic culture – will have an impact on what they are 19

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willing or able to do in terms of LPP, the approach they take towards the endeavor and how they are perceived by others in the process. Ideologies are generally ‘unexamined assumptions’ that are operative rather than thematic; that is, an ideology ‘operates behind our backs, rather than appearing as a theme before our eyes. We think from it rather than about it’ (Galindo, 1997: 166). This is a critical point because it means that our own ideologies – or at least their implications in our actions and behaviors – may not be obvious to us, although they may be more apparent to others. Very simply, language attitudes are ‘the feelings people have about their own languages or the language(s) of others’ (Crystal, 1997: 215) and how those feelings are manifested in their actions and behaviors. One’s emotional reaction or feeling towards a belief or knowledge is a key component of attitude (Edwards, 1994: 6–7). Language ideologies and attitudes can have a profound influence on individual, community and societal language use patterns, and thus can strongly impact language maintenance and revitalization processes, as well as standardization efforts. Ideologies, on the other hand, are ‘sets of beliefs about language articulated by users as a rationalization or justification of perceived language structure and use’, which often index dimensions of power and identity (Woolard, 1998: 3–4). Similarly, ‘the cultural system of ideas about social and linguistic relationships, together with their loading of moral and political interests’ (Kroskrity, 2000: 5) is a definition that emphasizes forms of ‘local’ cultural knowledge of the speakers and their ideas about the articulation of social phenomena with language and discourse.

Language loyalty and choice Language loyalty is one ideology that can have a significant impact on maintenance of one language in the face of pressure to shift to another, as is the case with Indigenous languages in Peru. Language loyalty can be defined as ‘a state of mind in which a language, in opposition to other languages, is assigned a high value by its speakers’, which leads to the inference that maintenance would then be the action taken based on the state of mind: ‘[the speakers] are driven to defend this language from foreign interference and/or from an imminent language shift’ (Silva-Corvalán, 1994: 168). Exhibiting language loyalty implies that people have a choice as to what language they will speak. This could be a choice between two (or more) distinct languages, or among numerous varieties of a given language, or even among registers of a single language or variety in different situations. ‘The choice is not random, but has been shown to be determined by aspects of the social organization of the community and the social situation where the discourse takes place’ (Bentahila, 1983: 50; for information specifically on language ideologies and loyalties in the Andes, see Howard, 2007). Fishman’s (1972) concept of language domains – specific social contexts in which a

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given language is used – plays an important role in explaining language choices, since functional domains of language use greatly influence which linguistic choices are made in which circumstances.

Language Dynamics: The Circle of Life Where languages are in contact, there will necessarily be a process of adaptation between them. This process is a key factor in what I like to think of as a language’s circle of life; that is, a cycling through different possible stages of development, such as language maintenance, spread, shift and even death. Language maintenance is essentially the process of continuing to use a given language in a contact situation with a socially more prestigious or powerful language, while shift is the opposite: changing to the contact language over a period of time. Both maintenance and shift occur at the community level, and are influenced by a variety of social and political factors. Shift should not be confused with bilingualism, where two different languages may be used interchangeably in different situations. In the case of shift, while some speakers of the community may still speak or understand the first language (L1), the overall trend is to drop it in favor of the typically more powerful second language (L2). The community may eventually reach the stage where the L1 is lost entirely to the L2 (Appel & Muysken, 1987: 32–33; Edwards, 1994: 102). Thus, bilingualism may be a step on the way to language shift or death, but it is not itself an example of shift. Schiffman (1990: 1) stresses the importance of language domains in shift: ‘language shift occurs domain by domain (rather than speaker by speaker or community by community), until the abandoned language controls no domains at all’. This is particularly relevant for Quechua, which has gradually lost most of its public functional domains to Spanish over time (Coronel-Molina, 1999). When a language in decline eventually disappears through complete lack of use, the language is said to have died. Although it may still exist in recorded archives or fieldnotes, it has ceased to be used as a daily medium of communication. Language death or extinction, however, is simply one end of a continuum. If we move back up the line away from death, we begin to enter the territory of language revival and reversal, language revitalization and language spread (or diffusion). Revitalization seeks to give new vigor to a language still in use but only in limited domains. It attempts to re-establish the language’s place in former domains lost to another language. It is generally implemented at official levels, and is most definitely a result of conscious planning and organized efforts (Hornberger & King, 1997: 301). Revival, another step on the continuum between language death and language vitality, is essentially attempting to bring back a dead language and ‘making it the normal means of communication in a speech community’ (Marshall, 1994: 24) after it had been discontinued or ceased to exist. For a

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dead language to be revived, the most important consideration is ‘the existence of a need for a language as a means of communication’ (Nahir, 1977: 111). Currently, then, the efforts of Quechua language planning fall more readily into the category of revitalization than revival, since it is not (yet) a completely extinct language. Contemporary Hebrew, on the other hand, constitutes perhaps the best-known example of language revival (Dagut, 1985: 65; Nahir, 1974). Language reversal, or RLS, is the process of reversing the shift process of a given language to bring it back into common use. In this sense it is related to both revival and revitalization, and in fact, as theorized by Fishman (1991), can be a functional modality used as part of either process (Grenoble & Whaley, 2006). Fishman (1991) emphasizes the importance of intergenerational transmission of a language in the success of RLS, and the fact that speech communities that do want to retain their languages may need outside assistance in the planning and implementation process. Lack of intergenerational transmission in the home, is, in Fishman’s (1991: 1) view, a significant contributing factor to language loss, since it leads to ‘fewer and fewer users or uses every generation’. All of these concepts form an interconnected continuum, rather than a discrete stairway of steps needed to reach a given level of language loss or maintenance. In Figure 2.1, I summarize graphically this circle of language life in contact situations, which reflects the dynamics that exist among language change processes at the societal level.

Figure 2.1 The circle of language life in contact situations. The dotted arrows generally indicate a process of negative language shift, although in some cases shift can occur in both directions (shown by double-headed arrows). The solid lines indicate specifically positive directions of shift

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Language Policy and Planning In considering the dynamics of language change, one must not overlook the importance of language policy, which can influence the attitudes of the speakers of the languages in question through the ideologies from which it operates. It is also reciprocally influenced by the attitudes and ideologies of the speakers, since ultimately policies are established by speakers in positions of power. In fact, Kaplan and Baldauf stress that there is an important interrelationship between LPP and all of the previously defined dynamics of language change: [R]ealistically, language planning may invoke any or all of the following constructs simultaneously [. . .], each potentially impacting on a different language or variety present in the planning environment [. . .]: language death; language survival; language change; language revival; language shift and language spread; language amalgamation; language contact and pidgin and Creole development; literacy development. (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 271–272) One of the most critical processes in developing language policies is language planning, which is an umbrella term often subdivided into status planning, corpus planning and acquisition planning (Cooper, 1989). Language policy is a very wide field that covers a range of practices. Schiffman defines it simply: [T]he set of positions, principles and decisions reflecting [a] community’s relationships to its verbal repertoire and communicative potential [. . . These positions, principles and decisions can be] dichotomized into overt (explicit, formalized, de jure, codified manifest) policies and covert (implicit, informal, unstated, de facto, grassroots, latent) aspects of the policy; what usually gets ignored, of course, are the covert aspects of the policy. (Schiffman, 1996: 3, 13) Language planning, on the other hand, is a more formal procedure: a body of ideas, laws and regulations (language policy), [to] change rules, beliefs, and practices intended to achieve a planned change (or to stop change from happening) in the language use in one or more communities. To put it differently, language planning involves deliberate, although not always overt, future oriented change in systems of language code and/ or speaking in a societal context [. . .]. The language planning that one hears most about is that undertaken by government and it is intended to solve complex social problems, but there is a great deal of language

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planning that occurs in other societal contexts at more modest levels for other purposes. (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 3) Over time, from the mid-18th century all the way to the present, Quechua became ever less frequently used for daily extra-community interactions as contact between Quechua- and Spanish-speaking communities increased. Because of this, the language did not continue to evolve to meet new linguistic demands. Hence, for one example of the language’s weakness, today there are many areas of study for which Quechua does not have adequate vocabulary, such as the fields of technology and medical science.1 If the intention is to make Quechua useful for modern-day society and contemporary topics, language planning will have clear implications, and language academies are prime participants in language planning.

Status planning When we talk about the status of a language, what do we really mean? In general, status refers to the prestige of something relative to other elements of its environment, particularly in regard to power and social standing or class (Webster’s Dictionary, 1996: 1862). Specifically regarding language, then, status refers to the prestige of one language or dialect relative to another or others in its cultural milieu. This includes such topics as the functional domains in which a language is used and its linguistic culture, a term that covers language ideologies, attitudes and myths (see Schiffman, 1996, chap. 1), all of which are related to language status. Kaplan and Baldauf (1997: 30) emphasize that it deals primarily with the ‘social issues and concerns’ relevant to the language, and thus is ‘external to the language(s) being planned’. That is, status planning is not involved so much with the language per se as with the uses to which the language is put, how to influence the functional domains and prestige of a language (Cooper, 1989: 31–34). As Van Broekhuizen (2000) asserts: Much of a language’s ‘robustness,’ that is, its health and vitality, is related to perceptions of the language’s status on the part of its speakers, the community, and the larger non-speaking community, sometimes the dominant culture/language community. As part of literacy planning, Hornberger (1997) suggests that the standardization of the language, its officialization or nationalization and prescription at governmental level all contribute significantly to high language status. In other words, Indigenous communities should seek to have government agencies recognize their language officially at a national level and create some guidelines mandating its use. A language decreases in level of prestige when it is not officially recognized and when there are few sociocultural domains for its use. (Van Broekhuizen, 2000)

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Van Broekhuizen (2000) further emphasizes other points that I, and others, consistently make: the necessity of involving the ‘non-speaking’ community in efforts to revalue the language, the importance of official recognition and the necessity to expand domains of use. The current status of Quechua in Peru is in a state of flux, depending on what region of the country you are talking about and whom you are talking with. In any event, it can safely be said that in absolute terms, the status of Quechua is definitely well below that of Spanish, and much work remains to help both the Quechua speakers and the Spanish speakers of the rest of Peruvian society to valorize it as it deserves. Given today’s emphasis on economics and the market value of something in determining its prestige, political economy is likely to play an important role in any such efforts. In other words, for Quechua – or any other language – to become more appreciated, it will have to be viewed as a commodity, something with political and economic value in today’s ‘knowledge economy’ (Graham, 1999: 2). This is where status planning comes in. Thus status planning emphasizes the social aspect of languages, that is, their functional uses, more than the form or structure of the languages themselves. This distinction between social function and physical form is the delimiting factor between status and corpus planning, although ‘the distinction between corpus planning and status planning is clearer in theory than in practice’ (Cooper, 1989: 32–33). Kaplan and Baldauf (1997: 43) make the further distinction that although ‘status planning is often accomplished by bureaucrats and politicians, corpus planning activity must be undertaken by linguists’ (emphasis mine). This is another crucial point that will be taken up again and again throughout this work.

Functional domains Functional domains are one of the principal concerns of status planning. While there may be some exceptions, in general, the more public domains, or the more high-prestige domains, in which a language is used, the higher the status of that language. There are a number of commonly used paradigms that identify functional domains in general terms. The two that I found most useful for evaluating the status of Quechua are Stewart’s (1968) model, and the UNESCO model (Gadelii, 1999). Table 2.1 is a synthesis of them, including some entries of my own that neither source listed. In addition, the table identifies in which of these domains Quechua still functions in Peruvian society.

Corpus planning In addition to worrying about whether or not people will want to speak the language, planners must also be concerned with whether the language is useful for modern forms of discourse. Corpus planning is the area that is

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Table 2.1 Functional domains of language use Domain

Description

Official use

Language is legally appropriate for all political and cultural purposes nationwide. Official language often specified in the Constitution, which gives language statutory official status. May also be working official language if used for day-to-day activities, or symbolic official language if used, e.g. as a symbol of the state. Per 1993 Peruvian Constitution, Quechua holds statutory official status, but only in specific regions of the country. Mostly its status is more symbolic than functional. Language is used in written legislation, in sessions of parliament or assemblies, in promulgation of laws, in addresses by government officials to the public, etc. The few instances of Quechua in this domain in Peru are essentially symbolic. Language is permitted in or used by courts, in legal pronouncements or documents, in trials or other legal actions, etc. 1993 Peruvian Constitution and 2005 National Law of Languages gives Quechua speakers in court the right to have a Quechua interpreter. Language may be official in a given province or region, but not nationally. 1993 Constitution gives all Indigenous languages in Peru official status only in the respective zones where spoken. Language may be used widely within a region (e.g. rural vs. urban in a given province), whether or not it is also an official language. Quechua is in this category. Language used as medium of communication across language boundaries within the nation. This excludes languages already recognized as official. Thus, Spanish is not a language of wider communication in Peru because it is the official language. During conquest and colonization of Peru, Quechua was a language of wider communication, but not any more. Language is used as major medium of communication internationally, e.g. diplomatic relations, foreign trade, tourism, etc. English and Spanish are good examples; Quechua is not. For example, language used in advertising, tourism, administrative announcements of businesses, package labeling, instruction manuals, commercial printed matter, etc. Also signage, e.g. in businesses, airports, street signs, etc., and language(s) used in informal market sector. Quechua has limited business use in Quechua-speaking regions, e.g. weekly markets and fairs, and along borders with Ecuador and Bolivia. Some instrumental use of Quechua by Spanish speakers, who need it for their jobs in Quechua-speaking regions: doctors, nurses, teachers, lawyers, etc. working in rural highland areas.

Government use

Legal/court/ judiciary use

Provincial use

Regional use

Wider communication

International use Business use

(Continued )

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Table 2.1 Continued Domain

Description

Capital use

Language used as major medium of communication in and around national capital. Especially important in countries where political power, social prestige and economic activity are centered in the capital. Administrative Administration of all levels of government, but also of other use enterprises, e.g. health care, military, police, etc. Includes spoken and written language in these environments. In most Peruvian contexts, this language is still Spanish, though some patient information pamphlets may be in Quechua in rural medical posts. Group use Language normally used among members of a single speech community. Includes all domains within monolingual communities; only some domains in bilingual communities. Quechua still enjoys considerable group use regionally throughout Peru, especially in rural highlands. Education Language of instruction at all levels of education, including adult literacy programs and informal education sector, regionally or nationally. Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE), taught in mother tongue of each ethnic group, is now mandated in Peru; literacy classes also offered in Quechua in some regions. School subject Language taught as a subject at any level of education, although may not be language of instruction. Quechua is a school subject not only in Andean countries at various levels, but nationally and internationally as well, at university level. Literature Language used for literary, cultural, scholarly purposes or has a written literary tradition. Quechua is slowly building a written literary tradition, both as original works, and as other literature translated into Quechua; already has extensive musical tradition. Religion Language particularly associated with the ritual(s) of a given religion; e.g. Latin for Roman Catholics or Hebrew for Jews. Quechua used for some religious purposes; Bible translated into various dialects, but the language is not exclusively associated with any religion. Mass/social Language used in written press, on the radio and television, in media documentaries and films, phones/tweets, internet, chatrooms, blogs, tweets, Facebook, etc. Quechua is making some limited progress in this domain, but is not widespread. Language used in academic or professional settings, e.g. research Academic, publications and conferences. Also used in public celebrations professional, and public social and speeches (e.g. Cuzco’s Day of the Quechua Language), etc. Quechua is making some limited progress in this domain, but is not events widespread. Sources: Coronel-Molina, 1999: 166–180, 2012: 278–300; Gadelii, 1999: 6–7; Stewart, 1968.

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concerned with the form and function of the language itself. It can influence vocabulary and orthography development through processes of standardization, codification, modernization and renovation. Standardization seeks to establish or unify writing systems and lexicons, and codification is the process of explicitly stating and implementing those standardizations in written form (Cooper, 1989: 131–145). Modernization is ‘the process whereby a language becomes an appropriate medium of communication for modern topics and forms of discourse’ (Cooper, 1989: 149), while renovation involves: [the] effort to change an already developed code, whether in the name of efficiency, aesthetics, or national or political ideology. [. . .] The renovated language fulfills no new communicative functions. [. . .] Whereas modernization permits language codes to serve new communicative functions, renovation permits language codes to serve old functions in new ways. (Cooper, 1989: 154) Such renovation efforts could include attempts to replace or reform an already existing orthography, or purification of an already standardized language, for example in an attempt to eliminate loan words. Nahir (1977: 108, 110) talks about purification and reform as prescriptive moves, defining purification as ‘“correct” usage so as to defend and preserve the “purity” of the language’ and revival as the attempt to restore ‘old languages to their previous status’. Both purification and revival tend to be ideologically and emotionally motivated. Such a description fits the attempts at Quechua revival by the HAQL in Peru. In fact, purification, or linguistic purism, has traditionally been a major hot-button for many members of the HAQL Board of Directors.

Linguistic purism This concept, also known as linguistic protectionism, is just what it sounds like: a prescriptive practice that sets up one variety of a language as ‘purer’ or ‘more authentic’ than the others. Take British English for example: purism prescribes the King’s English as vastly purer and more desirable than Cockney. Purists generally take a dim view of things like evolving vocabularies, linguistic syncretism and perhaps especially loanwords from other languages, all of which are perceived to corrupt the purity of the language in question. Very often, such views have political or nationalistic motivations, whether these are recognized or not. Purists often claim to be protecting the language from the aggressive incursions of other languages that could be seen to undermine a significant mark of national identity. Purism comes in a variety of forms, which are classified as approachbased or goal-oriented. In either case, it can also manifest to varying degrees of intensity, and may only be directed towards certain specific subfields of corpus planning (lexical, morphological, orthographic, syntactic, etc.).

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Approach-based purism includes such forms as archaizing, or returning to some perceived linguistic or literary golden age; ethnographic, which tends to idealize folksy, more ‘countrified’ vernacular forms of speech and their associated folk tales; or elitist, leaning towards the more formal varieties of speech (again, the King’s English comes to mind). Reformist purism takes a more ‘modern’ direction, purifying the language of archaisms to create a break with the past; in this sense, it could be considered the opposite of archaizing purism. This flavor of purism can also be used to de-emphasize similarities with other, mutually intelligible languages or varieties; Danish and Norwegian offer a well-known example. Finally, there is patriotic purism, which seeks to exclude or eliminate any foreign element (Thomas, 1991). It is worth noting that there is often considerable overlap between these different categories; a single form is seldom found in isolation. Goal-oriented purism can be expressed through various paradigms. Democratic purism attempts to create a more inclusive speech community by encouraging the use of certain common terms across multiple levels of society. Unifying purism might seek to eliminate certain linguistic forms that serve to differentiate, for example, regional or professional groups (e.g. certain regionally used words, or professional jargon). Finally, defensive purism aims to protect a language against external threats, such as foreign ideas or linguistic items that might be perceived as a menace to the political or linguistic order. Prestige purism, contrary to what its name implies, is not the same as elitist purism in that it seeks to vary prestige functions of a language, rather than automatically seeking the most prestigious language. And finally, delimiting purism is in some sense the opposite of unifying, in that it aims to separate rather than unite. The varying intensities to which purism may be expressed are not as straightforward as one might think. Intensities range from marginal, in which speakers are not overly concerned with maintaining ‘purity,’ but rather, are more open to enriching their language from any and all sources. Moderate, discontinuous purism is a step up from this rather laissez-faire approach: there is some concern with linguistic purity over a long period of time, but it is not drastically pronounced. Trimming purism is a reactionary response to what may be viewed as a ‘dangerous’ situation: ‘corrective’ linguistic action is taken to prevent the development of a common standard language. The most common example of this is what goes on in the Nordic countries with Danish, Swedish and Norwegian. Evolutionary purism is seen generally only in the early stages of developing a written language, when there are no existent norms to speak of. This purism manifests to help establish those written norms, but after the initial stages when the norms have been established, the emphasis on purism begins to slow down. Oscillatory purism swings like a pendulum, going in and out of fashion, while stable or consistent purism is just as it sounds: there is little or no fluctuation in the emphasis on purism over time, the speech

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community’s purist tendencies remain constant. Revolutionary purism, also as it sounds, indicates an abrupt and often violent change in ideologies relative to purism. Ultrapurism represents the extreme upper end of purist intensity: any and all possible foreign loanwords are rejected or eliminated, from geographical and proper names to physical elements, chemicals, etc. Regressive purism, which eliminates very old loanwords, is a principal feature of ultrapurism (see Brunstad, 2003; Dorian, 1994; Thomas, 1991).

Acquisition planning Acquisition planning is the aspect of language planning that is most concerned with the speakers themselves, primarily how many speakers exist. This is the area that is most directly concerned with language spread and revitalization, through education or other means, as it seeks to increase the number of speakers of a given language (Cooper, 1989: 33–34). Often acquisition planning is intimately tied to formal language education, and thus it can be closely intertwined with educational policy.

Top-down or bottom-up A final point is the consideration of who is involved in the language planning process. As noted previously, very often language planning is considered to be the purview of national governments or non-governmental organizations (NGOs), and in fact, in terms of setting and instituting official national or regional policy, that assumption may be appropriate. The number of sociolinguistic and language planning organizations operating around the world today must be some measure of the truth of this (see Domínguez & López, 1995). However, as more and more research is showing, to ensure the acceptance of new policies imposed from the top down, it is important to involve the pertinent speech communities as actively as possible. In fact, in recent years it has often been the bottom-up, grassroots groups that have instigated movements and efforts that have resulted in new policies more favorable to their languages (see Hornberger, 1997). What case studies such as Hornberger’s (1997) and others in the same volume show is that the most successful language planning efforts in terms of implementation and acceptance come from joint efforts between bottom-up community groups and top-down organizations.

Note (1) For other important publications on language policy and planning, see Canagarajah (2005); Koffi (2012); McCarty (2011, 2013); Ricento (2006); Spolsky (2012); Tollefson (2012).

3

What are Language Academies Good For?

A Quick Trip Around the World Language academies have a long and varied history of contributing to the normalization and spread of the languages they represent. In fact, as early as the 15th century, Europeans were concerned with language standards. According to all the information I have been able to find, Italy was apparently the first country in which groups of intellectuals organized in an attempt to prescribe proper usage.1 In the late 1400s, groups of intellectuals would meet in various important Italian towns to discuss language and other matters. The Accademia della Crusca (the Italian Academy) was the ultimate outcome of such intellectual discussion groups, given official recognition by the Italian government in 1582 (Accademia della Crusca, 2011). France soon followed the Italian example. Their early efforts were similar to the Italians’ in the sense that not all of the groups of intellectuals interested in language issues were professional philologists or language specialists. However, in order to better control these groups’ efforts, Cardinal Richelieu granted one of them official status as L’Académie Française in 1634 (Edwards, 1994: 156). The Real Academia de la Lengua Española (RAE), Spain’s language academy founded in 1713 by King Philip V, was perhaps the most professional effort of all the Romance languages, at least at the beginning. It was not only similar in intent to L’Académie Française, but was greatly influenced by it as well (Edwards, 1994: 157). Later, in the 19th century, several Latin American countries also established Spanish language academies, in part as a reaction against the hegemony of Peninsular Castilian. Subsequently, many of these academies have begun to work together with the Real Academia to standardize Spanish throughout the Spanish-speaking world (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 249). Portugal also has its language academy, originally named the Instituto de Alta Cultura, and renamed the Instituto da Cultura e Lingua Portuguesa in 31

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1976. Portugal and its former colonial territories, where Portuguese is still spoken today, have somewhat followed the Real Academia’s example in trying to consolidate a general policy for the Portuguese language. In 1989, the Instituto Internacional da Língua Portuguesa was inaugurated by the presidents of the seven nations where Portuguese is the official language: Angola, Brazil, Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, Portugal, and Sao Tomé and Principe (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 249). These are not the only language academies by any means. Various authors document numerous European, African, Middle Eastern and other efforts to standardize, codify and purify their languages. For example, the Swedish ruler Gustav III founded the Swedish language academy in 1786. Sweden is still the only Scandinavian country that has a formal language academy. However, since World War II, all the Scandinavian countries have established language commissions. The first of these was founded in Finland in 1942 to protect Swedish in that country. Norway followed suit in 1951, and Iceland in 1964, offering protection for Swedish in those countries. Despite linguistic ideologies in each country that promote the idea that each Scandinavian language is distinct and mutually unintelligible from the others, there is in fact considerable overlap among these languages and they are more mutually understood than perhaps their respective speakers would like to believe. Thus, the Nordisk Spraksekretariat (Nordic Language Secretariat) was established in Oslo in 1978 to enable regular consultation among the various national commissions (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 249). The list goes on and on. The Hungarian academy was founded in 1830 and the Deutsche Akademie für Sprache und Dichtung (German Academy for Language and Literature) in 1949. The work of the Russian Academy, like its Spanish counterpart, was modeled after L’Académie Française; the Russian Academy eventually produced both a dictionary (1789–1794) and a grammar (1802) (Edwards, 1985: 29). In a later publication, Edwards mentions other academies and language prescriptive groups: Syria, Iraq, Egypt, Jordan, Ethiopia, Sweden, Hungary, Germany, Israel [and] Russia [. . .] have, or had, formal institutions charged with maintaining language standards and, even where no academy exists, one often finds official or semi-official agencies—in Kenya and Tanzania, for example—concerned with everything from language selection to purification. (emphasis in original) (Edwards, 1994: 157) Kaplan and Baldauf (1997) also mention a number of newer academies formed within the last 50 years or so; for example, Indonesia and Malaysia’s Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (Institute for Language and Literature). These smaller, newer bodies are generally responsible for dictionary preparation, providing inventories of acceptable words, appropriate meanings, and standard spellings and pronunciations. In some cases, they also create grammars

What are L anguage Academies Good For?

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for ‘correct usage’ and even offer ‘language advice bureaus’. Many attempt to ‘take the conservative view of language – holding the line against language change’ (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 249). One counter example to this tradition of resisting language change is the Japanese language academy, Kokugo Chosa Linkai (National Language Research Council), which was established in 1902. The Academy has deliberately identified scientific areas ‘in which [the Academy] wished to pursue development and [has] intentionally encouraged the growth and borrowed or created lexicon in the chosen areas’ (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 277). History appears to bear out the wisdom of their approach, since the reverse of this activity – i.e. attempting to prevent the incursion into the language of undesirable lexical items related to technological change – is generally much less successful, as has been evidenced most consistently by the Académie Française, ‘but also equally by the Mexican Academy, both trying to resist the incursion of English language and culture’ (Kaplan & Baldauf, 1997: 277). Not all language academies are so focused on preventing change in the language. Ha-Aqademia La-Lashon Ha-Ivrit, the Academy of the Hebrew Language in Israel, has a very recent and rather interesting history, in that it made great efforts to create and innovate with the language out of necessity. Without such efforts, it would have been impossible to revive the spoken language from its demise. Despite having only been formed in 1953, Ha-Aqademia La-Lashon Ha-Ivrit has made great progress in reviving, standardizing and modernizing the Hebrew language for use as a daily means of communication (Nahir, 1974). Other language academies include the Academia de la Llingua Asturiana, the Fryske Akademy (of the Frisian language) in the Netherlands, the Pashto Academy with offices in Pakistan and Afghanistan, the Sesotho Language Academy in Lesotho, the Telugu Academy in India, the Ewegbe Academy in Togo, The English Academy of Southern Africa, the Kurdish Academy in Iraq, The Union of Arab Academies based in Cairo, Egypt, the Urdu Academy in Pakistan and the Royal Nepal Academy (Domínguez & López, 1995: 485– 506). Additionally, a Google search for language academies netted sites for the Afrikaanse Academie, the Afrikaanse Taalkommissie (Afrikaans Language Commission), the Académie Africaine des Langues (which is apparently a collaboration among the countries of the African continent), Euskaltzaindia, the Institut d’Estudis Catalans and the Real Academia Galega. Many of these have similar functions to the more established European academies; that is, to establish and promote proper usage of their respective languages, passing judgment on matters of style, grammar, punctuation and orthography. Besides these European, African, Middle Eastern and Asian institutions, there are more recent language academies established in the Americas for Indigenous languages, demonstrating that Quechua is not the only Amerindian language whose speakers are interested in maintaining it. Some

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of these include the Academy of the Navajo Language, the Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala, the Academia Peruana de la Lengua Aymara, the Academia de la Lengua y Cultura Guaraní, the Academia de la Lengua Ñahñú, in which Ñahñú is ‘the Otomí word for the language and the ethnic group in the dialect of the Mezquital’ in Mexico (Lastra, 2001: 161) and the Academia de la Lengua Mapuche (Mapundungún, 2002).

A More Leisurely Tour: Points of Interest Accademia della Crusca (The Italian Language Academy) As noted previously, the Accademia della Crusca arose as a result of the interest of various intellectual discussion groups in numerous important Italian cities in the 15th century. It is noteworthy that these first intellectuals were not necessarily trained philologists or even trained in any specific academic area; they were simply educated people with an interest in the development of their own language and other public matters. Eventually, the king officially recognized the Accademia della Crusca of Florence in 1582, making it the first intellectual body devoted specifically to language (Edwards, 1994). The Accademia began its work attempting to purify and codify the language by writing a grammar and a dictionary. Although the grammar was never completed, a dictionary, Vocabolario degli Accademici, was published in Venice in 1612, with further editions published in 1623, 1691, 1738, 1923, and finally in 1992 (Accademia della Crusca, 2011). Lexicography continues to be a major focus of the Accademia (Edwards, 1994: 156). Today the Accademia della Crusca continues to operate as a non-governmental research organization with national scope and public funding. According to its website, the Accademia has a strongly academic bent and is one of the principal reference sources for research on the Italian language, particularly in the fields of linguistics and philology. It provides consultation services to the public in this regard, and also has a Centro di Studi di Filologia Italiana and an Instituto di Teoria e Tecniche dell’Informazione Giuridica. It is also concerned with the history of the Italian language, especially as taught in schools, along with creating a critical awareness of its present-day evolution, particularly within the context of contemporary comparative linguistics. Finally, the Accademia makes a stand for the importance of language policy in favor of plurilingualism, not only nationally in Italy, but throughout the European Union. It has participated in a number of international conferences and roundtables on the subject during the last 20 years or so. As all of this shows, the Accademia continues to act as an agency of language purification and prescription, while at the same time also moving out into areas such as language policy and sociolinguistics.

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The Accademia publishes three official journals – Studi di Filologia Italiana, Studi di Grammatica Italiana, and Studi de Lessicografia Italiana – which indicate its academically linguistic bent. Another publication that has quite a large readership, La Crusca per Voi (La Crusca for You), is more of a newspaper and is apparently geared for a more general audience. Their other publications appear to be primarily lexicographic or linguistic in nature. Finally, the Accademia has a webpage called Linguain Web, which is essentially a source of information on linguistics, in reference to Italian and other languages (Accademia della Crusca, 2011).

L’Académie Française Interestingly, although Italy was apparently the first country to establish a language academy, and in fact may have even provided the original idea for the Académie Française, the latter ultimately became the more influential and ‘set the pattern for many subsequent bodies’ (Edwards, 1985: 27). Owing in part to the perceived prestige of the French tongue, the Académie Française was founded in 1635. It was originally a private endeavor, but eventually Cardinal Richelieu came to recognize its potential for power, and thus influenced the Parliament to bring it under governmental control in 1637, so that he himself could control that power (Schiffman, 1996: 85–86). Some consider the French Revolution to be a status planning triumph for France, because one of the outcomes of this war was the establishment of French as the language for all education, administration, journalism, commerce, etc. in the country. The establishment of the Académie Française could also, in consequence, be seen as a major milestone for corpus planning. ‘It enabled and encouraged the development of new vocabulary, a standardized grammar, and a consensus about spelling’ (Schiffman, 1996: 86). Despite its reputation as a milestone for corpus planning, the Académie Française was not actually all that innovative. In reality, it did little more than give its seal of approval to ‘new vocabulary and certain new locutions (mainly syntactic constructions). [. . .] In fact, after its initial successes of raising the prestige of French letters of the 17th century, it quickly became a conservative body that inhibited innovations of any sort’ (Schiffman, 1996: 86). This could be owing, in part, to the fact that the Académie Française has seldom been in the hands of trained philologists or lexicographers, similarly to the Accademia della Crusca in its early years. In its beginnings, the primary goal of the Académie was to ‘reinforce its conception of clarity, simplicity and good taste. The forty “immortals’ of the academy were given absolute power [. . .] over literature and language” although only two men trained in philology or lexicography have ever been members’. The majority of its membership has come from social groups who would historically have

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possessed the ‘best French and [were] the obvious arbiters of good linguistic taste’, such as the church, the nobility or the military. ‘However, dictionarymaking does require some skill, and so it comes as no surprise to learn that the academy’s first effort here (1694) was “manifestly an inferior job” as expected from “a group of dilettantes”’ (Edwards, 1994: 156). In fact, although Article 24 of the Académie’s Statutes established the concrete work that the members were supposed to accomplish – a dictionary, a grammar, a rhetoric and a poetics – none of these projects has ever been completely finished. Despite their apparent lack of linguistic expertise, however, the Académie persists to this day, and continues its 300-plus year conservative efforts to maintain the purity of the French language (Eastman, 1983: 209; Edwards, 1985: 27–28), resisting all foreign borrowings, in particular from English. In such cases where new terms are necessary to prevent borrowings, the Académie does take on the task of coining new French terminology ‘for the products and processes of science and technology. It has thus acquired a modernizing function to supplement the original purifying objective’ (Edwards, 1994: 156). This function has also been extended to the Académie’s branches and offices in other colonies and commonwealths. For example, in Quebec, L’Office de la Langue Francaise produces ‘lists of acceptable terms for trades and professions, particularly those most susceptible to English influence’ (Edwards, 1994: 161). On the other hand, they have been quite active in lexicography, with the most recent edition of the Dictionnaire de l’Académie française consisting of two volumes with a total of approximately 23,500 entries; about 9500 of them are new terms. Ultimately, like most language academies, the Académie Française serves a prescriptive function, attempting to purify and codify both the vocabulary and the grammar of the language. Although there may be many language planning and linguistic experts in the world who are not convinced that the Académie Française produces work that is ‘good’, Eastman (1983) contends that, since such language planning is often evaluated not by experts but by the average layperson: high-quality codification is not required for a plan to be successfully implemented. It is sufficient, for example, that French people think that the Academy is keeping the language pure! Since the people think the language is pure, French is seen as unified and prestigious, and the speakers keep it pure regardless and in spite of actual Academy dictums. (Eastman, 1983: 209) Thus, the Académie Française is proof that a language academy can have an impact on national language policy without necessarily being comprised of experts. What the Académie does have that has helped it maintain its recognition and prestige is governmental support, both economically and

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juridically (see Spolsky, 2011 for more information on language acadamies and management agencies).

La Real Academia de la Lengua Española The RAE has a nearly 300-year history of establishing guidelines for the ‘correct’ use of Spanish orthography and grammar throughout the Spanishspeaking world, and in fact, its royal motto, ‘limpia, fija y da splendor, emphasizes once more the desire to clarify, purify and glorify a language’ (Edwards, 1985: 29). Contrary to the Académie Française, the RAE was not composed merely of language ‘dilettantes’, but rather of trained Spanish linguists. Very likely, this is why ‘[t]he work of the Spanish Academy is generally considered better than the Crusca or the Académie Française. It was the only one to produce a “reasonably accurate” grammar and its dictionary [. . .] appeared first’ relative to the dictionaries of the other two language academies (Edwards, 1994: 157). The RAE was much more productive much earlier than was the Académie Française, producing its first dictionary in 1730, within about 15 years of its foundation, and a grammar in 1771. The RAE has been very active in corpus planning, especially in regard to standardization. They have been doing this since their inception through the periodic update of their ‘diccionario usual’, more commonly known as the Diccionario de la Real Academia Española (DRAE), which has gone through 23 editions between 1780 and 2014, and of their Gramática, which has undergone a similar number of editions. Their self-styled masterwork, the Diccionario de Autoridades, was originally published in six volumes over the brief span of 13 years, from 1726 to 1739 (Asociación de Academias de la Lengua Española, online; Real Academia Española, online; Real Academia Española - Recursos, online). After Spanish America’s liberation from Spain in the early 19th century, the Real Academia maintained connections with academics and intellectuals in Latin America, and established numerous associated national Spanish language academies in the last quarter of the 19th century. Among these were academies in Colombia (1871), Mexico (1875), Ecuador (1875), El Salvador (1880), Venezuela (1881), Chile (1886), Peru (1887) and Guatemala (1888). The RAE’s efforts continued into the 20th century, with new Spanish academies being established in Bolivia, Costa Rica, Cuba, the Dominican Republic, Honduras, Panama, Paraguay and Puerto Rico. While all of these are considered academies in their own right, they are all formally associated with Spain’s Real Academia. The goal of this association ‘is to work for the unity of Spanish and to enshrine historically based standards’ (Edwards, 1994: 29). Thus, there are presently Spanish language academies in all 21 of the Spanish-speaking countries, including North America (Real Academia de la Lengua Española, online). The RAE and its affiliated American academies are very productive in terms of describing and prescribing the Spanish language on all continents

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where the language is spoken. This would appear to be a major difference between the activity and production of the French and Spanish academies. Such a difference is a clear argument for the importance of including trained linguists and language planners in the language planning efforts of any language academy.

Ha-Aqademia La-Lashon Ha-Ivrit (The Academy for the Hebrew Language) A considerably younger academy with an even more impressive claim to fame is Ha-Aqademia La-Lashon Ha-Ivrit, which was established in 1890 as the Committee for the Hebrew Language, and was officially recognized and funded by the government in 1953 under its present name. This academy has played a significant role in the revival of an entire language, Old Hebrew, which, despite its scriptural existence and religious applications, had been considered dead as a spoken language for a number of centuries (Nahir, 1974: 99). Of necessity, then, this academy was active not only in corpus planning, but also in status and acquisition planning, since it helped to move the language from a state of disuse as a common, daily vernacular (notwithstanding any formalized use in the religious domain) to the official language of a nation in the span of less than 100 years. Such a feat could not have been achieved by focusing only on the language itself (corpus), without concurrently focusing on its users (acquisition), and its dispersion and functions (status). The academy’s present goals and functions, outlined in its constitution, include: (1) to investigate and compile the Hebrew lexicon according to its historical strata and layers; (2) to study the structure, history, and offshoots of the Hebrew language; (3) to direct the development of Hebrew in light of its nature, requirements, and potential, its daily and academic needs, by setting its lexicon, grammar, characters, orthography and transliteration. (Academy for the Hebrew Language, 1998) Presently, its main purpose seems to be corpus planning, with major ongoing efforts in standardization and modernization. As Nahir (1977: 5–6) notes, lexical modernization is perhaps the principal function of the Hebrew Academy. Given the static nature of a language considered to be dead, modernization clearly had to be a priority, and in fact, the Hebrew Academy was active in promoting neologisms in its effort to modernize the language (Cooper, 1982: 29). The Academy tries to base its neologisms on already existing Hebrew or Semitic words, rather than on loanwords from other languages. In fact, it strongly discourages borrowing from non-Semitic languages (Mesthrie et al., 2000: 393). This is similar to the efforts of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), which strives to maintain the purity of Quechua by resisting the influence of other languages.

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Fishman, for his part, seems to downplay the impact that the Hebrew Academy had on reviving Hebrew as a spoken language in daily life. He asserts that the first Hebrew dictionary came out only ‘in alphabetic bits and drabs over a period of decades’, and that many of the neologisms it proposed were not well received by the ‘actual or prospective community of Hebrew speakers’. At the same time, often the Academy was not even active during the periods when revitalization was at its height, and if it was, ‘[it] was excruciatingly slow, pedantic, indecisive and argumentative in its operation’, and the publication of the Complete Dictionary of Ancient and Modern Hebrew did not occur for ‘two full generations after revernacularization had been clearly accomplished’. Fishman (1991: 300) also limits the function of the Academy to the corpus planning realm, and claims that both the dictionary and the Academy itself are better seen as ‘post hoc symbols of the revernacularization, rather than [. . .] as active ingredients, much less causes, of the vernacularization proper’. In fact, he gives the real credit for successful revernacularization to the ‘teachers and schools of the new Zionist settlements’ of the early years of the 20th century, because of their ‘ideological commitment, personal example, and pedagogical success’. Despite this disagreement over the true role of the Hebrew Academy in the revitalization/revernacularization of the Hebrew language, what is certain is that the Academy came to be a symbol of the vitality of Hebrew, much as the Académie Française is a similar symbol for French. This could be an indication that perhaps real and active participation in the language planning efforts of a given language are not as important for an academy’s success or for public language planning efforts, as is the perception that the speech community has of the effectiveness of the Academy. This could well be another significant point to consider in evaluating the work of the HAQL.

Arabic language academies There are three Arab Academies that have taken primary responsibility for various aspects of Classical Arabic and attempts to modernize and standardize it: the Syrian Academy, established in 1918–1919; the Egyptian Academy, established in 1932; and the Iraqi Academy, established in 1947 (Altoma, 1974: 302). These several Arabic language academies work more or less collaboratively throughout the Arab world. In addition to their primary focus on modernizing and standardizing Arabic, they also seek to expand its functional domains from primarily literary and oral domains to more technological or national ones as well (status planning), including the educational domain (acquisition planning). Although they do not seek to directly influence acquisition, their decisions generally become incorporated into praxis through inclusion in textbooks and dictionaries. Thus, they influence pedagogy in a modest way, ‘by providing [textbook authors] with guidelines for what features of modern usage they select, [and] also by protecting them

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against the criticism of extreme purists who deplore any deviations from established rules’ (Altoma, 1974: 302–303). The main thrust of their activities has been directed towards corpus planning, including dictionaries, grammars, glossaries of modern technological terminology and translations of other literatures into Arabic (El-Khafaifí, 1985: 40–43). In particular, they are concerned with resisting ‘the penetration of colloquialism from within, and loan words from without’ (Altoma, 1974: 302). Unfortunately for them, they have found it difficult to modernize Classical Arabic without making concurrent changes in orthography, lexicon and grammar. The Arabic Academies tend to be very conservative institutions, preferring to conform as closely as possible to basic rules of Arabic. When they accept grammatical features or lexical items, it is only on the condition that these ‘do not violate the structure of classical Arabic’ (Altoma, 1974: 302). They do not initiate new usages, but rather support what is already widely used and accepted in modern written Arabic, and only approve additions or modifications to established rules after exhaustive discussion. In developing new terminology for use in scientific and technical fields, they follow the guiding principle of using Arabic equivalents except when there is none available. Their conservatism, however, in addition to lack of staffing and inadequate funding, has made it difficult for them to be able to keep up with the almost daily growth in new scientific, medical and technological terminology. This has led to a situation where experts writing books in their fields may coin their own Arabic terms for such necessary terminology, which leads to duplication, not only of effort but also of terminology itself. Such complications highlight the need for unification of effort, standardization of terminology, and consistent and somewhat accelerated production, but it does not appear likely that the three Arabic Academies will be able to overcome their internal tendencies towards deliberation and conservatism any time soon (Altoma, 1974: 302–304).

Euskaltzaindia (The Royal Academy of the Basque Language) Euskaltzaindia was founded in 1919 at a time when Euskera (also spelled Euskara, depending on the dialect), the Basque language, was being proclaimed as a prime cultural value to be protected and promoted. A year later, they established the journal Euskera, which is the official organ for the publication of its rules and research work. This academy is the official academic institution that protects and promotes Euskera both philologically and socially. Like the other major language academies discussed, it conducts research on the language, in both its spoken and written forms in diverse contexts, and seeks to establish and protect standards of use. It is thus clear that the work of Euskaltzaindia is concerned with both the corpus and the status of the language.

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The Academy is composed of full members, honorary members and associate members. The full members constitute the plenary assembly, selecting new members and participating in the running of the institution. Associate members can participate in the working committees. This is a similar arrangement to most of the other academies described here, including the HAQL. As of 1976, Euskaltzaindia enjoys full official recognition as a royal academy in Spain, and as a ‘cultural association of public benefit’ (Euskaltzaindia), within the French Republic since 1995. It is also well known by the general population of Euskal Herria, which recognizes its authority in the standardization and modernization of the language, especially since 1968. The academy was briefly inactive during the years immediately surrounding the Spanish Civil War (1936 to the beginning of the 1950s), after which it was slowly and carefully resuscitated as an academic institution. In the following decade (1956–1968), a new generation of collaborators became involved, the language was increasingly being introduced in bilingual non-state schools (ikastolak), schools began making the first attempts at teaching basic literacy in Euskera and the Euskera press was revived. This resulted in an increase in written texts, whose dissemination pressured the Academy to update its prescriptive activity. The Academy members ultimately established fundamental guidelines for standardizing the lexicon, morphology, declension, conjugation and spelling of the language, between 1968 and 1973. It now boasts a permanent program of standardization and modernization of Basque, publishing two major dictionaries. The General Basque Dictionary describes both the dialectal and historical aspects of the Basque lexical heritage through 1970; the Dictionary of Standard Basque is more prescriptive, focusing on the contemporary Basque lexicon from 1970 through the present. Euskaltzaindia also explores dialectology in its linguistic atlas, published in 2001, and is in the process of producing a multivolume descriptive and prescriptive grammar of Euskera (Euskaltzaindia). Given the extremely technical and specialized nature of all these numerous activities, it seems safe to assume that Euskaltzaindia has at its command quite a large body of trained linguists. Certainly, from its website, it appears to be very well organized and one of the most active of the language academies I have found.

The Navajo Language Academy The Navajo Language Academy (NLA) is one of the few academies that specifically calls itself an educational organization. As with other academies, its prime objective is to further the goals of Navajo language scholarship and to strengthen the position of the Navajo language at all levels. Besides offering classes in Navajo, it is also dedicated to the scientific study and promotion of the Navajo language. One of its principal activities is its summer

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Navajo linguistics workshops for scholars, which it has hosted every year since 1997. This is a full summer program for the advanced training of Navajo teachers in Navajo language scholarship, curriculum development and research. Since it is a non-profit organization, the amount of funds it can raise impacts the programs it can offer, but when it can, it also offers theoretical and applied linguistics courses for Navajo language teachers. When the Academy was first founded in the early 1970s, its members, who are both Navajo and non-Navajo professionals, helped to organize and teach its summer Navajo linguistics workshops at various sites around the Navajo Nation, including the Navajo Community College. By the 1980s, the Academy had obtained the financial support of the American Indian Language Development Institute (AILDI) and could offer its summer workshops at area universities, including Northern Arizona University, Arizona State University and the University of Arizona at Tucson. The NLA is unusual among Native American linguistics institutions in that several of its members are native speakers of Navajo who also have advanced degrees in linguistics. While this may not be remarkable in other language groups, it is significant in a group as small as the Navajo. It is also distinct from other organizations that work specifically with and for the Navajo language, such as the Division of Diné Education, Diné College or the Navajo Language Teachers Association. All of these organizations, including the NLA, support Navajo language education. However, where the other organizations are strictly concerned with teaching Navajo speaking and literacy, the NLA prefers to teach people how to do scientific research on the Navajo language, to discover the rules and principles underlying the grammar. As such, its work covers complicated areas of grammar that are beyond the scope of other educational courses in Navajo. Students in their courses learn how to apply the scientific method to language studies, which helps them to build analytical skills, something that is not emphasized at other Navajo institutions (Navajo Language Academy, online).

Academia de las Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala The Academia de las Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala (ALMG), founded unofficially in 1986 and ratified in 1990 (Richards & Richards, 1997: 203– 204), is another academy whose focus is on more than just corpus planning. Its very existence is due in part to the election in 1985 of Vinicio Cerezo as president, and the concomitant ‘scaling down of the violent counterinsurgency campaigns’. Prior to his election, Guatemalans, particularly the Mayan peoples, had been persecuted and oppressed for years, with bloody massacres by the military being commonplace. With this reduction in violence, Mayan cultural activists, including those who wanted to promote the Mayan languages, could once again pursue their respective agendas. The ALMG was one of the items high on their list of

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things to accomplish, and thus it was founded in 1986 with the purpose of promoting a new unified alphabet for Mayan languages and coordinating linguistic conservation efforts (Garzon et al., 1998: 157). After its founding, the ALMG quickly became a major player in the revitalization movement, in large part owing to cultural activists’ heavy emphasis on the importance of linguistic issues. Because of its dedication to Mayan identity, this academy is deeply involved in work to standardize, promote and intellectualize the Mayan languages, as well as to spread them through bilingual education and other practices. In this regard, the ALMG, similarly to the NLA and Euskaltzaindia, is actively involved in all three areas of language planning: corpus, status and acquisition. It publishes a monthly newsletter in Spanish (since the Academy represents a wide range of Mayan languages, it was apparently not felt to be practical to choose only one of them in which to publish) called Tukul Maaya: Órgano Oficial de Información de la ALMG. It is also a novel effort owing to the fact that it has its origins in grassroots efforts by the speech communities themselves to organize and form such an organ to represent their languages. Members of these Mayan speech communities, rather than academics from outside their cultures, constitute its governing board. In fact, its articles of organization specify that the ‘High Council is the maximum authority of the Academy [. . .] and will consist of 22 titled representatives and their seconds, all native Maya speakers from each of the [respective] linguistic communities’ Ley de la Academia de las Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala (2003). Clearly, all of these academies are very concerned with standardizing the respective corpora of their languages. All serve both prescriptive and descriptive purposes, and function to varying degrees within the three realms of corpus, status and acquisition planning. In other words, all of the academies examined share fundamental similarities that offer a basis for judging the functionality and usefulness for its target language of any other language academy. This is not to say that all of these academies are identical, however. There are some important differences. One such difference that is very striking is that the academies that seem to be the most active, producing the most useful information and services, are those that involve trained linguists. For instance, L’Académie Française is one that even today does not involve trained linguists to any great degree, and it is also one of the academies that produces the least real information, service or linguistic investigation. The Accademia della Crusca and Euskaltzaindia, in contrast, are two examples of numerous academies that employ professional linguists and have completed some impressive projects promoting corpus, status and acquisition planning goals. Another difference between these various academies is the relative emphasis given to the different categories of language planning. The academies of the more established languages, such as Spanish, French and Italian,

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tend to concentrate more on corpus planning objectives, such as dictionaries, grammars and linguistic atlases. This is not to say that they do not produce in the areas of status and acquisition planning, but merely that they do not produce as much in those areas. The academies of more endangered languages, on the other hand, tend to spread their efforts more evenly among status, corpus and acquisition planning. This makes sense when one considers that these less widely spoken languages may be fighting for survival, and cannot afford to take a unidimensional approach to the task. In any event, these similarities and differences among academies offer varying portraits of what a language academy can be and what it can accomplish for its target language. These are characteristics that are worth keeping in mind in considering the work of the HAQL.

Note (1) Sanskrit is known to have had a prescribed grammar book since about 500 BCE (Pa¯nini’s As.t.a¯dhya¯yı¯ (‘Eight-Chapter Grammar’), which was itself apparently based . on earlier such works, but this appears to be one man’s work, and not a collective or institutional effort. (‘Pa¯nini’ – Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pa¯nini) . . (‘Sanskrit’ – Wikipedia http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sanskrit).

4

Language Policy and Planning in Peru: A Brief History1

Having previously explained briefly the dynamics of language change and language planning, it is important to provide some background on how these processes have functioned in Peru, and in particular in Cuzco. This will provide a historical framework for language policy and planning (LPP) in Peru in general, and the work of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) in particular. It will also help to elucidate a number of their positions, practices and ideologies, among these their opinion of their place in Peruvian history. As the saying goes, to understand the present, you must also understand the past. Despite the region’s long history of Andean cultures, Peruvian mainstream society seems to prefer to ignore its ancestral Andean roots, even when the multilingual, pluricultural and multi-ethnic nature of the nation is recognized at least de jure. This deliberate disregard is, in fact, at the very root of the diglossic nature of linguistic attitudes that characterize the country. It is also the reason that any language planning effort for Indigenous languages is so difficult to implement widely; it seems that no matter what efforts certain groups and language-planning organizations make on behalf of Quechua, they cannot succeed in changing the discriminatory attitudes towards the language, and by extension towards the people who speak it.

LPP in Incan Times Before the conquest, Quechua was by no means the only language spoken in the Tawantinsuyu, the name the Incas gave to their empire. Tawantinsuyu is Quechua for ‘the empire of the four quarters’ (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 165), and it stretched from present-day southern Colombia to northern Chile and Argentina, and from the Pacific coast of Ecuador and Peru to the jungles of the eastern slopes of the Andes. In total, it encompassed parts of six modern-day countries: Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, Bolivia, Chile and Argentina. 45

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Before the arrival of the Spaniards, numerous languages were commonly used in what is now Peru. Some estimates go as high as 200, although the primary ‘general languages’, as so-called by the Spanish conquistadors, were Puquina, Aymara and Quechua. Multiple languages in the Andes implied multiple ethnic groups as well, both before and after the constitution of the Inca empire, each of which experienced ‘differing amounts of internal [linguistic] diversification’. Over a period of about 500 years, the Quechua language diversified into numerous dialects or varieties (see Figure 4.1) – and some researchers would argue, into distinct languages – and expanded to the point where it significantly displaced Aymara and Puquina, even before the Incas helped it along with their empire building (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 14–15; see also Cerrón-Palomino, 2013). Although there is currently no way to absolutely prove the Incas’ linguistic origins, one current theory holds that when the Incas first made their way into the Andean region, they spoke either Puquina or Aymara (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 15). However, given the wide diffusion of Quechua – particularly the Chinchay (or Cuzco) variety – in the territories they continued to conquer, they began to use it more and more to communicate with their subjects. It was only towards the end of the Inca Empire, not much before the arrival of the Spaniards, that the Incas adopted Chinchay Quechua as the official language of state (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 119). The linguistic evidence cited by Cerrón-Palomino, and Heath and Laprade, among others, contradicts the hypothesis espoused by many cuzqueños, and held dear as a founding tenet of the HAQL, that Quechua originated in Cuzco with the Incas. Regardless of whether or not the Incas were the original speakers of Quechua or the primary force in spreading it throughout the Andes, their role in spreading it cannot be denied. The Incas had a language policy that supposedly required all subjects to learn the Chinchay (Cuzco) variety, a policy they deemed necessary to manage such a large, multilingual empire (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 16–18). At the same time, there is some controversy regarding the Inca policy towards the use of local languages. Many sources seem to indicate that the Inca rulers did not seek to exterminate the other languages spoken by their subjects. They merely desired that their subjects be able to communicate with them as well as with each other, which effectively gave rise to bilingualism (or bidialectalism) as a general practice. In addition, it seems that in practice, the policy of learning Chinchay was only enforced among the nobility, administrative employees, civil servants, technicians and tradesmen of the dominated groups, but not among common folk who were not likely to ever come in contact with the Inca rulers (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 16–18; see also Cerrón-Palomino, 2013). Not all researchers agree that the Incas maintained such a laissez-faire language policy. For instance, Heath and Laprade (1982: 123) claim that the

Source: Cerrón-Palomino (1987: 247). Reprinted with permission of CBC Centro de Estudios Andinos ‘Bartolomé de las Casas’.

Figure 4.1 Linguistic classification of Quechua dialects

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Incas were just as determined to impose their political power through linguistic means as the Spanish were a couple of centuries later. According to these authors, the Incas had a policy of erasing cultural memories of the tribes they conquered. They relocated newly conquered groups to regions where their power was already consolidated, and moved faithful followers into the newly conquered territories: In particular, the Inca forbade recounting tribal histories, and they initiated the replacement of other histories with their own relatively recently formulated history. They exercised fierce control over topics of public discussion and enforced a program to spread their language, Quechua, and to prohibit use of the languages of subjugated tribes. (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 123) Klarén (2000: 12–13) suggests a number of reasons for this conflict in available information. First, the only written records of the Inca empire come from the Spanish chroniclers, as recounted to them by the ‘native, Hispanized elite at Cuzco’. This implies a double filter: that of the Spaniards, who obviously had their own plans and purposes for any information they recorded, and that of the conquered Inca elite, who would have had a very different agenda from that of the Spaniards. In addition, the Inca dynasties never developed: a single official version of their past, as might have been expected in such a highly centralized, state-centered society. Rather, there existed different and competing histories derived from the households, or panacas, of the various royal Incas and their descendants who ruled the empire and conspired to assert their dynastic claims on political power. Thus control of the historical past and its different versions was a central aspect of the struggle for power. (Klarén, 2000: 12–13) Given such contradictory information, it is difficult to determine whether the Incan language policy was any more accepting of linguistic difference than was the policy of the Spaniards.

LPP in Colonial Times With the arrival of the Spaniards and their subsequent subjugation of the Indigenous peoples, the linguistic landscape began changing, and ‘the political and cultural unity achieved by the Incas was destroyed and, similarly, the attempt at achieving linguistic unity through the propagation of general Quechua was cut short’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 18). In the beginning, the Spaniards used Quechua as a lingua franca to facilitate communication

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with these new subjects whose only common language was Quechua of one form or another. At this time, there was no declared language policy (CerrónPalomino, personal communication, 24 January 2002), but the practical use of Quechua as lingua franca was a de facto acceptance of its utility within the Empire. At the same time, the very act of conquest, beginning with the arrival of Pizarro in Cajamarca in 1532, signified the de facto imposition of Spanish paradigms as the official way of dealing with the world, Spanish as the official language and the beginning of a true diglossic regime (CerrónPalomino, personal communication, 24 January 2002). In fact, the whole story of the capture of Atahualpa, then ruler of the Inca Empire, could indicate nothing else. Vincente de Valverde, a Spanish cleric and Pizarro’s representative, gave Atahualpa a copy of the Bible, and communicated to the Inca that this book told of all the teachings and beliefs of the Christian faith. Atahualpa did not understand Valverde’s language, and furthermore came from a non-literate society unfamiliar with the concept of books. Thus, he apparently really did expect the book to speak to him. When it didn’t, he became disgusted and threw the Bible to the ground. This ‘sacrilege’, of course, was all the motive Valverde needed to arrest Atahualpa, not realizing or not caring that the Inca understood neither the language nor the crime of which he was charged (Klarén, 2000: 35–37). By this act, Valverde clearly established the domination of the Spanish perspective over the Andean. At the same time, it was an indirect way of establishing the precedence of the Spanish language over any native language. Notwithstanding this original miscommunication owing to lack of a common language and common worldviews, Quechua, along with Aymara and Puquina, became lenguas generales, the means of communication through which the conquerors initially interacted with their new subjects. These three languages were used for administrative and religious purposes in the early days of colonization, although ‘Quechua, already an official language during the final period of Inca administration, was by far the most important one, followed by Aymara. Puquina and a score of other local languages gradually fell into disuse’ (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 167). As a number of Catholic priests and other religions argued, the Spaniards were hopelessly outnumbered by the Indigenous-speaking population and could not hope to use Spanish to communicate with the numerically dominant group. In fact, some priests of the time claimed that the area they sought to evangelize had as many as 700 different languages (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 123). Since many of these same religious had already started learning Quechua, they argued in favor of evangelization in Quechua to such good effect that they convinced King Philip II to declare it as official policy (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 182). A number of them, such as Fray Domingo

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de Santo Tomás and Blas Valera, held very high opinions of the Quechua language, considering it: completely adequate in vocabulary for workaday technical communication, elaborate in expression, pleasing to the ear, capable of expressing mood, time, and person in its verb system, and in every sense a complete language. […] Fray Santo Tomás reasoned that ‘as this language is so civilized, the people who use it must not be barbarians but civilized themelves’ (Santo Tomás, 1947 [ca. 1551]: 8-9). His Jesuit contemporary Blas Valdera [sic] […] went so far as to suggest that the learning of Quechua had a calming effect on such rude and savage groups as the Puquinas, Collas, Urus, and Yuncas. (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 128)

Councils of Lima Acquisition planning took a very interesting turn in the early years of the new colonies. Rather than being focused on the Indigenous populations, it received a greater boost from the Spanish colonists, particularly the religious. King Charles V in 1550 recommended that Indigenous people be given the opportunity to learn Spanish, but did not command it, and the religious leaders in the Andes therefore continued to use native languages. Rather than dedicating time to teaching Spanish to the natives, they turned their attention to ‘systematizing evangelical methods established during the first two decades of colonization and to standardizing uses of the Indian tongues in the teaching of Catholic doctrine’ (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 127). Thus it was that the First Council of Lima, an ecclesiastical gathering, was held in 1552 for the purpose of deciding the best ways to evangelize the new Spanish subjects. The decision of this Council was to use Quechua for purposes of catechesis, because ‘only in their own language would it be possible to transmit to the Indians the mysteries of faith and convince them to abjure their paganism’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 20). The First Council of Lima was followed in 1563 by the Council of Trent and various papal bulls and decrees that gave the Spanish Crown the responsibility of converting the natives to Christianity, and to use their own vernacular languages for this purpose, if necessary (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 122). There was an interesting proviso attached to the Council of Trent’s ruling that created a loophole for priests and other possible agents of hispanization ‘to ignore rulings favoring the spread of Castilian and, instead, to promote the Indigenous languages’: With respect to all rulings, local authorities were to evaluate the injustices or conflicts which implementation of such rulings might create. […]

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Consequently, local authorities had the power to accept rulings but not to excuse them, if they could claim that to do so would bring an injustice on the Indians. (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 122) There then followed two more Councils of Lima. The Second Council, in 1567, mandated that priests and other clergy carefully learn the Indian languages and established significant sanctions, economic and otherwise, for failure to do so (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 127). In terms of language planning, however, the most significant of the three Councils of Lima was the third, held in 1583. It was decided in this council to translate the standard catechism texts, known as Doctrina christiana y catecismo para instrucción de los indios (Christian doctrine and catechism for the instruction of the Indians), into Quechua and Aymara. This Third Council also established the committee that selected the Quechua orthography and vocabulary to use in the translations, thus creating ‘a new standardized form of Quechua, in which certain phonetic complications of the southern Peruvian dialects were disregarded in order to gain wider acceptance’ (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 182–183). Finally, it established the most vigorous of the regulations regarding catechesis in Indigenous languages, a move deemed necessary because so many of the priests who followed the initial missionaries to Peru did not share their passion for learning Indigenous languages and doing missionary work outside the Spanish settlements (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 127). It was also due in part to this policy that ‘chairs and underchairs (cátedras y catedrillas) of Quechua were created’, not only in universities, but also in religious institutions such as the Cathedral of Lima (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 20). The First, Second and Third Councils of Lima were very important in terms of early language policy favoring Indigenous languages, especially Quechua. In particular the Third Council of Lima made considerable contributions to corpus planning and the codification of Quechua, as well as increasing its status and its acquisition (see Mannheim, 1991: 66–67). In fact, although the Crown ultimately wanted the Spanish language to spread to all inhabitants of the new colonies, these new rulings actually helped both Aymara and Quechua to spread to new speakers and new domains of use, including ‘written materials, religious rituals, and sermons’ (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 125). In short, the Crown was promoting an additive language policy at this time, ‘in which some Indians, primarily the privileged, would maintain Quechua and learn Spanish’, but in general Spanish ‘did not spread into workaday technical uses for a majority of the Indians. It became the sometime language of administrative and judicial affairs, and the tongue of those who were able to gain access to the Creole class’, and was found almost exclusively in urban settings, churches and governmental units (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 136–137).

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Quechua as lengua general It appears that these language-planning contributions on behalf of Quechua were well received, as the standardized language was in use well into the 17th century (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 183). It is interesting to note, however, that this standardized version of Quechua as a lengua general slowly fell into disuse in favor of Cuzco Quechua, the variety previously adopted by the Incas as their official language of governmental administration. Adelaar and Muysken (2004: 183) attribute this phenomenon to the support of descendants of the Inca nobility and that of local clergy. Within the Spanish-speaking context, Quechua was spoken primarily by Indigenous and mestizo interpreters. Before the turn of the 17th century, even Spanish officials were using Quechua for political, economic and religious matters, which ‘continued the spread of Quechua which the Inca had begun’. Notably, this increased use of Quechua came at the expense of Aymara. It was about this time that Quechua established its dominance over Aymara as a lengua general and Aymara essentially fell into disuse as an official language of the state (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 125). Many of the Hispanic scholars of Quechua during this period made significant contributions to language planning efforts – and particularly to codification – in the development of numerous lexicons, grammars and other written materials in Quechua. In these efforts, the works of Fray Domingo de Santo Tomás ([1560] 1947, [1560] 1992), Diego Gonçález Holguín ([1608] 1989), Diego de Torres Rubio ([1619] 1964; [1616] 1966), Alonso de Huerta (1616), Juan de Velasco ([1787] 1964) and even Diego de Molina ([1649] 1928) are notable examples. There was also some literary production in the colonial period, which could be considered contributions to status planning as well as corpus planning. These include transcriptions of oral myths, folk songs and even some theatre productions. Best known of these include the work of Cristóbal de Molina ([1574] 1989), the Ollantay (Calvo Pérez, 1998), the Huarochirí manuscript attributed to Francisco de Ávila ([c. 1608] 1991), the literary works of Juan Espinosa Medrano (b. 1632, d. 1688) and of course, Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala ([1640] 1980). In fact, contrary to what many historians assert, the period between the late 17th and mid-18th centuries was a fairly productive one for Quechua literature. Mannheim (1991: 72–73) notes that a number of versified dramas were produced during this period, as well as the anonymous work Usca Paucar and most of the works mentioned above. Despite all of this literary and grammatical production and Quechua’s use as a lengua general, it is clear from an examination of who became interpreters or Quechua linguists that, in reality, the language was never widely spoken by the Spanish ruling class. Rather, a pattern was started that continues today: those Indigenous people most likely to have to communicate

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with the Spaniards were the ones who made the effort to become bilingual, or even trilingual in some cases (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 19), while most Spaniards remained monolingual. It was mostly the Spanish clergy who felt the need to communicate with the natives in their own languages for purposes of evangelization. In addition, at the same time that all of this activity in favor of Quechua was taking place, more and more Spaniards at the higher administrative levels began to insist that their new subjects – particularly the native nobility – learn Spanish to facilitate their acculturation and ‘wean’ them away from their ancestral cultures. In fact, despite the support that Quechua received, there were always other voices arguing against the use of Indigenous languages in any capacity in a Spanish territory. These anti-Quechua sources alleged that not insisting on Spanish undermined the empire-building effort. Furthermore, it would only encourage the Andeans to maintain their pagan ways, hindering the spread of Christian morals. Finally, the quintessential linguistic argument for Spanish superiority was brought forward: ‘that the Indigenous languages, though grammatical systems, were none the less “barbarian” languages and therefore unfit for conveying the biblical message which would run the risk of being distorted’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 21).

Bottom-up efforts and ethnic vindication All of the activities discussed so far were carried out in a top-down manner, originating at governmental and administrative levels disassociated from the reality of the Quechua-speaking peoples. This is not to say, however, that the Indigenous peoples were completely passive during this time. Throughout the colonial period, numerous uprisings against Spanish and criollo colonials were organized by Indigenous groups, which was also one of the factors influencing the attitudes of later clergy towards missionary work – it simply was not a safe activity (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 124, 127, 128; see also Klarén, 2000: 39–58). In fact, between 1720 and 1790, there were no fewer than 37, and possibly as many as 100, uprisings and violent insurrections in what is now the Quechua-speaking region of southern Peru (Klarén, 2000: 109; Mannheim, 1991: 73). However, these revolts generally resulted in negative outcomes for the Andean peoples, as the uprisings were eventually suppressed and the leaders executed. A further side effect of the revolts was to cause the Spaniards and criollos to harshly repress any future literary production in Quechua, as well as reinforcing their resolve and their efforts to eliminate the Quechua language. They saw such literary production as representative of political nationalism and revolutionary movements (Mannheim, 1991: 74). Thus, partly in reaction to these Indigenous uprisings and partly in response to the Spanish voices claiming that it was counterintuitive to allow Spanish subjects to maintain their Indigenous languages, in 1643 the Spanish

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Crown, under Philip IV, reversed its previous position allowing the continued use of Quechua. The king mandated hispanization of the entire population, intending to eliminate the native languages and consolidate all Spanish subjects under a single language (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 131). Given the Crown’s position on the use of Quechua, another eventual casualty of the new language policy was the Quechua language programs of many universities and religious organizations. The closure of the professorship of Quechua at San Marcos University was seen in 1783; it would not be re-established until the latter part of the 19th century during the republican period (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 22). On the other hand, what the Andean rebellions did achieve was a renewed consciousness of the Andean past: In its uses of the Inca past and its multiethnic character, [it showed signs] of the emergence for the first time of a protonationalist, counterhegemonic, and anticolonial political project for the Andes. Even though it was never able to articulate any clear vision of what exactly the postcolonial Andean polity would be like, the Indigenous nationalism that it expressed would be reformulated and rekindled at various times and places in the country’s future. (Klarén, 2000: 121) In short, these rebellions sowed the seeds of future Indigenous movements, many centered around Cuzco as the historiographical center of the Inca universe. The ideologies of these movements would ultimately serve the purposes of the HAQL in the 20th century. In the meantime, the struggle surrounding the overt policy of hispanization that began in the 17th century was a long and slow one. Despite Philip IV’s decree for mandatory hispanization in 1634, there was no institutional support for Spanish instruction, ‘and a series of summary decrees on language policy in the 1680s were to conclude that the early religious leaders had been too successful in convincing the Castilian Crown to hold a lenient and flexible language policy’ (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 131). Thus, it was difficult to enforce the repeated decrees over the next century or so that mandated the hispanization process, and Quechua continued to be used. At the same time, it was equally difficult – or more so – for Quechua speakers to find formal means of learning Spanish. Even so, these policies had a significant impact on official religious literature in Quechua, resulting in a decline in original linguistic work until about the middle of the 17th century, when such production virtually halted. During this long colonial period, two tendencies were predominant. The first was a more or less proindigenist stance according to which, even though official hispanization was never questioned, neither was a strong push made to enforce the mandates (Cerrón-Palomino, personal communication, 24 January 2002). Among these ‘proindigenists’ were the criollo priests who,

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as the Council of the Indies concluded, had been ‘negatively’ influenced by their close contact with the Indigenous peoples: ‘close association with the Indians had led far too many Creoles to accept not only the tongue of the New World citizens but to develop a sympathetic tolerance for some of their customs’ (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 130–131). In addition, despite the overt language policies to the contrary, the mechanisms that had developed in the 16th century for the spread of Quechua continued to exist and even flourish through much of the 18th century. The relative isolation of Indigenous peasants from ‘the major forces for change in Peruvian society’ helped them maintain their native languages (Heath & Laprade, 1982: 132). So apparently, there was a covert policy of ‘separate but unequal’ regarding Spanish/criollo and Indigenous/mestizo populations. This covert policy did not encourage social intercourse between the two groups, and thus prevented the spread of Spanish to the natives, and of Quechua to the Spaniards and criollos. With this fact in mind, one could question the purity of the motives of many of these ‘proindigenists’, since it seems likely that a good number of them were the friars who controlled fortified villages, or landowners who used the Andeans as forced labor. Thus, it was to their advantage for the Andeans not to learn Spanish and adopt Castilian living patterns. Their own knowledge of Quechua enabled them to more easily exploit the Indigenous peoples and consolidate their own local positions of power (Mannheim, 1991: 62, 65). At the same time, not all proindigenists were metropolitan Spaniards or criollos interested in maintaining the status quo. In Cuzco, the provincial elites made a consciously nationalistic effort to cultivate Quechua language and literature. Although these elites were criollos of Spanish origin, holding Spanish titles, speaking the Spanish language and accumulating their wealth at the expense of the Indigenous peoples: the landowners considered themselves thoroughly Andean and attempted to establish their political legitimacy by laying claim to the Inka past. […] When wealthy Criollos identified themselves with the Inka past, they did so to legitimize their possession of estates and wealth; to claim political autonomy from the Spanish administrative apparatus; and to deny any connection between coeval Quechua peasants and the achievements of the Inkas. To a great extent, the modern images of the ancient American empires are a product of the eighteenth-century imagination. (Mannheim, 1991: 71) These elites had no more intention of actually supporting an Indigenous cause than did the other ‘proindigenist’ groups; it was simply that they saw the advantage to themselves in promoting the Quechua culture and language. In this sense, it is difficult to determine why history should have considered them ‘proindigenists’. Perhaps a more accurate term would have been ‘opportunistic indigenists’. Nevertheless, these circumstances are cited

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as ‘factors in the emergence of indigenismo among rural landlords during the first half of the present century’ (Mannheim, 1991: 72). A critical point relative to what would become the ideology of the HAQL in the 20th century is that the elites co-opted a language and culture that was not originally theirs, ‘recreating the Inkas in their own likeness. They established continuity with the Inkas, but displaced them into the past, their past, not the past of Runa agriculturalists and laborers’ (Mannheim, 1991: 73). In other words, the Inka past on which many of the older members of the HAQL pride themselves is not a genuine one, but a more mythic one that was in some sense created by the Cuzco elites, and continues to be so even today. So their pride in their Indigenous heritage is actually a misplaced one, based on an invented or imagined past, and a highly romanticized and idealized one at that. Even so, such ideologies gave rise to some of the cuzqueños’ first really strongly expressed nationalist sentiments. For the first time, an organized protonationalist, counterhegemonic and anticolonial Andean political project emerged, with Cuzco at its geographic and ideological center (Klarén, 2000: 121, 128–129). The second tendency that developed during this time coincided with the policies established by the Bourbon rulers in Spain, which mandated hispanization of all Spanish subjects (Cerrón-Palomino, personal communication, 24 January 2002). This was the position that was ultimately supported by royal decree. Although Peruvian independence occurred within about 40 years of the final policies abolishing the official use of Quechua, the damage had been done: The Indian population, having lost the initiative and its leadership thirty years earlier, played practically no part in the independence movement and showed itself unable to take advantage of it. Whatever protection the Indians and their culture may have received from the Spanish colonial system, most of it was lost once the Andean nations were independent. The role of Quechua as a means of communication fell back to local purposes, its prestige lower than it had ever been before. (Adelaar & Muysken, 2004: 183) One significant effect of all of this was to demoralize the members of any remaining truly Indigenous political or liberation movements of the time, and greatly inhibited any action they may have wanted to take for quite a long while into the republican period.

LPP from Independence to Contemporary Times Peru was liberated from Spain’s control in 1821, but it was not a true liberation for the new country’s people. In fact, Klarén asserts that it was not

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so much an independence won, as an independence conceded, since it was the work of foreign forces rather than domestic Peruvian ones that achieved it: General José de San Martín from the south in 1821, and General Simón Bolívar from the north in 1824. In fact, there were strong loyalist factions in Peru, particularly along the coast and in the capital city of Lima, while the highlands, especially Cuzco, tended to have much stronger anticolonialist sentiments. It is worth remembering that the cuzqueños had expressed some sympathy, at least initially, for the Indigenous cause during Tupac Amaru II’s Great Rebellion, something which caused limeños to doubt that city’s loyalties during the struggle for independence. It is further significant that Cuzco was implicated in a number of Indigenous revolts, so Andean/Indigenous nationalism was always much stronger in the Cuzco region than in other parts of the country (Klarén, 2000: 122–124). This is another highly relevant clue in understanding the ideological differences, from multiple perspectives, between Cuzco and Lima, as well as the veneration of Inca elite culture by Cuzco elites and the future HAQL’s emphasis on Cuzco-centrism and regional ideologies. The reality of independence for most Peruvians, most notably the Indigenous majority, meant simply a transfer of power from the Spanish Crown to the elite of Peruvian criollo society, which adopted its social norms and values from the Spanish society from which it had arisen. As Klarén (2000: 136, 147) notes, ‘the creole framers of independence, under the influence of the Enlightenment, proceeded to invent or superimpose the idea of a single Peruvian nation. In reality, this was a fiction from which native Andeans continued to be excluded’. Furthermore, even the Indigenous elite no longer held the prestige and power it once had, and ‘all Indians were lumped together, in the eyes of the Creoles, as a monolithic, ethnic underclass’. In short, then, this period could be said to mark the ‘death’ of the grandiose, mythic Incas (i.e. the Inca past) that were so idealized by many of the Indigenous and indigenist movements. In its place arose the modern perception of all Indigenous peoples (‘Indians’) as a subclass of human beings not deserving of the rights and privileges of citizenship. Given this state of affairs, it is not surprising that for the remainder of the 19th century, official language policy continued to be one of hispanization and disregard or contempt for the Indigenous languages and the people who spoke them. In fact, the first constitution written in 1823: virtually denied Indians citizenship in the new republic, for they were prohibited from learning how to read and write, from owning their own land, and from exercising a profession with a title. As Méndez put it, ‘with the dissolution of the colonial state, Indians stopped being subjects of the king, but did not become Peruvian citizens’. (Klarén, 2000: 147; emphasis mine).

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It was not even until 1979 that Peruvians not literate in Spanish gained the right to vote (Mannheim, 1991: 77). At the same time, in the early Republican period, many Andean groups apparently fared better economically and socially than they had in a long time. This was due mostly to the economic and political decline of the hegemonic sectors in the post-independence period. Because of the numerous civil wars, the ruling classes were in no condition to enforce much of anything on the Indigenous groups. ‘Not until the revival of the state […] later in the century would outside pressures […] again be exerted on Indian society […]. Until then, the postindependence economic and political disintegration served to enhance Indian circuits and autonomy and generally revive Andean ways’ (Klarén, 2000: 147–148). Again, the center of much of this Andean revival was in the southern Andes, in the Cuzco region. This was another factor that could have helped to encourage Andean sentiments of independence and ethnic self-sufficiency, which have long characterized the high Andean zones (particularly Cuzco), and have possibly influenced Cuzco-centric ideologies. Notwithstanding such examples of Indigenous self-sufficiency, the hegemony continued to find ways to exert dominance over the subaltern natives. For instance, there was an interesting covert policy in place to ensure that the Indigenous peoples continued in their lower socioeconomic status in the new republic: hispanization was carried out through schooling. To learn Spanish, one had to attend school. However, the school system itself was elitist and did not encourage the Indigenous underclasses to attend. Thus, they were caught in a double bind: they were required to learn Spanish, but denied the means to do so. So ‘in a society where the individual retained his most elementary rights only through the official language, vast sections of the vernacular-speaking population—the very basis of the plurilingual society—were reduced to a condition of political nonentity’ and in the end, the indigenes learned Spanish the hard way: in the street, in daily face-to-face situations with Spanish speakers, and ‘always achieved in the most unfavorable conditions and before the disapproving face of the Spanish-speaking unilingual’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 23).

Modern indigenismo Nevertheless, Indigenous groups continued to attempt to assert themselves as they had in colonial times, although not perhaps with the same frequency. Throughout the 19th century, there were a number of rural peasant movements in revolt against the ambition and cruelty of the landowners. One important rebellion very early in the Republic was led by an illiterate Indian named Antonio Navala Huachaca in 1825. ‘Seeing no particular advantage in adhering to a republican order that denied citizenship to Indians, the rebels apparently sought a return to the ancient régime in which their status and position was at least recognized and, to a certain degree,

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protected by the state’. The rebellion itself was quelled, but its leaders escaped and set up a ‘parallel government’ that successfully resisted the republican order for 20 years. Such a sustained resistance ‘constituted a legitimate political demand by the natives to be recognized as an integral part of the new republican order’. At the same time, most Indigenous Andeans maintained themselves distant from the so-called caudillo wars fought by and among the ruling classes (Klarén, 2000: 157). This is one more piece of evidence that the Indigenous peoples did not passively accept their fate at the hands of the elites, but rather, were continuing to be proactive in their attempts to achieve autonomy and recognition by the state. Although all the revolts during the 19th century were eventually crushed, they brought to the fore of national consciousness not only the agrarian question, but also the so-called Indian question. They also gave rise to what Klaren refers to as the modern indigenist movement, which began in the late 19th century after the War of the Pacific. This was an urbanbased, liberal literary and cultural movement that called for the moral and material uplifting of ‘the Indian’, and was characterized by romantic and humanitarian impulses. The natives were viewed as objects of political and social reform, but the ultimate goal of the movement was to assimilate them into mainstream society (Becker, 1995; Klarén, 2000: 245). This movement, which continued into the early 20th century, purportedly sought to ease the plight of, and fight for, the rights of the ‘exploited Indigenous mass’ at the same time that they continued to be pitilessly exploited (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 24). Again, as in earlier eras, the Andeans did not always sit back and wait for others to resolve their perceived problems. In 1915–1916, another rebellion, the so-called Rumi Maqui Rebellion, was organized as an attack on two prominent landowners in Puno. Although the rebellion itself was repressed and its leader, José María Turpo, was hunted, tortured and executed, the organization that had gone into the rebellion had long-lasting effects. Turpo had been working with a man who called himself Rumi Maqui (Teodomiro Gutiérrez Cuevas), and this man continued organizing and mobilizing the Indigenous masses after Turpo’s death. He believed in educational and legal reforms for the natives, and his movement combined socioeconomic goals with a political agenda that included greater autonomy and emphasis on ‘Indianness’ in opposition to the elites’ characterization of them as ‘barbarians’. He even went so far as to set up a ‘government’ of the ‘Federal State of Tawantinsuyo’, and continued to harass ‘land-grabbing landlords and abusive local authorities’ (Klarén, 2000: 228–229). Meanwhile, Augusto B. Leguía came into power as president from 1919– 1931, and during his terms of office, he proclaimed a policy of ‘official indigenismo’, which gave stronger social and political force to the previously literary and cultural direction with which it had begun at the end of the 19th century. Leguía created the Office for Indigenous Affairs in 1920, and

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established El Día del Indio as a national holiday. ‘Both actions signaled the government’s intention of institutionally assimilating the Indian into the mainstream life of the nation. So did the official recognition of Indian communities in the new Constitution of 1920, the first such recognition in the history of the republic’ (Klarén, 2000: 247). Despite his apparent support for Indigenous rights, Leguía’s desire to modernize the country may have ultimately had a negative impact on the rural Andean way of life, including aiding the already slowly growing shift from Quechua to Spanish. In honor of the centennial of Peru’s independence, Leguía was determined to update and modernize not only Lima, but the communications and transportation systems as well (Klarén, 2000: 249–250). In connecting all parts of the country with better roadways, he ultimately made migration and communication among different parts of the country much easier. This brought the Quechua-speaking areas much more into contact with Spanish and necessitated that many Quechua communities adopt Spanish for economic survival. Hispanization was thus spread not only through the schools, but also ‘through other Castilianizing agents, among them internal migration towards the coast or provincial capitals, the growth of transportation networks, the revolution in mass communications in the countryside, obligatory military service, etc.’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 62). Leguía’s modernization efforts thus contributed to greater contact between Quechua- and Spanish-speaking populations. This led to a concomitant rise in Quechua–Spanish bilingualism among Quechua speakers and the eventual shift completely from Quechua to Spanish in many cases. In succeeding decades, the force of the indigenist movements faded and was replaced once again by ‘the old Hispanist position inherited from the colony’, which reconceptualized the ‘Indian question’ in terms of incorporating (read ‘culturally assimilating’) them into mainstream society. ‘The extension of the domestic market, in response to the pressure of capitalist development, and the education of the native mass were put forth as an alternative solution to the national problem’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 25). Experimental bilingual education programs were instituted in the mid1940s as one means of educating the masses. These first attempts at bilingual education were not geared towards maintenance of ancestral languages. Rather, they were transitional in nature, with the expressed goal of educating the ‘Indians’ in their native tongues while they were in the process of learning Spanish. Once they became fluent enough in Spanish, bilingual education ceased and they were taught exclusively in Spanish (Hornberger & Coronel-Molina, 2004; López, 1999, 2010). Although there did not appear to be any concern at this time for officializing any Indigenous languages, there was some small concern for having a standardized alphabet for them. To that end, one was proposed by Ministerial Resolution on 29 October 1946, but this alphabet was never enforced. This

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was one small move in the direction of codifying Quechua. A more successful effort was made later, during the military regime of General Juan Velasco Alvarado in the first half of the 1970s, resulting not only in a more uniform spelling system, but also in didactic materials and textbooks (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 25, 29).

Neo-indigenismo Velasco came into power in 1968 after a military coup. Although he was a dictator, he did seem to have the interests of the Indigenous masses at heart. For one thing, he included Tupac Amaru II alongside the familiar criollo heroes of Peruvian independence in an attempt to unify the nation in a ‘much more inclusive and popular fashion’ (Klarén, 2000: 121–122). Moreover, he instituted a nationalist policy to end feudalism in the Andean region, including agrarian reform and sociocultural and linguistic vindication of the Andean peoples, thus fulfilling the hopes and ambitions of previous generations of indigenists. Velasco and his proindigenous ideologies also provided a link from Peru to the international community. In fact, on an international scale, the decades of the 1960s and 1970s saw the start of what has been called neoindigenism (Cerrón-Palomino, 2002, sec. 3). Cerrón-Palomino (personal communication, 24 January 2002) cites the First Declaration of Barbados in 1971 as a galvanizing moment for neo-indigenism. Although this first declaration was signed only by ‘eleven extremely committed, but all-white, anthropologists and indigenists’, it still marked the first time that ‘an international forum focused on the need for the Indians themselves to take on the struggle for self-government, development, and defense of their own rights’ (Ramos, 2002: 255). The creation of the World Council of Indigenous Peoples in 1975 followed this first meeting in Barbados, and in 1977 another conference in Barbados convened an equal number of Indigenous peoples and whites. These Indigenous manifestos are a clear proposal to fight for their social and linguistic rights, and a rejection of any form of custodial guardianship. ‘In what was truly record time, Indigenous peoples of the Americas replaced their white spokespersons with their own voices, while the trend continues to move from assimilationist state policies to Indigenous demands for autonomy and self-representation’ (Ramos, 2002: 255). Velasco took the exhortations of these Barbados manifestos to heart with regard to the education of his citizens, passing the General Education Law (Government Decree 19326 of 21 March 1972), which instituted maintenance bilingual education. This decree stated, ‘Education will consider in all its actions the existence in the country of diverse languages that are means of communication and expressions of culture, and will watch over their preservation and development’ (Godenzzi, 1992: 62). The General also enacted

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Government Decree 21156 in May 1975, which promoted Quechua to the status of a national official language, together with Spanish, and also made the teaching of Quechua obligatory at all educational levels ‘Further, all legal proceedings involving monolingual Quechua speakers would have to be conducted in Quechua’. This law thus effectively extended Quechua to new domains: education and jurisprudence, ‘two areas where language had been previously used as a mechanism of domination over Indigenous speakers’ (García, 2005: 75–76). This was significant progress for Quechua status and acquisition planning. Interestingly, according to Cerrón-Palomino, Velasco apparently considered ‘Quechua’ to mean only Cuzco Quechua, without taking into account the great diversity present within the Quechua language. This attitude reflected what is still today a rather common perception. However, linguistic and philological studies of the time were able to prove the validity of other varieties of the Quechua language family, enabling the promotion not only of Cuzco Quechua, but of a number of other widely spoken varieties as well. While this was a positive move for the status of some of the Quechua dialects, it did have its dark side. There still existed the problem of interdialectal communication, for one thing. At the same time, increasing the status of some dialects ran the risk of further increasing the tensions and jealousies among the distinct linguistic communities of Quechua speakers, which already have a tendency to be fiercely loyal to their own dialects and view speakers of other dialects with disdain or even suspicion (see Hornberger & Coronel-Molina, 2004; Marr, 1998, among others). In any event, the Velasco government decided to proceed with the codification of the chosen dialects, which included Anchash-Huailas, AyacuchoChanca, Cajamarca-Cañaris, Cuzco-Collao, Junín-Huanca and San Martín-Chachapoyas. The experts chosen to carry out this work started with the development of a unified alphabet that was capable of representing all the sounds of the various dialects, including those found in some but not in others. After this, a reference grammar and dictionary for each of the six varieties was developed and published (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 61). Ultimately, however, ‘the measure to promote Quechua failed before more than a few steps toward its implementation were taken’ (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 25). In fact, Godenzzi (1992: 62–63) questions whether Velasco actually had the welfare of the Indigenous people at heart, or whether ‘these measures were nothing more than ideological resources, without any greater technical foundation than service to political interests’. By the end of 1975, Velasco’s reforms were causing growing discontent among the elite classes, including within the government itself. Velasco suffered a coup d’etat of his own, and General Francisco Morales Bermúdez instituted the next dictatorship. He abandoned Velasco’s neo-indigenist stance and made a call to transfer power to civilians. The result of this was a new constitution in 1979 that retracted the previous law, reducing Quechua and Aymara to

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‘official use zones’ and making Spanish the only official national language. Despite the overthrow of Velasco’s projected reforms, the former dictator’s actions still served the purpose of reviving linguistic awareness on the part of Indigenous groups. Thus, these groups’ future efforts to demand equal rights would include linguistic rights, among them ‘a recognition of Quechua as a national and official language together with Spanish and other Indigenous languages of the country’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 61). So although Velasco’s attempts may have failed at the official and political level, he did succeed in raising the awareness of both criollos and Indigenous peoples. In this sense he was ultimately a positive influence for the neo-indigenist movement. And although Velasco’s overthrow effectively meant the end of the reforms that he had proposed and begun instituting, at least at the governmental level, the ideas sown could not be uprooted. The government’s effective withdrawal from such stands and proposals as official Quechua and bilingual education programs opened the way for other organizations to come in and take up where the government had left off.

Beyond neo-indigenismo Institutions such as the technical cooperation program GTZ (German Technical Cooperation Society) and numerous non-government organizations (NGOs) took up the banner of bilingual education in collaboration with official entities associated with the educational branch. These collaborations were, by nature, local and experimental, such as the Project of Experimental Bilingual Education (PEBE), which was financed by the GTZ and based in Puno, one of the departments of the southern Peruvian highlands. This project offered a maintenance modality for bilingual education, in which children were taught both in their mother tongues and in Spanish throughout their elementary school years, in an attempt to help them maintain the former and become proficient in the latter. PEBE contributed significantly to Peruvian language planning. It contributed to status planning by valorizing the native language for use in formal education, a new domain for Quechua. Corpus planning received its contribution through the elaboration of textbooks and pedagogical materials in Quechua; as Cerrón-Palomino notes, ‘In this way, the skeptics were shown once again […] that the language could be malleable to the requirements of intellectualization via lexical elaboration and stylistic accommodation’. Finally, PEBE contributed to acquisition planning by revitalizing language use through the educational system and encouraging native speakers to continue using their language rather than shifting to Spanish (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 62). Once the term of the agreement for the experimental project ended, the government was supposed to take over the program and extend it throughout the southern region. It would seem, however, that successive governments

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never had any real intention of taking on the challenges of such a bilingual education program (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 62). García suggests that the government’s failure to take up bilingual education may have been deliberate: Gradually, the educational system came to be seen as a vital terrain that the state had to control and protect from the forces of subversion. In the 1980s, this concern was only exacerbated by the political fact that the leadership of Sendero Luminoso and many of its supporters had emerged from Peru’s universities and public schools. The schools, once places where Indigenous people could be brought into the nation, were becoming a minefield between the forces of order and those of insurrection. (García, 2005: 76) The rise of the guerrilla group Sendero Luminoso, their apparent connections – linguistic and otherwise – with Indigenous communities and their recruitment activities in educational institutions tended to give multilingualism a bad reputation. It should be noted, though, that although Sendero Luminoso’s members could and did speak both Quechua and Aymara, the guerrilla group did not have any linguistic or even truly indigenist objectives in their political agenda (see Shining Path and Indigenismo, 1998). Given the political climate, then, and despite the terrorist group’s lack of real linguistic or educational objectives, it is not so surprising that the government might view maintenance bilingual education as one more possible site of contestation, a divisory device that would only serve to further fractionate the citizenry. Thus, this was not a time when linguistic rights held great priority. Even so, some progress was made in the area of language policy and planning (LPP). Of particular significance to both corpus and status planning was the officialization of both a Quechua and an Aymara alphabet in 1985, under the first administration of President Alan García (1985–1990). It was a boon for corpus planning because of the standardization of the writing system, and for status planning because the alphabets of Quechua and Aymara were officialized in the legal code. Furthermore, in 1987, President García reopened the National Office of Bilingual Education, after nearly 10 years of inactivity. A number of conferences and debates were held around the country on the standardization of Indigenous languages, cultural identity and educational reform (García, 2005: 77). Under Alberto Fujimori’s first administration (1990–1995), Sendero Luminoso was finally disbanded and its leader, Abimael Guzmán, captured in 1992. Fujimori took drastic measures politically and economically to begin rebuilding the country, and received considerable international criticism for his decisions and actions. These ultimately paid off in a number of ways, however, with improved ‘roads, schools, medical and agricultural facilities, electricity and running water, and [support for] organizations emphasizing community development’ (García, 2005: 48–49). It was within this context

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that Indigenous rights activists again slowly began advocating for Indigenous linguistic rights. Fujiimori’s first administration oversaw the production of a new constitution, which included the right of the people to receive, and the obligation of the government to provide, Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE). During this time, a number of policies and new government departments were created by and for the Ministry of Education. These include the National Policy of Intercultural Education and Bilingual Intercultural Education in 1991; the Bureau of Bilingual Intercultural Education within the National Directorate of Early and Primary Education between 1996 and 2000; and the National Plan for BIE and accompanying program units for the children of the Andean and Amazonian Indigenous people. Following Fujimori, under the administration of Alejandro Toledo (2001–2006), the BIE program gained further legitimacy when it became a National Directorate of its own, no longer under the jurisdiction of another government office. This move also increased its capacity for intervention, which it promptly exercised by forming a National Consulting Committee for BIE, composed of Indigenous professionals and non-Indigenous experts, establishing the National Policy on Languages and Cultures in Education, and outlining a plan for the future development of BIE and intercultural education. Subsequently, all the policies established by the Ministry of Education in previous years were rolled into the National Law of Education in 2003, which ‘recognizes and guarantees the right of Indigenous peoples to an education equivalent to the rest of the national community’. In other words, there was now some possibility for continued advancement in regard to linguistic rights. Not only have new laws been passed regarding the need for education in students’ native languages, but also for teachers to speak the language of the region in which they teach. In addition, training in BIE is available to the teachers, which has enabled them to fulfill the letter of the law (Ley No. 28044, 2003: Art. 19–20). Furthermore, a new law was passed in 2003, known as the Ley Nacional de Lenguas, which is meant to further the recognition, promotion, revalorization and revitalization of Indigenous languages at the national level and in public and administrative spheres. This law was designed to make explicit the linguistic legal rights of non-Spanish-speaking Peruvian citizens (Ley No. 28106, Ley Nacional de Lenguas, 2003). Since 2001, BIE has gained greater acceptance among Indigenous organizations and indigenist advocates. They see it as ‘an integral part of the struggle for both cultural and political rights. In fact, BIE has become a phrase pointing to broader concerns over democracy, self-determination, citizenship, and social justice’ (García, 2005: 82). Even so, many highland communities still reject the idea of it (or bilingual education of any sort), thinking that the activists and educators seeking to implement these programs are simply ‘outsiders trying to impose disadvantageous educational changes’. They

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argue that to become fully accepted members of the nation, they need to be proficient in Spanish, and learning in Quechua will take this opportunity away from them (García, 2005: 92). Interestingly, these are the same reactions that Hornberger (1988) found over 30 years ago when she did research on the PEBE program in Puno. Zúñiga et al., however, have a different perception of the situation, based on the outcomes of innumerable conversations with parents and teachers in different Andean zones: The majority of parents, and even more so the teachers, admit bluntly that Quechua- and Aymara-speaking children learn better if they are taught in their Indigenous languages and Spanish; in other words, if the pedagogy that is planned and developed is bilingual. The demand for bilingual education is, then, in the majority in all the departments. (Zúñiga et al., 2000: 67) Regardless of the point of view expressed by activists, educators and Quechua parents, these observations all highlight the interconnectedness that language policy can have with the rest of the sociopolitical and cultural spectrum. They also underline its perceived relevance to a given group’s sense of belonging, whether that be to the Quechua community, the Peruvian nation or some desired combination of both. Also under Toledo’s administration, in 2001, Executive Order No. 1112001 PCM, created the National Commission of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples (CONAPA). CONAPA’s objective was to promote, coordinate, direct, execute, supervise and evaluate the policies, programs and projects pertinent to Indigenous populations and communities, within the framework of the norms and principles established by international treaties. This institution worked intensively in four thematic areas: (a) constitution and governability, (b) territoriality and biodiversity, (c) sustainable economic development with identity, and (d) promotion and conservation of all Peruvian peoples’ cultural patrimony. In 2005, on the initiative of the Executive branch and with the approval of Congress, Law No. 28495 created the National Institute for the Development of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples (online), which replaced CONAPA and institutionalized an Indigenous presence in the decisions of the Peruvian State (Ley No. 28495, INDEPA, 2005). The second administration of Alan García (2006–2011) was tainted by a series of confrontations with Indigenous peoples. For example, broad sections of Peruvian society took to the streets in protest of his administration’s policies. The events that took place in Bagua are a prominent example, as are the Indigenous protests in Cuzco against mining concessions, and their demands for passing a new Water Resources Law that declares water a national resource with its usage regulated by the state. His administration also refused to stop its goal of extracting resources from the Amazon.

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Despite all the negatives of García’s second administration, one good thing to come out of it was the Ministry of Culture, created 21 July 2010 through Law No. 29565 (Congreso de la República). This Ministry belongs to the Executive Branch and is responsible for anything related to the culture of the country, in particular in the following areas: (1) material and immaterial national cultural patrimony; (2) contemporary cultural creation and performing arts; (3) cultural administration and industries; and (4) national ethnic and cultural plurality. Its goal is to carry out these aims by valorizing cultural diversity and promoting equal rights among all citizens, which specifically includes the right to their own customs and values (Perú Ministerio de Cultura, online). The next year, in July 2011, Law No. 29735, the Law Regulating the Use, Preservation, Development, Recuperation, Promotion and Spread of the Originary Languages of Peru, was passed. This law guarantees the individual and collective linguistic rights, originally granted in Article 48 of the Peruvian Constitution, and reinstates the Indigenous languages as official, together with Spanish, in their regions of predominant use. In addition, the Office of the Ombudsman, which was created in 1996 in accordance with the 1993 Constitution, published Report No. 152, entitled ‘Thoughts on a National Policy on Bilingual Intercultural Education for the Indigenous Peoples of Peru’, which recommends that education take place in the native language of the students, and suggests implementation strategies for the State (Aportes para una Política Nacional, 2011). In 2011, the Regional Government of Puno promulgated Regional Ordinance No. 017-2011-GRP/CR officializing Quechua and Aymara in the Puno region with the goal of giving access to equal opportunities, including the Indigenous populations of the region. The first article of the ordinance states that the officialization of Quechua and Aymara in the Puno region is in recognition of the pluricultural and multilingual nature of the inhabitants of the entire high plateau region, which thus involves the use of these languages (in speaking and writing) in all 13 provinces of the Puno region. According to the ordinance’s second article, the Director of Social Development, together with the Puno Regional Office of Education and the region’s public and private universities, will be the ones in charge of teaching Quechua and Aymara progressively at all educational levels. In these ways, the ordinance will contribute to enriching the Regional Curricular Project, an intercultural and development curriculum for the Puno region that is responsible for elaborating BIE in elementary education, in both public and private educational institutions (Ordenanza Regional No. 0172011-GRP/CR, 2011). Under the current administration of Ollanta Humala (2011–present), politics has swung both to the right and to the left. His government thus far has been inundated by a series of social protests by Indigenous communities and organizations, in particular against the environmental damages of mining projects in various areas in the high plateau regions. Despite these

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political swings and social protests, in September 2012, the Peruvian Congress approved Law No. 29785, the Law of the Right to Prior Consultation by Indigenous or Original Peoples (Ley No. 29785). In essence, this law guarantees Indigenous peoples the right to be consulted prior to any administrative or legislative action that directly affects them, particularly with respect to ‘their physical existence, cultural identity, quality of life, or development’ (Ley No. 29785, 2012: Art. 2). Different individuals and Indigenous organizations have raised their voices on numerous occasions because of the government’s oft-repeated failures to comply with this law. A high-profile example is Indigenous communities’ struggles to end the exploitive mining projects that usurp their lands, corrupt the natural environment and transform their way of life because of pollution and major physical upheavals in the land (for a detailed critical analysis of this law and its failures, see Gamboa & Snoeck, 2012). That same year, Resolution No. 001-2012-VMI-MC of the Vice-Ministry created the Register of Interpreters of Indigenous or Original Languages and the Register of Facilitators, under the oversight of the General Office of Interculturality and Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which is under the Ministry of Culture. This registry is one of the Ministry of Culture’s most important achievements on behalf of Peru’s Indigenous languages, since it promotes courses to train Indigenous language interpreters to help with the process of prior consultations. They have taught six courses since their inception, and have selected and trained a good number of people to work in the following languages: Achuar, Ashaninka, Awajun, Aymara, Booraa, Cashinahua, Candozi, Kichua, Kukama/Kukamiria, Matses, Matsigenka, Murui/Muinami, Monatsigenka, Quechua, Shawi, Shipibo/Konibo, Tikuna, Wampis, Yanesha,Yine, among others. The coursework covers various topics related to translation, interpretation and the rights of Indigenous peoples. Those who receive training and certification will participate in future sessions of prior consultation, and will also be able to perform different tasks as translators and interpreters, with respect to the processes and documents created by different divisions of the state (Resolución Viceministerial No 001-2012-VMI-MC, 2012). In recent years, Peru’s Ministry of Education has developed teaching guidelines for the BIE teachers, as well as designing educational materials (workbooks) in many Indigenous languages and in Spanish as a second language (elementary and intermediate levels). These materials were distributed nationally in the following languages: Achuar, Ancash Quechua, Ashaninka, Awajun, Ayacucho Quechua, Aymara, Bora, Cuzco Quechua, Matsiguenga, Matses, San Martín Quechua, Shawi, Shipibo, Wampis, and Spanish as a second language. At the same time, it bears mentioning that of the 47 Indigenous languages that exist in Peru, 20 of them already have standardized alphabets and five more (Cashinahua, Murui-Muinan, Sharanahua, Secoya and

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Wampis) are being standardized by their own speakers. Languages with official alphabets are Quechua and Aymara (1985), Harakbut and Ese Eja (2006), Shipibo-Konibo (2007), Yine and Ashaninka (2008), Kakataibo, Matsigenka, Kandozi-Chapra and Awajún (2009), Jaqaru and Shawi (2010), Nomatsigenga and Yanesha (2011), Cashinahua (2012) and Wampis, Secoya, Murui-Muinan and Sharanahua (2013). The goal of this work is to produce texts and educational materials in native languages to guarantee the right to an education in the language and culture of one’s childhood (Perú Ministerio de Educación: Dirección General de Educación Intercultural, Bilingüe y Rural, online).

Education and diglossia It seems, then, that Peru’s government does appear to at least be attempting to create a more open society, with equal access and rights for all. With all of the new organizations and governmental departments that have been formed, new laws passed and new materials prepared, it remains to be seen just how well they will be implemented and efforts maintained. Although teachers may understand the native languages of their students to some degree, there are still significant lacks, among them supplies, materials and the appropriate intercultural pedagogical training. Despite the many laws that have been passed, it takes time and resources to implement such new policies, and even more time to change old patterns of thinking. Currently, public education is available and even required for all school-age children in Peru. However, until fairly recently, this education was widely available only in Spanish, with few allowances made for monolingual students who did not understand Spanish. The few bilingual education situations in previous decades were scattered and experimental. Such a situation immediately put non-Spanish-speaking students at a clear disadvantage, and at the same time, communicated to them the lack of value of the language they spoke. It could well be this aspect that caused many of the parents to reject bilingual education in any form. This is an example of covert language policy: education in Spanish was taken for granted but not institutionally mandated. In other words, the justification of its use was ‘implicit, informal, unstated, de facto …’ (Schiffman, 1996: 13). It also exemplifies a subtle way of devaluing the language, which directly concerns linguistic status. In fact, even in these times of cultural and ethnic awareness and vindication in other areas of the world, linguistic concerns do not generally take high precedence: Neoliberal politics and global economics think they see in multilingualism a traditional bad habit common of fourth-world countries just when highly industrialized Europe takes note of the increase in ethnic and nationalist self-affirmations that flaunt their languages as an indisputable sign of their identity. As for the rest, it would be a mistake to think that

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assimilationist ideologies have come exclusively from the more conservative sectors of the country, since even the programs of ultra-leftist movements never considered the vindication of ancestral languages, tacitly assuming Spanish as the national language. (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 63) Obviously, such devaluation of Quechua did not arise only with the introduction of public education in the 19th century. Over the last 500 years or so, the Spaniards have slowly inculcated their own negative opinions of the Quechua language into the native speakers, thus achieving the lowering of that language’s status to the point where many speakers are ashamed to use it. This has been true in spite of whatever official status Quechua may have had.

Recent language planning efforts However, the renewed efforts being made to design and implement BIE curricula contribute to attempts to revalorize Quechua, which further both status and acquisition planning goals. Other recent initiatives include the top-down planning implied in the constitutional and juridical measures previously mentioned; greater inclusion of Indigenous languages in mass media and technology, particularly radio and in some areas newspapers; and increasing exposure on the internet and social media (Coronel-Molina, 2005, 2012). Even the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) is making its contributions to LPP, at least at the regional level in Cuzco. Owing to migration to the coastal cities in search of a better life, the absolute number of Quechua speakers in Lima and Callao has increased greatly in recent decades, and in fact the percentage of Quechua speakers (relative to the total population of a given area) is higher there than anywhere else in Peru (Chirinos Rivera, 2001: 118). However, their presence in these cities does not mean that the language is becoming more valued there; rather, although they may still be considered Quechua speakers by themselves and others, the pressure not to speak Quechua in coastal cities is a driving factor in language shift and death among Quechua speech communities in these regions (Marr, 1998). In fact, in the department of Lima, only 1% of the population born within the department is considered to be mother-tongue speakers of Quechua – and those are from more rural provinces within the department of Lima, such as Cajatambo, Huaura, Huaral, Oyón and Yauyos (Chirinos Rivera, 2001: 119). And the fact that they are native speakers of Quechua does not mean that they necessarily speak it freely and proudly in public. This is true because the covert policies of the citizens themselves are much more powerful than any governmental decree, simply because they are based on unconscious, unrecognized attitudes and ideologies that generally lead to linguistic discrimination. Godenzzi (1997: 240) highlights how such linguistic discrimination tends to have far-reaching societal effects: ‘The southern Andean region constitutes an area of strict social hierarchy, with

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the cultural and linguistic diversity of the Quechua population often serving as a pretext for social discrimination and exclusion from national political life’. This is not surprising, since ‘bilingualism does not support Quechua or Aymara; on the contrary, it erodes them: this is a natural consequence of the struggle between unequally equipped languages and societies’ (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 27). Unquestionably, Quechua speakers are being told without words that their language is not a valuable resource for participation in national life. This is a very clear illustration of diglossic attitudes in action. Over the course of history, then, we see the dominant class placing a progressively decreasing value on the Quechua language in Andean societies. Through both covert and overt language policies in force at all levels of society, this devaluation has been communicated to the speakers of that language. They have been effectively convinced that in order to survive, especially in the cities where there is the greatest chance to earn more than a subsistence living, it is best to speak Spanish and perhaps to forget that they ever spoke Quechua. Such economic and social forces are contributing to the slow death of all varieties of Quechua, and the current trend to try to revitalize them faces a difficult challenge, one which the HAQL seeks to confront. On the other hand, there have been, and continue to be, specific, concrete language planning efforts for Quechua, particularly in the 20th century. Corpus planning has probably received the most attention, with focus on standardizing the written language both orthographically and lexically. Cerrón-Palomino (1989: 28) points out that such work is critical for the maintenance of Quechua, since an oral language will always be at a disadvantage when faced with a written language in unequal diglossic situations. In fact, ‘the fact that a language such as Quechua does not have a vast written tradition was used as one more argument to denigrate it’. However, considerable work has also been done in the areas of status planning and acquisition planning in Peru, as evidenced by all of the language laws and bilingual education efforts discussed above. And in recent years, the presence of Quechua has grown a little even in the bigger cities. Surprisingly, this is thanks in part to different musical genres being produced in that language, especially in Lima. Young Andean musicians now living in the cities are producing everything from rock and roll, through salsa, hip hop and rap, to ballads, technocumbia and even country music. Mass and social media, software and even mobile technologies, such as cellphones, iPads, iPods, etc., are opening their doors to Quechua. This means that recently, despite all the limitations, Quechua is gradually crossing the digital divide. Without doubt, media and technology are powerful allies for language maintenance, promotion and revitalization (see Coronel-Molina, 2005, 2012; Hornberger & Coronel-Molina, 2004).

Note (1) Part of the content of this chapter appeared in Coronel-Molina (2011). By permission of Oxford University press, USA.

Part 2 High Academy of the Quechua Language: Foundations

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Quest for Official Recognition

Into the situation described in the previous chapter, the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) has inserted itself as one of the players in the very serious game of language preservation. Cuzco, being is one of the urban areas that appears to have a greater appreciation for Quechua, seemed a logical choice as the home of the Academy. The city (and the department) is located in the Andean highlands, and during precolonial times, it was the seat of the Quechua-speaking Inca Empire. As colonization began, the Spaniards originally settled the coastal regions, and Quechua began to lose ground along the coast. Meanwhile, the highlands, particularly in southern Peru, were not as easily accessible for colonization as the coast, and Quechua maintained a stronghold. Cuzco, and southern Peru in general, has continued to be the region where the language has remained most vital. While Spanish is the primary language for daily business within the city of Cuzco itself, it is not unusual to hear Quechua spoken in the streets, unlike in many other cities. Likewise, the further from the city that one travels within the department of Cuzco, the more Quechua one hears in regular use. In fact, department-wide, Quechua is spoken among more than 60% of the inhabitants, although the number is considerably higher in the countryside than in the cities (Chirinos Rivera, 2001: 81). All of these facts made Cuzco a logical choice for establishing a Quechua language academy. However, despite such seemingly obvious decisions, the road to the Academy’s foundation and recognition was often a rocky one.

Founding the Academy as an Institution The HAQL was originally established as the Academia Peruana de la Lengua Quechua (Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language, or PAQL) in 1953, its original Statutes were approved in 1954, and it was recognized by the federal government in Law No. 13059 in 1958. The timing was ideal for the creation of such an institution. With Indigenous issues in the public eye throughout much of the first half of the century, the new Academy could be sure of achieving a degree of recognition that would help to assure its continued success. 75

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Recall from the previous chapter that indigenism as a social and literary movement had begun towards the end of the 19th century, bringing public attention to Indigenous issues. This movement had two distinct periods. Indigenismo per se held sway from about 1909–1930. It ‘considered conquest and colonization to have caused the racial and cultural decline of the Indigenous populations’ and tended to hold a romanticized, atemporal view of the ‘pure’ Inca culture. Mestizaje was not considered a desirable state within this paradigm. The value of ‘purity’ was extended to the language, because, as Luis Valcárcel believed, ‘cultural mestizaje does not produce anything but deformities, and [. . .] it is necessary to work on the purification of the language by getting rid of adulterated names and corrupted toponyms’ (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 146, 144). Neo-indigenismo was the next step in the development of the indigenista movement, gaining prevalence between 1930 and 1950. It took a 180 degree turn from the stance of the indigenistas, taking the view that mestizaje would be ‘the only possible way to advance the Indigenous populations’ (NiñoMurcia, 1997: 146). The neo-indigenista intellectuals ‘were to be forged by melding the spiritual or telluric power of the Andean landscape with the intellectual prowess of a mestizo avant-garde’ (Poole, 1992: 54; emphasis in original). That is, the neo-indigenistas believed that it was the land, the territory, that gave the Incas their cultural power, and it was the modern-day intellectual mestizos, not the rural, uneducated peasants, who would be able to bring that power back to glory. Their ultimate goal was to create an identity for Cuzco that reflected both the past, ‘represented by archeological remains and Inca rituals’, and the present, ‘represented by Indigenous folklore’. In this way, they could battle their ‘feelings of racial inferiority vis-à-vis limeños’ by representing the ‘Inca past as glorious and superior, so gentlemen could use it to identify themselves while at the same time providing a possible source of national essence’ (de la Cadena, 2000: 173). These movements were particularly relevant in Cuzco, where they proved a critical impetus for the intellectuals’ construction of a cuzqueño identity (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 144). Leguía’s proindigenous policies of the 1920s and 1930s brought Indigenous matters into the political sphere. In the 1940s and 1950s, activists such as Valcárcel and José María Arguedas worked to reduce assimilationist policies and projects in Peru, and advocated bilingual Quechua and Spanish literacy campaigns. Efforts such as these kept (at least some) public attention on both the culture and the language of the Quechua people. It was in this political environment, then, that the PAQL came to be. In fact, Niño-Murcia (1997: 148) maintains that the foundation of the Academy was itself ‘one more effort by Cuzco to be recognized as unique in the national context’. The Academy was founded by a group of mestizo intellectuals who were all bilingual Quechua–Spanish speakers, among them Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Andrés Alencastre, Santiago Astete Chocano and Julio

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Boza. Espinoza Navarro, in fact, was one of those self-made Cuzco intellectual mestizos who had a strong vested interest in an elite Indigenous cuzqueño identity in opposition to the criollo limeño identity (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 147). De la Cadena (2000: 173–174) speaks of an entire generation of self-taught cuzqueño intellectuals, who ‘enhanced their names by producing books [. . .] with titles that invoked both their academic quality and the cuzqueñista mystique that had inspired the scholarly publication. Self-taught quechuólogos were also successful in using cuzqueñismo to style themselves as intellectuals’. Espinoza Navarro and Alencastre were two fundamental actors in the establishment of the Academy, so much so that ‘[at the founding meeting] a voice vote was taken, and Mr. Andrés Alencastre and Mr. Faustino Espinoza Navarro were unanimously elected President and Secretary respectively’ (*Inka Rimay, 2, 1983: 25–26). In fact, the Academy became one of those places where: unofficial intellectuals could gain status as proper intellectuals. To certify their scholarly rank they elaborated a peculiar opinion about Quechua according to which ‘Qhapaj [Capac] Simi was a type of evolved Quechua taught in special schools or jashaiwasi [sic] that existed in this city [Cuzco] and were attended by members of the Inca nobility.’ Envisioning that Capac Simi was taught in ‘special schools’ may have been intended to grant intellectual status to Inca teachers of Quechua and, conceivably, by extension to its contemporary guardians, the members of the Quechua Language Academy. (de la Cadena, 2000: 174) It will be important to remember this information in later chapters, as it elucidates some of the Academy’s foundational ideologies, which influenced many of the positions its members held, and thus their decisions and actions. The founding members were fortunate in their temporal circumstances. In December 1958, the Congress of the Peruvian Republic officially created the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language via Government Decree No. 13059 (*Inka Rimay, 1963: 10). This law gave the Academy official legal stature, which was another positive step to ensure its continued existence. Events through the intervening decades continued to unfold in the Academy’s favor. Velasco’s administration in the 1960s and 1970s was very favorably disposed towards the Indigenous peoples, and this included support for the maintenance and revitalization of the Quechua language. It certainly did not hurt the Academy’s cause that for Velasco, ‘Quechua’ meant ‘Cuzco Quechua’ (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 61); this fact served to give official validation to their claim to speak and teach the ‘one true Quechua’. In June 1990, the Peruvian Academy received another judicial boost in stature. The Congress officially promoted the PAQL to the stature of High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), through Government Decree

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No. 25260. This law established the HAQL as ‘a public, decentralized institution of the educational sector, with legal status of internal public law and with administrative and academic autonomy’ (*Ley No. 25260, 1990), under the oversight of the Ministry of Education. At the same time, the law established legitimate sources of funding for the HAQL, which included an established budget that the State was supposed to give them, other private or public donations, and income from their normal operating activities, such as tuition, graduation and other ancillary fees for language courses taught by both the HAQL itself and by the regional affiliates, membership dues and sundry fees, sales of books and arts and crafts, donations, etc. This was important because it provided for their maintenance and operating expenses. All of the members of the Board of Directors worked on a volunteer basis, drawing no established salary. Thus, monies received from any source could be put directly towards the expenses of the Academy. These included, among other things, the daily operating expenses of the office, organization of cultural events, conferences, graduation and induction ceremonies, and payment of teachers’ salaries. On the other hand, it did not include rent or utilities for the office or for conference space, which the city of Cuzco provided them free of charge. Things seemed to be working smoothly up to this point in 1990. In an interesting but not widely publicized twist, the HAQL was never implemented as a Decentralized Public Institution. A month after the law was passed, a new president (Alberto Fujimori) was elected, the makeup of the government changed, and so did their priorities. Article 7 of Law No. 25260, which ordered ‘that the Executive Power will designate a commission to elaborate the corresponding bylaws within the 90 days following the passage of this law’, fell through the administrative cracks and was never fulfilled. The HAQL was apparently unaware of this. They continued with their normal activities, and acted as though they were affiliated with the Ministry, including continuing to request funding (although they did not continue to receive it). To further muddy the waters of the HAQL’s official status, in 1992 a new General Law of Education, Government Decree No. 25762, was passed to reorganize the Ministry of Education. In Article 12 of this new law, the six decentralized public organizations affiliated with the Ministry were explicitly named: the National Institute of Culture, the Peruvian Institute of Sports, the National Library, the National Council of Science and Technology, the Geophysical Institute of Peru and the National Institute of Scholarships and Educational Credit. As can be seen, the HAQL was not among them (Decreto Ley No. 25762, 1992: Art. 12). With the restructuring set forth in this law, the Academy lost its official government support, and with it, an important source of operating funds. This clearly had significant ramifications for the ability of the Academy to carry out its functions and day-to-day activities, as well as for its credibility as either an educational institution – since it was not

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recognized as part of the Ministry of Education – or a language academy in the broader sense of those examined in Chapter 3. After a rather long, drawn-out attempt to establish the Academy’s appropriate status relative to the Ministry of Education, the Ministry itself determined that the HAQL had no legal governmental status. In addition, ‘it has no legal status in any Public Registries, nor in the Registro Único de Contribuyentes [Peru’s equivalent of a listing of institutional tax identification numbers], nor does it fulfill any administrative or legal minimum requisite to function as an educational institution’ (*Godenzzi Alegre, Informe No. 014-2001-ME/ VMGP/DINEBI, 2001b). In an earlier report on the status of the HAQL, Godenzzi had gone so far as to suggest that the Academy had practiced fiscal malfeasance and recommended that an official audit be performed on their financial records (*Informe No. 009-2001/ME/VMGP/DINEBI, 2001a). According to his communication in 2001, if the HAQL were to regain legal status, it would be necessary to either amend Law No. 25762, or pass a new law that included the HAQL as a Decentralized Public Organization (*Godenzzi Alegre, Oficio No. 160-2001-ME/VMGP-DINEBI, 2001c). In point of fact, four members of Congress, Mario Molina Almanza, Adolfo La Torre López, José Taco Llave and Paulina Arpasi Velásquez, proposed in 2002 the inclusion of the study of Quechua as a required course ‘in all educational centers in the Republic’ (Ley Nacional de Lenguas, Anteproyecto, 2002). All four of these representatives have a strong record of supporting Indigenous rights, although none has any direct involvement with the HAQL. However, at least one HAQL member acknowledges having contact with Mr Molina Almanza, which may explain how the HAQL came to be included in the bill. The bill proposed a commission in charge of designing a Quechua curriculum, which would be presided over by the President of the HAQL. In addition, the HAQL was to be responsible for training the Quechua teachers nationwide. Nevertheless, they would be subject to oversight by the Ministry of Education, which would have the responsibility of approving the curricular recommendations and educational materials developed by the commission, and determining the appropriate regulations to govern such a curriculum. Finally, this proposed law would ‘order the incorporation of the High Academy of the Quechua Language within the organizational structure of the Ministry of Education’ (Ley Nacional de Lenguas, Anteproyecto, 2002: Art. 1). In an official report, the Dirección Nacional de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural (DINEBI; National Office of Bilingual Intercultural Education) opined that the proposed bill should not include the HAQL in the Ministry of Education’s purview. The report stated that it did not make administrative sense to include the HAQL in the Ministry’s hierarchy; furthermore, such inclusion could ultimately work against the HAQL, since it would deprive them of their autonomy. On the other hand, it would make sense for the Academy to be incorporated into the National Consultative Committee on

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Bilingual Intercultural Education (*Pilares Casas, 2002). This was a consulting body proposed in what finally became popularly known as the National Languages Law, passed in November 2003 as Law No. 28106, the Law of Recognition, Preservation, Promotion and Spread of Aboriginal Languages. However, on 29 July 2003, a new General Law of Education was passed. In the section on Complementary and Transitory Dispositions, paragraph 12, there appears a reference to the HAQL: ‘The High Academy of the Quechua Language, Decentralized Public Institution of the Education Sector, is governed by the law that created it’ (Ley No. 28044, Ley General de Educación, 2003). In essence, this refers back to Ley No. 25260 from 1990. But remember, according to that law, the institution known as the High Academy of the Quechua Language had to be established and constituted, in particular its bylaws and regulations, within 90 days of the passage of the law. This was the detail that caused the Academy problems in the first place, since establishment and constitution never took place. However, since this new General Law of Education reinstated the old law granting existence to the HAQL, this effectively gave it a new 90-day period from the passage of the new General Law to get the process started. Thus, on 8 November 2003, Ministerial Resolution No. 1021-2003-ED appeared in Diario El Peruano, which was a first step towards fulfilling this heretofore unfulfilled article. Although the resolution does not include all of the elements outlined in the proposed law, it does specifically seek to fulfill the conditions of Article 7 of Law No. 25260, which was left unfulfilled in 1990 with the change of political administrations. Interestingly, this resolution did not simply wholesale accept the HAQL in its current form. Rather, it resolved the following. Article 1 – To constitute the Commission charged with formulating the proposals submitted to this Ministry for the purpose of implementing the High Academy of the Quechua Language as a Decentralized Public Organization, which will be composed of the following members: • • • • •

Two representatives from the Ministry of Education, one of whom will preside over the organization; One representative from the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language; One representative of civil society who is a member of the National Consulting Committee of the National Bureau of Bilingual Intercultural Education [DINEBI]; One representative from each of the currently operating Regional Academies of the Quechua Language; and One academic, recognized for his/her linguistic investigations, to be proposed by the President of the National Assembly of University Presidents.

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Article 2 – The Commission that will be established by Ministerial Resolution will present for approval the proposals described in Article 1 of the present resolution no later than 90 days from the date of publication of this resolution. (Resolución Ministerial No. 1021-2003-ED, 2003: 254, 674) Notwithstanding this resolution, at that time the HAQL did attempt to convene a commission that included the officials mentioned; furthermore, it continued to function as it always had. In fact, the HAQL asserted that it was the Ministry of Education that had not convened the commission to constitute the HAQL’s Statutes (M. Posada, junior Full Member, personal communication, 2 June 2003), and accused the Ministry of purposely dragging its feet and discriminating against the Academy (*Inka Rimay, 6, 2003: 28). Through all of this, the HAQL enjoyed some moral and economic support from the regional (departmental) and municipal Cuzco governments, as well as other local and regional governments in the areas where affiliated regional academies existed. At the same time, the Academy operated as an autonomous institution, claiming justification through the original 1990 Law No. 25260 and its ratification in the General Law of Education No. 28044 (M. Posada, personal communication, 8 July 2003; N. Serrano, Council of the Quechua Nation, personal communication, 17 May 2005). The members sought funding from whatever sources they could, since the federal government and the Ministry of Education still did not include the HAQL in their respective budgeting plans (M. Posada, personal communications, 17 May 2005). This gives evidence of the long struggles of the HAQL throughout its history to seek funding from the federal government. Furthermore, the mention of the HAQL in the new General Law of Education No. 28044 did not resolve the whole issue for them. In this law, there was no mention of the other Decentralized Public Institutions listed specifically in the previous General Law of Education No. 25762, or even of the role of such institutions in the newly redesigned educational system. Thus, apparently some other law was still necessary for the HAQL to become (re)incorporated into the Ministry of Education. So in September 2004, a bill was proposed before Congress to modify the old General Law of Education No. 25762 to include the HAQL as one of the Decentralized Public Institutions (Comisión de Educación, 2004). That bill was then forwarded in May 2005 to the Amazon Commission on Indigenous and Afroperuvian Affairs, at the Commission’s request, for review according to their criteria for Indigenous involvement in any decisions affecting Indigenous welfare (Acta de la 19a Sesión, 2005).1 Since then, the whole issue has become moot, since the HAQL no longer belongs to the Ministry of Education at all. In 2010 it was officially recognized as a Decentralized Public Institution of the Ministry of Culture (Ministerio de Cultura, online).

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Over the course of time, then, there have been a number of laws, decrees, resolutions, and regional ordinances and accords proposed and enacted, both regionally and nationally, that have had an impact on the formation and legal status of the HAQL. These laws and regulations are summarized below in Table 5.1. Table 5.1 Laws affecting the legal status of the HAQL Date

Bill, law, decree, resolution, or regional ordinance or accord

1958

Law #13059 authorizing creation of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language (PAQL) Law #25260 raising the PAQL to status of High Academy of the Quechua Language Law #25762, General Law of Education in which HAQL was not listed as a Decentralized Public Institution of the Ministry of Education (ME), thus losing government support Bill proposing the ‘Languages Law’, which would include the HAQL in the hierarchical structure of the ME, make the HAQL president head of a commission to design Quechua curricula, and give HAQL authority to train Quechua teachers nationally Regional Ordinance No. 002-2003-GRC, approving the Cuzco Regional Government’s Regulation of Organization and Functions, which was modified by Regional Ordinance No. 013-2004-GRC/ CRC and Regional Ordinance No. 044-2006-GRC/CRC Law #28044, new General Law of Education, which included HAQL as a Decentralized Public Institution Ministerial Resolution #1021-2003-ED, resolution of the ME to fulfill conditions of Law #25260 (from 1990), to establish and constitute the Statutes of the HAQL Law #28106, National Law of Languages, recommending inclusion of HAQL in the National Consultative Committee on Bilingual Intercultural Education, but not in the administrative hierarchy of the ME Bill #11286/2004-CR, proposed to modify old General Law of Education #25762 to include HAQL as a Decentralized Public Institution Presidential Decree No. 034-2008-PCM from the President of the Council of Ministers, recognizes the HAQL as a Decentralized Public Institution, in accordance with Law No. 29158. As such, it will have its own Rules of Organization and Functions (Decreto Supremo N° 034-2008-PCM, 2008) Law No. 29565 creates the Ministry of Culture. The HAQL is incorporated as a Decentralized Public Institution assigned to the new Ministry of Culture. This means the HAQL is no longer a part of the Ministry of Education

1990 1992

2002

March 2003

July 2003 November 2003

November 2003

September 2004

May 2008

July 2010

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From 1958, the year of its creation, to the present, the HAQL has undergone a series of changes owing to administrative and bureaucratic procedures, and has struggled with laws, decrees, resolutions, and regional ordinances and accords. All of this has cast the Academy adrift in a sea of confusion and bureaucratic documentation in their attempts to achieve official and legal recognition at the national level, to finally be able to obtain the necessary financing to carry out their functions. It remains to be seen what the final outcome will be of all their efforts in this direction. Despite their insecurity in this regard, however, they have a fairly secure position in their headquarters city of Cuzco. With their incorporation in 2010 as a Decentralized Public Institution of the Ministry of Culture, the HAQL plans to move in new administrative, financial and ideological directions to continue their efforts on behalf of Quechua. Further, they hope to finally become a solid, duly recognized institution, so that their administrative and educational functions will take a positive turn locally and nationally: Después de la incorporación de la AMLQ como Organismo Público Desdentralizado en 2010, lo único que estamos esperando es que salga el Reglamamento de Organización y Funciones para obtener un presupuesto del Tesoro Publico del Ministerio de Economia. En este momento, la AMLQ no recibe nada de dinero del Ministerio de Cultura o del Ministerio de Economía. Nosotros nos autogeneramos nuestra propia economia aqui en la Academia a traves de los cursos que dictamos, algunos seminarios, venta de libros y algunas otras cosas que nos permiten hacer trabajos en favor del quechua. (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 30 June 2013) (After the HAQL’s incorporation as a Decentralized Public Institution in 2010, the only thing we’re waiting for is the Rules of Organization and Functions to be completed, so we can obtain a budget from the Public Treasury of the Ministry of Finance. Right now, the HAQL receives no money from the Ministry of Culture or the Ministry of Finance. We generate our own finances here at the Academy through the courses we teach, some seminars, book sales and some other things that allow us to work on behalf of Quechua.) In 2014, the Ministry of Culture named the National Chief of the HAQL, and this person now controls the destiny of the institution. The then-current presidency was deactivated and replaced with a national headquarters, and the prior membership is now known as the Consulting Committee of the HAQL (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 30 June 2013). In its 58 years of existence, the Academy has dealt with a series of disagreements, poor management and serious conflicts within its leadership. Most recently, these leaders, upon learning that the HAQL would have a budget in excess of 2 million soles (more than

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$718,000) a year, began to throw around accusations of mismanagement and irregularities against each other, which put the future of the HAQL in serious danger (Radio Universal Cusco, online). In fact, relations became so strained among the members themselves that what should have been private arguments became public, with accusations of theft making the evening news Denuncian sustracción de documentos de Academia Mayor de Lengua Quechua (YouTube video, 2009), and members filing lawsuits against each other. New elections were held and a new president elected in 2010, and the new administration is still fighting the legal battles that the old administration brought against it (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013).

Establishing a Home for the Academy The Inkas did not distinguish among the ritual, administrative, military, and directly political aspects of statecraft. Cuzco was, at one and the same time, the sacred center of the Inka universe, the administrative center of the state, the ceremonial arena within which political alliances were cemented and political intrigues played out, and a template for the organization of the entire state. (Mannheim, 1991: 18) The above quote notes the importance that the Cuzco region held for all aspects of Inca life, while the map in Figure 5.1 below shows Cuzco’s geographic location at the center of Tawantinsuyo, the Inca Empire, which ran from modern-day southern Colombia down to northern Chile and northwestern Argentina and from the Pacific Ocean east through Bolivia to the eastern slopes of the Andes. Given the HAQL’s view of itself as heir apparent of the Inca culture, and the founding members’ heartfelt connections to the city and its Inca history, it should be no surprise that the Academy chose Cuzco as its headquarters. These strong emotional connections are thus ideologically motivated to maintain the closest possible ties in all respects – geographically, linguistically, politically, etc. – between the HAQL and their Inca ‘forebears’. The Academy’s own historical documentation emphasizes their Inca-oriented ideology, even in referring to the city in many of their documents as ‘Qosqo, capital de la gran nación continental del Tawantinsuyu’ (Qosqo [the Quechua spelling for Cuzco], capital of the great continental nation of Tawantinsuyu). It also did not hurt the HAQL’s cause that Cuzco had already developed a reputation as a site of Indigenous intellectualism, as de la Cadena (2000: 173– 174) discusses at some length. She notes the political and social importance of intellectualizing the use and study of Quechua, and explains how this intellectualization played a role in the formation of the Academy and supported its ideological stance as the logical promoter of the ‘one true and pure Quechua’.

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Figure 5.1 Location of Cuzco relative to the South American continent Source: based on map from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Inca_Empire#/media/ File:Inca_Empire_South_America.png, used under GNU Free Documentation License.

Beyond the significance of the HAQL’s mere presence in Cuzco, its physical location within the city also had ideological and psychosocial ramifications. It recently had to move, but for most of its history, the Academy was located in the heart of the city, within a block of the Plaza de Armas, which is the traditional social and often political center of most Latin American towns and cities, making it a natural meeting place for individuals and groups throughout history. In Cuzco’s case, it is also at the geographical center of the city, offering easy access to and from all parts of the city. Depending on the time of year, one can experience fairs, parades and a wide variety of festivities held in the Plaza almost daily. Thus, for the HAQL to have its offices in such close proximity to the Plaza de Armas was a distinct advantage: they were more easily accessible to everyone, including the tourists who flood the square every day, and they were very close to the center of action whenever there was a public event at which they wanted to exhibit their presence. The building where the main office of the Academy was formerly located was in a complex of buildings known as the Galerías Turísticas on the

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Figure 5.2 Sign for the HAQL’s former office in the Galerías Turísticas. The current location of the HAQL is Calle Chaparro 231 Source: Author’s photo archive.

Avenida el Sol. The Academy office was identified by a sign in both Quechua and Spanish (see Figure 5.2). The Avenida is a main thoroughfare, so it receives considerable traffic from people of all cultures and walks of life. The HAQL was located on the ground floor of one of the buildings in this complex, making it easy to find, and at the same time creating a psychological link with the history to be found all around it. And the psychological associations arising from proximity to the municipal government offices should also not be overlooked. The Galerías Turísticas was an ideal location for the HAQL, and was provided to them for many years free of charge by the City of Cuzco. But recently the City withdrew its support and so they have had to vacate this

Figure 5.3 Quechua Teaching Center of the HAQL. The photo on the left is the sign in Quechua and Spanish; the photo on the right is the façade of the building Source: Author’s photo archive.

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space. The current location of the HAQL is 231 Chaparro Street, San Pedro, Cuzco. This is an old house with several classrooms where their Teaching Center has been operating for many years. The HAQL was able to acquire it thanks to a donation from Daniel Estrada Perez and the Academy’s normal sources of income. Unfortunately, given its advanced age and its poor state of repair (see Figure 5.3), which the HAQL does not have the funds to make, it is not a very safe building. Furthermore, it does not have the same advantageous central location that their previous office space had; in fact, it is relatively far from the city center, as well as being somewhat difficult to access because of the uphill hike required to reach it. This relocation has meant a loss of casual foot traffic, which was how many tourists found the office in the past. Hence, only people who already know about the Academy and choose to visit it make their way to the new location. So the loss of their original office space in the Galerías Turísticas has had a negative impact on exposure to possible new markets, and thus on casual (walk-in) income.

Note (1) This Commission was created as a result of Accord No. 169 (known as Convenio No. 169 in Latin America), an international agreement between various governments and their Indigenous populations, specifically to offer oversight of any laws, decrees or other formal arrangements that have an impact on all Indigenous peoples in their zone of influence. This agreement was ratified internally in Peru as Law No. 26253 in May 1993, thus giving the Commission oversight over anything official involving any of the Indigenous peoples and languages in Peru.

6

Anatomy of an Academy: Structure, Membership, Statutes

The High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), like any other organization, has an established hierarchy that determines who will be responsible for which tasks. As can be seen in their organizational chart in Figure 6.1, the majority of power lies with the President of the Academy – a position that is practically synonymous with the position of the two boxes in the chart – since it appears that all other departments, divisions, commissions, etc., all report directly to him. The only authority that seems to be above the President is the Academic Assembly and its associated Court of Honor.

Academic Assembly The Academic Assembly is the ‘maximum authority’ of the Academy consisting of Full and Corresponding Members or their representatives (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 8–10). Its main responsibility is the official development of the Dictionary of the Quechua Language. However, it does also include academic investigation of linguistic and grammatical matters, and Quechua pedagogy. It may be asked to participate, on an ad hoc basis, in organizational and planning matters of the Academy, but such participation appears to be expected irregularly at best. In short, although the Academic Assembly appears above the Board of Directors/President in the organizational chart, its duties do not appear to include any real oversight of the administrative functions of these offices. The Academic Assembly is the body where the majority of members function, and there are several levels of membership. Full Members are those who have been associated with the HAQL for more than one year and who have presented and defended before the HAQL membership a thesis or book on the Quechua language or Andean-Inca culture. In addition, they must master the 88

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Figure 6.1 Organizational chart of the HAQL. As of July 2013, these Statutes were still being used (translation mine) Source: Estatuto de la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua (Statutes of the High Academy of the Quechua Language), 2001. Used with permission.

reading, writing and phonetics of the Quechua language, and pay a membership fee (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 35–36). In July 2003, there were only 19 full members (M. Posada, junior Full Member of HAQL, personal communication, 29 November 2003). Ten years later, in July 2013, there were only two active full members who were recognized by the State (M. Mamani Huayhua,

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personal communication, 30 June 2013). Corresponding Members must meet the same criteria as Full Members, but although they defend their thesis before the HAQL membership in Cuzco, they are members of their respective affiliated regional academies rather than of the High Academy in Cuzco (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 38–39). Associate Members are students of the Instituto de Altos Estudios Andinos (Institute of Advanced Andean Studies, now known as the Centro de Enseñanza del Idioma Quechua de la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua, or QTCHAQL in English) who have satisfactorily completed the coursework of the QTCHAQL and have passed both a written and oral exam in Quechua (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 40–42). There were 219 of them as of November 2003 (M. Posada, personal communication, 29 November 2003). Ten years later, this number had grown considerably, with 11,300 Associate Members from all branches and affiliates (M. Mamani Huayha, personal communication, 27 July 2013). Adjunct Members are students who have enrolled in the QTCHAQL and who have either written a letter of presentation entirely in Quechua, or been sponsored by a Full Member. Again, they must pay a membership fee, which is proportionately less than the Full and Associate Memberships (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 45). An Honorary Member is someone ‘who works and offers their permanent support to benefit the High Academy of the Quechua Language, spreading, valorizing and defending the Quechua language and the Andean-Inca culture’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 33); as of 2013, there were 38 of these members (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013). Finally, Emeritus Members are those who ‘were outstanding as Full Members with their research on the Quechua language and the Andean-Inca culture’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 32). The Statutes are not specific as to when a Full member may become Emeritus. As of July 2003, the last year for which numbers are available, there were 22 Emeritus Members (M. Posada, personal communication, 25 July 2003).

Court of Honor The Court of Honor is a body attached to the Academic Assembly. It is designed primarily to maintain order and discipline during meetings of the assembly, and to offer opinions regarding appropriate sanctions or disciplinary measures in case of failure to comply with the bylaws of the Academy. They pass these opinions in writing to the President, who makes the final decision (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 26). In other words, this body carries a great deal of moral, but no administrative, weight. It can recommend, but it cannot decide.

Board of Directors and Presidency This brings us to the Board of Directors itself. This is the ‘institutional management and administrative organ’ and consists of the President, Vice President, Director of Finance, Secretary General, Director of the Library

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and a representative of the Central Government (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 11). This description from the Statutes contradicts the organizational chart, which appears to list the Directors of Finance and the Library and the Secretary General as being subordinate to the Board of Directors and President. My own observations of how the chain of command seemed to operate also supports the format outlined in the organizational chart, rather than the description given in the Statutes. Although I almost always saw the President, the Director of Finance, the Director of the Library and the Secretary General working together closely at the HAQL headquarters; in point of fact, the President’s word was law, and it was he who ran the show. The other administrative positions do have their specific functions, but ultimately, they must receive the President’s explicit permission before taking any concrete action. This might not be such a significant detail were it not for the respective duties and functions assigned to the Board of Directors and to the Presidency. These include, of course, overseeing the general day-to-day management and operation of the Academy, as well as enforcing its bylaws. In addition, the Board is responsible for the financial maintenance of the Academy, seeking out all manner of funding, donations or bank loans to defray the costs of daily operation and special programs. Although there are also specific duties listed for the President, these in general are very similar to those listed above for the Board; they also include final approval on any decisions made by the other members of the Board, and the sole authority to sign any and all types of contracts made between the HAQL and other institutions. While he does ultimately have to report his actions to the Academic Assembly, such reporting is generally ex post facto rather than prior to taking action and seeking approval for such action. On the other hand, any actions taken by other members of the Board must be approved by him before they are carried out. This is quite the opposite of actions pursued by other Board members. It is interesting to note that the Statutes mention a Vice-President, but this office is not reflected on the organizational chart. This person was not very much in evidence at the HAQL office during my time in Cuzco, although he did attend the biweekly meetings of the Academic Assembly. Given his limited functions, it is not surprising that he did not spend much time at the office. His only responsibility was to represent or replace the President at times when this officer was not available (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 13), and this was an infrequent occurrence. The Director of Finance is ‘the administrator of the institutional patrimony and its attributions’, including, of course, being in charge of all income and expenditures, maintaining inventory and any other fiscally related duties (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 16). He is assisted by an accountant/cashier, who handles all the day-to-day collections such as accepting tuition fees, sales of books, etc. At the time I was in Cuzco, the Director of the Library acted in

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this capacity, as did occasionally the Secretary General, and a few times, even I volunteered for this responsibility. The Director of the Library, who is in charged with organizing, maintaining and augmenting the library collection (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 20) also acted as the librarian, in charge of the library’s day-to-day operations (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 21). He also occasionally helped the Secretary General with his daily tasks. These multiple roles posed no great overload of responsibility, since the library consisted of only three glass-fronted, locked cases of books (see Figure 6.2) and the library did not receive many visitors. In fact, the whole time I was there, no one at all came to consult the library’s resources. Given its limited content and the fact that few people even know it exists, it has made far less impact on the Academy’s stated goals than members might have hoped. Also, since the HAQL does not have an established budget, but rather relies almost exclusively on the sales of their materials and the Quechua course tuition fees, it is not surprising that there was neither a separate cashier nor a separate librarian. After all, there was no guaranteed income to pay them. The Secretary General’s position, interestingly enough, is not described in the Statutes, but based on my observations, this is the position that carries most of the weight of the day-to-day operations of the office. He handles all the incoming and outgoing correspondence, interacts with the public both face-to-face and on the telephone, prepares and distributes the course Diplomas, and performs any other daily tasks that need to be done. He is constantly in multitasking mode. The President and Board of Directors have at their disposal two commissions, one academic and one administrative; according to the organizational chart, these appear to be on a hierarchical par with the Board. As established by the Statutes, these commissions serve simply to ‘offer opinions on or the results of tasks assigned to the Board of Directors, for their analysis and approval in pertinent instances’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 27).

Figure 6.2 HAQL library Source: Author’s photo archive.

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Legal and linguistic councils Following the chart downward through the hierarchy, we see that the Legal Council and the Linguistic Council apparently report directly to the President. The Legal Council fulfills obvious functions, the same as the legal department in any business organization. The HAQL Statutes do not specify whether the members of this organ need to also be members of the Academy (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 24). However, I had the opportunity to meet the members of both the Legal and Linguistic Councils, and they were all also Academy members. But not all members of the Legal Council were lawyers, although they did have colleagues external to the Academy who were practicing lawyers. The Linguistic Council, for its part, is ‘a specialized consulting organ, constituted of linguists whose professional services are solicited and who offer opinions’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 25) on linguistic issues presumably pertaining to the development of the Quechua Dictionary that is the Academic Assembly’s primary objective. Again, membership in the HAQL is not specified, but there are no trained linguists who are currently members of the Academy, much less members of the Linguistic Council. This fact directly contradicts the Statutes. I asked all of the HAQL members I interviewed whether there were any members who were linguists. Pedro Barriga, an Emeritus Member, responded, ‘Lingüistas no. Más bien, podríamos decir que son autodidactas por experiencias, etc. [. . .] pero lingüistas científicos no hay. Hubo esa fecha el lingüista Cusihuamán’ (Linguists, no. Rather, we could say that they are self-taught by experience, etc. [. . .] but there are no scientific [i.e. trained] linguists. Once upon a time there was the linguist Cusihuamán) (Tape HAQL 2E). The responses of a few other members revealed their ideological biases, as well as something of their awareness of or knowledge about the field of linguistics. Saturnina Conde, a senior Full Member, clearly feels that linguistics is language specific: No hay lingüistas en el idioma quechua. Lingüistas en el idioma castellano, sí. En cuanto a la lingüística quechua, recién lo está formando la AMLQ. Hacen sus críticas con pensamiento europeo, no con pensamiento andino. […] Nuestro idioma quechua tiene su propia fonética, su propia morfología y no tenemos por qué aceptar otra morfología ajena a la nuestra. (Tape HAQL 4B) (There are no linguists of Quechua. Linguists of Spanish, yes. Regarding Quechua linguistics, the HAQL is only now in the process of developing it. They analyze or critique using European thinking, not Andean thinking … Our Quechua language has its own phonetics, its own morphology and there is no reason we have to accept some other morphology different from ours.) This statement makes clear that Ms Conde does not believe that there has been, to date, an adequate linguistic description of Quechua, since she thinks

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that such a description is impossible for an outsider to make. She takes a very essentialist view of language study and analysis, and considers an understanding of the culture imperative to understanding the subtleties of a language. Fabio Peñalosa, an Associate Member, takes a different stance on the meaning of linguists and linguistics when he asserts, ‘Sí, sí los hay. Hay personas entendidas, interesadas que han escrito varios libros, por ejemplo, el Dr. Leandro Alvino Herencia. He tenido el gusto de ser alumno suyo, una persona entendida en gramática quechua’ (Yes, yes there are [linguists in the HAQL]. There are people who understand, who are interested and who have written several books, for example, Dr Leandro Alvino Herencia. I have had the privilege of being one of his students, and he is a person with a great understanding of Quechua grammar) (Tape HAQL 6A). As it happens, Leandro Alvino Herencia Fernández is an economist by training, and is self-taught in Quechua grammar. Of course, this does not necessarily mean that he is not a good grammar teacher, and in fact, he is in charge of teaching advanced grammar at the Academy’s language school. But the point is, Mr Peñalosa and some other members of the Academy take the view that anyone who teaches grammar is a linguist. Again, to some degree there may be validity to this perception; it is simply a question of the amount of training and understanding of linguistic theory that those linguists have, and as a student, that is not something Mr Peñalosa is likely to be aware of. Finally, Antonio Mojado, one of the newest Full Members, went into quite a bit of detail regarding the status of linguists in the Academy, and what he thinks needs to happen in the future to improve the Academy both in fact and perceptually: Más bien hemos tenido un gramático que ha fallecido, David Samanez. Armando Cáceres. Ellos no tenían mucho contacto con la Academia a pesar de que pertenecían a la Academia. Quienes han estado siempre en la Academia son gente entusiasta, ¿no? dirigiendo los destinos de la Academia. Esto pues responde a una razón, ¿no? Es una Academia de voluntarios que ya debe convocar a lingüistas o mejor dicho que los lingüistas vayan a la Academia, ¿no? y digan yo soy indio, [. . .]¿no? Soy quechuista y quiero aportar, ¿no? Así tendría que suceder, ¿no? Con ellos creo que debería venir una segunda etapa, un segundo momento de la Academia. Creo que estamos en un momento de transición con [el Sr. Mayorga] en la presidencia. [. . ..] El primer momento está desapareciendo con el grupo élite de los viejitos, ¿no? [. . .] No le vamos a despreciar la teoría de algunos de ellos que por ejemplo dicen que el quechua [. . .] nació en tal sitio, ¿no? No tiene una base científica, ¿no? pero ya tienen sus libros publicados. Hasta ahí llegó esta etapa empírica de la Academia y debe dar paso a una etapa científica, ¿no? Entonces, una vez que tengamos un grupo, un equipo de lingüistas, [. . .] podemos pedir que verdaderamente esta Academia tenga un presupuesto económico y el Estado al ver que hay un equipo de profesionales con

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fundamentos serios como los que deben haber en Guatemala, entonces el Estado le tiene que dar una partida, entonces los Académicos tendrán que ser a sueldos, tendrán que investigar entonces [. . .]. Este momento aún no ha llegado. (Tape HAQL 3A) (Let’s say rather that we had a grammarian who died, David Samanez. Armando Cáceres. They didn’t have much contact with the Academy even though they were members of the Academy. The ones who’ve always been in the Academy are hobbyists – you know? – directing the fate of the Academy. There’s a reason for this, you know? It’s an Academy of volunteers that ought to invite linguists, right? Or rather, the linguists should come to the Academy, you know? And say, ‘I’m Indian’ . . . you know? ‘I’m a Quechua specialist and I want to contribute’, you know? That’s how it should happen, right? With them, I think a second phase should come, a second period for the Academy. I think we’re in a transitional phase with [Mr Mayorga] as the president. . . . The first period is disappearing with the elite group of older members, you know? . . . We won’t look down on the theories of some of them who, for example, say that Quechua . . . originated in such-and-such a site, right? It has no scientific basis, you know? But their books are already published. This is the point to which this empirical phase of the Academy came, and it should give way to a scientific phase, don’t you think? So then, once we have a group, a team of linguists, . . . then we can justifiably ask that this Academy be given a fiscal budget. And the State, when it sees that there is a team of professionals with serious training, like those that must be [active] in Guatemala, then it will have to give us our own budget, and then the Academy members will have to have salaries, they will have to do research then [. . .]. We haven’t reached that moment yet.) Mr Mojado demonstrated an intimate knowledge of the political and economic problems besetting the HAQL. He also spoke openly in favor of the inclusion of a group of specialists that the founders of the HAQL have a history of resisting. In fact, I would interpret all of the above quotes together as evidence of a certain degree of factionalism within the Academy. There is an ‘old guard’ of more senior members who may have been founding members or very close to the founding members, who felt that a love of the language and an ideological allegiance to the Inca traditions was all that was needed to promote and maintain the language. There is also a middle group of newer members who either fully support the old guard or who do not seem to have a strong opinion regarding linguists one way or the other. On the other hand, there is also a faction of ‘new blood’, such as Mr Mojado, that realizes the necessity of linguistic training to fully achieve the stated goals of the Academy.

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What this discussion points at is the apparent lack of utility of a Linguistic Council at this point in time, leading to the question of why such an organ was included in the Statutes at all. In fact, according to both my own observations and comments made by a number of HAQL members during interviews, there are quite a few discrepancies between the Statutes and the actual daily practices of the Academy. Some members have hinted that such discrepancies are the result of the more or less unchecked power that the President is perceived to wield in day-to-day operations. In fact, Mr Barriga, in response to a question on the organizational structure of the Academy, came right out and stated that the HAQL is not functioning well: Los Estatutos dicen una cosa pero no se cumplen los Estatutos. Siempre hay esta cuestión, los del Directorio quieren abarcar todo, ¿no?, y quieren ordenar a los del Consejo Académico. Entre los del Consejo Académico hay resistencia y no hay trabajo. No se cumple, pues. Entonces, se hacen sesiones como cualquier institución social, etc. No hay presentaciones de trabajo como debería ser. (Tape HAQL 2E) (The Statutes say one thing, but the Statutes aren’t being followed. There’s always this issue, the Board of Directors wants to cover [control] everything, you know? And they want to order around the Academic Council. There is resistance among the members of the Academic Council, and no work is getting done. So [the Statutes] aren’t being followed. So then, we have meetings like any social institution, etc. There are no research project presentations as there should be.) Such internal dissent between the membership and the Board does not bode well for either the smooth functioning of the Academy or the achievement of its goals. Mr Barriga, an Emeritus Member of many years’ standing in the Academy, feels that as a professional and academic institution it is no longer functional, and he blames this in part on the asymmetrical distribution of authority in the institution.

Academic Council The Academic Council is a ‘technical, rule-making body under the control of the President of the High Academy’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 28) whose job it is to essentially oversee the academic/investigative work of the Academy. Once again, the organizational chart confuses the issue more than it clarifies. According to the chart, the Academic Council stands alone on an equal footing with the other members of the Board of Directors (apart from the President). The Divisions of Research, Teaching, Dictionary, AndeanInca Culture, Publicity and Publications, and Social Outreach all fall directly under the control of the President. However, according to the description

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found in the Statutes, all of these Divisions fall under the control of the Director of the Academic Council, an arrangement that seems more logical in any event. In essence, then, it is the Council’s mission to divide the work of the Academic Assembly into committees or divisions, and to oversee that work. Each division is charged with developing an annual plan for a project or projects, and reporting on the progress of those projects. The Research Division concentrates, of course, on ‘organizing, planning, directing and advising all investigative processes of the High Academy of the Quechua Language’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 31e). In this regard, it works collaboratively with the Teaching and Grammar Division to the extent that the former’s investigations might offer new insights into pedagogical methodologies or new aspects of grammar that should be included in the Quechua coursework for which the latter division is responsible. The Teaching and Grammar Division is the one in charge of the Teaching Center’s work, and all aspects of the language pedagogy coursework (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 31f). Obviously, the Dictionary Division is charged with the ongoing development of the Academy’s official dictionary, of which only two editions haves been published during the entire existence of the Academy. This division is also responsible for ‘systematizing, analyzing and studying Quechua linguistics in its different manifestations’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 31g). The Statutes make no mention of the responsibilities and duties of the remaining three divisions, those of Andean-Inca Culture, Publicity and Publications, and Community Outreach. Furthermore, I saw no evidence of activity on the part of two of these three divisions – Andean-Inca Culture and Community Outreach – nor did any of the HAQL members mention anything about them to me. During my time in Cuzco, there were a couple of public presentations of new books either in or about Quechua, which should presumably have been organized by the Publicity and Publications Division. However, I was present for the planning of these events, and their organization and planning were carried out by the President and the Secretary General. This would seem to indicate that this Division is simply a straw man, with no real function or purpose; or perhaps none of the general members were interested in joining this Division, and so the President and Secretary General had no choice but to take these duties upon themselves.

Branches of the Quechua Academy The lowest level on the HAQL organizational chart is that of the affiliated branch academies. These exist on a number of geographical levels, and are all officially recognized by Presidential Resolution of the HAQL, supported by the 1990 law that originally created and recognized the legal status of the HAQL (*Ley No. 25260, 1990). According to these Presidential

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Resolutions found in the HAQL archives and information obtained in several interviews, there are a number of regional affiliates in other Andean countries: La Plata, Salta and Tucumán, Argentina; Cochabamba, Bolivia; Colombia; Chile; and Cuenca and Quito, Ecuador. Next, there are the departmental affiliates within Peru itself. These include the Departmental Quechua Language Academies of Ancash, Andahuaylas-Apurímac, Arequipa, Ayacucho, Cajamarca, Cerro de Pasco, Huancavelica, Huánuco, Ica, Junín, Lima, Lambayeque, Puno, San Martín and Tacna. There are numerous provincial and district affiliates under the jurisdiction of the departmental affiliates. There also exist a few affiliates in foreign countries around the world, including Austria, Canada, Germany, Rome, Tokyo, Madrid and Barcelona (A. Mayorga, senior Full Member, Tape HAQL 10B). Clearly, the Academy has been working on expanding domestically and internationally, since there are now many more affiliates than are mentioned in the organizational chart. On the other hand, no new affiliates have been added since 2005 (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013), so it would seem the political and legal problems the Academy is facing are taking their toll on the Academy’s ability to act and their efforts at expansion. Whenever a new regional, departmental or international affiliate is formed by Presidential Resolution, there is always a clause that allows for the creation of provincial and district affiliates at the same time. In this way, the HAQL attempts to spread its influence throughout the Andean region. Most of these affiliates are quite small operations, often run by only a few members, and their sole function is to teach Quechua courses. They are rarely involved in research or other activities similar to those of the HAQL in Cuzco. Very little information on these affiliates is available, so it is quite easy to believe von Gleich’s (1999: 695) assertion that the Cuzco Academy is by far the most active; she goes so far as to say that the other regional Quechua academies ‘no longer have academic importance in the scientific discussion’. In addition, a couple of community members I interviewed, who had no affiliations with either the HAQL or with other organizations related to Quechua language or educational planning, had their own opinions on and hopes for the affiliate offices that operated in the regions where they originally came from: En mi tierra en Pitumarca se ha formado la Academia de la Lengua Quechua hace 25 años, pero no resultó hasta hoy día. No dicen nada al respecto. Ya no funciona. Esperamos que la Academia nos ayude a perfeccionarnos porque ya no hablamos el quechua puro en las comunidades campesinas. Necesitamos que reactiven la Academia en Pitumarca. (E. Apaza, artisan, Tape CM 2A) (In my home territory in Pitumarca, [an office of] the AQL was opened 25 years ago, but nothing came of it until now. They don’t say anything

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about it. It doesn’t work any more. We wish the Academy would help us improve [our language skills] because we no longer speak pure Quechua in the rural communities. We need them to reactivate the Academy in Pitumarca.) Yo le digo mi realidad en la provincia de Canas. La Academia de la Lengua Quechua ya no tiene ninguna participación en las comunidades. Ni absolutamente ninguna promoción ni nada. Veo que no hay trabajo. Hace unos cinco años llegó la Academia a la provincia de Canas a coordinar con las autoridades locales. Como yo estaba de autoridad coordinamos, el alcalde, todos ahí concentrados en el municipio. Entonces, designaron a los integrantes de la junta directiva. El presidente era un ciudadano muy hablador allá, pero solo ese día habló, pero nunca más regresó. Yo era creo que una de las que integraban ahí, pero nunca tuvimos siquiera una reunión. Yo lo busqué al señor para hacer algo, venir acá, esto aquello, pero no. Creo que quedó allí nomás tampoco nunca más escuche sobre la Academia de la Lengua Quechua. Las comunidades no saben de su existencia, no tienen conocimiento. En la provincia de Canas hay 80 comunidades, pero con ningunas coordina la Academia. (L. Contreras, elementary school teacher, Tape CM 3B) (I’ll tell you my reality in the province of Canas. The AQL no longer does anything in the communities. Absolutely no promotion, nothing. I don’t see any work [being done]. About five years ago, the Academy came to Canas province to coordinate with the local authorities. As I was one of those authorities, we coordinated, the mayor, everyone on the town council was there. So then they named the members of the board of directors. The president was a very talkative guy, but he only talked that day, he never came back. I think I was one of the members named there, but we never even had a meeting. I looked for that gentleman [the president] to do something, to come here, this, that, but no. I think it was just left like that; nor did I ever hear any more about the AQL. The communities don’t know it exists, they know nothing about it. In Canas province there are 80 communities, but the Academy doesn’t coordinate with any of them.) These two people clearly had high hopes for the Academy in their respective regions, and both claimed to have been disappointed. The schoolteacher from Canas was also apparently in a position to be very well aware of the Academy’s activities, since she was involved in that affiliate’s founding. However, notwithstanding the comments regarding two of the branches, it is possible that the work of other branch academies may be more visible within their home communities than it is in either the international literature or in the two regions represented by these community members. This appears to be true of the regional academies in the other Latin American

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countries and the international affiliates in Europe, Canada and Japan. In fact, Esteban Roque, a senior Full Member, told me that the primary function of these departmental, district, regional and international affiliates was to provide Teaching Centers and training courses in Quechua: Tenemos funcionando actualmente con sus Centros de Enseñanza y cursos de capacitación a los docentes, ingenieros y abogados, y gente de todo nivel o de toda profesión que ejerce y que verdaderamente necesita aprender este idioma. [. . .] Más todavía ahora hay un entusiasmo, estamos recibiendo varias llamadas de diferentes lugares [. . .] que verdaderamente quieren abrir una filial para que ellos también sean entidades capacitadoras de nuestro idioma a todos los profesionales de diferente campo. [. . .] Tenemos Japón que está un miembro de número de la Academia que verdaderamente se desempeña en la función de enseñar el idioma. [. . .] Chile también va a pedir un profesor para que nosotros vayamos a capacitar [. . ..] Igual se está haciendo con la mayor parte de las filiales internacionales. (Tape HAQL 7B) (We have [affiliates] currently functioning with their Teaching Centers and their training courses for teachers, engineers and lawyers, people from all levels or all professions who truly need to learn this language. [. . .] Even more now, there is a lot of enthusiasm, we are receiving lots of calls from different places . . . that really want to open affiliates so that they can also be training entities for our language for all the professionals of different fields. [. . .] We have Japan, where there is a full member of the Academy who truly excels at teaching the language. [. . .] Chile is also going to ask us for a teacher to go and train them [. . ..] The same thing is happening in the majority of our international affiliates.) This seems to make clear that the HAQL and its branches are most focused on language teaching, which is certainly not a bad thing, especially in light of the current more generalized push to promote and maintain the use of Quechua. At the same time, it does not seem sufficient to fulfill all the mandates of the HAQL Statutes, nor does it make the Academy appear to be on a par with the kinds of functions that other language academies around the world fulfill on behalf of their respective languages.

HAQL Statutes over Time The HAQL Statutes are its constitution, its articles of confederation, the document that describes its structure and governs its functioning. As such,

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one would expect: (1) that it be a very detailed document, which in many senses it is; and (2) that every attempt would be made to follow its prescriptions, since it is the membership itself that came up with those prescriptions. Of course, like any such document, it is subject to occasional revision as social circumstances change and ideologies evolve. The original Statutes, published in *Inka Rimay 1 in 1963, were neither as long nor as detailed as the most recent Statutes dated January 2001. For example, their criteria for the different classes of membership were rather vague in the early years, and much more specifically defined in the 2001 version. In particular, a Full Member in 1963 did not need to meet very stringent requirements: ‘The Full Members are the first fifteen named by Supreme Resolution. Any vacancies produced will be filled from the Academy among people who speak the Quechua language and permanently reside in the city of Cuzco’ (*Inka Rimay 1, 1963: 204). In 2001, the HAQL decided on more rigorous requirements to become a Full Member: ‘Full Members are those Associate Members with more than one year of membership, who rise to a higher level through the presentation and defense of a thesis or the writing of a book about the Quechua language or the Andean-Inca culture’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 35). There were similar changes in definitions of the other classes of membership as well, which served to make the HAQL appear to be a more rigorously academic institution than in its early years. For instance, Protective Members was a category that existed in the 1963 Statutes that no longer appears in the 2001 version, but its function seems to be included now in the Honorary Member category, which also existed in 1963. Another entity that no longer exists is the Coordination Commission, whose original function was to try to record examples of native speech from different regions to create an archive of Quechua varieties (*Inka Rimay 1, 1963: 208). In the 2001 Statutes, there is no mention of such a commission, and in the archives of the HAQL there exist no such recordings, so it would seem that this was a commission that was never activated. However, the mere inclusion of such a commission in the earlier Statutes would seem to indicate that the HAQL did recognize the validity of different dialects and varieties of Quechua in an earlier time. The 2001 Statutes (Art. 6e) do mention other dialectal varieties: ‘The objectives of the High Academy of the Quechua Language are: [. . .] To systematically study and investigate the Quechua language and its dialectal variants, with preferential treatment of the phonetics, morphology, syntax and other constitutive elements of its grammatical structure and with consequent formulation of the applicable orthographic systems’. This would seem to indicate that they are open-minded with regard to the existence of other dialects, a point that will be explored in greater detail later. Another Commission that disappeared between the 1963 and 2001 Statutes was the Commission on Philological and Linguistic Investigations. According to the earlier version, its role was to keep a record of the different

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academic specialties of the various members (thus maintaining a record of the kind of research they would most likely do), ensure that the members presented the results of their investigations on a regular basis at conferences organized by this Commission, ‘discuss and approve the writing system appropriate for the phonetic writing of Quechua’ (*Inka Rimay 1, 1963: 208), and organize the expeditions that would have resulted in recordings of different Quechua dialects. Particularly this latter function would have provided very interesting linguistic data for analysis by the linguists who might have been members of the Academy. Now, in the current version of the Statutes, there is no Commission on Philological and Linguistic Studies, but some of its former duties (primarily linguistic investigation) have been subsumed into the Dictionary department, and others into the Teaching and Grammar department (principally research on the pedagogical applications of grammar). In fact, it seems that all of the Commissions of the 1963 Statutes morphed in one form or another into the departments of the Academic Council in the 2001 Statutes. Perhaps one of the most significant changes in the last 50 years is the change in political focus of the HAQL. Article 26 of the 1963 Statutes specifies that ‘[t]he Academy, by its eminently cultural nature, will always keep itself removed from political and religious activities’ (*Inka Rimay 1: 209). At the same time, its ideological motivations were also not as clearly developed in this earlier document, which can be seen in a comparison of the corresponding articles regarding the nature and the location of the HAQL: The Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language is an official entity with legal status created for cultural purposes for the study, research, and utilization of the Quechua language or Runa-Simi. [. . .] The headquarters of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua language is the city of Cuzco. (*Inka Rimay 1, 1963: Art. 1 & 3: 203) The High Academy of the Quechua Language is supported by the philosophical, political, social, and cultural principles of the Great Continental Nation of Tawantinsuyu. In the historical process of the Quechua language, it is responsible for training people with the Andean-Inca cultural identity. [. . .] The headquarters of the High Academy of the Quechua language is the city of Qosqo, capital of Tawantinsuyu. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 1 & 4) Clearly, the 2001 Statutes are much more aligned with Inca ideologies and the glorious Inca past than are the earlier Statutes of 1963. Its emphasis on Tawantinsuyu, on the principles of the Inca Empire and the language, contrasted with the lack of such language in the 1963 version, show how their ideologies and their political fervor have changed. There is no mention in the 2001 Statutes of the HAQL maintaining itself at the margins of political

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issues, and in fact, Academy members participated in a number of protests and strikes while I was in Cuzco. In addition, a number of members have connections to members of Congress, local and regional political figures, etc. As further proof of their increased political involvement, they included a letter written on their behalf by Congressman Daniel Estrada Pérez to the Minister of Education in their 50th Anniversary issue of *Inka Rimay (6, 2003: 28). With the HAQL’s proposed law in Congress to be (re)incorporated into the hierarchical structure of the Ministry of Education, a new set of statutes needed to be developed. This could very well have involved a change in membership, a change in the formation of the Board of Directors and the hierarchical structure of the Academy, changes in the way they carried out their functions and maybe even a change in name. In the end, such changes could possibly have resolved some of the political and administrative conflicts that had been interfering with its ability to carry out its functions. However, upon the HAQL’s incorporation into the Ministry of Culture in 2010, all this information became part of the HAQL’s long and thorny history of constant struggle to gain recognition and funding from the central government. As we have seen, this struggle has not yet ceased.

Part 3 Inventing Tawantinsuyu and Qhapaq Simi: Ideologies of the HAQL

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Imagining a ‘Nation’, Idealizing a Language1

The High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), like any other institution, wants the world to know what it has accomplished and what it is capable of. To this end, it has reprinted in a number of sources a list of general contributions that it has made to the nation and to the ‘Andean-Inca world’, an ideological laden term that the Academy uses to refer to the Inca cosmovision as the members perceive it to be lived throughout the contemporary Andean region. This list clearly shows their idealism and their ideologies: The High Academy, ever since its foundation, has fulfilled a civic and patriotic labor of unconditional defense of the cultural patterns of the Andean-Inca World and the defense/diffusion of the Quechua Language or Runa Simi, at the national and international level. This Institution has hosted highly distinguished professionals and intellectuals, both Peruvian and foreign, who identify with the Andean Culture and the Quechua Language. All of these members have completed research on the National and Andean Cultural Patrimony without receiving payment of any kind, and have even given of their own financial resources to guarantee the permanent functioning of this Institution. The High Academy has contributed to elevating the national awareness and identity of new generations of Peruvians so that they now feel proud of their glorious past. (*Perfil Ayuda de Memoria, 2002: 5) The list is somewhat vague on details, and rather high-flown in terms of ideological language, but in recounting below many of the achievements and current and future projects of the Academy, it will be seen that they have 107

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indeed made efforts toward the promotion and maintenance of Quechua language and culture. What remains to be seen is the degree of success of these efforts. The HAQL asserts in its Statutes that it is ‘governed by the extant regulations of the country’ and that its work is based on the Incan ‘axiological principles of solidarity, reciprocity, brotherhood, confraternity, expressed with the common denominator of “ayni”2 as the only alternative solution to the abysmal problems of all the countries of the modern world’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 2). The specific statutory objectives of the HAQL that reveal an ideological focus are: (l) to establish the High Academy of the Quechua Language, with headquarters in the city of Qosqo [sic], as the only institution authorized to elaborate the official dictionary with contributions from the different investigators of Quechua, with the purpose of unifying its semantics and writing system; (m) to internationalize the Quechua language in the application of toponymic, zoonymic, anthroponymic and phytonymic terms, among others, that scientific investigation should consider in consultation with the High Academy. (Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6; emphasis mine)

Imagining a ‘Nation’ Cuzco and Lima are, in the nature of things, two opposing hubs of our nationality. Cuzco represents the millenary maternal cultural heritage that the Incas bequeathed to us. Lima is the yearning for adaptation to European culture. And this is because Cuzco already existed when the Conqueror arrived, and Lima was created by him ex nihilo. There is nothing strange in Lima’s being foreign-inclined, Hispanophile, imitator of exoticisms, Europeanized, and Cuzco being vernacular, nationalistic, and pure, portraying the hoary pride of legitimate American aristocratic ancestry. (Valcárcel, 1978, quoted in de la Cadena, 2000: 20) In this quote, Valcárcel hints at one of the key ideologies of the HAQL, which is their nationalism. Mr Roque touches on this when he says, ‘Nosotros lo que queremos es contribuir al desarrollo de la identidad nacional, de la conciencia nacional que es lo principal’ (What we want is to contribute to the development of a national identity, of a national consciousness, which is the main thing) (Tape HAQL 7B). Like many cuzqueños, a number of the more senior Academy members are convinced that Cuzco and the Inca Empire are the authentic basis for the Peruvian nation. ‘For Cuzco intellectuals, the status of Cuzco as the ancient Inca capital, along with their belief in the Cuzcan origin of

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Quechua, was adequate justification for reclaiming Inca history as their own’ (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 144); thus their determined focus on rebuilding the Tawantinsuyu. In fact, one of the first things that even the casual reader will note in many of the writings of the HAQL is that they consistently refer to the ‘Andean-Inca cultures’. This nomenclature stresses their focus on a past Inca culture – and in fact, an idealized, romanticized version of it – that no longer exists, if indeed it ever did in the manner in which the Academy envisions and teaches it. Woolard (1998: 7) mentions the often distortional, illusory or mystical nature of ideology, which may manifest as such ‘in the defense of interest or power’: ‘Ideology is seen as ideas, discourse or signifying practices in the service of the struggle to acquire or maintain power’. Indeed, while the HAQL may not truly be aware of manipulating history in this way, the older generation of members certainly has a strong interest in establishing its own power, or authority, in terms of controlling the Quechua language. As a corollary to the glorious Inca past, the HAQL promotes Cuzco as el ombligo del mundo, the navel of the world, the most important city of all time and place, simply because it was the capital of the Inca Empire. And the cuzqueños are their rightful descendants and heirs. The Academy asserts that it works for the betterment of the Peruvian nation by reinstating the glories of the Inca nation that was purportedly its predecessor. At heart, this Incaoriented focus is a nationalist ideology, and the Academy’s focus on the past makes sense within this ideology: ‘Nationalist doctrine [. . .] decrees that just as nations exist, so nations by definition must have a past.’ So every nationalism has invented a past for the nation; every nationalism speaks through a discourse, ‘historical in its form but apologetic in its substance,’ which claims to demonstrate the rise, progress and efflorescence of its own particular genius. Modern European intellectual fashion not only decrees that a nation must have a past, it also demands that it have a future. (Chatterjee, 1986: 9) Thus the HAQL has created a past for the Peruvian nation, and seeks to invent a future for it based on that less than historically accurate past. And language is a fundamental element of creating this imagined community. Kramsch (1998: 8) asserts that ‘[l]anguage is intimately linked not only to the culture that is and the culture that was, but also to the culture of the imagination that governs people’s decisions and actions far more than we may think’. For her part, Niño-Murcia (1997: 137) emphasizes that linguistic nationalism is a logical corollary of nationalism in general, and linguistic purism is a natural byproduct in the search for a national identity. This kind of imagination and linguistic nationalism is at work in the HAQL’s construction of itself as the ultimate authority on Inca culture and language.

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The following excerpts are representative of opinions expressed by most of the older members, and demonstrate the strong bias the Academy has typically shown for all things Inca and Cuzco, including their insistence on the purity and authenticity of Cuzco Quechua: La civilización incaica es la civilización del futuro. [. . .] La civilización incatawantinsuyana tiene su morada actual en el territorio llamado Qusqu, entonces este es el laboratorio de donde debe salir el renacimiento inca-tawantinsuyano, llamado también andino. Esta es la misión, el fundamento principal porque uno de los logros culturales humanos es el idioma, luego después la parte del arte o la estética, de esta proviene la ciencia y de la ciencia, la tecnología. Reconstruyamos el tawantinsuyu, ¿no? Ese el es sueño que nosotros tenemos, al menos el que yo tengo, ¿no? Tengo la evidencia que nosotros veremos el renacimiento de aquella gran civilización, una civilización que está siendo mirada, buscada, estudiada, investigada recién por las inteligencias del mundo. (P. Barriga, Emeritus Member, Tape HAQL 2A, 2C) (The Inca civilization is the civilization of the future. [. . .] The IncaTawantinsuyu civilization has its current home in the region called Cuzco, so this is the laboratory from which the Inca-Tawantinsuyu, also called Andean, renaissance should come. This is the mission, the main foundation because one of the [great] human cultural achievements is language, then after that comes art or aesthetics, from this comes science, and from science, technology. Let’s rebuild Tawantinsuyu, right? That’s the dream we have, or at least the dream I have. I have the evidence that we will see the rebirth of that great civilization, a civilization that is being seen, searched for, studied, investigated only recently by the intelligentsia of the world.) Cuzco, Qusqu no va a desaparecer del Perú y del mundo andino. El día que va a desaparecer el mundo andino, va a desaparecer la humanidad y ya va a llegar el fin del mundo y tendrá que desaparecer el quechua también. (F. Peñalosa, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 6A) (Cuzco, Qosqo is not going to disappear from Peru and from the Andean world. The day it disappears from the Andean world, humanity will disappear and the end of the world will come and Quechua will have to disappear as well.)

Rising in the East: ‘Eastern’ vs. ‘Western’ Nationalism Although Mr Barriga insisted that he had evidence that the Inca civilization would be reborn, he did not elaborate on this evidence. In fact, this was

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the case with many Academy members’ assertions. They tended to present their opinions, strongly influenced by a mythic Inca past, as historical fact, but did not offer any concrete evidence that could support their assertions. This makes it difficult to accept them, as Fairclough (1989: 5) would concur: ‘being committed does not excuse you from arguing rationally or producing evidence for your statements’. Again, in the following quote from Mr Barriga, we see the Inca past tied to an Inca future, as well as the Inca-Cuzco link: Nosotros los cuzqueños tenemos que vestirnos de incanismo porque los Incas somos los cuzqueños. Modernizar para mí es reactualizar la gran cultura de los Incas. Los cuzqueños se sienten colonizados porque la modernización vino de fuera. Las sociedades actuales son simias porque imitan a todo lo que vienen de afuera. (Tape HAQL 2C) (We cuzqueños have to dress ourselves in ‘Incanness’ because the Incas are us cuzqueños. To modernize, for me, is to bring up to date again the great culture of the Incas. The cuzqueños feel colonized because modernization came from outside. Present-day societies are monkey-like because they imitate everything that comes from foreign sources.) This quote not only emphasizes the HAQL’s attachment to the Incas and Cuzco, it also reveals a more fundamental – and at the same time more insidiously unconscious – nationalistic fervor, of the form that Chatterjee refers to as ‘eastern nationalism’. That is, as a colonized society, they recognize that they are a blend of two original societies, the conquering and the conquered. From the conquered society – in this case, the Incas – come the identifying elements that will make the new society unique from all others in the world, while from the conquering society – the Spanish or European – come all the tools necessary for the new society to be competitive in the modern world. In this we see again the HAQL’s desire to remake the Peruvian nation and the other Andean countries as one Inca nation, but with all the advantages of any modern society. Such an attempt to create a modern nation from the ashes of the Inca past can be seen as: ‘both imitative and hostile to the models it imitates[. . .].’ It is imitative in that it accepts the value of the standards set by the alien culture. But it [is hostile in its] rejection [. . .] ‘of the alien intruder and dominator who is nevertheless to be imitated and surpassed by his own standards.’ (Chatterjee, 1986: 2) And in fact, much of the ideology of the HAQL has been overtly hostile to the influence of Hispanic or European society on Peruvian culture, as when it has refused to recognize the work of non-Cuzco investigators.

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The Academy claims to reject Western paradigms and European influences. However, HAQL members appear not to recognize that they copy many of these themselves. For example, a number of Academy members, both in interviews and in their official publications, compared the HAQL with the Royal Academy of the Spanish Language (RAE), in terms of both their function and their structure. In the minutes of the Academy’s foundation, it was acknowledged that the RAE was a model for the HAQL: ‘The Academy should be organized so as to uphold the historical and cultural prestige of Cuzco in a manner similar to that of the Academy of the Spanish Language, in Madrid’ (Primer Libro de Actas, Academia Peruana de la Lengua Quechua, 1953, folio 1; quoted in Niño-Murcia, 1997: 149). In my own fieldwork, several consultants noted that the HAQL is comparable in both structure and function with the RAE. For instance, according to Mr Barriga: La Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua tiene el mismo rango de la Real Academia de la Lengua Española que tiene su sede en Madrid, ¿no? Esta Academia tiene su sede en el Cuzco y esta Academia es la que debe normar la enseñanza—bueno, todo lo que concierne a la enseñanza, a la escritura, etc. de todo el Perú más las filiales que tiene en el extranjero. (Tape HAQL 2C) (The High Academy of the Quechua Language has the same stature as the RAE based in Madrid, you see. This Academy is based in Cuzco and this Academy is the one that should regulate teaching – really, everything that has to do with teaching, writing, etc. for all of Peru, plus the affiliates that it has abroad.) In comparing themselves with the Spanish institution, they are covertly recognizing the validity and usefulness of that institution, at the same time that they unconsciously acknowledge their imitation of it and their attempts to surpass it. However, it is also not always true that they do not recognize the influence and utility of Western paradigms. For instance, *Pacheco Farfán (1994: vii) explicitly refers to using ‘western philosophical categories and the resultant Spanish-European bibliographical production, which will allow us to demonstrate objectively that there did indeed exist an INKA [sic] PHILOSOPHY, superior to that of the Spanish and the European’ (emphasis in original). In this regard, he is clearly and consciously making use of Western paradigms to compare the Andean world with them and prove that the Andean has already surpassed its European model. During my time there, I witnessed another way in which the HAQL members unconsciously use Western paradigms. There was a parade in the city of Cuzco in which not only members of the HAQL but also local branch members from around the department of Cuzco participated, dressed in ponchos and ch’ullus (Andean caps for men) and carrying signs written in Quechua. The men wore the ponchos over their Western dress suits, with

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their ties and highly polished shoes clearly visible, and the women wore their ponchos over elegant blouses and sweaters and fashionable blue jeans (Fieldnotes, 26 June 2002), as seen in Figure 7.1 below; that is, neither gender dressed completely in Andean apparel for these events. Normally, of course, Andean men would not be dressed in suits and ties, and Andean women would never wear ponchos and ch’ullus, a fact to which Mr Barriga alluded: Por ejemplo, en las fiestas del Cuzco nosotros los académicos nos disfrazamos en el día del desfile cívico. Nos ponemos ponchos, ch’ullus, todo esas cuestiones. Nos disfrazamos. Me he puesto de campesino, sin serlo. Inclusive se distorsionan [la vestimenta], porque las mujeres se ponen poncho, ‘Vamos a disfrazarnos de indio’ diciendo. (Tape HAQL 2A) (For example, during the Cuzco founding day celebrations the Academy members dress up in costumes on the day of the civic parade. We put on ponchos, ch’ullus, all that. We disguise ourselves. I dressed up as a peasant, even though I’m not one. They even distort [the norms of attire], because the women wear ponchos, saying, ‘Let’s dress up as Indians’.) This layering of Andean over Western demonstrates the symbolic nature of wearing the Andean clothes, evidently with the intention of symbolizing solidarity with the Indigenous communities that typically wear such clothes. But at the same time, this mixing seems to show a lack of concern for cultural ‘authenticity’ on the part of an organization that bases its entire

Figure 7.1 Women and men ‘costumed’ for Inti Raymi parade Source: Author’s photo archive.

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reputation on its authentic Inca identity – although such mixing does give an indication of the members’ mestizo identity. However, at a deeper level, the use of this particular Western dress could be read as another manifestation of the Academy members’ ideological identification with the elite Inca ruling class: by dressing in their most elegant, expensive suits, they are unconsciously identifying themselves as members of the modern-day elite class; by layering the ponchos and ch’ullus on top of them, they are identifying themselves with the modern remnants of Andean culture. As Mary Weismantel (2001: 112) suggests in her analysis of cholas mixing sartorial codes: Such mixed messages have the effect of disrupting our belief in a unitary identity for the body underneath. [. . .] If the clothing were clearly mestiza, the woman underneath might simply be an uppity Indian. But if the clothing itself is layered, multiple, subject to more than one reading, the body that inhabits it might turn out to be equally complicated. By this reasoning, the members could be constructing – either consciously or unconsciously – an identity every bit as complicated as the cholas of whom Weismantel speaks. One thing I noticed during the preparations for the parade and even during and after it, was that most of the conversations I heard around me were in Quechua. Some people would switch to Spanish once in a while, but then they would switch back again. After this parade, most of the members took off their costumes, and the Board of Directors invited all of the Academy and branch members to lunch in a local restaurant. The most interesting and impressive part for me was that the conversation continued mostly in Quechua. There were a few side conversations between small groups of people in Spanish, but the discussion in which the majority of the attendees participated was conducted in Quechua. This use of Quechua in a non-official setting is an example of instrumental rather than symbolic use of the language, thus providing some evidence of the Academy’s willingness to ‘practice what they preach’. That is, they do not merely give lip service to the need to use Quechua in more than simply official contexts – they actually do use it, in social as well as official situations. Based on my observations, I would say that the top members of the HAQL spoke Spanish approximately 60% of the time and Quechua 40% of the time inside the HAQL main office. Of course, different members had different proficiencies in speaking Quechua, which would tend to make it difficult to carry on a continuous conversation in Quechua. The majority of the Associate Members were not as proficient in Quechua as the Board of Directors and many of the senior Full Members. Quechua is used quite a fair amount within the precincts of the Academy offices among the higher-ranking members, and in fact, at the one meeting I was permitted to attend, the vast majority of the meeting was conducted

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in Quechua. This experience was in contrast to the observations of at least one earlier researcher who found that although HAQL members spoke about Quechua a great deal, not many of them actually spoke in it (CerrónPalomino, 1989: 30). I suspect that in recent years the Board of Directors has become more determined in enforcing its policy of Quechua use among Academy members, perhaps in response to such criticisms. One of the most noticeable aspects of the ideology that one can hear in HAQL discourse is the apparently memorized nature of it. Whether you are having a conversation, conducting a formal interview, listening to one of their speeches, or reading one of their publications or official documents, you can hear the same catchphrases repeated nearly verbatim. The following are only a sampling: ‘the Great Continental Nation of Tawantinsuyu’; ‘the Quechua of the Academy is the pure, authentic Quechua of the Incas’; ‘the glorious past of Cuzco’; ‘the Incas are universal’; ‘the cultural manifestations of the Andean-Inca world’; ‘Quechua is the most beautiful, sweetest language of the world’, ‘Quechua is the mother tongue’; ‘the peasants of the communities do not speak a pure and authentic Quechua, but rather Quechuañol completely mixed with Spanish’; ‘the enemies of Quechua’, etc. An important point to be aware of in this Cuzco-centric and Incaoriented ideology is its ahistorical nature. The Incas are always presented in an ‘is-was-always will be’ paradigm, but apparently without drawing any relation between them and contemporary Andean cultures. That is, when the Academy refers to contemporary Quechua-speaking communities, they do not seem to equate those people with the Incanato. The Incas were the rulers, the upper class, which the contemporary communities clearly are not. In the mindset of the Academy, the community members continue to be simply runa or campesinos, the common people, the peasants whose needs and knowledges are not necessarily taken into account in the HAQL’s efforts to improve and spread the language. Although the Academy’s discourse may make it appear that their every concern is for the Quechua people, their actions do not back this up. It is the city of Cuzco, and in particular, the HAQL members, who are the descendants of the Incas and thus the elite class. At the same time, it is interesting that the greatness of the Incas only takes shape in comparison with foreign but apparently equally great civilizations, in particular Spain and Western Europe, much as the Inca Garcilaso de la Vega compared the Inca empire with the Greek and Roman empires (De la Vega, 1609). In fact, the roots of much of the HAQL’s ideologies of Quechua purism and Cuzco-centrism can be found in his work, ‘according to whom the only true speakers of Quechua should be not only those born in Cuzco, but even more exclusively, [only] the descendants of Inca royalty’ (CerrónPalomino, personal communication, 5 January 2007; see Cerrón-Palomino, 2004). This observation offers more support to the theory that the HAQL practices an ‘eastern nationalism’ of the type described by Chatterjee (1986).

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Hand in Glove: Language and Nation Language use is another aspect of the HAQL’s nationalist ideology and their devotion to Inca Quechua. This should not be surprising, given the role that language consciousness plays in general in a given group’s ethnic self-awareness: ‘As the major symbol system of our species, particular languages naturally become symbolic of their respective speakers’ (Fishman, 1993: 2). In fact, the HAQL uses quite a number of different terms interchangeably to refer to Quechua, all of which make it clear that Quechua is indeed, for them, the language of the Incas. Some of these are simply spelling variations of either Quechua or runasimi, but many of them point to their Cuzco-centric and Inca-oriented ideologies. The following is a list of those terms that were used by members during interviews, in various issues of Inka Rimay, and in other publications by HAQL members: Quechua, Qheswa, Qishwa, Qheswasimi, Quechua Simi, unadulterated Quechua, classical Quechua, Quechua Inka, Imperial Quechua, [the] legitimate Quechua, pure Quechua, Runa-Simi, Runasimi Inka, Inka Rimay (Quechua for Inca Speaking), Inca language/language of the Incas, Imperial language, National Language, authentic National Language, Indigenous language, language of the Andean gods, our aboriginal language, mother tongue, Qhapaq simi, Qhapaq Runasimi, Universal Language, human language, Language of Qosqo, Misk’i Simi. The language is great, in this thinking, because it belongs to the Incas and because it originates from Cuzco. What the HAQL seems not to take into account, however, is that the Incas, according to current research, did not originally speak Quechua, but rather, adopted it as their lingua franca when they conquered the region. There is also further proof that the language was not native to Cuzco (Cerrón-Palomino, 1989: 15). Thus, the HAQL has based their entire linguistic ideology on a myth. It was the colonizing Spaniards who originally introduced the notion that Quechua was the language of the Incas: In effect, to judge by notes found in the earliest colonial documents, everything seems to indicate that Quechua [the language] did not have a specific designation. The first chroniclers, and even the Inca Garcilaso himself, refer to it as the ‘general language,’ an expression that was also employed to designate Aymara, Puquina and perhaps also Mochica. In their eagerness to highlight the more widespread nature of Quechua, it was customarily spoken of as the ‘most general language,’ or they would specify it as ‘the language of the Incas’ or even, more specifically, ‘the language of Cuzco.’ The term quichua, and from then on its variants, was used for the first time in print by the Dominican Fray Domingo de Santo Tomás ([1560] 1951a, [1560] 1951b), author of the first Quechua

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grammar and dictionary. The fortunes of the glottonym [Quechua] date from that moment. (Cerrón-Palomino, 2003: 32; emphasis in original) Thus, designations of ‘the language of the Incas’ and ‘the language of Cuzco’ were originally used by the Spaniards, not by the Incas themselves, nor even the non-Inca Quechua speakers of the region. Ironically, the HAQL is establishing its own ideologies and paradigms based on a Spanish, rather than an Andean, understanding of the linguistic situation. In point of fact, at the time of my research, the HAQL refused to acknowledge any of the extant research that points toward the conclusion that Quechua was spoken in the area long before the Incas arrived, and that it probably did not originate in Cuzco either. Alberto Mayorga, a senior Full Member, offered this typical expression of the HAQL’s disbelief in research published by non-Academy members: Yo no creo en gran porcentaje en las producciones intelectuales de los ratones de biblioteca porque las fuentes directas son las que nos pueden decir las verdades, y para leer a Domingo de Santo Tomás o Gonzáles Holguín u otros autores del idioma quechua en esos tiempos, hay que tener mucho sentido, mucho ojo, oído y pestaña porque escribieron en un castellano en formación y un latín en deformación. (Tape HAQL 10A) (I do not put much stock in the scholarly productions of the library rats [a term for intellectuals who spend a great deal of time in libraries, here presumably as opposed to doing fieldwork] because direct sources are what can tell us the truth, and to read Domingo de Santo Tomás or González Holguín or other authors about the Quechua language in those days, one has to have a lot of sense, one has to be very careful and observant [in interpreting what they say], because they wrote in a Spanish still in formation, and a Latin in deformation.) By this he means that the work of modern researchers is suspect because it is based on the work of the Spanish chroniclers at the time of the Conquest (and this in itself is not necessarily true). The Spanish of the chroniclers was so different from contemporary Spanish that it would be easy to misinterpret their words if the modern-day researcher were not attentive, and he suspects that these modern-day researchers were not careful enough and so allowed misinterpretations into their works.

The Purest Language The ‘language of the Incas’ actually only refers to the particular dialect spoken in the Cuzco region, and even further, the qhapaq simi, the ‘language

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of the nobles’, which is the purest and most authentic Quechua, and thus is the language of the elite mestizos of the Academy. All other varieties are regarded as merely corruptions, the so-called runasimi (‘language of the people’) spoken by peasants who never learned to speak properly.3 This distinction between qhapaq simi and runasimi was made very clear in one way or another by nearly all the members I interviewed, and has been noted by other researchers as well, in regard to both the Academy’s language attitudes and those of the communities themselves (see Godenzzi, 1992; Itier, 1992; Marr, 1998, 1999; Niño-Murcia, 1997). In fact, all of the founding members of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language (PAQL) in 1953 believed that the Cuzco dialect was the ‘pure’ or ‘true’ Quechua spoken by the Inca nobility of pre-Columbian times. In this respect, the influence of the indigenistas and the neo-indigenistas is clearly evident. In fact, a number of the founding members themselves were followers of one or the other of these two movements, so it should come as no surprise that many of their ideologies clearly stem from those roots. There are frequent references to Cuzco, particularly in the six issues of Inka Rimay, as the ‘Capital of Tawantinsuyu and center of the universe’, the cradle of the Quechua language, and to Cuzco Quechua itself as the original and purest form of Quechua. In a sense, the following quotes also emphasize the Academy’s attempts to surpass the Spanish influence by insisting on the purity of Quechua over Spanish. Spanish is for mestizos, they say, but Quechua is for the pure Peruvian, the pure Andean, the pure Inca from Cuzco (rather ironic, given the fact that all of the HAQL members are urban-dwelling mestizos): El verdadero idioma mestizo es el castellano. El runasimi es original, auténtico y es puro. No digamos variedad porque el llamado quechua es uno solo con diferentes variedades de acuerdo a las zonas, de acuerdo al tiempo también por supuesto, ¿no? Otra cosa, hay que cambiar ‘quechua’ porque no es de la época de los Incas la palabra ‘quechua’. La verdadera denominación en todo caso tendría que ser el runa o el Inca, el idioma Inca. (P. Barriga, Emeritus Member, Tape HAQL 2E) (The real mestizo language is Spanish. Runasimi is original, authentic and pure. We will not say variety because the so-called Quechua is a single language with different varieties according to their zones, also according to time [period], of course, you know? Another thing, ‘Quechua’ needs to be changed because the word ‘Quechua’ is not from the time of the Incas. The real name in any case would have to be runa or Inca, the Inca language.) El idioma quechua, ¿quién lo ha cultivado? No lo ha cultivado en nuestro caso el cajamarquino, no lo ha cultivado el tacneño sino pues principalmente la cuna

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del idioma quechua verdaderamente quechua Inca es pues Qusqu llaqta. (E. Mamani, senior Full Member, Tape HAQL 13A) (The Quechua language – who cultivated it? In our case, it is not the Cajamarcan, nor the resident of Tacna, but rather, mainly the cradle of the Quechua language, truly Inca Quechua, is, of course Qusqu llaqta [Cuzco].) Both of these quotes focus on the importance of Inca and Cuzco in determining the purity and authenticity of the Quechua language. However, the HAQL also exhibits ideologies on the inherent qualities of the language itself, independent of – or perhaps in addition to – the people and place of its supposed origin: Hablar de quechua es hablar de un idioma científico, de un idioma académico, de un idioma técnico. Hablar de quechua no solo es medio de comunicación, en el mismo quechua está su tecnología, su ciencia, su filosofía, su matemática, todo un conjunto del saber humano. Aquella persona que sabe quechua y quiere escribir o descubrir acontecimientos del pasado, realmente con el quechua va a contrastar sus diferentes hipótesis con sus diferentes variables para llegar a ley científica. El método lingüístico es el más certero para poder encontrar los orígenes de su conocimiento, de su ciencia y su tecnología. [. . .] La gramática quechua tiene su propia concepción, tiene su propia doctrina, tiene su propia ideología, tiene su propia estructura, por tanto tiene su propio lenguaje técnico. Consiguientemente, tiene su propio método científico. [. . .] Es que su forma de ver el mundo es totalmente diferente al occidente y al oriente. [. . .] Ahora yo digo que la gramática tiene su propio método científico, tiene su propia concepción. Consiguientemente, el idioma quechua no solo es dulce sino es para decirlo con un gusto único todo el sentimiento humano. Eso sería a grandes rasgos la importancia del idioma quechua, que es mucho más allá que la concepción castellana o la concepción inglesa o alemana o japonesa. Increíblemente no se desvincula lo filosófico, lo tecnológico, lo científico, lo lingüístico, lo semántico. Ahí está la ingeniera, ahí está la medicina, ahí está la astronomía, la astrología, ahí está la filosofía, ahí está todo. (E. Mamani, Tape HAQL 13B) (To speak of Quechua is to speak of a scientific language, an academic language, a technical language. To speak of Quechua is not only a medium of communication, in Quechua itself is its technology, its science, its philosophy, its mathematics, a whole set of human knowledge. The person who knows Quechua and wants to write or discover things about the past, truly with Quechua he will contrast his different hypotheses with his different variables to arrive at scientific law. The linguistic method is the surest way to be able to find the origins of its knowledge,

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of its science and its technology. [. . .] Quechua grammar has its own design, it has its own doctrine, it has its own ideology, it has its own structure, and therefore it has its own technical language. It follows, then, that it has its own scientific method. [. . .] Its way of seeing the world is totally different from the West and the East. [. . .] Now I say the grammar has its own scientific method, it has its own understanding. Consequently, the Quechua language is not only sweet, but it also allows all human sentiments to be spoken with unique feeling. In general, that would be the importance of the Quechua language, that it is much more profound than the Spanish understanding, than the English understanding, than the German understanding, than the Japanese understanding. Incredibly, philosophy, technology, science, linguistics, semantics are not dissociated [in Quechua]. Engineering is there, medicine is there, astronomy is there, astrology, philosophy is there, everything is there.) This quote shows clearly how Mr Mamani places Quechua in a superior position to both European and Asian languages. It would seem from the quote that he believes that having the necessary vocabulary in a given language to talk about such topics as he mentions, gives that language the attributes of the vocabulary. He almost makes it seem that simply speaking the language is going to lead the speaker to a logical conclusion of whatever problem is posed. This is very similar to Mr Barriga’s opinion: ‘Los cuzqueños somos universales. Si sabes quechua, aprendes a hablar otro idioma mejor que el mismo hablante de ese idioma’ (We cuzqueños are universal. If you know Quechua, you learn to speak another language better than a native speaker of that language) (Tape HAQL 2E). These quotes clearly demonstrate the validity of Woolard’s (1998: 18–19) observation that ‘[w]hen a linguistic form-in-use is thus ideologized as distinctive and as implicating a distinctive kind of people, it is often further misrecognized, in Bourdieu’s term, or revalorized, as transparently emblematic of social, political, intellectual, or moral character’. In both cases, the speakers use somewhat tautological reasoning. It is also inherently faulty – in part because it does not take into account the need for reasoning skills on the part of a speaker, and in part because it argues that the ability to express such things proves the superiority of the language. These arguments fail to consider that nearly all languages offer the ability to talk about such subjects to one degree or another, and that no language is inherently more logical than another. Returning to the notion of purity of varieties, there are a number of HAQL members who not only support the superiority of Cuzco Quechua over other varieties, but also further insist that the purest of all is Inca Quechua, or qhapaq simi, even more so than the Cuzco Quechua spoken by rural monolingual speakers of the Cuzco region. This distinction between

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Cuzco and Inca Quechua struck me upon a number of occasions, and I finally decided to ask someone about it. A high-ranking member of the Board of Directors told me: El Inca es la fase final del desarrollo cultural del mundo andino. Es el síntesis de los diferentes dialectos, idiomas de las naciones integrantes del Tawantinsuyu. Cuzco es la raíz, cuna y fuente de la cultura andino-Inca, es la síntesis del protoquechua de las culturas del valle del Qusqu. (Fieldnotes, 19 June 2002) (Inca Quechua is the final phase of cultural development of the Andean world. It is the synthesis of the different dialects, languages of the nations that make up the Tawantinsuyu. Cuzco is the root, cradle and source of the Andean-Inka culture, it is the synthesis of the proto-Quechua of the cultures of the Cuzco valley.) This same person repeatedly told me that I needed to learn Inca Quechua, and that he would teach it to me. It is notable, however, from his casual conflation of terms such as ‘dialects’ and ‘languages,’ and even his reference to proto-Quechua, that he is not a student of dialectology. And he is not the only Academy member who does not understand dialectology in the linguist’s sense. The following are a sampling of responses from several different members to the question, ‘What is the best dialect of Quechua?’: El quechua es uno solo. Claro, respetando a los demás idiomas yo diría. En el tiempo de nuestros abuelos los Incas, no hubo variedades, sino era el quechua que era el idioma general en todo el Tawantinsuyu. Claro que respetando los dialectos que habían en diferentes pueblos, pero la dominante era el quechua a nivel del Tawantinsuyu. (S. Conde, Tape HAQL 4A) (Quechua is a single language. Of course, respecting other languages, I would say. In the time of our grandfathers the Incas, there were not varieties; rather it was Quechua that was the general language in all of Tawantinsuyu. Of course, respecting the other dialects that were in the different communities, but the dominant one was Quechua throughout Tawantinsuyu.) Las lenguas de la selva son dialectos, no son idiomas. [. . .] El quechua no tiene dialecto. Siendo un idioma no tiene un dialecto. Claro que ahora hay diferentes formas de conversar de acuerdo a las regiones, la costa, la sierra, inclusive por el norte del país u otros como Argentina, Bolivia y Ecuador. Eso no quiere decir que son dialectos, son formas de conversar no en forma uniforme más bien en diferentes formas, ¿no? Para mí no habría dialectos del idioma quechua. (F. Requena, Tape HAQL 5A)

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(The jungle languages are dialects, they are not languages. [. . .] Quechua does not have dialects. Being a language, it doesn’t have a dialect. Of course now there are different forms of conversing according to regions, the coast, the highlands, even in the north of the country or other countries like Argentina, Bolivia and Ecuador. That does not mean that they are dialects, they are ways of conversing, not uniform but rather in different ways, right? For me, there are no dialects of the Quechua language.) In addition to their linguistic confusion, these answers also show an apparent lack of understanding of the evolving linguistic situation in the time of the Incas. This latter in itself, however, is not so surprising, since these speakers are not historical linguists, and much of the general population is equally confused in this respect. Mr Roque, a senior Full Member, does recognize the existence of other dialects, but returns to his insistence on the superiority of Inca Quechua: La mejor variante del quechua dirán los ayacuchanos el quechua ayacuchano, los hermanos de Bolivia dirán el quechua boliviano, los hermanos de Santiago del Estero en el Norte de Argentina, dirán el quechua argentino. Los cuzqueños también tenemos corazón y tenemos que decir el quechua cuzqueño. Pero frente a esas realidades, el quechua más evolucionado, más científico que no tiene excepciones en su escritura es el quechua Inca. El quechua Inca que han difundido empezando desde el Cuzco por la mayor parte de las colectividades del Tawantinsuyu. (Tape HAQL 7A) (The best variety of Quechua, people from Ayacucho will say is Ayacucho Quechua, our brothers in Bolivia will say Bolivian Quechua, our brothers from Santiago del Estero in northern Argentina will say Argentine Quechua. We cuzqueños also have heart and we have to say Cuzco Quechua. But opposing those realities, the most evolved, most scientific Quechua that does not have exceptions in its writing is Inca Quechua. The Inca Quechua that has been spread from Cuzco to the majority of the communities of Tawantinsuyu.) The HAQL considers itself to be the ultimate arbiter of qhapaq simi, or Inca Quechua. They are the owners, so to speak, of this variety, which is ultimately more of a sociolect (a class- or social-group-based variety [Swann et al., 2004: 178]) than a dialect (a regional variety) (Godenzzi, 1992: 63). It is in many respects an artificial construct of the Academy itself, the refined and purified version that they have created without having any real recourse to the Quechua-speaking communities to check for validity of terminology or community acceptance of coinages. This is not to say that none of the members ever visited the communities and made the effort to learn from the native speakers. A few of them did, but

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it was not a universal practice by any means, and not all of them went with the intention of learning from the campesinos. In fact, Mr Mayorga made a veiled reference to this very effect of the Academy’s linguistic purism: ‘Incluso cuando nosotros en las comunidades queremos usar el quechua académico, el quechua de la Academia, a veces no nos entienden, ¿no? Entonces hay una brecha que hay que tratar de unirlo’ (And even when we are in the communities and we want to use academic Quechua, the Quechua of the Academy, sometimes they don’t understand us, you know? So then there is a gap that we need to try to fill) (Tape HAQL 10A). He seems to recognize the need to work more closely with the communities in coining new terms, to come up with terms that make sense for the speakers themselves. On the other hand, he could simply be referring to the need to teach the community members these HAQLdeveloped neologisms. Mr Mamani offered this final thought, bringing us back to a discussion of sociolects: Antes hablaban quechua los grandes genios de la lingüística, o sea los Incas hablaban, pero con la llegada de los españoles se dividieron en dos, el runa simi, el idioma del pueblo y el qhiswa simi, el idioma de los emperadores. Ahora en esta realidad, se habla los dos mezclados, el qhapaq simi o qhiswa simi y el runa simi. El idioma del pueblo y el idioma de los Incas. El idioma de los Incas es el qhiswa simi, la gran expresión literaria solamente referente a la deidad, a los Apus, a la cosmovisión andina que se llama hanaq pacha, kay pacha, ukhu pacha. El pueblo hablaba ya, decía, ¿no? En los poemas decían, ¿no? qunqur chaki ñawpaykiman ulpiyakamuni reverente me pongo de rodillas a su delante o decían también ¡Haylli! ¡Haylli! ¡Victoria! ¡Victoria! solamente en el Inti Raymi y en las grandes fiestas. En cambio ahora dicen en runa simi ¡Kawsachun Qusqu!, ¡Kawsachun ¡Que viva el Cusco! ¡Que viva! o si no, en su canción vamos a diferenciar el runa simi con el qhiswa simi ya de aquellas épocas [. . .] Entonces podemos decir de que el qhiswa simi, es decir una canción intillay killallay, mamallay killallay digamos así, ¿no? En cambio en el runa simi se dice ñachun mamayki yachanña, chachaschay, quri anillu qusqayta chachaschay, ya es una canción del pueblo algo así. Fíjese la gran diferencia, entonces ahora en la realidad de este momento, hablamos los dos mezclados. (Tape HAQL 13A) (Before, it was the great geniuses of linguistics who spoke Quechua, that is, the Incas spoke it, but with the arrival of the Spaniards, they were divided in two, runa simi, the language of the people, and qhiswa simi, the language of the emperors. Now, in the present, both are spoken mixed, qhapaq simi or qhiswa simi and runa simi, the language of the people and the language of the Incas. The language of the Incas is qhiswa simi, the great literary expression that refers only to deities, the Apus, to the Andean cosmovision called hanaq pacha [the world above], kay pacha [this world], ukhu pacha [the underworld]. The people used to speak this

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way, in poems they said, ‘Qunqur chaki ñawpaykiman urpiyakamuni’, I kneel down reverently in front of you. They also said, ‘¡Haylli! ¡Haylli!’ Victory! Victory! but only in the Festival of the Sun and other big celebrations. On the other hand, now they say in runa simi, ‘¡Kawsachun Qusqu! ¡Kawsachun¡’ Long live Cuzco! Long may it live! Or if not, in their songs we can tell the difference between the runa simi and the qhiswa simi from those times. [. . .] So we can say that in qhiswa simi, a song might sound something like this: ‘intillay killallay, mamallay killallay’ sung this way [sings very slowly, sedately, tranquilly; the sounds flow easily, there are no harsh sounds], right? On the other hand, in runa simi they say ‘ñachun mamayki yachanña, chachaschay, quri anillu qusqayta chachaschay’ [sung very brusquely and energetically, jumping around, with many sharp, harsh sounds]. This is a song of the common people, something like this. Notice the big difference, so then now, in the present, we speak both of them mixed.) It is interesting that the division between qhiswa simi and runa simi is attributed to the arrival of the Spaniards, with everyone supposedly speaking the same variety before the conquerors’ arrival. More interesting still is the assertion that qhiswa simi was a literary sociolect, used only by the upper class to speak of gods and the Andean cosmovision. The implication is that the common people did not use this sociolect. But immediately after associating qhiswa simi with the upper class, Mr Mamani talks about what the people (pueblo, presumably the common people) used to say in their poetry, ‘I kneel down reverently before you’, which sounds very literary, displaying little or no difference from the qhiswa simi. On the other hand, he illustrates the difference between the two sociolects with examples of songs from each variety, showing how the song in qhiswa simi sounds so much more elegant and refined than the one in runa simi. Such internal contradiction in his own statements makes it unclear where the division was that he was trying to show between the two sociolects. A consequence of the HAQL’s emphasis on the superiority of the Cuzco dialect, and especially the qhapaq simi sociolect, is that it does not demonstrate much respect for the individuality and autonomy of the many Quechua peoples and their various dialects. Some members claim that there are no dialects, that Quechua is a single language and that people speaking other dialects of Quechua are actually speaking other languages entirely. Other members maintain that those who speak other dialects simply do not know how to speak Quechua properly. In all cases, they appear to have the answers, the ‘cure’ to the ‘problem’, and their goal is to teach everyone the true Inca Quechua, whether others already speak some other variety of Quechua, or are learning the language from the beginning. The HAQL’s ideologies, positions and practices, then, tend to establish dichotomies of language use at many levels, and these dichotomies often

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work to further asymmetrical relationships of power and prestige between varieties of Quechua, which could affect not only daily language use in different domains, but also language policy and planning (LPP) decisions at the official level (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 156). A number of investigators, myself among them, are of the opinion that the Academy’s emphasis on the qhapaq simi has had an ultimately negative effect on the HAQL’s ability to contribute to Quechua maintenance and revitalization. Marr (1998: 170) notes, ‘This kind of status planning through the evocation of history risks consigning the language to a remote and idealised past, and implicitly denying or ignoring its reality as a contemporary and living tongue’. Moreover, in insisting on the superiority of their Inca Quechua sociolect instead of recognizing the value and utility of any variety of Quechua spoken by the people, they create dichotomies between high and low varieties, between pure or authentic and corrupted or distorted language, between rich and poor classes, between dominant urban mestizos and dominated rural campesinos, between literate and illiterate societies. Such dichotomies serve to further emphasize the linguistic shame that many speakers of Quechua may already be suffering. On the one hand, speakers have been told for centuries by the dominant Spanish-speaking society that their language is worthless. On the other, they are being told by the very organization that is supposedly a bulwark of Quechua valorization and defender of their linguistic rights that they do not know how to speak their own language properly and they must relearn it ‘the right way’. This is a double oppression, and it would be enough to make anyone give up trying.

Notes (1) Part of the content of the present chapter appeared in Coronel-Molina (2008). (2) The meaning of ayni as ‘reciprocity’, with an implication of balance and equality between parties, is actually neither balanced nor egalitarian. It is inherently incomplete, unbalanced and hierarchical (Mannheim, 2006), so it actually has nothing to do with cooperative labor under equal conditions. Ayni as ‘reciprocal exchange of labor’ seems to be a romanticized modern construct that took root during the indigenist movement of 1880–1930. (3) It is an interesting contradiction that runasimi is one of the terms used in some of the HAQL’s older publications to refer to the Quechua language, and yet among the members I spoke with, runasimi seemed to be clearly associated with peasant speech.

8

Constructing and Deconstructing Expertise

Just Who is the Expert Here? Some of the senior academicians appear to have as their chief aim not the normalisation and/or the maintenance of Quechua, but public ratification of their own view of themselves as the supreme embodiment of a culture, a region and a nation. (Marr, 1999: 195) Marr (1999) makes reference to a very important element of the High Academy of the Quechua Language’s (HAQL’s) identity, which is the members’ deep-seated need to be recognized as the experts on all things Andean. To this end, both the Academy’s official discourse and their personal interactions continually seek to present themselves in this light, to construct an image of expertise on Andean questions ranging from linguistics to politics and everything in between. They do this by touting themselves as the only authority capable of speaking for and about Quechua, and by denigrating the expertise, research and contributions of non-Academy scholars in all disciplines (particularly linguists), language planners, government officials, nongovernment organizations (NGOs), etc. Cooper notes that such a reaction is typical for any elite group seeking to establish its hegemony: [E]lites view the symbols of their distinctiveness, linguistic or otherwise, as evidence of their superiority and as justification for their privileged position (Koch, 1978). It is in the interest of the elites to promote their own language variety as the single model of correctness, not only to elicit the ‘veneration of the masses’ but also to confer legitimacy upon [their] pronouncements. (Cooper, 1989: 135) At the same time, however, individual members of the HAQL made comments to me that occasionally seemed to contradict the Academy’s official 126

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stance, thus contributing to a weakening or deconstruction of the official discourse that the senior members of the HAQL constantly seek to construct. These contradictions offer evidence of the dissension that is growing within the Academy, but may also offer the possibility for new directions for the HAQL to grow in the future. One of the ways the HAQL establishes its expertise is by taking a very essentialist view of research on Andean language and culture, believing that only ‘authentic’ Andeans such as themselves can understand and explain the culture and the language. Likewise, most Academy members also recognize only themselves as the owners of the knowledge and the language, those authorized to speak in academic terms of Quechua and the Andean-Inca culture: La Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua es la única entidad que domina el idioma quechua. Nadie en el Ministerio de Educación habla quechua. Son ignorantes en el idioma quechua, pero ellos se dan la facultad de hacer normas en el idioma sin conocer y para eso está pues la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua. La que va a normar cómo se debe hablar y cómo se debe escribir. (S. Conde, Tape HAQL 4A) (The HAQL is the only entity that has expertise in the Quechua language. Nobody in the Ministry of Education speaks Quechua. They are ignorant of the Quechua language, but they give themselves the authority to make regulations about the language without knowing it. [But] that is what the HAQL is for. [It is] the one that is going to regulate how it should be spoken and how it should be written.) This quote clearly demonstrates not only the opinion that the HAQL considers itself the owner of and highest authority on Quechua, but also the low opinion that the institution holds of other organizations that might be seeking to influence the use or teaching of the Quechua language and culture. Many similar examples can be found throughout not only my interviews with Academy members, but also throughout the published writings of the HAQL, especially in the last four issues of Inka Rimay. Such inflammatory language does not tend to convince others of the veracity or validity of what is being said. Rather, it has the opposite effect, and tends to make people back away from those who use it, to not want to listen, nor to believe what is being said. In being so patently hostile to anyone from outside the Academy, the members lose credibility, alienate possible collaborators and lower their own effectiveness. This antagonistic stance towards other institutions and individuals could be a result of the frustration the Academy has suffered over the years because of their struggles to achieve official recognition, to overcome what they perceive as the put-downs and disdain of these other groups. As such, perhaps their reaction is understandable, but nevertheless, it hinders their ability to achieve their goals.

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Some members make reference to this alienation, but do not recognize themselves as the source, continuing, conversely, to insist on the need for other agencies to recognize their own expertise: Hay aislamiento de las Academias de parte de las llamadas sociedades y las instituciones llamadas culturales, por ejemplo el Instituto Nacional de Cultura. Siempre miran estas instituciones a la Academia como de segundo orden, ¿no? Nunca han dicho, “oriéntennos a nosotros” por ejemplo, “como académicos deberían orientarnos a nosotros”. Las autoridades sociales, religiosas deben matricularse en la Academia para que traten y entren en contacto con el pueblo, pero no se hace eso. (P. Barriga, Tape HAQL 2E) (There is an isolation of the Academies on the part of the so-called cultural societies and institutions, for example, the National Institute of Culture. These institutions always look at the Academy as [being] second-class, you know? They have never said, for example, ‘guide us, as academics, you should guide us’. The social and religious authorities should enroll in the Academy so they can come into contact with the communities, but that is not done.) In this particular case, Mr Barriga takes up with other domestic institutions that he feels should recognize the HAQL’s expertise and should ask for their advice and assistance. He clearly wants the HAQL to be a gatekeeper for contact between the communities and the non-Quechua-speaking ‘outside world’. Controlling access to the language, and thus to the communities that speak it, is one way to ensure the necessity for the existence and hence the ultimate authority of the Academy. Federico Requena, an Associate Member, also focuses on the Academy’s authority, but only in relation to outsiders, without assuming an inherent right of control over the Indigenous communities: ¿Qué colaboración podrían traer del extranjero? Más bien ellos tendrían que venir a aprender de nosotros. Yo soy ajeno a que los extranjeros tengan que venir a enseñarnos lo que nosotros deberíamos enseñar, aunque ahora viene sucediendo eso y muchas veces he escuchado decir, “Bueno, invitaremos a un estudioso fulano que es extranjero que ha hecho sus investigaciones que nos trasunta a nosotros”, lo cual considero que no debe ser así. Debe partir de nosotros. (Tape HAQL 5B) (What collaboration could they bring from abroad? Rather, they should come to learn from us. I find it strange that foreigners would come to teach us what we should teach, although now that is happening, and many times I have heard, ‘Okay, we will invite scholar So-and-So, who is a foreigner who has done his research that summarizes ours’, which I think should not be done. It should [all] come from us.)

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This quote appears to return to the essentialist argument I mentioned above: how could outsiders, foreigners who do not even understand our culture, possibly know more about the history, language and culture of the Incas, Cuzco and the Andes than we do? Only Andeans and cuzqueños, according to this discourse, can ever hope to understand and explain Andean life ways, and it is presumptuous of non-Andeans to attempt to do so. An alternative interpretation could be that, as in a previous quote, Mr Requena feels the burden of responsibility for the HAQL to be the experts. His words thus could be in the nature of a self-criticism and perhaps resentment of the Academy’s occasional need to invite outsiders from whom the Academy members must learn. Mr Peñalosa, on the other hand, takes a different approach to validation of authority. Rather than relying on essentialist arguments, he opts for legal ones: La Academia es la que existe por ley. De tal manera, no sería justo o tampoco sería legal que existan algunas ONGs o existan otras entidades que al margen sin contar con la autorización de la Academia estén propagando el idioma. Para eso es la ley de creación y obviamente mediante la ley de creación la encargada de difundir directamente es la Academia porque las otras instituciones no contarían con personalidad jurídica. (Tape HAQL 6A) (The Academy is the [organization] that exists by law. So it would not be fair, or even legal, that some NGOs or other entities exist, who on the side, without having the authorization of the Academy, are propagating the language. That is what the law of creation is for and obviously through the law of creation the organization charged with directly spreading [the language] is the Academy, because the other institutions would not have legal recognition.) A legal justification for the recognized authority of the HAQL is arguably stronger than an essentialist one, and as Marr (1999: 183) notes, is one of the hallmarks of the Academy, which prizes ‘the display and recognition of dulysanctioned authority’. This fact can be seen even in the official seal of the Academy (Figure 8.1), which makes sure to include reference to the law that created it. On the other hand, regardless of the legal constitution (or not) of the HAQL, to argue that their legal recognition removes the possibility of other organizations working in the same field seems a bit strong. A careful reading of all the laws, norms, proposals, etc., regarding the legal status of the HAQL reveals that nowhere do any of these legal documents say that the HAQL is the only and ultimate authority on all things Andean and that any other entity working in Andean studies must clear their work first through the Academy.

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Figure 8.1 Official seal of the HAQL Source: Author’s archive.

Top-Down Over Bottom-Up? Another tactic that the HAQL has used is to diminish the authority of the rural Quechua-speaking campesinos to speak about their own language. According to the Academy’s arguments, the campesinos cannot truly be considered experts in Quechua, because they are not educated enough and do not speak a pure enough Quechua (speaking runa simi, rather than qhapaq simi), and in fact, they should look to the Academy to help them improve their speech and to learn to write: El quechua ya no se habla como debe ser. Ya es un poco mezclado con el castellano. El rol de la Academia es decirle que hable como debe ser, le da pautas como debe ser a las comunidades: “Esto debe decir, esto debes decir así”. (M. Condori, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 12A) (Quechua is no longer spoken as it should be. It is already a little mixed with Spanish. The role of the Academy is to tell them to speak right, to give the communities guidelines for how it should be spoken: ‘You should say this, you should say it this way’.)

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In another example, one day I observed one of the HAQL Quechua instructors going over an exam with a student, who happened to be a native Quechua speaker. On a number of questions, when the instructor corrected the student’s wording, the student repeated, ‘But in the community, we say it this way’, indicating the answer he had written on the exam. Nevertheless, the instructor insisted that his corrections were the proper way to say those things (Fieldnotes, 1 July 2002). I was struck by this incident because it highlighted so specifically the instructor’s refusal to recognize either the native speaker’s authority in his own language, or that there might be more than one right way to say something. These two incidents, and numerous similar ones, make quite clear the class-based ideology that the HAQL holds towards the language, a phenomenon that Marr (1999: 184) also notes when he comments on the Academy’s promotion of ‘a particular sociolect and regional variety’, and their insistence on answering questions about language per se ‘in terms of authority to pronounce upon language’ (emphasis in original). Attempting to establish themselves as the sole authorities, the arbiters of the ‘pure, authentic Quechua’, even above native monolingual speakers, is not necessarily unique to the HAQL. For instance, in reference to the use of Mexicano (Nahuatl) in Mexico, Woolard (1998: 22) notes that, ‘vernacular purist ideologies [may be] deployed paradoxically to enhance the authority of those who are least immersed in the vernacular and most enmeshed with the larger Mexican economy’. And as Niño-Murcia explains: The establishment of a linguistic hierarchy based on notions of linguistic purism—a hierarchy which determines that one form of a language is pure or legitimate while another is not—becomes an essential tool by means of which elite groups obtain different forms of power and accentuate inequality among the community. (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 134) While it is certainly not a deliberate goal of the Academy to accentuate inequality among the community, its members are definitely interested in being seen as the ultimate authority on the Quechua language. The prestige gained from speaking the ‘authentic’ Quechua helps to increase the status of the speakers of that form – in this case the Academy members – thus offering them greater legitimation of their perceived authority in the community. So regardless of their intentions, the result is then the accentuation of inequality between the Cuzco elites, including the HAQL, and the rural Quechua-speaking community members. Such a move is not a positive influence on maintenance or revitalization efforts, since ‘amongst speakers, the constant identification of the language with the imperial Inca elite of Cusco tends to have the effect of marginalising their own speech’ (Marr, 1998: 172). This is more likely to cause them to shift away from their own speech rather than maintain it, unintentionally causing a

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form of dialectal diglossia, an asymmetrical relationship between qhapaq simi and runa simi. On the other hand, not all Academy members appear to be of the same mind regarding the HAQL’s authority over and ownership of Quechua. A number of members with whom I talked thought the HAQL ought to seek advice and information from the community, to use community members as resources and to collaborate with them, rather than seeking only to impose the HAQL’s own vision on the communities. For example, during lunch one day in Cuzco, I had a very interesting conversation with a high-ranking member of the P’isaq affiliate. He promised to bring me to his town to show me the work that the P’isaq Academy was doing: Todos estos miembros de la Academia son mistis y no hablan muy bien el quechua. Los verdaderos quechua hablantes están en las comunidades aledañas. En P’isaq, por ejemplo, toda la comunicación es en quechua nada más. Te voy a llevar para que hables con los campesinos y los miembros de la municipalidad. (Fieldnotes, 23 June 2002) (All these members of the HAQL are mistis [mestizos], and they don’t speak Quechua very well. The real Quechua speakers are in the neighboring communities [not in the city of Cuzco]. In P’isaq, for example, all communication is only in Quechua. I will take you there so you can talk with the rural people and community members.) It seems that, to say the least, this particular affiliate member did not hold the Cuzco HAQL’s expertise with the Quechua language in very high esteem. He called them mistis, or mestizos, with a rather deprecating note in his voice, and then referred to the ‘real Quechua speakers’, thus implying that the Academy members are not. In fact, he comprehensively stated that all of the Academy members do not speak Quechua well (which is not entirely true). In this way, he was reclaiming authority and expertise in the language for his own people of P’isaq, where Quechua is still the primary language of communication, as opposed to Cuzco, where the primary language is Spanish. Mr Barriga explicitly recognizes that the HAQL seeks to take control and authority of the language from the native speakers, and also overtly disagrees with that practice. He feels that the native speakers’ expertise should be recognized and valued, as he himself apparently does: Nosotros como académicos siempre decimos que hablamos mejor que ellos o tenemos mejor preparación intelectual. Inclusive en alguna ocasión oí decir a un señor que tiene apellido ancestral todavía, pero es profesional abogado, miembro de la Academia, ‘a los indios hay que enseñarles hablar quechua’. ‘A los indios’ decía él. Esa mentalidad de menosprecio, ¿no? [. . .] Siempre hay que ir a las

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comunidades a aprender y no a enseñar a ellos. Nosotros debemos tener como biblioteca, como profesores a ellos, ¿no?¡Cuánto he aprendido de ellos y sigo aprendiendo!¿Qué cosa se puede enseñar a ellos? Escribimos libros, pero no vamos directamente a ellos, ¿no? Muy pocos son tal vez algunos que de repente van a ellos, pero el que va siempre va a actuar como experto y cree que va enseñarles a ellos. (Tape HAQL 2E) (We as academics are always saying that we speak better than them [the Quechua-speaking peasants], or that we are better prepared intellectually. One time, I even heard a man who still has an ancestral [i.e. Indigenous] last name, but is a lawyer by profession, and a member of the Academy, say, ‘It is necessary to teach the Indians how to speak Quechua’. ‘The Indians’, he said, with that attitude of contempt, you know? [. . .] It is always necessary to go to the communities to learn and not to teach them. We should have them as a library, as our teachers, right? I’ve learned so much from them, and I’m still learning! What can we teach them? We write books, but we don’t go directly to them, you know? There are very few, maybe a few who go to them, but the ones who go always act like experts and think they are going to teach the community members.) He recognizes the knowledge that the ‘uneducated peasants’ possess and understands the value of learning from them, not only regarding the language and how it should be spoken, but also in terms of productive knowledge in all areas, from agronomy to medicine, and everything in between that has to do with living daily life. As he explains a little later in the same interview, much of the ideology of the HAQL is so Inca-centered that although their investigations and publications may deal with cultural issues – although a larger proportion seems to be concerned with linguistic issues – often they are cultural issues of the past, of Incan times, and not of the present day. Thus, much of the knowledge they seek to spread is not based on life as it is lived today in the communities, but on some idealized past that is mostly irrelevant to today. Mr Barriga recognizes that life needs to be lived now, not in the past, and that the people presently living it are the best authorities to consult regarding how they do it.

Validating Expertise: Does Research Help? One of the major activities in which the HAQL has been involved over the years is the planning and implementation of national and international conferences about Quechua, a list of which can be found in Table 8.1. The advertised themes of the conferences typically focused on some or all of the elements of language planning, and were apparently designed to showcase

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Table 8.1 Conferences sponsored by HAQL 1987 1991 1992 1994 1997 1997 2000 2000 2001 2001 2002 2004 2006 2008 2010 2013

First National and International Conference of Academies of Quechua and Aymara, Cuzco, Peru Third National and International Conference of Academies of Quechua and Aymara, Lima, Peru Fourth National and International Conference of Academies of Quechua and Aymara, Cochabamba, Bolivia National and International Symposium on the Origin of the Quechua Language Fifth International Conference of Quechua and Aymara, Arequipa, Peru Second Rimanakuy on Quechua Language and Culture, Santa María, Argentina First World Conference of the Quechua Language, Cuzco, Peru Sixth International Conference of Quechua, Santiago del Estero, Argentina First National Quechua Conference of the New Millennium, Cuzco, Peru First Extraordinary Conference of the Quechua People, Cuzco, Peru Second World Conference of the Quechua Language, Cochabamba, Bolivia Third World Conference of Quechua, Salta, Argentina Fourth World Conference of Quechua, Arequipa, Peru Fifth World Conference of Quechua, Cuzco, Peru Sixth World Conference of Quechua, Cochabamba, Bolivia Seventh World Conference of Quechua, Cuzco, Peru

the Academy’s research efforts. However, regardless of themes or intentions, it seems the real outcome of almost every conference in which the HAQL was involved was to further its ideological objectives. For instance, the First National and International Conference of Academies of Quechua and Aymara, held in Cuzco in 1987, resulted in their Resolution No. 02, which involved the decision to raise the Academy from Peruvian to High Academy, thus ‘constituting itself in the seat of development of Runasimi of the entire Quechua speaking Andean world’. At the same time, they resolved to solicit the Peruvian and Bolivian Congresses to pass the appropriate laws to ratify their new existence (*Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 7). In short, their first international conference appeared to be more concerned with the stature of the Academy itself than it was with the status of the Quechua language. The thinking may have been that as a duly authorized international organization, they would be in a better position to promote, regulate and spread Quechua throughout the Andean countries, so that indirectly, such a move would benefit the status of Quechua. However, enough of their conferences ended with similar such resolutions that it becomes difficult to continue to accept this argument.

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The conferences generally included talks centered on linguistic aspects such as the grammar, phonology, alphabet, etc., as well as other topics such as pedagogy, politics, culture, religion, philosophy, traditional medicine and so on. Some, such as the Fifth International Conference in 1997 (see *Runasimi-Aymara Aru, 1997), did achieve fruitful results. In the case of this conference, the results took the form of a resolution to push for the inclusion of Quechua and Aymara as school subjects at all educational levels. Another conference that yielded some potential positive results was the First National Quechua Conference of the New Millennium, in Cuzco in 2001. Two potentially useful recommendations that came out of this conference were to develop a pragmatic grammar in consultation with the Quechua speech communities, and to enrich the HAQL’s 1995 dictionary with regional lexical variations. The pragmatic grammar never happened, but the second edition of the dictionary, published in 2005, contains some lexical improvements. Other such conferences that tended to have productive outcomes were typically organized by a number of collaborators, with the HAQL having only a minor role, such as the First Extraordinary Conference of Quechua Peoples of Peru in 2001 (Cuestiones de Identidad, 2001; Primer Congreso Extraordinario, 2001) and the Second World Conference of the Quechua Language, held in Cochabamba, Bolivia in 2002 (*Conclusiones del Segundo Congreso Mundial, 2002; *Pari Rodríguez, 2002: 2; P. Heggarty, personal communication, 2 November 2002). Most conferences, however, yielded little more than ideological rhetoric. Many conferences in effect excluded any groups or individuals who were not directly affiliated with the Academy, thus eliminating the possibility of introducing new ideas or research. Those that did include ‘outsiders’ often ended in conflict and ill feelings all around, such as the Second Rimanakuy on Quechua Language and Culture in 1997 in Santa Maria, Argentina, and the Sixth International Conference of Quechua in 2000 in Santiago del Estero, Argentina (see Alderetes & Albarracín, 2005: 259–263). Furthermore, the conferences with participants of mixed affiliations tended not to reach any firm consensus in their conclusions, since all parties were so attached to their own particular perspectives that no one wanted to concede another’s point of view. This had the effect of causing at least two conferences to degenerate into shouting matches or events where some participants’ interventions were excluded or ignored (Alderetes & Albarracín, 2005; P. Heggarty, personal communication, 15 October 2002; Fieldnotes, 28 June 2002). Those who were being shouted down were also guilty of refusing to give ground, but as the conferences were usually organized by the HAQL, it was not Academy members but rather participants with outside affiliations who were being shouted down, putting them in a more untenable position. It took only a few such conferences for these non-HAQL professionals to decide that it was not worth the trouble to attend such meetings – both because they felt the

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conferences were often not conducted with professionalism and because the content of the presentations lacked scientific or professional rigor: Esos supuestos congresos, los supuestos seminarios y cursos que dan no tienen, pues, ninguna jerarquía académica, son eventos informales, ¿no? No creo que hayan tenido ningún obstáculo porque son tan informales que no merecen reconocimiento. Nadie está interesado en esas actividades que ellos tienen, ¿no? (N. Serrano, Consejo de la Nación Quechua, Tape MOI 3C) (Those supposed conferences, the supposed seminars and courses that they offer, don’t have any academic credibility, they are informal events, you know? I don’t think they’ve had any obstacles because they are so informal that they don’t merit recognition. No one is interested in those activities that they have, you know?) The result was that most non-members stopped attending any conferences that were sponsored by the HAQL or its affiliates. So the inbred nature of many of these gatherings apparently arose not only from internal HAQL planning, but also from external rejection by non-HAQL institutions. The First World Conference of the Quechua Language, held in Cuzco the same year, was another particularly notable example of this kind of selfserving behavior. The conference resulted in the proposal of an entire series of decisions and activities: (1) Reject all bibliographic production of the ME on topics related to BIE and the teaching of Quechua, ‘for being incompatible with the cultural reality of the Andean-Inca Quechua peoples of Tawantinsuyo and attacking the essence, spirit and linguistic structure of the language’. (2) Implement BIE as part of the national education system and prepare teachers to teach Quechua as L1 or L2, with the direct participation of HAQL and its affiliates. (3) Make Quechua an obligatory language to learn for all professional careers, ‘for the purpose of promoting the adequate training of future professionals, to advantageously exercise their profession and carry out scientific research on their respective reality and surrounding culture’. (4) Promote vernacular language literacy. (5) Convince the federal government and the ME to let ‘HAQL and other Quechua-speaking professionals of other scientific specialties who understand the Andean-Inca reality of Tawantinsuyo participate in the development and production of an appropriate bibliography for the process of teaching and learning the Quechua language through BIE and the Literacy campaign.’

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(6) Convince the government to recognize the HAQL and its affiliates as the responsible parties for the implementation and execution of the teaching of Quechua in the national educational system. (7) Teach a language native to their respective zones in all universities and institutes. (8) Propose the addition of ‘Inca Philosophy’ to the curricular structure of secondary education. (9) Declare the necessity to approve a Quechua alphabet that respects ‘dialectal variations in regard to the phonetics and phonology of each region’. (10) Derogate Ministerial Resolution No. 1218-85-ED, which authorizes teaching Quechua with only three vowels, on the grounds that it ‘mutilate[es] and attack[s] the cultural and linguistic patrimony of the Andean-Inca world’. The conference was concluded with the observation that ‘Inca Quechua, by its originality, is a natural, social, historic, and cultural language that requires the use of five vowels to augment new terminology and make use of linguistic loans that are universally accepted’ (*Conclusiones del Primer Congreso Mundial, 2000). It can be seen that only five of these conclusions – 2, 3, 4, 7 and 9 – are actually directly related to language planning goals, and even those are phrased in such a way as to promote the HAQL and denigrate other authorities. Numerous other conferences often ended with similar conclusions that actively denigrated other agencies or individuals, and promoted the HAQL as the ultimate Quechua authority. Among these were the First National Quechua Conference of the New Millennium and the Third World Conference of Quechua, held in Salta, Argentina in 2004. There appears to have been something of a sea change, however, in the Academy’s overzealous ideologies starting about 2006. The Fourth, Fifth, Sixth and Seventh World Conferences of Quechua exhibit much less stringent rejection of outsiders and their research findings. Although they still promote the belief that the HAQL should be the ultimate authority when it comes to production of materials and the education of Quechua teachers, the conclusions of these conferences clearly show a greater acceptance of participation and contributions from outside agencies, and a willingness to at least entertain their research conclusions in the formation of HAQL materials and policy (Academia Regional de la Lengua Quechua Arequipa; Conclusiones del VII Congreso Mundial del Idioma Quechua, 2013). It seems fairly clear that the HAQL’s principal interest in organizing conferences was to attempt to solidify their own authority and expertise as the owners and arbiters of Quechua language and culture. Given the emphasis on the necessary role granted to the Academy in the conclusions of all the conferences organized solely by the HAQL and its affiliates, and the disagreements that arose in environments where non-HAQL members participated,

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it is difficult to interpret the aims of the HAQL’s conferences as anything other than an attempt to establish their hegemony in the field. Also, despite the number of conferences and the idealistic-sounding conclusions that resulted from them, it does not appear that the conferences ultimately had much effect either on policy or in terms of aiding the target communities. Granted, the HAQL passed any number of internal resolutions based on the outcomes of their conferences, but these resolutions seldom resulted in action either in the communities or in the policy-making bodies at higher levels. As Mr Barriga, the influential Emeritus Member of the HAQL, noted somewhat resignedly: Pero los congresos estos, cualquiera que sea, llegan a ser de señores que comienzan a especular, pero no trascienden pues, digamos, ¿no? Inclusive los congresos que organizamos son reuniones de personas entusiastas que plantean sus cosas ¿no? Pero mayormente las conclusiones se quedan ahí no más como conclusiones, pero no se pragmatizan, ¿no? Estos congresos, ¿qué trascendencia han tenido? El Estado no ha oído las recomendaciones. No se aplica, no se materializa, no se pragmatiza los acuerdos, las conclusiones a los que se ha llegado. (Tape HAQL 2E) (But these conferences, any of them, result from people who begin to speculate, but they don’t go any further, let’s say, you know? Even the conferences that we organize are [nothing more than] meetings of fans who propose their [own] ideas, you know? But for the most part, the conclusions just stay as conclusions, they are never put into practice, you know? These conferences, what significance have they had? The State hasn’t heard the recommendations. The conclusions are not applied, they never become reality, they’re not put into practice.) It is telling that it is an Academy member himself who comments on the lack of follow-through on conference resolutions. Given this, it is not surprising that intellectuals from other institutions have similar opinions: Una vez a las quinientas anuncian en los periódicos que tienen un Congreso Mundial del Idioma Quechua, como si fuera un campeonato de fúltbol, ¿no? Una delegación mundial con el quechua, pero no hay publicación [. . .] a nivel académico. El Congreso que se llevó a cabo en Bolivia fue degradante para ellos, ¿no? Vinieron expertos de los Estados Unidos e Inglaterra, incluso los estudiantes de la Universidad de San Simón de Cochabamba fueron críticos del nivel académico de estas gentes, ¿no? Yo no veo ningún resultado positivo de estas gentes. (N. Serrano, personal communication, 8 December 2003) (Once in a blue moon they announce in the newspapers that they are having a World Conference of the Quechua Language – as if it were a

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soccer championship, you know? A world delegation with Quechua, but there is no publication [. . .] at an academic level. The conference that took place in Bolivia was degrading for them, you know? Experts came from the United States and England, even the students from the University of San Simón in Cochabamba were critical of the academic level of these people [the HAQL members], you know? I don’t see any positive result from these people. As evidenced by so many of these conferences, as well as other examples from throughout this chapter, many members of the Academy sought to construct an identity of expertise to support their claims to ultimate authority over all things Andean. While these claims may have validity in some regards, in many respects their attempts are based on faulty logic at best, or are paternalistic and colonialist at worst. Their expertise can only be confirmed on their own say-so, but cannot be externally validated by other researchers from outside the HAQL, since until recently they have refused to accept ‘outsider’ knowledge. In addition, any research they publish is seldom widely disseminated, rarely making it to distribution sources outside the Academy itself. This means it can be difficult for outside researchers to obtain their work to evaluate it. It further means that much of the Academy’s research is self-perpetuating, in the sense that since the HAQL members tend not to read or use research by outside people, the only research they use to support their own work is the research of their fellow members. This practice diminishes the possibility of bringing in new blood and new ideas. And in fact, outside experts have often commented on the inbred nature of their work and noted that their academic research is less than rigorous, showing a lack of understanding of the discipline: What is the role that the HAQL of Cuzco and its provincial branches play? Unfortunately, [. . .] this organization is an entity that not only does not represent the Quechua- speaking people, but it is made up of people who, beyond their mastery of the language (which is itself debatable in many cases), do not at all understand the grammatical structure and the history of the language [. . .]. Of course, [. . .] it is not easy to employ the language in formal contexts since that requires it to be lexically and stylistically adapted, a task for which the “Quechuists” of the Academy [. . .] are not trained, and never will be as long as they do not begin to seriously study their own language. Proof of the complete precariousness of their knowledge is the Diccionario (Cuzco, 1995) that they just produced, which is so full of distortions and errors of form as well as of content, that despite the good intentions of its authors, it constitutes a meager [. . .] tribute to the Quechua peoples. (Cerrón-Palomino, 1997b: 63–64)

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Cerrón-Palomino is a well known linguistics scholar and perhaps the foremost expert on the Quechua language in the world, so he certainly has the knowledge to be able to judge other scholars’ understanding and mastery of it. Perhaps this may be a change in progress, if the apparently more open-minded perspective shown at recent conferences is any indication. But at this juncture, it is still too soon to tell. It is also hard to gauge the extent of the training in the different fields of Andean study that the HAQL members have, since very few of them include bibliographies in their published works. In a number of articles in various issues of Inka Rimay, one can recognize the work of other researchers, such as Cerrón-Palomino and Alfredo Torero, but their names were never cited as the sources for the information presented. Other articles appear to be simply the authors’ own opinions or Inca mythology presented as historical fact but not supported by any other research, since they seldom cite other authors and are often also very short, generally no longer than three or four pages. Furthermore, most of their published work, particularly in Inka Rimay, reflects either their linguistic ideologies, their emphasis on the Inca past or their glorification of Cuzco. There are numerous articles on the correct way to write Quechua, on the nature of the language and on teaching Quechua, as demonstrated in Appendix 2. Likewise, a multitude of articles focus on the archeological legacy of the Incas, the Inca cosmovision in the past and today, Inca philosophy, the importance of Cuzco and so on. There are, conversely, almost no articles on present-day culture, and the few I found were more concerned with places than with the people who lived there. Details such as all of these noted here make it difficult to either validate or put faith in the Academy’s claimed expertise as the gatekeepers of modern-day Quechua language and culture. A number of non-HAQL members have noted this difficulty. Enrique Soto of the Universidad Nacional San Antonio Abad de Cusco (UNSAAC) had some very strong views on the subject, criticizing not only the Ministry of Education, but also, more indirectly, the HAQL for its members’ lack of linguistic training. He never specifically mentions the Academy and its members, but it is clear from his words that he is referring to them: Estamos sumergidos en una discusión bastante terrible respecto a la normalización del quechua. Yo he criticado acremente la tendencia de la Dirección Nacional de Educación Bilingüe porque me ha tocado hacer una revisión de los materiales educativos y donde realmente he visto una tensión entre esas dos tendencias, es decir la tendencia que pretende usar un quechua que no existe en realidad, eso que llaman qhapaq simi, no sé, y los otros que hablan del quechua funcional. Yo creo que lo que debe establecerse es un mecanismo de normalización del quechua, pero que sea de consenso, que en esta tarea estén incluidas las personas que tienen formación lingüística porque aquí hay mucha gente que cree que solamente hablar quechua es suficiente para poder teorizar, para poderse sentir

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dueños del quechua. Entonces, se necesita gente con formación. No improvisados que siempre que ha habido, ¿no? que pueden tener buenos sentimientos eminentemente, pero que en la práctica han usado el quechua para salir a la palestra, para sentirse defensores del quechua, etc. porque solamente saben hablar quechua, y claro el asunto es que les falta formación teórica. La lingüística ha avanzado en los últimos 50 años. Es curioso porque algunos miembros defensores de ese quechua de que le estoy diciendo, hacen una oposición entre la lingüística y los quechuahablantes como si la lingüística no fuera un instrumento que puede servir para analizar cualquier lengua. [. . .] Por ejemplo, pretenden sustentar su diccionario con algunas teorías de la lingüística, y en otros momentos rechazan lo que la lingüística nos enseña. (Tape MOI 4B) (We are involved in a very bad argument regarding the standardization of Quechua. I have strongly criticized the trend of the National Bureau of Bilingual Education because it has fallen to me to review the educational materials and where I have really seen a tension is between those two trends, that is, the one that tries to use a Quechua that doesn’t really exist, the so-called qhapaq simi, I don’t know, and the others who talk about a functional Quechua. I think what they should establish is a mechanism for standardizing Quechua, but one that involves consensus, that includes in this task those with linguistic training because right now there are many people who think that simply speaking Quechua is enough to be able to theorize, to feel like they are the owners of Quechua. So then, people with training are needed. Not improvised like it’s always been, you know, by people who clearly have strong feelings [for the language] but who in practice have used Quechua to promote themselves, to feel they are defending Quechua, etc., just because they know how to speak Quechua. And of course, the thing is that they lack theoretical training. Linguistics has advanced in the last fifty years. It’s strange because some members who defend that Quechua I mentioned, create an opposition between linguistics and Quechua speakers as if linguistics were not an instrument that can be used to analyze any language. [. . .] For example, they try to support their dictionary with some linguistic theories, but at other times they reject what linguistics teaches us.) Obviously, then, there is a clear dichotomy between what the Academy members think they know, and their perceived expertise by the various communities within which they need to function. Given this, it is little wonder that they have not been able to make any real progress in their efforts to promote and revitalize Quechua.

9

Allies or Enemies? Collaborating with the HAQL

The High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) has maintained various collaborations with the goal of furthering their statutory objectives relevant to language planning, which include: (1) encouraging State and private participation in the study and knowledge of the Quechua language; (2) promoting the active participation of the Quechua-speaking population ‘in the process of the development of the Peoples of Tawantinsuyu’; (3) creating service activities to offer to Quechua-speaking society, through the creation of organizations of conciliation and other similar institutions; and (4) achieving the habitual and generalized use of Quechua in the Quechua-speaking population (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6). These objectives necessarily imply the possibility of collaborations with state agencies, individual investigators or institutions of study, other organizations with a vested interest in Indigenous languages and cultures, and of course, the Indigenous communities themselves, along with the Indigenous grassroots organizations that have their interests at heart. As with the conferences discussed in the previous chapter however, the Academy’s primary interest in collaborations has typically seemed to be for the purpose of consolidating their hegemony over Quechua.

Government Collaborations Regarding the first objective, as Chapter 5 detailed, the HAQL’s relationship with the federal government is problematic at best. On the other hand, the Academy has traditionally maintained a fairly amicable relationship with the City of Cuzco, and a number of agreements have been signed between the two entities. For instance, it is thanks to funding from the city that the Academy has been able to publish many of its materials, including most of the Inka Rimays and *Herencia Fernández’s (2000) Quechua morphology book that is used as the basis for the intermediate and advanced grammar classes. Despite the conflicts the HAQL has had with the Ministry of Education (ME) at the national level, the Cuzco Regional Office of the ME has 142

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attempted to collaborate with the HAQL on a number of occasions. Although the HAQL at one time had a signed agreement with the ME’s Regional Office in Cuzco, it did not last long, owing to ideological differences of opinion with the national ME. Since the Regional Office is ultimately responsible to the national office, they were obliged to end their attempts at collaboration with the HAQL at the national office’s behest. For this reason also, the HAQL was not able to contribute its pedagogical materials or teaching expertise to the regional schools. At the same time, according to one non-HAQL consultant, it is not only the national ME that refused to participate with the HAQL, but also the Academy that has apparently chosen not to collaborate with the ME, at least regionally: Nunca he podido hablar con ellos, eso que nosotros los hemos invitado aquí a participar en mucho [sic] de los casos, pero nada. Ellos perciben solamente a sus asociados, ¿no? [. . .] Nosotros le invitamos para hacer el Plan Estratégico de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural en relación al Cuzco, pero ellos no nos hicieron caso. (N. Rincón, ME Cuzco Regional Office, Tape MOI 9A) (I’ve never been able to talk to them [the HAQL], even though we’ve invited them here to participate in many of our activities, but nothing [ever comes of it]. They only see their own associates, you know? [. . .] We invited them to develop the Strategic Plan for Bilingual Intercultural Education for Cuzco, but they ignored us.) This statement suggests that the Cuzco ME sought out the Academy for collaboration on a project, rather than the other way around. This is in direct contrast to what the HAQL claims about the state of affairs with the Ministry. Furthermore, the Academy’s formerly close relationship with the regional government of Cuzco is apparently not as amicable as it once was. Mr Soto, a faculty member of Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC) who has had dealings with the Academy, views its relationship with local government this way: Creo que oficialmente no hay ninguna relación entre la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua y las demás instituciones gubernamentales, salvo un apoyo coyuntural, pero a nivel de amigos, amicales entre los diferentes directivos de las instituciones públicas [. . . y] los diferentes presidentes [. . .]. Con los demás no creo que tengan ninguna relación [. . .] formal. Por ejemplo, hace tiempo firmaron un convenio con la Dirección Regional de Educación con grandes proyectos. Una vez que se fue el Director, terminó, parece, su relación y los objetivos de ese convenio que firmaron. Eran convenios para que la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua monitoriara la enseñanza de esta lengua en el sector educativo, en el sistema educativo. (Tape MOI 4A)

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(I think that officially there is no relationship between the HAQL and other government institutions, except for occasional support, but [that] is at the level of friendship between the different directors of the public institutions [. . . and] the different presidents of the Academy [. . .]. With the others, I don’t think they have any [. . .] formal relationship. For example, a while ago [the Academy] signed an agreement with the Regional Office of Education for big projects. Once the Director left, it seems their relationship ended, along with the objectives of that agreement they signed. They were agreements for the HAQL to monitor the teaching of Quechua in the education sector, in the educational system.) If this observation is true, then it definitely sheds a different light on the HAQL’s interactions with the government over the years, both federally and locally. That could explain why sometimes it seemed like the HAQL had fairly solid local and congressional support, and other times it seemed like such government bodies did not even know the Academy existed. The support was apparently between friends rather than between organizations, which would necessarily have a negative impact on any long-term collaborations. This is not to say, however, that the HAQL does not collaborate with anyone. Clearly, given the number of contracts and agreements they have, this could not be true. However, it is worth taking a closer look at these collaborations to examine the nature of the relationships to determine just what each party brings to it, and whether and how they fulfill the HAQL’s statutes.

Community Outreach Given the purpose of the Academy to ‘educate people with the AndeanInca cultural identity’ and ‘rescue, vindicate and revalue fully the Quechua language as an integral language of the cultural patrimony of the Tawantinsuyu Nation’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Arts 1, 6), one would think that one of the most important collaborations of the HAQL would be with the Indigenous communities themselves. This turns out not to be the case. The relationship the HAQL maintains with the communities seems to be minimal at best. Nearly all the Academy members I interviewed indicated something very similar to the following comment: Las comunidades no tienen una participación directa con la Academia. No tienen ninguna relación estrecha. [. . .]Más bien la Academia se aprovecha de las comunidades para hacer las investigaciones de definir el nombre de una cosa, el sustantivo, de personas, de animales, etc. (F. Requena, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 5A)

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(The communities do not have any direct participation with the Academy. They do not have any kind of close relationship. [. . .] Rather, the Academy takes advantage of the communities to do studies to define the names of things, the nouns for people, for animals, etc.) In many cases, the Quechua communities in rural areas do not even know the Academy exists: Muchas comunidades quechuahablantes no conocen la existencia de la Academia. No tienen idea qué cosa es una Academia [. . .] y no saben dónde está esa Academia. Seguramente que acá en el Cuzco saben de la existencia de la Academia. Aquí en el Cuzco, muchas personas, abogados, médicos, para tener un puntaje más en su currículo, por necesidad acuden a la Academia a recibir algunos cursos y sacan provecho de la Academia Mayor. (A. Mojado, junior Full Member, Tape HAQL 3B) (Many Quechua-speaking communities do not know of the existence of the Academy. They have no idea what an Academy is [. . .] and don’t know where that Academy is. Certainly, here in Cuzco they know of the existence of the Academy. Here in Cuzco, many people, lawyers, doctors, to add something else to their CV, come to the Academy to take some courses out of necessity, and they benefit from the High Academy.) Such an admission seems to point to a failure of the HAQL to serve in any real, practical way the communities whose entire way of life revolves around Quechua. And other organizations in Cuzco that work with the Quechua communities also recognize this aspect of the HAQL: No creo que haya ninguna relación que exista entre las comunidades quechuahablantes y la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua. Lo que pasa es que los de la Academia creen que con decir que saben quechua, hablar con tres o dos campesinos, ya los representan a las comunidades, ¿no? [. . .] A nivel personal sus miembros seguramente deben tener compadres, algunas personas deben tener una relación de subordinación, [. . .] lo que siempre ha sido típico entre los miembros de la Academia. Sigue hablando por ejemplo usando el posesivo “nuestros campesinos”, “nuestros indios” [. . .] Tampoco en realidad hay expectativa ninguna por parte de la Academia hacia las comunidades. [. . .] Yo les he escuchado en entrevistas y conferencias que han dado por la radio. Por el tono, por el enfoque que le dan, creen representar no sólo a los quechuahablantes de las comunidades, sino a todos los quechuahablantes. (E. Soto, UNSAAC, Tape MOI 4A)

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(I don’t think there is any relationship between the Quechua-speaking communities and the HAQL. What happens is that the Academy members think that by saying they know Quechua, talking to three or two campesinos, they represent the communities, right? [. . .] At the personal level, surely their members must have compadres, some people must have a subordinate relationship, you know, the kind that has always been typical of the Academy members. They still talk, for example, using the possessive ‘our peasants’, ‘our Indians’ [. . .] Also the Academy really has no expectations of the communities. [. . .] I’ve heard them talk in interviews and talks that they’ve given on the radio. [Judging] by the tone, by the slant they put on them, they think they represent not only the Quechua speakers of the [local] communities, but all Quechua speakers.) Marcelina Collazo of the Asociación Pukllasunchis, a non-government organization (NGO) involved in teaching Quechua and producing didactic materials in Quechua, was even more blunt: ‘La Academia generalmente trabaja con los que quieran acceder a su Academia y los cursos de difusión’ (Tape MOI 8A) (The Academy generally works [only] with those who may want to gain access to their Academy and the [Quechua language] courses they offer). In fact, the public perception in the Cuzco area seems to be that serving specialized groups is the main purpose of the Academy’s language classes. Many community members indicated that there was no outreach from the HAQL to the rural communities, that they centered their attentions only in the urban area and on the professional classes. Fermín Sánchez, a street vendor, went so far as to state, ‘La Academia creo que dicta clases de quechua a los antropólogos y periodistas’ (Tape CM 5A) (The Academy, I think, teaches Quechua classes to anthropologists and journalists). There may be some individual members who have connections with other individuals in certain communities. However, as with the institutional relationships noted above, these personal relationships are not extended into ongoing official activities or affiliations involving the HAQL as an organization. Ultimately, the Academy’s outreach is mostly limited to the city of Cuzco and its efforts to establish regional offices in other districts and even other countries. Apart from two agreements with Indigenous organizations, all the members of the HAQL that I interviewed indicated that they don’t move much beyond the city in terms of their investigations and teaching activities, and they have little or no personal contact with the rural communities in the region. In short, their definition of community outreach appears to be limited to teaching Quechua, and so they feel they have done their duty in that regard whenever a new district or provincial affiliate is opened. Some of the students who were working their way through the program while I was there did go to the field to collect information to write their theses for becoming an Associate Member of the HAQL. But again, once these students

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collected their data and defended their theses, they were not likely to return to the field to work within the communities. And the few Academy members who did make a habit of visiting rural communities did so as individuals, and not as representatives of the Academy. Rosa Pérez, who works for the City of Cuzco, holds the Academy itself responsible for the outlying communities’ lack of awareness of its existence and function: Yo pienso que el trabajo que va haciendo como Academia no es trascendental ni profundo como para que esto se pueda notar, y en consecuencia las comunidades no creo que tengan una relación directa y permanente con la AMLQ. Yo he podido percibir que el trabajo que hace la Academia es básicamente de enseñar el lenguaje, velar que el lenguaje no tenga mayores distorsiones, pero tener que llegar a las comunidades campesinas con la finalidad de tener que afianzar su lenguaje, de tener que enseñarles la gramática, de tener que hacer actividades conjuntas que conduzcan al fortalecimiento del idioma no lo veo. (Tape MOI 1A) (I think that the work they are doing as an Academy is neither transcendental nor profound enough to be noticed, and as a result, I don’t think the communities have a direct, permanent relationship with the HAQL. I’ve noticed that the Academy’s work is basically that of teaching the language and working towards eliminating distortions in the language, but I don’t see it reaching out to the rural communities to support their language, to teach them grammar, to do activities together that would result in strengthening the language.) Ricardo Pico of the Instituto Pastoral Andino (IPA) concurs, and furthermore offers his view on what the role of the Academy should be: Yo pienso que la Academia debería expresar el mundo de los campesinos y debería haber una relación orgánica entre comunidades campesinas y representatividad social y representatividad académica, que la Federación o la Asociación de Comunidades Campesinas del Perú, deberían de tener un brazo cultural y esto debería ser la Academia y no es así. Más parecen una élite medio cerrada que dominan el quechua, saben, lo valoran, no digo que no estimen la lengua, pero un poco aislada está de la dinámica social que tienen las comunidades campesinas y de la dinámica política que tienen las comunidades campesinas. (Tape MOI 6A) (I think the Academy should express the world of the campesinos and there should be an organic relationship between rural communities and social and academic representation. The Federation or Association of Rural Communities of Peru should have a cultural arm and that should be the

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Academy, but this is not the case. They seem more like a half-closed elite [group] that knows Quechua very well, they value it, I’m not saying they don’t appreciate the language, but they are a little isolated from the social and political dynamics that the rural communities have.) So it would seem, then, that contact with the surrounding communities is generally limited to those who seek out the Academy, rather than vice versa. And any contact that does occur tends to take place in a paradigm in which the Academy members are the bearers of knowledge and the community members gratefully receive the benefit of their wisdom and teaching, even if that means changing the way they have always spoken to conform with what the Academy teaches. Something new the HAQL has begun doing in recent years that might help to increase their visibility is to offer open-air classes in the Plaza de Armas in downtown Cuzco on Sunday mornings to whomever chooses to stop by and participate. Although not many locals choose to participate in these more or less spontaneous, brief classes (on the order of 5–10 minutes at a time, ‘so they don’t get tired’), they do appear to be quite popular with tourists. They have even been recorded and put up on YouTube (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013; see also ‘La hora del quechua’ (2013) for one of these mini-classes, and ‘Normalización para el uso del quechua’ (2013) for a brief advertisement for the classes). On the other hand, it doesn’t have to be a bad thing that the HAQL works more with mestizo and monolingual Spanish-speaking populations, since this is indeed one of the things that needs to be done to improve Quechua’s status among all sectors of society. At the same time, it is not explicitly stated in their objectives and goals, while the promotion of and assistance for the Quechua peoples is. Perhaps the Academy needs to acknowledge this tendency towards focusing more on mestizo populations and explicitly incorporate it into their doctrine.

Institutional Collaborations Many of the collaborations that the HAQL has established are precisely contracts to teach Quechua to the members of the collaborating organization. This is the case in particular among professional organizations such as the Association of Engineers, the Medical Association, the Nursing Association, the Association of Journalists, the Bar Association, the Institución ABACO, which is a NGO that promotes the teaching of languages, and the Sindicato Unitario de Trabajadores en la Educación del Perú (SUTEP; Unitary Union of Education Workers of Peru) (F. Requena, Tape HAQL 5A; M. Posada, personal communication, 3 October 2003). Furthermore, during my time there they had been reaching out to universities in the Cuzco region. In 2003,

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they had an agreement with the Alas Peruanas University to teach Quechua classes there, and another with UNSAAC (*Inka Rimay 6, 2003: 258). As of 2003, they were also in the process of working out an agreement with the Technological University of the Andes (UTEA) and the Micaela Bastidas National University, both in Apurimac and both new universities just being opened at the time (M. Posada, personal communication, 3 October 2003). However, neither of these agreements lasted very long: after only a year, the Alas Peruanas University chose not to renew, and the other two extended until 2008, when neither university exercised options to continue them (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013). UNSAAC has collaborated with the HAQL in a number of ways. Perhaps most significantly, a number of Academy members are also faculty members at the university in various fields. In addition, UNSAAC agreed to provide ‘facilities for the use, in the development of joint activities, of the physical infrastructure, equipment, libraries and other teaching and research materials that UNSAAC has available’ (*Inka Rimay 5, 2000: 274). This particular agreement apparently did not last long, though. Mr Posada told me that the agreement had not worked out, although they were trying to establish a new contract with the university: El convenio con la Universidad San Antonio de Abad del Cuzco, verdaderamente todavía teníamos la noción y la emoción también de que verdaderamente el año pasado se iba a firmar un convenio, pero por irregularidades y de repente por algunas incomprensiones personales que tuvieron algunos miembros de la Academia con algunos miembros de la universidad que si verdaderamente eran encargados de esta misión, nos truncaron el paso. (Junior Full Member, Tape 9A HAQL) (The agreement with UNSAAC, we really did believe that last year it was going to happen, but because of irregularities and maybe because of some personal misunderstandings that some members of the Academy had with some members of the university, as to who was really in charge of this mission, they cut us off.) This quote also gives some credence to the idea that the outreach established by the HAQL with the greater community is closely tied to personal connections, as suggested earlier with regard to political alliances. Even the agreements with Indigenous organizations and municipalities – the Federación de Campesinos del Cuzco (Federation of Peasants of Cuzco), the Federación Agraria Revolucionaria Tupac Amaru (FARTAC; Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Agrarian Federation) and the Provincial Town of Acomayo – are solely for the purpose of promoting social events such as the Regional Cuzco Identity Day (*Inka Rimay 6, 2003: 261–264). This is in itself a worthwhile effort for the purpose of raising awareness of the Quechua language

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and culture, and contributes to the Academy’s status planning goals and objectives, but it does not per se involve interacting with the Indigenous communities. In previous years, the HAQL also had an agreement related to research, rather than teaching, with the Centro de Estudios Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’ (CBC), which granted the Academy members the right to use the CBC’s extensive library and their Information and Documentation Program (*Inka Rimay 6, 2003: 258). This agreement was of great benefit to the investigational function of the Academy. One professional relationship that seemed promising at the outset was a consortium formed between the Organización Pusaq, UNSAAC and the HAQL. The Organización Pusaq was a NGO formed in 1993, whose original name was the Centro de Educación para la Autogestión (CEPEA; Education Center for Self-Management), and whose purpose was ‘teaching, education and creation of jobs in the poorest surrounding areas of Lima’. When they changed their name to Pusaq, they also changed their mission slightly to one of ‘Help to strengthening [sic] of self organization and self development in the areas where we work’. Their objectives included: • • •

Help and support institutions connected with promotion and development Incense [sic] the public debate over the educational problem Develop an integral active educational system valid to be appied [sic] as alternative proposal. (Asociación Pusaq, 2015).

Thus, this NGO sounded like it would be a very good one with which to collaborate to further the social goals of the HAQL. UNSAAC became involved because a number of the HAQL members are on the faculty there. Between the three groups, they decided to form a consortium that they called the ARI Commission (arí means ‘yes’ in Quechua), whose sole purpose was apparently to ‘achieve a universal writing system of the Quechua Language, uniting Quechua-speaking countries and communities of the Great Continental Nation of Tawantinsuyu’ (*Resolución Presidencial No. 53 AMLQ, 2001), or, from another perspective, ‘unite leaders of ALL the dialects of ALL the Quechua speaking countries so that they as owners and users can make decisions about the fate of their property—the language’ (Comisión ARI, 2002). After a series of failed efforts and initiatives between them, though, the HAQL abandoned ARI and Pusaq, and claimed that since the consortium was dissolved, ARI no longer existed (Alderetes & Albarracín, 2005: 267–273). This may be the case now, since there is no web presence to be found; however, it was not the case at least up until 2012 when both organizations (Pusaq and ARI) still had websites, and both had the same executive boards, which would seem to indicate that they had joined forces.

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In any event, bad feelings existed between the HAQL and ARI, as Mr Posada’s reaction indicates: El Proyecto ARI no tiene ninguna funcionalidad y ningún beneficio para la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua. Es una institución, una ONG que se ha formado, que verdaderamente hace proyectos, pero proyectos que no están dando beneficios a la Academia, sino solamente que utilizan que sí el quechua, sí el quechua. Ya inclusive en asambleas que vinieron ellos han sido cuestionados, ¿no? ¿Cuál es la función que cumplen estos señores y cuáles son los beneficios de nuestra institución? Inclusive para ir el año pasado a un congreso, esta Comisión se encargó de conseguir algunos presupuestos para llevar algunas personas quechuahablantes netos del campo. Dicen que escribieron al Banco Mundial y escribieron a distintas instituciones, bancos internacionales. En sí no hemos visto nada, ningún apoyo, entonces de esa parte yo desconfío mucho de esta Comisión ARI. (Tape HAQL 9A) (The ARI Project has no functionality and no benefit for the HAQL. It is an institution, an NGO that was formed, that truly does do projects, but projects that have no benefit for the Academy, but rather, they simply use Quechua, they do use Quechua. Even in assemblies they attended they have been questioned, you know? What is the function that these people fulfill and what are the benefits to our institution? Even to go to a conference last year, this Commission [ARI] took it upon themselves to find funding to bring some authentic Quechua-speaking people from the rural communities. They say they wrote to the World Bank and other international banks and institutions. But we didn’t see anything, no support, so because of that I don’t trust the ARI Commission at all.) This is evidence of one more relationship that did not survive the ideological conflicts between the HAQL leadership and their intended collaborators. It is significant the frequency with which these breakdowns seem to occur. What is even more telling is that the relationships that most often seem not to work out are those that would theoretically be among equals, as Cirilo Alvarado of the ME Cuzco Regional Office highlights: Nosotros los hemos invitado para que ellos trabajen conjuntamente con nosotros. Lamentablemente, estos señores, pues, no prestan el interés. Ellos se cierran y no salen, no investigan. No es como ciertos intelectuales que se han dedicado al estudio netamente del quechua como ciencia, pero acá nuestros profesores, de repente, de la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua no se dedican a estudiar, no se dedican a hacer que esto sea grande, sino bueno ellos lo que hacen es más el lucro con el quechua. Nosotros los profesionales, por necesidad tenemos que entrar a la Academia para aprender quechua. [. . .] Los señores de la Academia se encierran. No los veo investigar. Estos señores deben convivir en el campo,

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vivir en el campo con los campesinos para de repente enterarse de muchas cosas más. [. . .] No prestan ningún apoyo al sistema educativo del Perú. Los de la Academia han visto una fuente de lucro, pienso yo, es una fuente de vida nada más [para ellos]. (Tape MOI 10A) (We have invited them to work together with us. Unfortunately, these men, well, they aren’t interested. They close themselves off and don’t go out, they don’t do research. It’s not like certain intellectuals who have dedicated themselves entirely to the Quechua language as a science, but here our teachers from the High Academy of the Quechua Language, maybe they don’t devote themselves to studying, they don’t devote themselves to making this something big. Instead, well, what they do is more about making money off of Quechua. We professionals have no choice but to go to the Academy to learn Quechua. [. . .] Those Academy men close themselves off. I don’t see them doing research. These people should live in the rural communities together with the campesinos so maybe they can find out about many more things. [. . .] They don’t offer any support to Peru’s educational system at all. I think the Academy members have seen it as a source of profits, [Quechua] is just a way to make a living.) Mr Alvarado’s opinion that the Academy is mostly interested in making money from simply teaching Quechua is another one that was repeatedly expressed by community members and other institutions alike. Clearly, there is a segment of Cuzco society, in addition to the professionals whom the HAQL considers rivals or enemies, that considers the Academy’s motives suspect, and more self-serving than altruistic. In short, it would seem that the HAQL is incapable of sustaining any kind of truly collaborative effort that involves equal participation and contributions by all parties to the collaboration. Their preferred collaboration is an asymmetrical one in which they are recognized as the higher authority and their collaborators seek them out for their expertise. Their aspiration of being the highest authority is not necessarily bad in and of itself. But to achieve such an aspiration, they should possess a deep, broad-based knowledge of historical, political and social events, and the sociolinguistic reality of Peru and the other Andean countries where Quechua is spoken. They also would need much greater human and economic resources than they currently have available.

Regional Affiliates What practical functions do the affiliate branches serve, and is the HAQL fulfilling its bylaws through the activities of these offices? There is little

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concrete information available either about or from the branch offices, so most of my information has been gleaned from personal observation, from records of activities in the files of the HAQL and from the comments of branch members and other non-HAQL scholars in a position to observe their activities. To form new branches, the HAQL recruits and trains people from different regions, and then sends them back home to start up the affiliates. Occasionally, Cuzco members volunteer to move to other regions as well, to teach in already existing branches, or to establish new ones. The recruits from other regions are generally people who already hold some stature in their communities, such as teachers, other professionals or community leaders. My impression from the Cuzco perspective, and from the few conversations I had with members of other branches, was that once these new teachers are trained and returned to their respective regions, they are given autonomy to direct their programs as they see fit. These regional (international), departmental, provincial and district branch offices of the Academy are to be organized according to the plan laid out in the Statutes, but each branch has the right and responsibility to develop and approve its individual rules and regulations. To judge by the Presidential Resolutions that established the affiliates, these rights and responsibilities appear to pertain primarily to their structure, since each branch is established with a Board of Directors similar to the HAQL. If there are enough members, they may also name people to serve on one or two commissions as well. The question of numbers is a sticky one, because some of the smaller offices were established with only one or two members – for example in the provinces of Oyón and Tayacaja, the department of Ica (*Resolución Presidencial No. 37 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 38 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 39 AMLQ, 2001). And in fact, nearly all of the international (the so-called regional) affiliates have very small memberships, with no more than one or two members. Ecuador, Austria, Germany and Spain have only one each (*Resolución Presidencial No. 36 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 55 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 56 AMLQ, 2001). Japan has two members (*Inka Rimay 6, 2003: 266), one of whom is a Japanese woman who just happens to be the wife of the Peruvian HAQL member who heads that branch. All of these affiliates, both domestic and international, are still in the formative stages, so it is possible that they will attract more members over time. Nevertheless, it is clearly difficult to carry out very many of the functions of the HAQL with so few members. These branches are currently dedicated only to teaching, since they do not have the staff to do anything more. Argentina is the only regional affiliate of any real size, with 16 members (*Inka Rimay 4, 1994: 116–118). The Canadian regional affiliate is something of an exception to standard pattern. Although it too only had one member at the time, in 2003 it

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organized the First International Literary Contest in Quechua together with the Peruvian–Canadian Cultural Community (Peru Chaski Canada, personal communication, 12 September 2003). Interestingly, according to their Call for Contributions, this branch calls itself the Royal Academy of the Quechua Language – Toronto, Canada Affiliate. What this may mean ideologically is anyone’s guess, but it certainly raises some interesting questions. I find the presence of an HAQL affiliate in Ecuador a very interesting phenomenon, given the fact that Quichua in Ecuador has long been standardized using a three-vowel alphabet – a logical move, since Ecuadorian Quichua is spoken with only three vowels, not making use of the allophones [e] and [o]. In addition, the Ecuadorian Ministry of Education in charge of the Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE) program has formed a Quichua Language Academy, whose function is to develop, regulate and prescribe proper usage of Quichua (‘Academia Kichwa’, 2004). It seems unlikely that this affiliation with Ecuador will prosper, given these circumstances. The Bolivian affiliate is in similar circumstances, and for similar reasons. Another departmental affiliate that may be having – or perhaps causing – some problems is the Ayacucho branch, because it does not completely follow the party line. For one thing, the Ayacucho branch writes, and teaches its students to write, using three vowels instead of the HAQL-mandated five. For another, they are not fully convinced by the ideological discourse of the HAQL in Cuzco, and do not always blindly accept, follow and teach the positions and practices promoted by the HAQL. For this reason, members of the HAQL in Cuzco often call the Ayacucho branch los rebeldes (the rebels) (Fieldnotes, 15 July 2002). Other domestic affiliates have as many as 12 or 13 members, which appears to be about the maximum number. The Department of Arequipa is an example of one of these larger affiliates, established with 13 members (*Resolución Presidencial No. 25 AMLQ, 2001), while the Department of Puno and the Provinces of Anta and Urubamba have 12 members each (*Resolución Presidencial No. 30 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 34 AMLQ, 2001; *Resolución Presidencial No. 62 AMLQ, 2001). The Statutes do not specify exactly what functions the branches should fulfill, but the assumption seems to be that each branch will perform similarly to the HAQL in Cuzco; to wit: research and teaching of grammar and Andean-Inca culture, publicity and publications, and community outreach. According to the information I could glean in Cuzco and at the Urubamba branch, which was the only one I had the opportunity to visit, the only thing these branches do is teach Imperial Quechua. In some cases, individual members also write poetry. The Cochabamba (Bolivia) Academy is a significant exception, organizing international conferences with a high degree of professionalism, as well as a literary festival in 2011 to promote Quechua narrative and poetry. They also publish literary magazines, and a number of their members have published research articles. Judging by their Facebook page

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(and the mere fact that they have one shows a significant degree of activity beyond most regional affiliates), they are a growing branch that is active in its home community and beyond, in cultural production, in education, in research and in outreach to promote the use of Quechua (Academia Regional de Quechua Cochabamba, 2010). Some of the poetry, not only from the Cochabamba affiliate but from other branches as well, has been published in different issues of Inka Rimay, and some authors have their own collections published (although this is rare owing to funding difficulties). Apart from the Cochabamba branch, there was no evidence of other research or publication activities that I could find from the affiliates. In this case, though, the Cochabamba affiliate is fulfilling one of the mandates of the HAQL Statutes by producing dictionaries and grammars. However, Zacarías Alavi Mamani (personal communication, 19 November 2003) felt that the quality of the dictionary left something to be desired: ‘[The dictionary] is pentavocalic and suffers from a series of distortions. [. . .] Everyone rejects that dictionary’. There is no newer published dictionary listed on the Cochabamba website, so I can only assume that this has not changed since 2003.

Part 4 Empowering Inca Quechua: Language Planning à la HAQL

10 Status Planning with the HAQL

Status and the Law Status planning for Quechua is not a recent activity by any means, nor is the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) the only institution to be involved in it. In fact, there are numerous Indigenous organizations, institutions, non-government organizations (NGOs), government agencies, language planning agents, researchers, linguists, activists, religious, philanthropic and political entities, and even Quechua language aficionados working in both topdown and bottom-up efforts throughout Peru, the Andes and around the world for the maintenance and revitalization of the language, and status planning comes into play in any such efforts (see ADILQ, 1997; Albó, 1999; CoronelMolina, 1999, 2005; García, 2005; Haboud, 2004; Hornberger & CoronelMolina, 2004; Hornberger & King, 1997, 2001; Howard, 2004; King & Haboud, 2002; von Gleich, 1994, 2004; Zúñiga et al., 2003). In fact, it could safely be said that improving the status of Quechua is the Academy’s main concern, even if ultimately status may not be the area in which it makes its primary contribution to Quechua’s welfare. The status planning focus of the HAQL can be seen in a number of the goals and objectives outlined in their Statutes: Goals: (d) to develop the literary capacity of Quechua through the organization of literary events, at regional, national and international levels in the diverse literary genres; (e) to promote and develop linguistic research, teaching, and learning of Quechua with an eye towards structuring a Quechua pedagogy and different cultural manifestations; (f) to prepare the authorized Quechua version of the Political Constitution of Peru and other regulations issuing from the central and local governments. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 5) 159

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Objectives: (a) to rescue, vindicate, and fully revalue the Quechua language as a language fully belonging to the cultural patrimony of the Tawantinsuyu Nation; [. . .] (f) to preserve and spread the manifestations of the Andean-Inca Tawantinsuyu culture related to Quechua language and literature; [. . .] (h) to improve the regulation of the Quechua language and its official use; (i) to promote the effective exercise of the right of the Quechuaspeaking communities to receive a complete education in their own language [also acquisition]; (j) to promote the active participation of the Quechua-speaking population in the process of developing the Tawantinsuyu Peoples; (k) to integrate the Quechua language into the world, through its oral and written diffusion via the Internet, publication of books, dictionaries, and other media [also acquisition and corpus]; [. . .] (o) to create service activities to offer to Quechua-speaking society, through the creation of organizations of conciliation and other similar institutions; [. . .] (q) to participate in all the important activities related to the Tawantinsuyu culture. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6) One factor that can have an important impact on the status of a language is the degree to which it is recognized and protected by the laws of the land. Quechua in Peru has made some significant strides in this regard over the course of the 20th century and into the present, and the HAQL has attempted to play a role in formulating a number of these laws. Such a role is in keeping with two of their statutory objectives, which are (h) to improve the regulation of the Quechua language and its official use; and (i) to promote the effective exercise of the right of the Quechua-speaking communities to receive a complete education in their own language. The HAQL counts as achievements a number of laws, decrees and resolutions that have been passed at various governmental levels over the years that have benefited the Quechua language, particularly of the Cuzco region. Table 10.1 below outlines laws, decrees and resolutions on which the Academy has sought to exercise some influence. Table 5.1 (Chapter 5) listed a number of laws, decrees and resolutions passed since the creation of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language (PAQL) in 1958. Those were all regulations that impacted the Academy’s legal status. Here, however, I discuss in detail only those laws that could be expected to have some bearing on Quechua status planning, particularly with regard to the Academy’s role in bringing them about.

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Table 10.1 Laws and government decrees influenced by the HAQL 1975 1975 1982

1989

1990 1991

2003

2003

2003

Government Decree No. 21156 officializing the Quechua language and ordering its teaching at all levels of education Ministerial Resolution No. 4023-75-ED, from the Ministry of Education (ME), ordering the use of the Quechua alphabet with five vowels Law No. 23434 instituting the ‘Premio Nacional Qosqo de Novela, Poesía, Cuento y Teatro en Idioma Quechua’ (Qosqo National Prize for Novel, Poetry, Short Story and Play in the Quechua Language) Mayoral Decree No. 015, of the City of Cuzco, declaring that in all official ceremonies of the city there must be at least one speech related to the ceremony made in Quechua, by a representative of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language Law No. 25260 elevating the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language to the High Academy of the Quechua Language Presidential Resolution 001-91-P/AMLQ, from the President of the HAQL, and Regional Legislative Resolution No. 001-91-AR/RI, from the assembly of the Regional Government of the Inka Region, both of which recognize and approve the basic alphabet of ‘Imperial Quechua’ using five vowels Law No. 28044, a new General Law of Education. The HAQL’s influence was felt in particular in the 12th Complementary and Transitory Disposition, which reincludes the HAQL as a Decentralized Public Institution Ministerial Resolution No. 1021-2003-ED convening a Commission to formulate proposals for the implementation of the HAQL and the development of its official statutes Regional Ordinance No. 011-2003-CRC/GRC, from the Regional Government of Cuzco, establishing 8 October as the annual Quechua Language Day and mandating the teaching and learning of Quechua at all educational levels in the department of Cuzco

Source: *Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 6–13; *Perfil Ayuda de Memoria, 2002: 5.

The most important move to promote Quechua is not a law per se, but an article in the 1993 Constitution. This article amplified by the officialization granted in the 1975 law passed by Velasco Alvarado’s administration. The General Laws of Education of 1992 and 2003 also further promoted Quechua’s status, since they codified not only the right to receive an education in one’s mother tongue, but also the responsibility of the state to provide it. Finally, the Law of Recognition, Preservation, Promotion and Spread of Aboriginal Languages (the so-called National Law of Languages) in 2003 gave a significant boost to all Indigenous languages, since it moved beyond the realm of simply education to include mother-tongue language rights in many domains of social life. The HAQL had little direct input into any of

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these laws, although they may have had some indirect influence, especially in the 2003 General Law of Education, which mentions the HAQL specifically. The first law that the Academy could be said to have directly influenced was passed in 1958. Law No. 13059, a decree from the federal government, officially recognized the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language. Such a move helped to boost the status of the language because the simple act of creating an institution to protect it indicated that it must be worth such protection, and therefore, it must have some status. The same attribution cannot be made to Law No. 25260 in 1990, which elevated the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language to the High Academy of the Quechua Language. This is because this change affected only the Academy itself, and not any users of the language. Perhaps the only two other laws from the list in Table 10.1 that the HAQL directly influenced and that contribute to Quechua status planning are the 1982 Law No. 23434 establishing the Qosqo National Prize for Novel, Poetry, Short Story and Play in the Quechua Language (*Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 11), and the 1991 Regional Law No. 01-91-A/RI, whose first article establishes ‘Imperial Quechua of Qosqo as the official language of the Inka Region, because it is the only one that maintains its purity and homogeneity, as opposed to other dialectal variations that have become denaturalized from the influence of Spanish’ (*Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 12). Its second article mandates bilingual education in Quechua and Spanish at all levels of education throughout the region, and the third article mandates the use of the fivevowel alphabet promoted by the HAQL. In the case of Law No. 23434, literature is considered to be one of the functional domains of a language, so to have a law that actually encourages the language’s use for literary purposes is a major achievement. And in fact, this contest continues to be held every year, sponsored by the HAQL and funded from various sources, so this is an area where the Academy most definitely does make a positive contribution to status planning. On the other hand, the regional law regarding Quechua officiality in the Inca Region is little more than a rubber-stamp law. It would be more effective if Quechua’s officiality were more visible in the community, particularly among the upper classes or in administrative or governmental domains. Although Quechua is an official language of the Inca Region, its official status is more symbolic than instrumental or integrative, since this status still has not caused it to be extended in any systematic way to domains such as government use, business use (except in very limited circumstances, such as the open air markets and street fairs) or administrative use. Likewise, although Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE) is mandated by law, the status of this Regional Law is ambiguous, since it is the Ministry of Education (ME) and not the HAQL that is in charge of the BIE programs at the national level.

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At the same time, the actual wording of this law must be considered. It is Imperial Quechua that is made the official language of Cuzco. As discussed at length in Chapter 8, this is the HAQL’s preferred sociolect. In establishing the variety of which the HAQL is the ‘owner’ as it were, the law in essence validates the knowledge and power of the HAQL over any other native speakers, setting the Academy up as the prime authority on Quechua. It also codifies academic/non-academic (or high/low) and national/regional dichotomies. Niño-Murcia explains how the creation of such dichotomies actually works to the detriment of language maintenance and revitalization: The purist discourse in Cuzco, although it appears on the surface to legitimize Indigenous culture (solidarity function), in reality contributes to the marginalization (separating function) of the Indigenous language and ultimately of its rural speakers, whose language one sees marked by the stigma of poverty and equated with a lack of culture. (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 156) The validity of this point was seen clearly in Chapter 8’s discussion of the effect of the HAQL’s ideologies on language use in the communities. Another law that seems at first glance to aid Quechua’s status is the 1989 Mayoral Decree No. 015 of the City of Cuzco. This law decrees that in all official ceremonies of the city there must be at least one speech related to the ceremony made in Quechua. Furthermore, this speech must be made by a representative of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language (*Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 13). Again, this law acknowledges the Academy as the only authority on Quechua, since it is only they who have the official recognition to make such speeches. The final law relevant to status planning is the 2003 Regional Ordinance No. 011-2003-CRC/GRC, from the Regional Government of Cuzco. This law establishes 8 November as the annual Quechua Language Day. This day was chosen, as the ordinance notes, in honor of the 50th anniversary of the HAQL. The law also made the teaching and learning of Quechua mandatory at the primary and secondary levels of education, especially in the predominantly Quechua-speaking regions of the department of Cuzco. Furthermore, the HAQL, together with the ME’s Regional Cuzco Office, was placed in charge of developing the regulations for this mandatory education (*Inka Rimay 6: 260), and in fact, in 2002 the HAQL signed an agreement with the Regional Office of Education to involve the Academy in Quechua pedagogy in Cuzco. Once again, there is no denying the benefit to Quechua’s status in proclaiming a day specifically in honor of the language. At the same time, one cannot miss the HAQL’s desire for official recognition and authority over the educational efforts. Overall, then, the HAQL has made some attempts to influence status planning for Quechua at both the regional and national levels. They have

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had some success in this, given the passage of laws in recent years that have promulgated the use of Quechua in new domains, such as official, literary, legal/court/judiciary, regional and educational. However, in the first two domains, such use is more symbolic than instrumental, and is not consistently applied. In the remaining domains, its use is more instrumental, but it is only applied in certain regions where native Quechua speakers are involved, so its use is more limited. Moreover, there is still some question as to just how seriously these laws are being enforced, which makes the effect of the laws more symbolic than actual. Such truths in no way negate, nevertheless, the efforts of the HAQL in aiding the passage of these laws. On the other hand, the HAQL’s direct influence on laws affecting Quechua’s status planning has been more at the local or regional level, within the department of Cuzco. The Academy has been in contact with representatives of both the Congress and the ME on numerous occasions over the years in an attempt to promote Quechua language education at all levels nationally, but they are not the only ones to do so by any means. And in fact, the federal ME only reluctantly deals with them. So the outcome in national laws has been the result of a concerted effort by many people. Furthermore, the local and regional laws that the HAQL has influenced have not only benefitted Quechua speakers, but also – and in fact perhaps primarily – the stature of the Academy itself in the community.

Status and Society The HAQL makes great efforts in the area of promoting social and cultural activities, which serve to fulfill some of their Statutory objectives for improving the status and acceptance of the Quechua language and culture. The two most pertinent objectives in the Statutes are to preserve and spread the manifestations of the Andean-Inca Tawantinsuyu culture related to Quechua language and literature, and to participate in all the important activities related to the Tawantinsuyu culture (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6). Activities of the HAQL that fulfill this goal are the literary contests sponsored by the Academy, and literary production of the members themselves often published in Inka Rimay; municipal or regional celebrations, festivities, parades, book presentations, ceremonies of incorporation of new members into, and promotion of current members to a higher level in, the Academy; graduation ceremonies of the HAQL’s students; public events at which some contribution in or about Quechua is generally made; and the radio programs in Quechua in which a few HAQL members participate on a regular basis. All of these activities promote the use of Quechua in public, as opposed to private or family domains, and the literary production also makes a contribution to the literary domain.

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Rising to literary heights Article 5 of the HAQL Statutes establishes as one of the goals of the Academy ‘to develop the literary capacity of Quechua through the organization of literary events, at regional, national and international levels in the diverse literary genres’, while Article 6 outlines the objective of integrating the Quechua language into the world, through its oral and written diffusion through the internet, and the publication of books, dictionaries and other media (*Estatuto, 2001). The HAQL has clearly made progress on both of these fronts, through the creation of their literary contest in Quechua, and through the publication of their own literary efforts in their journal, Inka Rimay, and other publications by individual authors (see Appendix 2 for a complete list). The main contest sponsored by the HAQL is the Premio Nacional Qosqo de Novela, Poesía, Cuento y Teatro en Idioma Quechua (Qosqo National Prize for Novels, Poetry, Short Stories and Plays in the Quechua Language), mentioned earlier. While other institutions, such as the Centro de Estudios Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’ (CBC) in Cuzco, the Universidad Nacional Federico Villarreal and the Universidad Nacional San Marcos, both in Lima, also occasionally organize such contests for Quechua literature, the HAQL has the advantage that their contest has been institutionalized by law. In addition, theirs is intended as an annual contest, while those of the other institutions may not be offered every year. On the other hand, there is no record of HAQL contest winners in consecutive years. The only source of information on these contests appears to be the Inka Rimay, but in any given issue – which, it must be remembered, are not published on a regular basis – they never list the winners for more than the year that the journal is published. Another positive aspect of the HAQL’s contest is that it gets international exposure. While the majority of contestants may be from the Cuzco region, the contest also receives entries from other Quechua-speaking countries. For instance, one of the winners of the poetry competition published in *Inka Rimay 3 was from Cochabamba, Bolivia. Thus, they are achieving another of their goals by encouraging the use of Quechua in the literary domain not only domestically in Peru, but also internationally throughout the Andean region. Inka Rimay is only one vehicle for disseminating literary production in Quechua. Quite a number of Academy members have published, albeit in very limited runs, in a variety of genres. Through these publications, Quechua has been expanded to literary, academic, government and administrative domains. The collections of poetry, stories and music, along with the few translations of Spanish literature into Quechua, fall into the literary domain. Poetry, in particular, seems to be a very popular genre among Academy members. Almost every issue of Inka Rimay includes at least a few

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poems, and usually quite a fair number. In addition, some members have published their own collections of poetry, such as Nunaypa Rurun/Frutos del alma (‘Fruits of the Soul’) by Delia L. *Blanco Villafuerte (1993), and Qallariy/ Génesis by Amalia *Astete Arencio et al. (1995). There also exist a few translations of mainstream literary or musical works into Quechua, most notably the national anthem and the Cuzco anthem mentioned earlier, and Paco Yunke by César *Vallejo (2002). The few research articles written in Quechua that appear in Inka Rimay or as short books published by one or another Academy member belong to the academic domain. In addition to contributing to the status planning of Quechua by expanding it into a new domain, they also contribute to corpus planning, since new terms must often be coined to be able to present modern concepts and academic topics. The articles that appear in Inka Rimay generally are presented only in Quechua, although some are bilingual. But when individual Academy members publish entire books in Quechua, these are frequently bilingual with the Spanish translation either on facing pages or following the Quechua original. It is curious that the earlier issues of Inka Rimay contain more overall contributions in Quechua (literary as well as academic), but starting with issue No. 3, they become predominantly Spanish; No. 6 is almost entirely in Spanish. In all cases where there are academic articles in Quechua, none of the articles are longer than one page, and none cite any bibliographic references (which raises some question as to the academic rigor of the research). There are, however, plenty of examples of literature in Quechua, with numerous poems and some stories and riddles in every issue. This would seem to indicate a preference for using Quechua for literary and artistic rather than academic pursuits. One example of an academic publication is Qheswa simipi seq’e yapaykuna/ Morfología quechua (Quechua morphology) by *Herencia Fernández (2000); the very title of this book shows an example of coinage of a new term, ‘morphology’. Another interesting book is Ñaupaqkunamanta qallariykuna yachana qanchis yupa/La metafísica del número siete (The metaphysics of the number seven), by *Paulino Candia Serrano (1996). This book combines formats. In the beginning, it is simply a list of phrases in Quechua relating to the use of the number seven in the Bible, and their translations to Spanish. Later in the book, however, he begins to include some myths, legends and short histories written in Quechua. These alternate with their Spanish translations paragraph by paragraph. This differs from other publications, such as the Quechua language textbooks and grammars where the explanations are in Spanish and the language samples are in Quechua. Other books, whose titles mislead one to assume that they will be academic studies of the Quechua language – Inka runasimiq qhapaqkayninkuna/ Las riquezas del idioma de persona Inka (The Richness of the Inca Language, 2002), Aknan qhapaq runasimi/Así es el idioma Imperial (The Imperial Language

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Is Like This, 1998a) – or in one case, perhaps a literary collection – Atawpa punkun/La puerta de la felicidad (The Door to Happiness, 1998b) – all by *Candia Serrano, actually turn out to be nothing more than lists of words and phrases together with their Spanish translations. There are no explanations, nor even introductions; the books simply start on page one with their lists. The HAQL considers these as examples of research and academic production. One notable exception to this pattern is *Espinoza Navarro’s (2000) book, Sapiencia inka, in which he writes almost entirely in Quechua, except for some passages in the first half of the book where he is explaining Quechua grammar, and some lists of vocabulary for which he includes the Spanish translations. The Academy’s most prominent recent publication is the revision of their Quechua dictionary. Apart from that, there have appeared a few pedagogy texts for training teachers, some workbooks, collections of songs, poetry and fortunes, etc. (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 27 July 2013). Finally, one objective of the HAQL, as noted in their Statutes, is to make the Political Constitution of Peru available in the Quechua language, together with ‘other regulations that issue from the central and local governments’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 5). This is one goal they have achieved, by occasionally providing translation services for others, or translating government documents for their own use. Such translations fall into the government or administrative domains, depending on whom the translation is for. For example, the translation to Quechua of the Political Constitution of Peru done by *Candia Serrano (n.d.) falls into the government domain. On the other hand, when the Ministry of Foreign Affairs asked the HAQL to translate the conclusions of the XVIII Río Group Summit, held in Cuzco in May 2003, from Spanish to Quechua, this would contribute to the administrative domain. This translation was completed by a committee composed of the Board of Directors (M. Posada, personal communication, 26 August 2004). Furthermore, the HAQL translated and published in Inka Rimay the law of Quechua officialization (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 52), the municipal agreement between the City of Cuzco and the HAQL (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 80–83) and their law of creation (*Inka Rimay 3, 1994: 8). One of the first non-translation works in Quechua to be produced by an Academy member is surely the Guión para la escenificación del Inti Raymi en la ciudad sagrada de los Inkas (Script for the Staging of the Inti Raymi in the Sacred City of the Incas). This was a bilingual work written by *Espinoza Navarro (1977), one of the founding fathers of the Academy. His Guión was published by the PAQL in 1977, using the ‘invented’ Quechua that is the qhapaq simi, and is one more publication that is not readily available. Thus, the written script is not widely distributed and cannot have much of an impact on either the Quechua- or Spanish-speaking world’s opinion of the language. The performance itself of the Inti Raymi is more useful in this regard.

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In fact, this lack of availability is a flaw with all of their publications. This lack is recognized both within and outside of the Academy, as Mr Barriga notes: No hay publicaciones. Publicaciones personales, particulares hay, pero la misma Academia como Academia no hace las publicaciones, ¿no? [. . . L]os asociados hacen sus libros. La Academia no los difunde estos libros, ¿no? porque nuestra organización es esa pues, ¿no? (Tape HAQL 2G) (There are no publications. There are personal, private publications, but the Academy itself as an Academy doesn’t do publications, you know? [. . . T]he associates publish their books. The Academy doesn’t distribute these books, you know, because our organization is like that, you know?) It is perhaps relevant to note that lack of funding is the main reason for not being able to disseminate their publications widely. Even those books that are funded by the City of Cuzco are not widely publicized or distributed. If there were more money available to them for publication and advertising, they might be better known further abroad. However, regardless of the reason for lack of dissemination, this problem still exists, and it is still a hindrance for achieving their goals. Another obstacle they face is that the federal ME does not appear to be eager to accept their input. In a report from the Bureau of Bilingual Intercultural Education (DINEBI), Juan Carlos *Godenzzi Alegre (2000), then-director of the Bureau, commented that the HAQL’s materials were not used in national education because they lacked intellectual rigor. He further indicated that one of the Academy’s major problems was ‘a problem of language planning (lack of training)’ and finally, that the ME would not work with the HAQL because the latter ‘carries out activities unilaterally and requests that the Ministry sponsor them. In recent years, precisely because of this unilaterality, the Ministry has avoided becoming involved in projects that are in conflict with institutional policy’. A related concern is the linguistic consistency and accessibility of the HAQL translations. The Academy is not the only provider of Quechua translation services. There are a few government offices, non-government organizations (NGOs) and individual scholars that can do such work, most of them with more consistent spelling and syntax, and in a wider variety of genres. Moreover, the Quechua used in these non-HAQL translations is much more accessible to the average Quechua speaker throughout the Andes than is the qhapaq simi of the Academy (for more on Quechua translations throughout the Andes and beyond, see Coronel-Molina, 2005; Hornberger & Coronel-Molina, 2004; Hornberger & King, 2001; King & Haboud, 2002).

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Celebration! Another way the HAQL contributes to keeping Quechua in the public eye is through their participation in all manner of civic celebrations, festivities, parades, public events, etc. The Academy participates in all of these civic occasions, right down to preparing signs and posters in Quechua to carry in parades and political protests. They always give at least one speech in Quechua at any municipal public event; they arrange all manner of activities, conferences and presentations either in or about Quechua on Quechua Language Day, Regional Cuzco Identity Day and the anniversary celebrations of the Milenaria Ciudad del Cusco (Ancient City of Cuzco) as they call it. These events always begin with the Cuzco national anthem, Qosqo yupaychana taki, sung in Quechua. Note that we are talking about an anthem specific to Cuzco, not to the country as a whole. In addition, their presentations and speeches are also Cuzco-centric, once again evidencing their strong regionalist ties. Any ceremony celebrating some occasion special to the HAQL is also open to the public, and is always conducted bilingually in Quechua and Spanish. These occasions include such things as presentations of books published by HAQL members, induction and promotion ceremonies of members, and graduation ceremonies for students of the Quechua courses. This is also true of the major celebration they arranged for their 50th anniversary. Not only did they arrange a special month-long series of events, including a conference, during the anniversary of the month of their foundation in November 2003, they also planned a series of conferences, workshops and Inca rituals throughout the entire year to commemorate the occasion (*Inka Rimay 6, 2003: 268–269; *Programa General, 2003). One interesting activity that they organized in 2001 in conjunction with the city’s anniversary celebrations was what they called the Gran Maratón Guinness de Oratoria Quechua, (Great Guinness Marathon of Quechua Oratory). This event lasted for three days, 22–24 June 2001. It was hosted by Antenor Vargas Esquivel, one of the HAQL’s Quechua teachers, and sponsored by the Distinguished Association of Artisans of Cuzco, which offered its offices in Cuzco as the site for the event. According to the advertising that the HAQL distributed about the event, it was 72 consecutive hours of oral delivery of literature, poetry, history, legends, stories, music and dance, regional dishes and any other manifestation of ‘our Tawantinsuyu culture’ that they could pull together. The best feature of the event was that they lined up a number of radio and TV stations to broadcast it continuously, as well as having articles about the event appear in regional newspapers. These were not just local stations; the television stations were big national ones such as TV Sur and TV Mundo, which are broadcast across the country, and reach international audiences through cable and satellite networks. The radio stations that broadcast it,

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Radio Líder, Radio Los Andes and Radio La Hora, reach large regional audiences throughout the Andes. So this event was obviously a great success for the HAQL. This is not the only time they managed to garner media attention for one of their extended public events. On 8 November 1965, they transmitted via Radio Cusco the 14-hour celebration of their anniversary of that year. This was then retransmitted across the country via Radio Nacional. This was another major coup for Quechua status engineered by the HAQL (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 30). If they could find the collaborators and the funding to organize social and cultural events similar to their 72-hour Guinness oratoria and the celebrations for their special regional recognition days on a more frequent basis, this could be a significant ongoing contribution to status planning for Quechua. It would be a wonderful way to publicize the Quechua language and culture, in Quechua, to a very broad audience if it could be done with any regularity. One event that is presented on a regular basis is the Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun. This festival is a true celebration of the Inca culture of the past, in what de la Cadena (2000: 157) refers to as an ‘invented tradition’ that ‘implies a conscious process of using the past to create a public ritual for political ends’. Although this festival is not an HAQL production – in fact, it was begun ten years before the PAQL came into being – the political ends of promoting Inca culture and the centrality of Cuzco are definitely in line with the HAQL’s beliefs and practices, so they are quite happy to have their name associated with it in any way possible. In fact, they take great pride in the fact that the man credited with founding the PAQL in 1954, and a ‘lifelong champion of the Quechua language’ (Hornberger & King, 2001: 166), ‘El Inca’ Faustino Espinoza Navarro, portrayed the original Inca in the first 1944 presentation of the Inti Raymi, and continued to do so for 14 years. It was this role, and his publication in qhapaq simi of the script for the festival (*Espinoza Navarro, 1977), as de la Cadena (2000: 163) notes, that permitted him ‘to become officially an intellectual and a public cultural authority’, without actually having attained the educational level to have otherwise been considered either one. Despite this, it is again limited in that it promotes only the qhapaq simi. Using a normal, ‘everyday’ variety of Cuzco Quechua might be more effective for promoting the daily use of the language, particularly when one considers that many Quechua speakers who have attended the festival say they cannot understand the language being spoken; ‘they thought it had been done in English for the tourists’ sake’ (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 148). However, when it comes to bringing Quechua to the attention of the world, perhaps the variety is not as important as simply the symbolic function of letting non-Quechua-speaking Peruvians and foreigners see and hear the language in use in any form. Thus, Inti Raymi may still serve as a status-promoting

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device for the rest of the world, although perhaps not necessarily within the Quechua community itself. Another possible psychological drawback to the Inti Raymi has to do with its focus on history, on the past rather than on the contemporary Quechua language and culture. As Marr elaborates, the Academy’s focus on the Inca past will most likely have a negative outcome for the present and the future: The risk, though, is that in focusing attention on the historical role of Quechua in Peru, the amateur status planners will inadvertently help condemn it to a living death. [. . .] Quechua comes to stand for what once was, rather than for what is or what will be. This is the quandary of those who would exalt Quechua as a symbol of Peruvian nationhood: what is consciously presented as glorious, historic and milenario can only with difficulty be perceived simultaneously as living, contemporary, commonplace, functional. [. . .] While the symbolic link with the past may be effective for the inculcation of nationalism, it is nothing less than disastrous for the future of Quechua as a living language amongst the young. (Marr, 1998: 172, 178) That is, all of this Inca-centered ideology is extremely focused on the past, since the Incas are a long-dead culture. But there is a further implication here. Ancient history is long dead and often viewed as irrelevant to the present. If Quechua was spoken more than 500 years ago but is increasingly disappearing today, it must be a dead language, so why should it continue to be spoken? If Quechua is history, then Spanish is modernity and Quechua becomes irrelevant, an attitude particularly prevalent among younger generations of speakers (see Marr, 1998). Thus, the Inti Raymi presents a complex situation with regard to status planning: it simultaneously has its positive and its negative secondary effects. Notwithstanding the potential drawbacks of the Inti Raymi, all of these events where Quechua is used publicly and proudly – parades, civic celebrations, HAQL meetings, informal get-togethers in restaurants and cantinas – can certainly contribute to the status of Quechua. In this respect, the HAQL does indeed make a valuable contribution. In using it in venues where Spanish is still the dominant language, they show they are not ashamed of the language, they think it has value. The hope is that such opinions could gradually rub off on the Spanish-speaking majority, making them more accepting of its use, and perhaps even wanting to learn to use it themselves.

On the radio Finally, we come to radio programming in Quechua. There are actually quite a number of radio stations across the Andes that broadcast programs in Quechua, so in this sense, the HAQL is not doing anything particularly

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unique or novel. A few Academy members either regularly host or make frequent appearances on Quechua radio programs. This programming is perhaps their most consistent community outreach effort. Through this medium, the HAQL can potentially reach a broad audience throughout the region. In the early years of the PAQL, during the first half of the 1960s, the Academy hosted a radio program every Friday and Saturday, first on Radio Cuzco, and later on Radio Tawantinsuyu. In this show, they: made known to the public different topics about literature, history, traditions, archeological topics, the writing system for writing our Mother Tongue, with the purpose of encouraging society not to forget the use of the rich and classic native language of our Sacred City, Cuzco. Also, various intellectuals from our Land participated. (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 28) However, this show only lasted for a year. In more contemporary decades, one emeritus member, nicknamed the Wiñay Inka (eternal Inca), had a regular program called Runasimita yachasun kusikuywan (Let’s Have Fun Learning Quechua)/Programa didáctico: enseñando quechua (Educational Program: Teaching Quechua), which aired on Radio Tawantinsuyu. Of the members involved in one way or another with radio programs, his was the most regular effort. The others gave interviews or made guest appearances on an already established Quechua program hosted by someone else. The Wiñay Inka’s program was completely his own, and at least for the duration of my time in Cuzco, it aired every Thursday from 2:30 to 3:00 pm. Since he did all the program planning by himself, and furthermore had to pay the station out of his own pocket for the privilege of airing his program, it was technically not an HAQL effort, but he did it in the name of the Academy. The two programs I recorded both started out with at least ten minutes of promoting the Academy, its language classes and their respective instructors, the Inka simi or qhapaq simi, and the five-vowel alphabet. This was followed by greetings between the Wiñay Inka and another radio announcer or guest, a brief conversation and trading riddles, and then the ‘lesson’ began. In the first program, the lesson started by emphasizing the ideology of the HAQL, the necessity to speak the ‘pure’ Quechua (Inka simita ch’uya ch’uyata rimananchis) that the Academy teaches as opposed to the Quechua mixed with Spanish that so many people speak, and then centered on the use of the five vowels. This consisted of a list of vocabulary words focusing on the vowel sounds (Tape 1 Radio Tawantinsuyu). The second lesson began with a history of the creation of the Academy, an announcement of the objectives of the Academy and comments denigrating the efforts of the ME. From there, it appeared to move on to a lesson on colors, first translating the colors of the flag of Tawantinsuyu from Spanish to Quechua, and then the names and colors of animals. The Wiñay Inka gave

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his guest – usually one or another of his students from the Language Center of Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC), where he taught Quechua as an independent instructor, not as a representative of the HAQL – a list of terms in Spanish, such as ‘brown cow’, ‘lead-colored snake’, ‘yellow fox’, etc., and the guest simply translated them into Quechua (Tape 2 Radio Tawantinsuyu). The two vocabulary lessons sounded like nothing so much as a teacher quizzing a student on individual words, with neither context nor communicative interaction. This is the same basic pattern that is used in their language courses and textbooks, which raises some doubts as to their educational efficacy. Interestingly, though, and perhaps somewhat disturbingly, although a few Academy members were very familiar with these programs, most of the members I interviewed did not know that the HAQL made use of such air time. Some did not even know that a number of radio stations offer broadcasts in Quechua. I found this a puzzling knowledge gap, which seems to indicate a lack of communication among Academy members regarding HAQL activities other than teaching. Notwithstanding this odd disjunct, Quechua radio programming is another potentially useful tool for promoting the language’s use and increasing its status. It is a very public venue, and is available to anyone with a radio, be they Spanish or Quechua speakers. The fact that it exists in this domain is a definite advantage for the language. On the other hand, the primary goal of the radio program Runasimita yachasun kusikuywan seems to be to indoctrinate the public with the ideology of the HAQL and to sell its language courses to them. In other words, in the end, like so many of the HAQL’s activities, its contributions to radio programming in Quechua are more concerned with the stature and ideologies of the Academy itself than with the language it seeks to serve. However, as we have noted before, for the Academy members, promoting Quechua and promoting the HAQL seem to be one and the same thing – the Quechua language and the HAQL are inextricably interwoven in their ideology – so perhaps from their perspective, such a purpose for the radio program is understandable. Nevertheless, not everyone views the situation as they do. If they want to reach a wider audience, they need to look beyond how they think and be able to understand how others might be thinking, to be able to more effectively communicate their message. In the end, despite their own point of view and their greater purpose, the radio program comes across as self-serving. In addition to this aspect, we have the intended pedagogical functions of the program Runasimita yachasun kusikuywan and the format of the show. For pedagogical purposes, the format leaves much to be desired, being one of simple repetition, translation or free association. In short, this radio program may have good intentions, but it does not appear to be organized in a coherent and systematic way, and does not achieve a useful pedagogical purpose.

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There is no educational rhyme or reason to the ‘lessons’, which are generally a little shorter in any event than the segments devoted to promotion and ideology. Furthermore, Niño-Murcia (1997: 148) notes the difficulty that many native Quechua speakers have understanding these HAQL radio programs, since ‘the version used in these radio transmissions is not the Quechua spoken by its audience’. So again we see evidence that the HAQL’s efforts to promote use of the language is not as productive as they would like to believe, owing to their insistence on using a ‘pure’ Quechua that is spoken by very few people other than themselves. Finally, the HAQL’s pedagogical outreach via radio seems to be primarily geared towards Spanish speakers desiring to learn Quechua, generally for jobrelated reasons. This demographic needs to be able to communicate with the native speakers of Quechua, since this is why they need to learn the language in the first place. Thus, if the non-native speakers learn a dialect that the native speakers do not understand, the effort is still counterproductive. This brings us again to the conclusion that for the purposes of maintaining or revitalizing Quechua, qhapaq simi is not the best choice. Ultimately, for all of these reasons, the radio programming offered by individual members of the HAQL does not significantly contribute to fulfilling the Academy’s Statutes, nor make any substantive contribution to Quechua language planning.

In Summary: Expanding Domains of Use In essence, this chapter has been about how the HAQL has sought to expand the domains in which Quechua is used. Currently, owing to their conferences, Quechua classes, literature contests, radio programs and presence with Quechua discourses at public events and celebrations in Cuzco, they contribute to the use of Quechua in such domains as school subjects, literature, mass media, official (in Cuzco), academic/professional (to a limited degree) and regional use domains. They might also claim international use owing to their regional branches in other Andean countries. Since they do use Quechua at least partially in their biweekly meetings, and had even started to write up their meeting minutes in Quechua, it could be said that they contribute to the administrative use domain as well, although, since they keep their minutes private, such use could not be said to contribute greatly to increasing public awareness, and thus the prestige, of the language. The translations they do of government documents could also be said to promote government use of Quechua. However, in all these cases, although they themselves may have made contributions to these domains, it cannot honestly be said that their efforts have inspired others to use them as well, in part because their efforts are not widely available. Thus, it cannot be accurately said that they have succeeded in spreading Quechua to new domains of use, although they have at least made some small progress in that direction.

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On the other hand, in terms of maintaining it, one of the most common domains for Quechua use by all native speakers is group use. That means it is used for all or most occasions within a given speech or ethnic community, whether those occasions be public or private, formal or informal. This is one domain to which it cannot be said that the HAQL has made great contributions. Although some members do speak Quechua quite fluently, many of them are actually still learning, so Quechua use in informal ‘in-group’ settings tends to be limited. For instance, according to my observations in the HAQL offices, in their daily activities, I heard Quechua spoken approximately 40% of the time by high-ranking HAQL Full Members, contradicting the assertion of one senior member that they speak in Quechua approximately 80% of the time at the Academy (E. Mamani, Tape 13A HAQL). However, 40% is still a significant amount, especially when one considers the overriding dominance of Spanish in Peruvian society, including in Cuzco. Nevertheless, not all of them who lay claim to the language at the HAQL offices speak it with their families at home. Some, but not many, speak it with their wives, but almost none of them use it to communicate with their children. In this way, intergenerational transmission (Fishman, 1991) is interrupted. Nor do they speak Quechua much outside of the Academy, in their other roles in society away from the HAQL. In terms of written language, their use of Quechua is far less than in the spoken form. In Inka Rimay and other publications, I would estimate that there is no more than about 20% written in Quechua. As discussed previously, earlier issues of the journal seemed to have more Quechua content, particularly literature, than later issues. This is most likely a reflection of the attrition over the years of the older members who spoke Quechua with native fluency, while the newer members are still learning it as a second language and thus are not as comfortable attempting either literature or academic articles. The heart of the matter, then, is that different members have different levels of Quechua proficiency. Thus, although the HAQL may have some impact in the area of status planning, it is doubtless not as much as they would like to have or could have. The mere fact that they continue to insist on the valorization of Quechua, its inclusion at all levels of education, its use at least symbolically in the social and political activities of society, etc., has some impact. It may help to keep Quechua at the forefront of society’s attention. On the other hand, it must be borne in mind that the HAQL is primarily interested in promoting their particular sociolect of Inca Quechua, and that the Academy members want to control access to and use of Quechua at all levels – governmental, academic, investigative, educational, production of materials in Quechua, etc. – so that they can ensure that it is their sociolect that is spread to other areas of the Andean world. Furthermore, as a number of people both within and outside the Academy have noted, the HAQL is very good at saying impressive-sounding things, but not so good on the follow-through. As many non-HAQL

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members and community members complain about them, ‘No trabajan ni dejan trabajar’ (They don’t work, and they don’t let [anyone else] work). To sum up, I return to a consideration of the Statutes of the HAQL. In general terms, it seems safe to say that of all of these, the ones the HAQL has well and truly made progress in fulfilling, in all the years of their existence, are developing the literary capacity of Quechua; promoting Quechua use among Spanish-speaking populations (particularly professionals working in the highland regions) through their language courses; and promoting the Inca culture through their social activities, such as public speeches, radio programs and the Guinness Marathon. Other objectives have only been partially fulfilled. To raise the status of Quechua, it is not sufficient to concentrate only on love for the language and the people who used it in the past. Good intentions and sentimental attachments are not enough to save a language. At the same time, extremist positions, fanatical regionalist and purist ideologies and inflexibility can only impede or even actively harm efforts at language development, maintenance and revitalization. Rather, it is necessary to develop and deploy projects and programs: specific, concrete efforts in favor of the maintenance and development of the entire Quechua family, not only one sociolect of it. It is also much more useful to take into account and support already existing efforts, instead of constantly reinventing the wheel because of ideological differences with the people who began those efforts. They also need to focus more on the Quechua of today, rather than trying to reinvent, imagine and essentialize the Quechua spoken by the Inca elites more than 500 years ago. In the long run, these kinds of ideologically motivated and emotionally driven practices, despite whatever good intentions they may have, will cause more confusion, uncertainty and even resentment among already existing speech communities and those in the process of learning the language.

11 Corpus Planning’s Alphabet Wars: Quechua Graphization

There are three crucial points for successful language planning. First, the language to be planned should be recognized at some official level. This has already happened in Peru, with the officialization of Quechua in the 1975 and 1993 Constitutions (Constitución Política del Perú, 1993), albeit at the regional level. Second, the language should be used as a medium of instruction in schools at as high a level as possible. In the long run, it should not be confined to experimental programs or optional courses. Again, in Peru, Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE) has been mandated at least through the elementary level, although follow-through on the laws may leave something to be desired. Finally, the language must have a sufficient body of literature, a grammar and a dictionary. This final condition falls within the purview of corpus planning, in the areas of graphization, codification and even modernization. The High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) has some very specific goals related to corpus planning: (a) to guard the purity of the Quechua language and expand its range; (b) to standardize the linguistic rules and grammatical structure of the Quechua language; (c) to compile and revise the Dictionary of the Quechua Language, officially incorporating new words, and the Quechua Grammar. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 5) Given that these are the first three goals listed in Article 5, it is safe to assume that these goals are a particular priority. Similarly, there are a number of corpus planning objectives, but since they fall further down the list of Article 6, one must wonder whether they have the same degree of importance for Academy members as the goals: (d) to identify the Quechua-speaking populations and their dialectal variations; (e) to systematically study and investigate the Quechua language and its dialectal variants, with preferential treatment of the phonetics, morphology, syntax and other constitutive elements of its grammatical 177

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structure and with consequent formulation of the applicable orthographic systems; [. . .] (k) to integrate the Quechua language into the world, through its oral and written spread by way of the Internet, publication of books, dictionaries, and other media; (l) to establish the High Academy of the Quechua Language, with headquarters in the city of Qosqo [sic], as the only institution authorized to elaborate the official dictionary with contributions from the different investigators of Quechua, with the purpose of unifying its semantics and writing system [as previously discussed, this objective’s only relation to the corpus-planning sphere is created by the last phrase, which almost seems an afterthought]; (m) to internationalize the Quechua language in the application of toponymic, zoonymic, anthroponymic and phytonymic terms, among others, that scientific investigation should consider in consultation with the High Academy; (n) to incorporate into the Dictionary of the Quechua Language neologisms and loanwords from other languages. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6) The graphization of the Quechua language has been one of the overriding goals of the Academy since its foundation. However, it has also been a bone of contention, not only between the HAQL and other language planners in Peru, but also among members of the HAQL itself, very nearly since the beginning. Interestingly, the two debates have maintained different foci. Within the Academy, for the most part there has been a general consensus all along for a five-vowel system, with only a few members over time attempting to promote a three-vowel system. On the other hand, especially in the early years, there were almost as many different representations for certain consonantal sounds as there were Academy members, particularly in relation to representation of digraphs such as /ch/ and /sh/, and the velar sound alternately represented by /j/, /q/ or /x/.

Internal Debates This disagreement on the representation of consonants is particularly notorious in the first two issues of Inka Rimay, both of which contain a number of articles outlining suggested alphabets. While there is clearly some overlap between many of the suggestions, there is also a considerable range of variation, including the proposed use of diacritics over certain consonants to represent their glottal (e.g. ˝Q) or aspirated (e.g. ˚Q) versions (*Astete Chocano, 1963: 25–31). This is in contrast to the doubling of the consonant to be glottalized (e.g. kk) or following it with the letter ‘h’ (e.g. kh) to indicate aspiration (*Jara, 1963: 39–42, among others), or the similar use of the

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apostrophe (e.g. q’) and the letter h (e.g. qh) immediately following the consonant in question to indicate the same respective functions. This latter approach has become the option of choice over time. By the publication of the second issue of Inka Rimay in 1983, the Academy had decided to officially adopt the Spanish alphabet with some small modifications to adjust it to the non-Spanish characteristics of the Quechua language. These modifications were suggested based on the alphabet approved at the 1954 Third International Indigenist Conference in La Paz, Bolivia, which had been proposed by the delegation from Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC), with the idea of representing the sounds of ‘Quechua, Aymara and South American dialects’ (*Villasante Ortiz, 1983: 121). With this decision, one would think that the internal debates over alphabets would have died down, leaving only the conflict between the Academy and external linguists and language planners. However, this does not appear to be the case, since throughout all six issues of Inka Rimay there are articles describing the Quechua alphabet and attempting to establish which letter should be used to represent which sound (see Appendix 2 for a list of the articles in each issue dealing with the development of a Quechua orthographic system). Even in the public meetings and classes that I attended and in numerous personal conversations, a common theme was that the Quechua alphabet was still in development, still evolving (Fieldnotes, 23 June 2002, 5 July 2002, 13 August 2002). The fact that discussion of the alphabet crops up repeatedly at national and international conferences organized by the HAQL or its affiliates gives further evidence that the subject has yet to be resolved. For example, two primary conclusions of the Fifth International Conference of Quechua and Aymara, organized by the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language – Arequipa Region in 1997 were (1) that native monolingual speakers should contribute to help reach a consensus on graphization, and (2) that: The Fifth International Conference of the Quechua and Aymara Languages approves LINGUISTIC TOLERANCE for writing with three vowels by the trivocalists and with five vowels by the pentavocalists, seeking a true CONSENSUS AND MONOLITHIC ANDEAN UNITY that confronts the enemies of the native languages. (*Runasimi-Aymara Aru, 1997; emphasis in original) Thus, as early as 1997, the conclusions of an event organized by a regional branch office of the HAQL promoted orthographic tolerance between trivocalists and pentavocalists. It is perhaps significant to note that the Cuzcobased HAQL’s name does not appear on the official program as a Conference sponsor, although members from the HAQL did participate. In 2000, the First World Conference of the Quechua Language, organized by the HAQL, arrived at certain key decisions related to graphization,

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principally to declare the need for a Quechua alphabet that respects ‘dialectal variations in regard to the phonetics and phonology of each region’; for them, this meant a five-vowel alphabet. The conclusions of the Second World Conference of the Quechua Language, organized by the Bolivian AQL and held in Cochabamba in November 2002, continued to show signs of divergent opinions regarding a written alphabet. At this conference, the principal conclusion related to graphization was to ‘[e]laborate and define phonological tables in each country that would permit the construction of a unified Quechua alphabet at the continental and global levels’ (*Conclusiones del Segundo Congreso Mundial, 2002). Stating the decision this way seems to indicate that there has been a regression from outright planning of an alphabet to a more cautious approach of seeking input before making any decisions. However, this could, in reality, be a good thing, because it then provides a broad range of communities the chance to give their input into the decision-making process, which has long been a stated objective (although not an actual practice) of the HAQL. At the same time, the conference attendees concluded that ‘[w]hile investigations continue on language and writing, it is suggested that all involved institutions maintain the writing system that they have used all along’ (*Conclusiones del Segundo Congreso Mundial, 2002). This decision implies that they are seeking to make good on their 1997 pronouncement of tolerance for either the three-vowel or five-vowel writing systems. It is relevant to note that the Bolivian Academy has a history of being more in touch with and open to the input of the rural Quechua-speaking communities than the HAQL in Cuzco. However, some newer HAQL members are also aware of the need to be more open to other dialects and writing styles. One day, a large group of HAQL members, after having marched in a local parade, gathered at a cantina for lunch. One senior member began talking about how the trivocalists were so much better funded than the Academy, and that the Academy needed to redouble its efforts to promote the five-vowel system. He added that Alejandro Toledo (the Peruvian president at the time) was a traitor to their cause, and that people like Cerrón-Palomino, Godenzzi (then head of the Bilingual Education division of the Ministry of Education (ME)) and all the other linguists ‘put obstacles in the way of the advancement of Quechua because they are mistaken and they don’t know how to speak Quechua’. Another, younger member replied, ‘But it must be recognized that we were very mistaken in speaking only of Cuzco Quechua. We were Cuzcocentric, but now we must open the doors to new members and to the other varieties of Inca Quechua. The old stereotypes and paradigms should be broken. The other dialects should be respected. It has already happened that we couldn’t convince the Ayacuchanos of our ideology. They do not accept what we tell them, and the same happens in branches in other departments [of Peru] that resist us. In that case, we should respect that they write with three vowels’ (Fieldnotes, 23 June 2002).

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This disagreement reminded me of a conversation I had held a few days previously with Mr Roque, one of the most influential members of the Academy. His stance suggested that the decision that would later be reached at the Second World Conference was a hard-fought one, and perhaps a very new direction for the HAQL as at the time of the conference. Mr Roque told me of the active struggle between the HAQL and the Ayacucho affiliate, which related to the inclusion of the glottalized consonants in the alphabet. The HAQL insisted that it was essential that the pertinent Quechua words be written with the glottal marker to distinguish between words such as chaki, ‘foot’, and ch’aki, ‘dry’. This glottal stop is an important phoneme in Cuzco Quechua, but in Ayacucho Quechua glottalized consonants are not part of the repertoire, and it is context that determines which of the two words the speaker intends. The Ayacucho affiliate did not want to write using the glottal marker, since they did not pronounce the word that way, while the HAQL in Cuzco maintained that whether the Ayacuchanos pronounced it or not in spoken speech, when written, the glottal marker should be included. At the time of my conversation with Mr Roque, it appeared that there was no way to mediate an agreement between the two branches on this point (Fieldnotes, 19 June 2002). Besides offering one example of the disagreements that exist between the HAQL and some of its affiliates, this episode also provides a contradiction of the HAQL’s normal stance that the language should be written as it is pronounced. It did not seem to me that they were suggesting that the Ayacuchanos should change how they pronounce words to match cuzqueño pronunciations, but rather, simply to spell the words showing the glottal. This would seem to be a reasonable compromise for standardizing the written lexicon, but the Ayacucho affiliate was so dead set against it, according to what Mr Roque told me, that they apparently refused to even consider it. So this example highlights the ideological difficulties that arise in trying to standardize the written language, and demonstrates why it has been so difficult in Peru to develop any kind of standardized form of Quechua. It was not until the Third World Conference of the Quechua Language in 2004 that the HAQL finally approved a Quechua alphabet that apparently satisfied them. This is the alphabet listed in Table 11.1 in the following section. It should be noted that this approved alphabet is now lacking some graphemes that the Academy had included in its 1987 alphabet, which took into account letters needed for loan words from other languages, some of which also happen to be phonemes found in other varieties of Quechua (e.g. /b/, /d/, /f/, /g/ are found in the Alto Napo dialect). This omission hints at a retraction of their consideration of all other dialects in developing a unified, standard Quechua alphabet. At the same time, although they have established what they consider to be their officially recognized alphabet, it remains to be seen whether this alphabet will be accepted by users and owners of the language, and other institutions outside of the Academy.

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Table 11.1 Alphabets used by different entities Alphabet used by HAQL

Basic Quechua Alphabet approved by Velasco government in 1975

Quechua Pan-Alphabet used by Ministry of Education and almost all language planning entities

a, ch, chh, ch’, e, f, h, i, j, k, kh, k’, l, ll, m, n, ñ, o, p, ph, p’, q, qh, q’, r, s, sh, t, th, t’, u, w, y Written accent (’) Apostrophe (’)

a, aa, ch, chh, ch’, ts, tr, e, ee, h, i, ii, k, kh, k’, l, ll, m, n, ñ, o, oo, p, ph, p’, q, qh, q’, r, s, sh, t, th, t’, u, uu, w, y; b, d, f, g, j, rr (for loan words)

a, aa, ch, chh, ch’, ts, tr, h, i, ii, k, kh, k’, l, ll, m, n, ñ, p, ph, p’, q, qh, q’, r, s, sh, sh´ (Cajamarca only), t, th, t’, u, uu, w, y; b, d, f, g (Alto Napo and loan words)

Sources: HAQL, *Conclusiones del Tercer Congreso Mundial de la Lengua Quechua, 2004; Basic Quechua Alphabet, *Resolución Ministerial No. 4023-75-ED, 1975; Quechua Pan-Alphabet, *Conclusiones del Primer Taller de Escritura en Quechua y Aimara, 1983.

What became clear from all the discussions of graphemes, phonemes and phonetics was that the various branches of the Academy of the Quechua Language – and even some members within the HAQL itself – still did not seem to have agreed completely on a common alphabet. There was an inconsistency in the use of a given grapheme to represent a single sound, not only in the descriptions and analyses published in Inka Rimay, but also in the use to which these recommendations were put in the publications of individual HAQL members, and even in what was being taught in the Quechua classes. This is partly owing to misconceptions about phonetics and phonology, and partly owing to the presence of strong personalities in the Academy who did not want to cede their point of view to others. Even in their own dictionary, which they published in 1995, there are a series of contradictions, confusions and misrepresentations, as noted by Cerrón-Palomino (1997a) in his exhaustive analysis and critique of this volume.

External Conflicts Even with all of these internal contradictions, the greater conflict is still between the HAQL and outside linguists, language planners and other researchers. This rivalry is so great that the HAQL members very often refer to these outsiders as enemies of the HAQL and of the Quechua language. During the only full meeting of the general membership that I was permitted to attend, the attendees spent a considerable amount of time discussing the issue of three versus five vowels. One person reiterated that the trivocalists and linguists are the Academy’s enemies, and another asserted the necessity to ‘increase the army’ of the HAQL to be able to increase the number of their activities at local, national and international

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levels for the purpose of promoting their pentavocalist stand. The president emphasized again that the Academy carries a 20- or 30-year disadvantage vis à vis the trivocalists in promoting their point of view, and that it was essential that they make up for lost time by widening their sphere of influence and by publishing more in Quechua, using their five-vowel alphabet. A number of people also complained about non-government organizations (NGOs) in general, and in particular, the Asociación Pukllasunchis, an NGO based in the city of Cuzco that is involved in both teaching and developing pedagogical materials in Quechua that use the three-vowel alphabet (Fieldnotes, 22 June 2002). One day, I invited one of the HAQL members to lunch, and we began talking about a number of topics related to the Academy. I asked him whether he thought the HAQL maintained any kind of relationship with other institutions, organizations, researchers, etc. He responded, ‘Yes, there is a relationship, but I would say it is one of enmity. They say, “those—meaning us, the Academy—are pentavocalists and we are trivocalists.” They are enemies, there is no type of coordination, they think they are right about everything and that’s why there are no agreements between us. You practically can’t talk to them, because they say, “No, I’m right.” It’s like a war where the trivocalists can’t talk to the pentavocalists, you know?’ (Fieldnotes, 6 July 2002). His use of a battle analogy is a very common one among HAQL members. In fact, I heard this analogy so often, both in informal conversations and in the more formal interviews and public speeches that top members gave, that there is little doubt that this is another one of the ideological positions that the Academy has indoctrinated into all of its members. As the above conversation also makes very clear, the major conflict between the HAQL and other language planners in Peru with respect to graphization and the alphabet is the question of whether Quechua should be spelled with five vowels or three, although as Table 11.1 shows, there are some other differences. Both the Basic Quechua Alphabet approved in 1975 by the Velasco regime and the Quechua Pan-Alphabet officialized in 1985 via *Resolución Ministerial No. 1218-85-ED, take into account sounds in all the various dialects of both Central and Southern Quechua, for instance the consonants tr and sh (which represent retroflex sounds in some dialects), ts (an alveolar affricate consonant found in the Ancash variety), the uncommon Quechua phonemes of /b/, /d/, /f/ and /g/ (found in the Alto Napo variety, and used for loan words in the other dialects) and the long vowels aa, ii, uu of some Quechua dialects. The major difference between these two alphabets is that the Basic Alphabet recognizes five vowels, while the Quechua Pan-Alphabet only recognizes three. In addition, the Basic Alphabet includes j and rr for use in loan words (while also mentioning b, d, f and g, but not explicitly recognizing their use in the Alto Napo variety), while the Quechua Pan-Alphabet includes sh´, a sound found only in the Cajamarca dialect.

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Previously, the HAQL’s alphabet only took into account the sounds of Cuzco Quechua, noticeable in the absence of representation for the consonant and vowel sounds just mentioned. It would appear, based on a close reading of the *Resolución Ministerial No. 4023-75-ED (1975), that the Academy was selective in which parts of the Resolution it accepted. The Academy adopted the alphabet listed in a chart in the Resolution, as well as the aspirates and glottals so common to Cuzco Quechua, without taking into account many of the exceptions delineated in the text of the Resolution that recognized phonetic variations among dialects. After the Fourth World Conference of the Quechua Language, however, the Academy has apparently eased its stance in this regard, approving use of the consonants j, w and y, which it had previously rejected as inauthentic to the Quechua language. It continues, however, to maintain its pentavocalic stance. Returning to the linguistic distinctions made between the HAQL and other linguists and language planners, the latter assert that the alphabet should be based on phonemes rather than allophones. For the most part, this is what all parties have done, at least for the consonants. However, in terms of written vowels, following this tenet would mean that there should actually be only three, /a/, /i/ and /u/, with [e] and [o] being pronounced as allophones of the latter two vowels in words with the uvular consonants /q/, / qh/ (aspirated) and /q’/ (glottalized). On the other hand, the HAQL insists that the language should be spelled as it is spoken, thus requiring five vowels, regardless of allophones and phonemic environments. Some HAQL members have expressed the opinion that a language that exhibits more vowel and consonant sounds is much richer and more complete, more expressive, comprehensive and even superior in some way to other languages. Mr Barriga offers a typical example of this belief: Para hablar cualquier idioma del mundo hay que hablar el idioma autóctono llamado quechua. ¿Por qué? Porque el idioma quechua fonéticamente es el más completo. El castellano tiene 22 o 23 fonemas, creo. El quechua tiene 31 fonemas. El quechua es fonéticamente el más completo porque utiliza todo el sistema fonal humano. Ningún idioma del mundo tiene lo que yo llamo los fonemas explosivos [. . .] El quechuahablante, el legítimo quechuahablante que va a cualquier parte, rápido comienza a pronunciar otro idioma, alemán, japonés, ruso, etc. porque su sistema fonal está bien preparado para pronunciar cualquier idioma. (Tape HAQL 2D) (To [be able to] speak any language in the world, one should speak the Indigenous language called Quechua. Why? Because the Quechua language is phonetically the most complete. Spanish has 22 or 23 phonemes, I think. Quechua has 31 phonemes. Quechua is phonetically the most complete because it uses the entire human phonic system. No language in the world has what I call explosive phonemes [ejectives]1 [...] The

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Quechua speaker, the legitimate Quechua speaker who goes to whatever area, rapidly begins to pronounce another language, German, Japanese, Russian, etc., because his phonic system is well prepared to speak any language.) Both sides of the debate can provide valid justifications for their arguments (although some less than valid reasoning also makes its presence known in a number of articles appearing in several issues of Inka Rimay, some of which are outlined below). According to Cooper (1989: 126), there are two general categories of criteria for judging the adequacy of writing systems: psycholinguistic or technical, and sociolinguistic. Each of these categories offers compelling reasons why a writing system should be one way or the other, but their reasoning tends to be diametrically opposed. Most members of the HAQL and other pentavocalists seem to subscribe to the psycholinguistic/technical arguments, while the linguists and other language planners lean towards the sociolinguistic justifications. This does not mean that neither group takes the opposite view into account in their deliberations; the non-HAQL linguists and language planners do consider psychological ramifications in their planning, just as there are some HAQL members who see the validity of sociolinguistic arguments (see Albó, 1992; Cerrón-Palomino, 1992; Heggarty, 2002; Hornberger, 1993, 1995; Samanez Flórez, 1992 for details on the entire alphabet debate).

Psycholinguistic/technical criteria for a writing system Cooper explains the psycholinguistic/technical rationale for orthographic planning as: the extent to which the writing system is easy to learn, easy to read, easy to write, easy to carry over to another language (transfer of skills), and easy to reproduce by modern printing techniques. [. . .] These criteria may conflict with one another. What is easy to learn is not necessarily easy to use. [. . .] What is easy to learn may not be easy to transfer. [. . .] If one believes that reading entails the matching of written symbols with oral units, then one will design a system which represents each phoneme [. . .] with a unique symbol. [. . .] Thus, with an alphabetic system, the last symbol in the plural forms of cat and fiddle, for example, would be different. Similarly, the second vowel in each of the following pairs would be represented differently in the first word than in the second—mendacious, mendacity; narcosis, narcotic. (Cooper, 1989: 126–127, italics in original) This matching of written symbols with oral units is apparently the HAQL’s perception of how an alphabet should be, the very point that *Guevara

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Salas (1963: 34) seeks to make in his article. He goes to considerable lengths to describe the physiological mechanism for producing sounds in language, and insists that it is necessary to understand sound production and the phonology of Quechua word production before designating letters to represent the phonemes. What he fails to make clear, however, is why this is important. This perspective also seems to indicate a belief in some absolute, natural connection between a sound and the symbol that represents it. Guevara Salas is not the only member to propound such a belief. The authors of a number of articles in various issues of Inka Rimay suggest the same thing (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 3–4, 116–128, 135–139; *Inka Rimay 4, 1999: 217; also, numerous abstracts of pertinent conference presentations in *Inka Rimay 6, 2003). It also appears explicitly stated in the HAQL’s *Resolución Presidencial No. 001-90-P-AMLQ (1994), an internal Academy document that establishes the Basic Alphabet of Imperial Quechua. That Resolución Presidencial was published in *Inka Rimay 3 (1994: 10–11). *Montúfar (1983: 135–139) is another author who makes a less than convincing argument for the use of five vowels. He does indeed note that the allophones [e] and [o] are only used in contact with /q/, /qh/ and /q’/, but he still considers the two vowels to be distinct phonemes rather than allophones of /i/ and /u/. He argues that [e] and [o] must be used in conjunction with the variants of /q/ because these are occlusive/glottal consonants and /i/ and /u/ do not work with them. However, he does not make clear why or how their being occlusive/glottal makes them incompatible with the aforementioned vowels, nor, conversely, what makes [e] and [o] different and thus compatible with the /q/ variants. It is an incomplete argument and thus fails to convince. *Villasante Ortiz (1983: 116–128), for his part, makes the argument that tradition can, and even should, have a strong influence on the final form of a Quechua alphabet. He maintains that since the time of the Spaniards’ arrival, when they first started trying to write the Quechua language, they were establishing a tradition. Now, after 500 years, a good bit of what they had set down so long ago is still in use and that is the form of the written language that most people are accustomed to seeing. Change at this point, he argues, would mean the retraining of entire populations of Quechua speakers and learners. While he does not necessarily say that no changes should be made, he does think that as little should be changed as possible. *Manya (1994) makes a similar argument by listing all the historical sources of written Quechua and their use of five vowels, and all of the conferences and laws that validate the use of five vowels. He also cites pedagogical theory, which advocates ‘from easy to hard’, claiming that a five-vowel system is easier to learn than a three-vowel system. But again, he offers no proof to back up this assertion.

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While these arguments do have validity, it cannot be denied that there is still a high degree of illiteracy in the Quechua language. Thus, anyone who already speaks the language may not have had all that much exposure to written Quechua. It follows, then, that any tradition of written Quechua that may currently exist would not have that much impact on speakers learning to read and write for the first time, or even on second-language learners, because they have not seen the language written down. This fact weakens the force of Villasante Ortiz’s argument in favor of tradition. *Weber (1999: 7–10) makes an argument similar to Villasante’s in proposing an alphabet for Southern Quechua based on the Spanish alphabet, including five vowels. He asserts that such an alphabet makes sense for a number of reasons, among them the high degree of Spanish–Quechua bilingualism, the desire of parents for their children to be literate in Spanish more so than in Quechua and the difficulty of using a Spanish alphabet for Quechua in which some letters represent different values than they do in Spanish. Both Weber’s and Villasante Ortiz’s are reasonable arguments, and certainly more convincing than the arguments of Guevara Salas and Montúfar. At the same time, Weber’s argument is more persuasive than Villasante Ortiz’s, for the simple reason that he appeals to practicality more than to tradition.

Sociolinguistic criteria for a writing system The sociolinguistic perspective takes the stance that ‘a fluent reader recognizes not the correspondence between symbol and sound but rather the correspondence between symbol and meaning’; in this case, the preferred writing system will be one ‘which reflects underlying grammatical and lexical forms’ (Cooper, 1989: 127). This is the point of view that is more in line with what linguists and other language planners believe, and is reflected in orthographic systems worldwide. It should be noted that not all HAQL members are opposed to a threevowel alphabet. In fact, *Alencastre Gutiérrez (1963: 18), president of the Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language (PAQL) from 1961–1963 (before it became the High Academy), as well as a professor of Quechua at UNSAAC, published an interesting article on the graphization of Cuzco Quechua based on phonemics rather than phonology. He was perhaps the only linguistically trained member of the Academy at that time (and one of only a very few since then), and also seems to be the only leader of the HAQL to have expressed support for a three-vowel alphabet: The three phonemes under consideration, to our way of thinking, should be represented only with the graphemes a i u; keeping in mind that writing is only an auxiliary form of the spoken language; thus, letters are only approximate images of phonemes, that is, objectification of sounds.

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This point of view is advanced again in the introduction to the second issue of Inka Rimay, written by *Barriga Rozas (1983: 3–4), who was the Academic Director at that time. He indicates that there are those who maintain ‘that the symbols, or graphemes, should be limited to the characteristics of the phonemes utilized in Quechua’; that is, in the case of vowels, the alphabet should reflect the five different sounds produced in speech: the three vocalic phonemes and their two allophones. But he does not necessarily agree with that opinion: [N]evertheless, it is necessary to remember that a given grapheme does not always have the same or identical pronunciation. Since it varies from one language to another, and even within the same language, differences arise due to dialectal variations; therefore, the value of pronunciation that is given to the graphemes adopted are essentially conventional. This being true, the argument could then be put forward (once again) that three written vowels would adequately represent the various permutations of vocalic sounds in Quechua under specific conditions. In point of fact, many language planning theorists recommend ‘a relaxed attitude towards technical considerations’ because it appears that such technical concerns have less influence over the acceptance or rejection of a writing system than do social considerations (Cooper, 1989: 128). Thus, social criteria for evaluating writing systems – for example, religion, ethnic identification and perceived power attached to the system, among many others – may be more relevant than psycholinguistic or technical ones, although it cannot be denied that these also must play some role in decision-making and development.

Relevance of speech communities served It should be noted that each of these groups – the HAQL and the linguists – appears to be working with distinct speech communities. For instance, the linguists and language planners cite their successes in teaching literacy in monolingual Quechua communities as the proof that the threevowel system is the best. And in fact, in a statement made at the First National and International Conference of Academies of Quechua and Aymara, held in February 1987, a group of universities and academic institutions asserted unequivocally: [T]he adoption of five vowels reflects a position contrary to the identity of the Quechua language and indicates the continued subordination of this language to the structure of Spanish, with the subsequent atrophy of the native languages and cultures.

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On the other hand, using three vowels means the assumption of a position of vindication and revalorization of the native languages and cultures, because we are taking as the foundation the writing of the linguistic system of the vernacular language itself, based on the use made of it by the rural monolingual speakers of Quechua and Aymara. (*Declaración de las representaciones de universidades, 1987; emphasis mine) In contrast, some Academy members cite the success they have had with training bilingual speakers, or monolingual Spanish speakers learning Quechua from the beginning, as well as the ease for children of learning to write the language, as the proof that their system is the best one to use (Fieldnotes 24 July 2002, 4 August 2002, 13 August 2002; M. Condori, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 12B). Thus, the two groups’ different approaches to graphization can be seen as logical to the contexts in which they are working, a point that Hornberger (1995: 201-202) has also considered: Whatever alphabet is eventually decided on will also carry implications for Quechua learners—implications having to do with who the learners will be, the ease and efficiency of their learning, and the direction their learning will point them toward with respect to ethnic identity and social integration. [. . .] The choice for three vowels implies the rural monolingual Quechua speaker as primary target group and an autonomous, cross-regional, and cross-national community of Quechua readers and writers as goal; whereas the choice for five vowels implies the urban, bilingual Quechua-Spanish speaker as primary target group and communities of Quechua readers and writers linked perhaps more directly to the Spanish-speaking Andean world than to each other as goal. It makes sense that a more technical approach would work with bilingual speakers already accustomed to the Spanish alphabet and Spanish phonemes. Learning to recognize and produce the allophonic vowel distinctions in the presence of a given phoneme would logically be easier if those allophones are represented in a manner already recognizable to the speakers. On the other hand, native speakers of Quechua are already accustomed to those allophonic distinctions and make them every day in every speech act. So for them, pronouncing /i/ as [e] and /u/ as [o] in the presence of /q/, /qh/, or /q’/ is really an insignificant adaptation, and they have no problems learning and applying a three-vowel alphabet. However, the contenders involved in the graphization debate do not seem to recognize – or at least to acknowledge – that they are dealing with different speech communities that have distinct needs and abilities. This is one of the circumstances that impede a common effort by all parties to agree on an acceptable alphabet. *Alencastre Gutiérrez (1963: 23–24) may be the only

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Academy member to have recognized this situation at some level, or at least the only one to make reference to it in writing: The phonetic writing of Quechua, put into practice in the National University of Cuzco, is adjusted to all the scientific norms given by Linguistics. Its simplicity, clarity and precision allow those who use it to write with exactitude the phonemes of Runasimi [. . .] This [alphabet is useful] for knowing the unadulterated classic or Inka Quechua, studied in academic circles; on the other hand, to write contemporary or functional Quechua, which is hybridized with Spanish, it seems to us that the alphabet approved in the Third Indigenist Conference of La Paz should be used [which promoted the use of five vowels]. This would seem to indicate that he recognized the need for orthographic allowances to be made for different categories of speakers. In fact, in his article he analyzes the differences in pronunciation between monolingual Quechua speakers and bilingual or mestizo Quechua–Spanish speakers. Although he does not explicitly state it in his discussion, the implication is that such pronunciation differences could or should drive decisions on what phonemes to include in the written alphabet. Other HAQL members explicitly state this opinion as undeniable truth.

Linguistic ideologies and linguistic understanding Besides Alencastre Gutiérrez, others affiliated with the Academy have also proposed a three-vowel alphabet. For instance, also in the first issue of Inka Rimay, two other articles on this subject appeared. Both of these articles, however, were written by foreign linguists who were connected with the Academy in some way, but were not actual members. The first was Georges Dúmezil, a Frenchman whose original article in French was translated to Spanish by André Appied and reproduced in Inka Rimay. The second was written by the well-known anthropologist John H. Rowe, together with Gabriel Escobar. Although these researchers were (are) well known and their opinions might carry weight in other environments, they did not carry enough weight within the Academy to sway common opinion to the three-vowel camp. At the time of Alencastre Gutiérrez’s presidency, the Academy had not yet confirmed its own official alphabet, still allowing each member to write using the system that seemed most appropriate to him or her, despite the fact that the introductory essay to the issue, written by the president, states, ‘With the object of disseminating Quechua in its written form, we have created two writing systems [. . .] The first is academic and the second is for dissemination’ (*Inka Rimay 1, 1963: 6, 9). In the first issue of the journal, there appeared various other articles on the graphization of Cuzco Quechua and one on Chanca Quechua, and a

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number of literary pieces written in Quechua using very distinct alphabets. These articles were written by other members of the PAQL, all of whom promoted a five-vowel alphabet, and various permutations on representing the unique consonantal phonemes of Quechua. Thus, judging by the production in Quechua in Inka Rimay from that time, it would seem that Alencastre Gutiérrez was even then in the minority. A three-vowel alphabet has apparently never been a popular concept among the membership. And in fact, Alencastre Gutiérrez often appeared to be in disagreement with the official stance of the Academy, ‘which shows that his attitude towards the Quechua language was not the one advanced by the AQL’ (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 148). Interestingly, in the first and second issues of Inka Rimay, there seems to be something of an openness to different opinions expressed by the membership. That is, they were clearly exploring the different possibilities for graphization, and in fact corpus planning in general, and listening to differing opinions without seeming too judgmental. The sheer number of different options proposed for alphabets within these two issues gives testimony to this willingness to explore options and consider alternatives. Within the general openness, though, some members certainly made no attempt to sugarcoat their opinions: Then we the cuzqueños, whether we be wiracochas, mestizos or Indians, who from our infancy cultivated [the language], are the only ones called to channel the phoneme, the phonetics and the letters of our ancient language. [. . .] The cuzqueño speakers [hablistas], desirous of preserving Quechua in all its magnitude, reject all foreign consumption, which through its ‘affected scientificity,’ attempts to complicate and distort the famous language. (*Jara, 1963: 39) At the same time, perhaps the most interesting part about this openness to different opinions is, as the Introduction to the second issue indicates, that Inka Rimay up to that point was essentially a collection of opinion pieces and essays, without any real academic investigative work. Thus, contradictions were to be expected, as in any process of establishing ‘a process of dialectic analysis. Therefore, our next Journal will be coming to the public bearing research articles, leaving in the past the efforts of essays and opinions’ (*Inka Rimay 2, 1983: 3). However, in successive issues of the journal, as their work became supposedly more research oriented, their discourse became more emphatically and rigidly pentavocalic. Even as early as the first issue, then, there were people with strong feelings against anyone outside the Academy – or at least outside Cuzco – trying to offer commentary on either the language or the alphabet. Their work on graphization also demonstrates the HAQL’s continuing Cuzco-centric stance. The vast majority of articles produced in Inka Rimay, and the alphabet they have ultimately espoused and teach in their classes, are based solely on

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Cuzco Quechua. This alphabet does not take into account phonemic or phonetic differences with other dialects. The HAQL members’ continuing dedication to their pentavocalic stance is perhaps not so surprising. They have maintained it essentially since the Academy’s founding, and it has been reinforced by official validation. Velasco’s 1975 Government Decree No. 21156 officializing Quechua and mandating its teaching at all educational levels, gave the five-vowel alphabet a considerable boost in stature (*Resolución Ministerial No. 4023-75-ED, 1975). It is possible that in officially validating their position on the alphabet, this move contributed to the closing of the HAQL member’s ranks against those who did not agree with them. The arguments used by the two factions to justify the use of three or five vowels, regardless of how convincing or valid they may be, are revealing of linguistic ideologies and some degree of comprehension of the science of linguistics. For instance, the insistence on the need for an alphabet to reflect all of the distinct sounds of a language could be an indication of the degree to which orality is ingrained in the Quechua tradition. That is to say, because Quechua oral tradition has a much longer history than written Quechua, there may be a stronger focus on representing the actual individual sounds of the language in a written system than simply representing the phonemes regardless of their differing sounds. At the same time, such a point of view also points up a lack of understanding, not only of general linguistics, such as the difference between phonemes and allophones, but also of the inherent differences between oral and written speech. A great deal of phonemic variation can exist within a language for any number of reasons, from basic phonetic ones up to sociolinguistic ones such as dialectal variations. In other words, there is no natural, automatic association between a symbol and the pronunciation ascribed to it, a fact that some members of the Academy do not seem willing to accept, perhaps owing at least in part to a lack of linguistic training. And as Saussure stated, ‘Ultimately, when there is a disjunction between language and orthography, the debate is very difficult to resolve, [especially] for a non-linguist’ (quoted in *Alencastre Gutiérrez, 1963: 21). A final note that is perhaps relevant to a discussion of graphization is related to the number of institutions, organizations and agencies that produce any kind of publications in Quechua. The ME, for just one example, currently utilizes the three-vowel Official Alphabet of Quechua. Many of the NGOs working with Quechua people and producing written materials for them utilize the three-vowel alphabet. Even the Ayacucho branch of the HAQL, as noted earlier, prefers three vowels to five. And the recently created Association of Indigenous Teachers of the Quechua Language also takes a strong trivocalist stand. In short, a large majority of materials published in Quechua use the three-vowel alphabet, seemingly outnumbering publications utilizing five vowels, but the HAQL continues to resist the tide.

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Mr Serrano of the Council of the Quechua Nation comments on the apparent futility of the Academy’s efforts with regard to maintaining their pentavocalist stand: El tema del pentavocalismo y el trivocalismo es un tema académico que no supera los 300 metros de radio desde la Plaza Hawkaypata [. . .] El indígena no trata de esa problemática porque no sabe escribir y punto. Aquí estamos en una discusión, en una vana discusión. La AMLQ que son pentavocalistas no tienen ningún apoyo del gobierno o ninguna institución seria que les apoye. [. . .] Ellos han dado algunas normas en sus congresos, por ejemplo, ellos hablan mucho de los resultados del Congreso Mundial, Internacional que se dio en el año 80 donde se estableció el alfabeto pentavocalista, pero nadie le hace caso. [. . .] Todo lo contrario, el trivocalismo predomina en las obras escritas en quechua. Al mismo tiempo, las universidades que están promocionando el quechua [. . .] en el Perú han influenciado al gobierno. [. . .] Hay organizaciones antagónicas menoscabando los trabajos del uno y del otro, mientras tanto la lengua quechua está sufriendo en cuanto a su desarrollo. (Tape MOI 3B) (The subject of pentavocalism vs. trivocalism is an academic one that does not go beyond a 300-meter radius from the Hawkaypata Plaza [. . .] The native doesn’t deal with that problem because he doesn’t know how to write, period. Here we are in a discussion, a useless discussion. The HAQL who are pentavocalists don’t have any support from the government, nor is there any other serious institution that supports them. [. . .] They have proclaimed some rules in their conferences, for example, they talk a lot about the results of the International World Conference held in 1980, where they established the five-vowel alphabet, but nobody pays it any attention. [. . .] On the contrary, trivocalism is what predominates in the works written in Quechua. At the same time, the major universities that promote Quechua in Peru have influenced the government. [. . .] There are competing organizations that undermine each other’s work, but meanwhile, the Quechua language is suffering with regard to its development.) Clearly, Mr Serrano thinks the HAQL is fighting a losing battle on this topic, and that it is not even a battle worth fighting. Rather, the efforts of one and all would be better directed toward the development of the language in general, rather than worrying about how many vowels should be used.

Graphization and the HAQL Statutes As a final note to the discussion of graphization, I return to the HAQL’s Statutes to determine whether the activities of the Academy are helping

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them meet their goals and objectives. Interestingly, given the amount of time and energy spent on trying to develop and disseminate an adequate Quechua alphabet that meets their criteria, the Statutes only mention graphization efforts almost in passing. Their fifth objective tacks on at the tail end a reference to formulating ‘an applicable orthographic system’. Other than that, the only mention made of anything specifically relating to a Quechua alphabet is in Article 2a, which lists the current laws of Peru relevant to the functioning of the Academy. In this section, the Statutes specify that the HAQL will be governed by ‘Ministerial Resolution No. 4023-75-ED of the Ministry of Education, passed on 16 October 1975, which approves the Basic Quechua Alphabet with Five Vowels’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 2a). Thus, the Statutes make it seem that the Academy is willing to be content with the alphabet developed in 1975, but the ongoing arguments over Quechua orthography belie this. This contradiction with their own Statutes is not necessarily a bad thing. Over time, they have clearly discovered that there were inadequacies in that alphabet that needed to be addressed, and they are attempting, in their own way, to address them. Perhaps, rather, it is time once again for them to revise their bylaws to reflect this awareness and their efforts in this direction. In any event, it is clear that the HAQL has quite a vested interest in corpus planning for the Quechua language, and a significant portion of their effort is geared towards this endeavor. They have achieved their goal of translating the Peruvian Constitution into Quechua, and are making what contributions they can to graphization, standardization and modernization of the language. However, there is still much to be done. For instance, up to now the Academy as an institution still has not published the grammar of Cuzco Quechua to which it aspires, let alone a set of grammars that cover other varieties of Quechua. Nor have they produced the definitive dictionary that takes all varieties of Quechua into account, and the dictionary they have produced is already in need of revision and updating. These two items – to develop a pragmatic grammar in consultation with the Quechua speech communities, and to enrich the HAQL’s dictionary with regional lexical variations – became adopted as new goals for the HAQL, and during my time in Cuzco, I heard a great deal of discussion regarding how they could be accomplished. However, according to all my sources of information, no real progress was being made towards either objective. Very little outreach was attempted with the Quechua communities, and there was no organized, Academy-wide project afoot to collect examples of regional lexical variations at the time of my fieldwork. The Academy also has yet to produce a sociolinguistic atlas. In fact, one of the apparent contradictions of the Academy is its discourse of inclusivity, claiming to take all dialects of Quechua into account, versus the concentration of members’ research and production efforts only on Cuzco Quechua. Their ideological focus on Cuzco Quechua also helps explain why they have

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not yet produced any books on Quechua dialectology, linguistics, sociolinguistics, etc. They justly recognize the 20- to 30-year head start that NGOs, the ME and other institutions have on them in terms of production and dissemination of materials in Quechua (Fieldnotes, 7 August 2002). The views expressed in many of my interviews and daily interactions with them sound very reasonable, and actually could offer the basis for quite a good plan to work towards their corpus planning goals. However, my observation of their daily activities did not reveal them to be making significant progress towards any of their stated objectives. On the other hand, and at the same time, prescribing correct usage of a language is typically one of the primary functions of a language academy, so the Academy could be said to be attempting to fulfill its appropriate role as a language academy. Nevertheless, in an attempt to avoid absolute purism, a new trend on the part of a number of language academies around the world is to combine prescriptive with descriptive foci, something that smacks of Deborah Cameron’s (1995: 7) verbal hygiene, which she describes thus: ‘“description” and “prescription” turn out to be aspects of a single (and normative) activity: a struggle to control language by defining its nature’.2 This exercise of verbal hygiene, this combination of descriptive and prescriptive approaches, is something that the Academy might do well to practice themselves, in their actions as well as their discourse. In this way, they could possibly avoid creating confusion and resistance on the part of the native speakers towards the development and revitalization of a writing system, and a standardized and modernized lexicon. Such a move, together with a softening of their rigid ideological stance, could also help open the door to more productive collaborations with other entities.

Notes (1) His assertion that Quechua is the only language that employs ejectives is incorrect. Such sounds are actually found in languages all over the world. In addition to Aymara, which exists in many areas side by side with Quechua, and the Mayan languages of Central America, there are any number of other Amerindian languages that have ejectives. Among them are ‘all three Caucasian families [. . .] the AfroAsiatic family and Nilo-Saharan languages; and the Khoisan family of southern Africa’. They are also found in all Ethiopian Semitic and South Arabian languages (Ejective Consonant, 2006). (2) Cameron (1995) points out that prescriptivism in and of itself is not necessarily bad (‘we are all closet prescriptivists—or as I prefer to put it, verbal hygienists’); it is only when it is used to reinforce dominant, elitist paradigms at the expense of all others that it gains such ill repute (p. 9).

12 Standardizing and Modernizing Quechua: An Ongoing Dilemma

Decisions, Decisions: What Standard to Choose? The Statutes of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) Estatuto (2001: Art. 6) state as one of its goals ‘to standardize the linguistic rules and grammatical structure of the Quechua language’. This is a fairly typical goal of any language academy, and in fact, as Cooper (1989: 132) notes: All human interaction requires some degree of standardization, i.e., some degree of shared expectations and shared understanding. [. . .] When communication is largely confined to the local community [. . .] regional and national variants pose few problems. When networks expand beyond the local community, local variants may impede communication. Just as modern science requires standard measurements and just as mass production requires standard, interchangeable parts, so supra-local communication requires the use of supra-local forms. This is merely a basic truth of communication. What Cooper does not address, however, is the impact of human nature on the development of those supralocal forms, and this is one of the areas that has given the HAQL serious problems in achieving their goal of standardization. Most parties concerned in the effort to preserve Quechua seem to agree that some degree of standardization is necessary to give the language a wider-than-local applicability. Where the problem arises is in deciding just how much to standardize and what variety(ies) to use as the basis for a supralocal form. The evident regional rivalries often lead speakers of the various dialects to deny that they can understand speakers of other dialects; this in itself is a major impediment to reaching an agreement on a variety that could serve as the norm for 196

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standardization efforts. As Cooper (1989: 133) says, ‘[w]hen linguistic variants serve as markers of our identity, we may be loath to abandon them, particularly in the name of a soulless efficiency’. Another issue that needs to be considered is the fact that there are some real differences between the Central (QI) and Southern (QII) branches of Quechua. These lexical, phonological and morphemic differences would realistically impede standardization efforts across the two branches, so it may be that it makes more sense to talk of individually standardizing each of the two branches, rather than trying to come up with one standardized form for both branches. In fact, the degree of heterogeneity among the various Central Quechua dialects would make it difficult to standardize even just that branch by itself, so expecting to develop one standardized form for all Quechua varieties of both branches does seem a little unrealistic. Perhaps the best to be hoped for in terms of global standardization of Peruvian Quechua would be for a standard alphabet that is capable of representing all the various sounds of the different dialects. This alphabet – known as the Quechua Pan-alphabet, approved by the Peruvian Ministry of Education in 1985 – already exists. The HAQL, for its part, is not always fully consistent on the issue of taking differing dialects into account in the process of standardization. While on one hand, many of their publications cite the necessity to do so, and their Statutes make this an official stance, both their actions over time and their words in conversations and interviews with them do not seem to support this position. That is, in word and deed, the HAQL does not take such dialectal differences into account when considering the standardization question. It views all Quechua speakers as members of a large, monolithic community, insisting that the local, Cuzco-region Quechua – or more specifically, their preferred sociolect, Inka Quechua, qhapaq simi – is the most appropriate form to become the standard supralocal form to which all speakers should adhere in both spoken and written forms. Of the many HAQL members who expressed agreement with the concept of standardization, this opinion for the preferred variety was the most prevalent. But while most members agreed that standardization was an ideal situation, not all members seemed to think it would be possible. In fact, the reason most gave for not believing in standardization was the need to respect other dialectal varieties and the difficulty and even the injustice of convincing everyone to speak a single variety: Yo no lo veo sinceramente cómo se puede hacer la estandarización. Sería igualar, ¿no? Sería a base de conferencias, seminarios, de intercambio de experiencias, conocimientos. Didácticamente tendrían que hacer eso. La estandarización. Pero no creo que se pueda conseguir la estandarización. No creo sinceramente. Que haya la unión, el mestizaje, pero esto hay que dejar al pueblo mismo, que se susciten ellos. No por una ley, no por una decisión de una institución, sino hay

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que seguir el curso normal de los acontecimientos, ¿no? (P. Barriga, Tape HAQL 2G) (I sincerely do not see how standardization can be done. It would mean equalizing, you know? It would be based on conferences, seminars, an exchange of experiences and knowledge. It would have to be done didactically. Standardization. But I don’t think standardization can be achieved. I really don’t. There should be union, mixing, but this needs to be left to the people themselves, for them to start. Not by law, or through some institutional decision, but rather following the normal course of things, you know?) Such a perspective seems to ignore the fact that standardization refers more to the written than the oral form of a language. The impression given of the HAQL’s focus on standardizing both spoken and written language was strengthened every time an Academy member made reference to campesinos who did not know how to properly speak their own language, or when they sought to correct the word choice or pronunciation of native Quechua speakers in their classes. One night, I invited a couple of HAQL members to dinner in a restaurant near the Plaza de Armas. We started talking about the whole concept of standardization and what should be standardized and how, and one of them commented, ‘El Cuzco no puede prevalecer y no puede decir a los de Junín por ejemplo, ustedes tienen que hablar esto’. (Cuzco cannot dominate and say to those from Junín, for example, ‘You have to talk this way’.) His companion contradicted him, ‘Para la estandarización de la escritura y pronunciación lo único que tenemos que hacer es rescatar la originalidad de la pronunciación del idioma quechua. No hay otro’. (To standardize writing and pronunciation, the only thing we need to do is rescue the original pronunciation of the Quechua language. There is no other way) (Fieldnotes, 24 July 2002). The two men’s contradictory opinions are not the point here. Rather, the way they express themselves indicates that both men think that standardization pertains to both spoken and written domains. This is a common misunderstanding among the Academy members. When asked about standardizing written Quechua, many responded about the spoken language instead. Despite the varying points of view on whether to standardize, there does seem to be some common opinions on the process for accomplishing it. Most of the HAQL members agreed that all the numerous meetings, symposia and conferences were a necessary part of the process. In fact, Mr Requena, an Associate Member, insisted that this would be the best way to prove the need for five vowels instead of three: [A] través de los congresos internacionales, se puede demostrar científica y lingüísticamente que no se puede escribir con tres sino con cinco [vocales]. Para

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eso justamente se llevan los congresos nacionales e internacionales. (Tape HAQL 5B) (Through the international conferences, it can be demonstrated scientifically and linguistically that you can’t write with three, but with five [vowels]. It is precisely for that reason that we hold national and international conferences.) A few of them also indicated that linguistic studies were necessary, and that it might even be important to include linguists and other language professionals. At the same time, they noted that any decisions arrived at during such gatherings could not be imposed on the Quechua-speaking peoples in the form of edicts or laws from one part of society to another. Rather, standardization should be a process that includes the speakers themselves in the decision-making. In other words, they propose both a top-down and a bottom-up approach, which many language-planning experts agree is the best way to achieve language-planning goals. Some HAQL members seem to be willing to work with other experts outside the Academy, but listening to many other members, this does not appear to be a common reaction towards outside experts. Despite this tendency to exclude outsiders, they do have viewpoints in common with members of other institutions and organizations that work with Quechua. For instance, both the HAQL and members of other institutions talk about respecting dialectal variations. At the same time, at least one non-HAQL member with whom I talked, Felix Vargas of Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC), also expressed the hope of eventually being able to impose – or see the language evolve into, as he seemed to think could happen – Inka Quechua as the supradialectal norm. On the other hand, he also, like so many of his colleagues, seemed to have a somewhat skewed understanding of what it means to standardize a language; that is, skewed in the sense that they felt both spoken and written language should be standardized. One difference between the HAQL and other institutions may be the approach they take to the standardization process. Mr Vargas talked about more than just reaching consensus on a standard variety; he referred to giving the process time and letting evolution take its course. This is a striking difference from the HAQL’s stance. The HAQL seems to want to engineer the whole process and standardize everyone to Inka Quechua within the near future. This is not to say that this is necessarily a negative thing, but given all the problems the Academy – and even everyone else working with Quechua – has had in terms of standardization, perhaps the long-range approach suggested by Mr Vargas would be more practical. Another perspective on standardization that some in the HAQL seemingly have in common with other agencies and institutions is their insistence on the necessity for it to be a consensus-based, joint top-down/bottom-up

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process. However, it should be noted that not all HAQL members expressed this opinion. In other cases, members who said something similar to this in their interviews, often ended up apparently contradicting themselves in meetings or even in casual conversations. In both cases, a number of members asserted heatedly that the HAQL is the only organization that should be in charge at the national and international levels of planning and carrying out corpus planning activities. That is, although these individuals may have mentioned at one time or another the need for consensus among groups, their idea of consensus – to judge by their own words – appears to be that the HAQL makes the decisions and everyone else accepts and abides by them. This appears to be another issue on which the HAQL finds itself internally divided.

‘Make It So’: Codifying the Standard Returning once again to the HAQL’s Statutes brings us to a discussion of one of the major subcategories of standardization. A stated objective of the Statutes is: to declare that the High Academy of the Quechua Language, with headquarters in the city of Qosqo, is the only institution authorized to elaborate the official dictionary with contributions from the different investigators of Quechua, with the purpose of unifying its semantics and writing system. (Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6) While this objective can be applied to the concept of standardization in general, it is more specifically related to the process of codification, since it specifies the development of a dictionary and grammar. The standardization process can be divided into six interrelated stages, the first three of which always occur together: ‘(1) isolation of a norm, (2) evaluation of the norm [. . .] as “correct” or “preferred”, (3) prescription of the norm for specific contexts or functions’. If any of these efforts goes unnoticed by the public, standardization will fail. For standardization to be considered achieved, ‘the prescribed norm must be (4) accepted, (5) used, and (6) remain in effect until another norm replaces it’ (Cooper, 1989: 144). Codification, which usually refers to written rules, is one of the ways that the first three stages are brought to the attention of the public. Where codified prescriptions exist – such as dictionaries, grammars, spellers and style manuals – standardization of the written language is generally assumed. Codification is one of the goals towards which the HAQL is working, as both their Statutes and the conclusions of a number of their conferences make quite clear.

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To meet their primary goal of producing a Dictionary of the Quechua Language, which will incorporate new words into the lexicon, and an official Quechua Grammar, they have set the objective of ‘systematically study[ing] and investigat[ing] the Quechua language and its dialectal variants, with preferential treatment of the phonetics, morphology, syntax and other constitutive elements of its grammatical structure and with consequent formulation of the applicable orthographic systems’ (*Estatutos, 2001: Art. 6). Many of their conferences have been geared towards attempting to fulfill this objective. One of these was the Fifth International Conference of Quechua and Aymara held in Arequipa in 1997. At this conference, they decided that original or ancestral toponyms should be respected and reinstituted because they are historical resources. Another was the First World Conference of the Quechua Language held in June 2000. Although the participants of this conference did not reach any clear conclusions on pan-Quechua standardization, they did resolve to elaborate a pragmatic grammar together with the regional Academies, based on a consensus of language users, and to enrich the HAQL Dictionary with regionalisms. The project to develop a descriptive dictionary and grammar of the Quechua language is described in detail in *Inka Rimay 2 (1983: 3). One of the objectives they list for this project is to provide a dictionary and grammar that native speakers can use. In fact, in the introduction to this issue they indicate that it is important to take into account all dialectal variations. However, as noted elsewhere, many of the decisions they have made over the years seem to be driven more by the needs of bilinguals and L2 learners than by those of native speakers, despite a frequently stated desire to work more closely with native speakers in the elaboration of some of their major projects. And as already noted previously, the HAQL has not in the past sought active collaboration as equal partners with rural community members.

Today, Tomorrow and Beyond: Modernizing the Language Modernization, also variously known as elaboration, cultivation and intellectualization, is essentially the process of ‘updating a language to make it functional in the discourses of the modern world’ (Coronel-Molina, 1996: 16). However, Nahir (1977: 117) elaborates on this basic definition to distinguish between ‘immature’ and ‘mature’ languages. The former often are the more vernacular languages that are not used in as many public domains, such as Quechua, and thus do not necessarily possess the rich lexicon of the latter in regards to ‘modern’ topics such as science, technology, politics, social issues and the like. Thus, for languages such as Quechua, modernization involves not only standardization, but also revival and reform ‘to enrich the

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lexicon with new terminologies, due to the gap that exists between them and modern technology, thought, and knowledge’. This is another area in which the HAQL is determined to make a significant contribution, and in fact, they do have a record of creating terminology applicable to modern needs. As seems to happen frequently in the HAQL, however, not everyone was in agreement on the issue of modernization – but again, this could be owing to a lack of understanding of what it entails: El quechua no se debe modernizar, mas al contrario llegar a su auténtica pronunciación y escrituración porque nosotros no podemos modernizar el idioma quechua, más bien llegar a su originalidad. (F. Requena, Tape HAQL 5B) (Quechua should not be modernized, but rather it should be returned to its authentic pronunciation and writing, because we cannot modernize the Quechua language, but should rather return it to its original condition.) El objetivo de la AMLQ es recuperar la lengua. Hay muchas palabras que no se usan. Eso sería la parte fundamental de recuperar las palabras e introducir en nuestro diario hablar sea en las ciudades, sea en las comunidades. [. . .] Para mí no es modernización porque el idioma ha entrado en desuso, mejor recuperar el idioma. El idioma está adecuado para los adelantos. El idioma es adecuado para todo. No tiene por qué tergiversar el idioma mismo. (S. Conde, Tape HAQL 4B) (The goal of the HAQL is to recuperate the language. There are many words that are not used. That would be the essential part: recuperating words and introducing them in our daily speech, whether in the cities or the [rural] communities. [. . .] For me, it is not modernization because the language has fallen into disuse; rather it is recuperating the language. The language is sufficient [to account] for the advances [of modern life]. The language is good enough for everything. There is no reason to distort the language itself.) One aspect of modernization is resurrecting vocabulary that has fallen into disuse, along the lines these two members highlight, though they do not identify this activity as modernization. In the case of Quechua, displacement very often occurs because Spanish words have been borrowed into the language even in cases where a perfectly good equivalent exists in Quechua. There were a number of Academy members who talked about this phenomenon and felt it was important to remind the native speakers in rural communities of the linguistic resources available to them in their own language. I had lunch one day with a HAQL member who informed me that some of the members of the Academy had a very close working relationship with

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the communities. This meant they could seek authentic input from the native speakers for their modernization efforts, while at the same time reminding the speakers of common Quechua words that had gone by the wayside in favor of the Spanish equivalents: Los de la AMLQ ahorita están yendo a las comunidades quechuahablantes para poder recoger y poder introducir tanto en la escritura como en la pronunciación la auténtica expresión quechua, del idioma quechua. Por ejemplo, p’uchukaw pacha quiere decir ‘buenas tardes’. Ya no se dice, pues, porque en las comunidades como hace rato decía han introducido palabras castellanas kunan tarditaq hamusaq ‘voy a venir esta tarde’. Está mal hablado eso. Kunan p’uchukaw p’unchawmi hamusaq. Pakariy pacha ‘mañana’. Ya no se dice paqarin, se dice ‘paqariy pacha’. (Fieldnotes, 5 July 2002) (HAQL members are going now to the Quechua-speaking communities in order to collect and introduce both in writing and pronunciation authentic Quechua expressions, [straight] from the Quechua language. For example, p’uchukaw pacha means ‘good afternoon.’ They don’t say it any more, because as I said a while ago, they have been bringing in Spanish words, [for instance] kunan tarditaq hamusaq ‘I will come this afternoon’. This is wrong. Kunan p’uchukaw p’unchawmi hamusaq. Pakariy pacha ‘morning’. They don’t say paqarin any more, they say paqariy pacha.) On the flip side of this perspective are those who recognize the value of working with the rural community members not so much to correct them, but to learn how they say certain things, and use that input in the Academy’s modernization efforts. Of the people I talked to on a regular basis, those of this opinion appeared to be relatively few, among them Mr Barriga: Por ejemplo, yo les digo, ¿qué se dice oreja en quechua? Rinri. ¿Y oído qué se dice? yo les digo a mis académicos. Oído es oreja pues, ¿no? Oído quiere decir uyariq. ¿Qué se dice ojo? les digo. Ojo se dice ñawi. ¿Y vista? Qhawaq. Chay ñawiykiwan qhaway nos dicen los campesinos, mira, observa con tus ojos. ¿Qué se dice nariz? les digo. Sinqa. ¿Y olfato? Muskiq, ¿no? Percibimos el olor no con la nariz, sino con el olfato. Los campesinos todavía hablan así, chay ñawiykiwan qhaway, dicen. En la Academia dicen ñawinchay, ellos dicen para leer. Yo digo qhaway. Leer es qhaway. En las comunidades todavía hay esta cuestión. Chay ñawiykiwan qhaway, qhawaq ñawsan kasqanki ‘el que mira ciego, mirador ciego’. Nosotros [los Académicos] queremos imponerles a ellos ñawinchay es leer dicen. Hay que decir ñawinchay es leer. A esos indios hay que decirles que ñawinchay es leer. ¿Por qué les vamos a obligar? Ellos no dicen eso. Qhawaychay ñawiykiwan dicen, ‘ve con ese tu ojo’ dicen. Leer es ver lo escrito. Qilqata qhaway. Todavía nosotros tenemos la mecánica del español, ¿no? Lee pues con los ojos. (Tape HAQL 2E)

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(For example, I say to them [community members], how do you say ear [the outer, fleshy part] in Quechua? Rinri. And how do you say [inner ear or the sense of] hearing? I say to my academics. Well, ear is ear, right? Hearing is uyariq. How do you say eye? I ask them. Eye is ñawi. And sight? Qhawaq. Chay ñawiykiwan qhaway, the community members tell us, look, observe with your eyes. How do you say nose? I ask them. Sinqa. And smelling? Muskiq, right? We perceive smells not with our nose, but with our sense of smell. The community members still talk that way, chay ñawiykiwan qhaway, they say. In the Academy they say ñawinchay for reading [to read]. I say qhaway. Reading is qhaway. They still use this in the communities. Chay ñawiykiwan qhaway, qhawaq ñawsan kasqanki, ‘the one who sees blindly, blind looker’. We [the members of the HAQL] want to impose ñawinchay on the native speakers, “ñawinchay is ‘to read’”, they say. “It should be said ñawinchay is to read. We need to tell those Indians that ñawinchay is to read”. Why should we force them? They don’t speak like that. They say qhawaychay ñawiykiwan, ‘see with your eye’. ‘To read’ is to see what is written, qilqata qhaway. We still have the Spanish mechanics [in our brain], you know? You read with your eyes.) This example also shows how a language reflects a people’s mindset, their way of interpreting the world around them, a fact that language teachers are always trying to bring home to their students. Thus, information like this would be very useful for the Quechua instructors to understand so they can pass this knowledge on to their students, helping them gain a better understanding not only of the language, but also of the culture within which it is spoken.

Neologisms and Loanwords It is all well and good to revitalize vocabulary that already exists but may have fallen into disuse, but a much more common problem for Quechua is finding ways to express new concepts that arise with the advance of new fields and technologies. Language planners face a number of choices in creating new terminology. The first is whether to adopt to new contexts a term already in use or coin a new one: If the majority of speakers or writers already use a given term to express a given notion, the path of least resistance is to bestow the planning agency’s approval upon majority usage. This alternative, often chosen, avoids the necessity of trying to persuade the public to abandon one term in favor of another. It is probably easier to persuade people to adopt a new term when it has no well-established competition than to persuade them to abandon one term in favor of another. (Cooper, 1989: 150)

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Of course, if no prior usage exists for a given concept, then language planners must decide whether or not to coin a new term. After all, if there is no prior usage, it is possible that there is no real need for the new term. If they decide to go ahead and coin a new term, then they must decide whether to build it from Indigenous sources, or to borrow a word or phrase from a foreign language. In the case of the former, they can either give new meaning to an existing word, create a term based on an Indigenous root or translate a foreign term into the Indigenous language (Cooper, 1989: 151). Cooper mentions the case of Indonesian, where in cases of both planned and unplanned lexical modernization: [t]he source of borrowing is typically determined by the domain and the function of the borrowed term. The Indonesian solution represents a nice compromise between two poles of corpus planning, modernity and authenticity, which, according to Fishman (1983), must both be present for successful modernization. (Cooper, 1989: 153) Essentially, these two distinct approaches fall into two categories: linguistic purism and linguistic hybridity. Linguistic purists tend to prefer to coin new terms using solely the language in question, either by ascribing new meanings to already existing words, or creating new words based on native morphemes. Baker and Jones (1998: 220) indicate that such an approach has its usefulness, but that extremism should be avoided: A moderate degree of purism can have some benefits for a language. It can raise the status of the language in the eyes of its speakers and provide a unified standard form. Insistence on using native words or native word creations instead of foreign borrowings in certain cases can mean that the language is more intelligible to native speakers. Moderate purism is more likely to win support from the bulk of the population, especially if it is perceived to be symbolic of national prestige and status. Extreme purism, on the other hand, would seem to be detrimental to a language. It can restrict the scope of a language, placing it in an artificial straitjacket. Extreme purism may sap the natural vitality of a language and make it a less efficient means of communication. By eradicating foreign borrowings [. . .] it may make a language more ‘opaque’ and inaccessible to speakers of other languages. The recommendations of extreme linguistic purists are unlikely to win widespread acceptance and their actions are likely to lead to a fragmentation in support for a language, and even to a fragmentation of the language itself. These authors mention the status effects of linguistic purism, as does Dorian (1994: 479) when she says, ‘[c]onservative attitudes toward loanwords and

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toward change in grammar often hamper efforts to revitalize endangered languages’. But neither of these authors considers the issue of sheer practicality with regard to purism in the creation of neologisms. As Weinreich notes, at a purely practical level, it can be a very awkward proposition trying to coin new terms using only the native language. It is more difficult – not to mention a repetition of effort – to try to describe something anew that has already been named in another language (quoted in Setiono, 2002). This argument is a perfectly valid justification used by those in favor of linguistic hybridity for the borrowing of words from another language. However, this is not to say that the foreign word is simply imported wholesale into the target language, although this may happen in some cases, for example the adoption of French terms like dejá vu or coup d’etat into English. Generally, such new terms suffer some modifications, whether it be nativizing the pronunciation and spelling or incorporating the word into the morphemic structure of the target language, adorning it with appropriate affixes depending on its grammatical function in a sentence. For the most part, although they offer a discourse of hybridity, in practice the HAQL seems to maintain a purist stance towards borrowing. That is, for the Academy, the most important thing is to create new terms or revive old terms that have fallen into disuse owing to contact with Spanish, basing their coinages solely on Quechua itself. It must be noted, however, that for the HAQL, ‘[t]he purity and authenticity of Quechua have more to do with freedom from contamination from Lima and fidelity to Cuzco norms than with freedom from Spanish influence and bilingual speakers, or with fidelity to the various local varieties of Quechua’ (Hornberger, 1995: 200). In other words, it would not be so unusual to encounter a coinage in Quechua that shows some subtle influence from Spanish, even if it is not an overt, direct lexical borrowing. In addition, while their academic efforts are almost completely directed towards Quechua coinages, the Academy members do recognize that it would be too hard to try to coin certain terms, particularly in more technological fields. Some very basic examples are radio, televisión, carro, computadora, Internet. In this regard, the HAQL recognizes the validity of Weinreich’s observation. In reality, there is – once again – a certain amount of disagreement within the Academy on this matter. Some HAQL members are of a more traditional mindset and more faithful to the purist position, while others are more willing to accept loanwords from other languages. The following excerpts from interviews demonstrate the range of views among HAQL members: [El neologismo debe ser] una mezcla de quechua y castellano. [. . .] Cómo se podría decir por ejemplo voy a presentarme en la televisión en el quechua, en el quechua cuzqueño que digamos. Tendría que decirse pues qhawarichisaqmi televisiónpi. A la palabra televisión se le agrega un sufijo. [. . .] Es el nuevo

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quechua, es el nuevo runasimi que agarra como préstamos, digamos expresiones no solamente castellanas, también aquí están viniendo, por ejemplo hay muchos campesinos dicen cuando los gringos les preguntan one dolarmi, veinte dolarmi en vez de son 20 dólares. [. . .] Así son los préstamos y también hay mestizaje en el idioma por supuesto. Nada es permanente, nada es absoluto, ¿no? Eso se llamaría la evolución de acuerdo al tiempo a las circunstancias que están habiendo, ¿no? (P. Barriga, Tape HAQL 2D) ([Neologisms should be] a mix of Quechua and Spanish. [. . .] How could you say, for example, ‘I’m going to go on television’ in Quechua, in Cuzco Quechua, let’s say. You would have to say qhawarichisaqmi televisiónpi. You add a suffix to the word ‘television’. [. . .] It is the new Quechua, the new runasimi, that takes as loanwords, let’s say, not only Spanish expressions, but also for example, many peasants say when the gringos ask them, one dolarmi, veinte dolarmi instead of ‘that’s 20 dollars’. [. . .] That is how loanwords are and there is also mixing of languages, of course. Nothing is permanent, nothing is absolute, you know? That would be called evolution according to the time and the circumstances that are in progress, right?) Están plenamente convencidos los de la academia [de aceptar préstamos] porque hay cosas que no se puede pronunciar en quechua o que no hubo por entonces. Entonces necesariamente hay que prestar eso. Por ejemplo, el avión. Avión tiene que ser avión, carro tiene que ser carro. Buque, barco y hay palabras que no han estado dentro de la cultura Inca, entonces esas palabras tenemos que prestarnos no solamente del inglés, sino también de otros idiomas. (F. Requena, Tape HAQL 5B) (The Academy is fully convinced [that we need to accept loanwords] because there are things that can’t be said in Quechua or that didn’t exist in the past. So we necessarily have to borrow that. For example, airplane. Airplane has to be avión, car has to be carro. Buque, barco [boat], and there are words that didn’t exist within the Inca culture, so those words we need to borrow not only from English, but also from other languages.) ¿Préstamos? El quechua debe ser puro, debe ser auténtico. No debe recibir ningún tipo de influencia extranjerizante porque si no el quechua se estaría extranjerizando, ¿no? Tiene que ser puro, sin ningún tipo de agregado. La lengua debe ser pura sin ninguna influencia. (F. Peñalosa, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 6A) (Loanwords? Quechua should be pure, it should be authentic. It should not receive any type of foreign influence because if it does, Quechua would become foreign, you know? It has to be pure, with no type of addition. The language should be pure without any other influence.)

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Despite the purist stance of many members, the HAQL does not believe in nativizing the spellings of any borrowings that may find their way into the lexicon. According to what a few different members mentioned in various conversations, they believe that nativizing borrowed words, particularly words from Spanish, will only contribute to native Quechua speakers learning Spanish incorrectly (Fieldnotes, 22 June 2003; 2 July 2003; 13 July 2002). There are a few specific fields where the Academy is making concerted efforts to contribute neologisms. One of the most significant of these areas is in the field of grammar per se. A number of the members have made an ongoing project out of coining grammatical terminology in Cuzco Quechua, and in fact, I had a rather in-depth conversation one day with a high-ranking member of the Academy on this very subject. He invited me into his office, and I noticed a whiteboard with grammatical explanations written in Quechua. When he saw me reading it, he explained the terms he had coined. ‘No one has done what I am doing with Quechua’, he told me proudly. ‘I am coining grammar terminology in Quechua, based on Quechua, without borrowing from Spanish’. Then he informed me that the soon-to-be-published second edition of his book contained all the grammatical terms he had developed (Fieldnotes, 18 June 2002). Coining terms is clearly a challenging task, and should be undertaken by people who have a deep understanding of the Quechua cosmovision, as well as having a thorough knowledge of linguistics and being very well trained in translating concepts between languages. As Table 12.1 and Table 12.2 show, some of the terms the HAQL members have attempted to coin do make sense, but some of them are a rather large stretch from the coinage to the intended meaning. In addition, at the time I did my fieldwork, none of the HAQL members had attempted to validate their terminology in the field

Table 12.1 Grammar terminology in Cuzco Quechua Quechua

Gloss

Literal translation1

Qheswa simipi seq’e yapaykuna Hunt’a rimay Hunt’a rimaypa t’aqankunaq seq’e Sutiq seq’e yapakuynin

‘Quechua morphology’

Sutiq phasmikuynin

‘Noun classification’

Mana runayuq simichakuna

‘Impersonal verbs’

Quechua language-LOC written mark augment-PL Full speech Full speech-GEN type-PL-GEN written mark Name-GEN written mark augment-REF-EUP-2SING-POSS Name-GEN division-REF-EUP2SING-POSS No person-POSS word-DIM-PL

‘Grammatical sentence’ ‘Morphology of grammatical categories’ ‘Noun morphology’

Source: *Herencia Fernández (2000): 19–97.

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Table 12.2 Mathematical terminology in Cuzco Quechua Quechua

Gloss

Literal translation1

Ch’ulla yupa Masa yupa Mana pakikuq yupa P’akikuq yupa Yupaq mirasqan Yupay paskachay

‘Odd number’ ‘Even number’ ‘Irrational number’ ‘Rational number’ ‘Multiple of a number’ ‘Discount’

Single numbering Partner numbering No break-REF-AGEN numbering Break-REF-AGEN numbering Numbering-GEN augment-PART-3SING Count untie-VERB-INF

Source: *Atapaucar Obando and Yajima (2000): 73–88.

with native speakers, nor had they made the attempt to disseminate the terminology in any significant way. Thus, although they have made the effort to intellectualize the language, their efforts have not moved much beyond the circle of the HAQL and its students. This is just one example of numerous – admittedly labor-intensive – individual efforts within the HAQL of modernization and intellectualization of the Quechua language. All of these efforts contribute to the one corpus planning objective regarding incorporating neologisms and loanwords into the Quechua dictionary that is outlined in the Academy’s Statutes. It is perhaps worth noting, however, that the members I had the most contact with who were involved in coining terminology were more interested in creating neologisms from within Quechua itself than in borrowing foreign words. At the same time, much of this work of modernization is carried out individually. That is, individual members work on their own to generate new terminology for their fields of interest. This typically involves no consultation with either a committee or native speakers to develop any kind of consensus regarding, not only the forms they want to use, but their possible acceptability to native speakers. In fact, María Santa Cruz of the Centro de Estudios Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’ (CBC) made a point of the lack of diffusion of the HAQL’s terminology within the native-speaking populations: Ellos [la Academia] están creando nuevos términos, pero éstos no están siendo usados en las zonas rurales. Su uso es muy restringido. Entre ellos conocen qué están diciendo, pero la labor de la Academia es no estar creando nuevas cosas, sino estar viendo cómo crece o se desarrolla un idioma y es adecuado adoptar algunos términos que la población quechua hablante los usa. (Tape MOI 13B) (They [the Academy] are creating new terms, but these are not being used in rural areas. Their use is very limited. Among themselves they

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know what they are saying, but the work of the Academy is not to be creating new things, but to be seeing how a language grows or develops, and it is appropriate to adopt some terms that the Quechua-speaking population uses.) At the same time, I noted in numerous conversations and interactions that the individual members themselves often could not remember their own coinages. On several occasions, one member would ask another something in the nature of ‘Do you remember how we say [such and such]?’ Alternatively, they would have recourse to their dictionary to remind themselves of a certain term. Likewise, on a few occasions, I witnessed interactions between HAQL members and native speakers from rural areas who had come to visit the Academy for one reason or another, in which the HAQL member would use terms from the Academy’s sociolect, which they had coined themselves, and the native speaker had to ask what they meant by it. Their coined terms were not always intuitively intelligible for native speakers. On another level, such individual efforts, while they should not be completely discounted, do seem to contradict the discourse of inclusivity offered in recent years by the Academy, as well as the decision reached by the attendees of the 2004 Third World Conference of the Quechua Language for all the affiliates to work together in collecting data for coining terminology. As stated in the conference’s conclusions, each affiliate should maintain commissions that document regional neologisms of scientific and popular terminology, to help the HAQL in coining appropriate new terms in Quechua as such terms arise through scientific and technological discoveries, or in nativizing them from their original language if necessary. Another exception to the individual work was the translation of the 1993 Peruvian Constitution into Quechua, which was a labor carried out by a committee, to fulfill one of the overarching goals of the Academy (Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6). This goal was also mentioned in the status planning discussion in Chapter 10, but given the necessities of translation from a more-developed language to a less-developed one, it also clearly has implications for the modernization and intellectualization of the language, not only at the lexical level, but also at discourse and stylistic levels. The Academy has already achieved at least part of this goal, having translated the Constitution and a number of laws and decrees relevant to the officialization of Quechua and the development of what the HAQL calls the Tawantinsuyu nation. These translations of laws and decrees into Quechua can be found in any issue of Inka Rimay. For a complete list of the Academy’s contribution to corpus planning, see Appendix 2, which lists all of the articles published in Inka Rimay over the years, and individual members’ books related to this topic.

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Renovation Renovation is the last area of corpus planning that I will examine relative to the Academy’s efforts. It includes purification, language reform, stylistic simplification and terminology unification. As a prescription of correct usage, purification attempts to protect against internal change. This is the basic function that grammars and dictionaries serve, and is one of the principal goals of the HAQL as listed in their Estatuto (2001: Art. 6): to guard the purity of the Quechua language and expand its range. Language reform, according to Hornberger (1994: 80), is the ‘deliberate change in specific aspects of the language or literacy, with the intention of improving it’. Obviously, language reform plays a significant role in the renovation of Quechua, and is one of the things that the Academy may be attempting to accomplish without overtly recognizing that this is their goal. As the discussion in the previous section illustrates, they would like to purify the language as much as possible, eliminating loanwords and basing new coinages purely on Quechua. This is particularly true of many of the older, more traditional members. Renovation also comes into play in their constant search for the perfect Quechua alphabet. Stylistic simplification, on the other hand, is not so important a goal for Quechua as of yet, since it refers to the reduction of ambiguities, be they grammatical, lexical or stylistic. The same is true of terminology unification, which refers to the same reduction of ambiguities, but specifically in professional jargons or specialized lexicons, such as science and technology. On the other hand, given some of the rather unsystematic efforts of the HAQL in the area of renovation, stylistic simplification and even terminology unification may be necessary for work coming out of the Academy.

In Summary: Revitalized or Not? Insofar as they go, the efforts of the HAQL in the arena of modernization and intellectualization are commendable in their intentions, but they do not go far enough. First of all, most of these individual efforts were just that: individual. There was no committee in the HAQL that worked together to reach a consensus on given terms, nor was there any significant interaction with the native-speaking communities in developing terminology. At the same time, the majority of this work is based on Cuzco Quechua, without taking into account the characteristics of the other dialects. The Academy did attempt to include some regionalisms in their dictionary, but it was not done in any systematic or consistent way and so it was not as useful as it could have been. Work such as this, that is disconnected from any kind of group collaboration, tends not to be terribly successful in the long run, since not only does it not have the support of the speech community, but often the

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community is not even aware of it. In addition, being qhapaq simi, many of its terms are not recognizable to native speakers. When the members use terminology they created, they are the only ones who can understand it. To coin acceptable terminology for new concepts, it would be most effective to work in consultation with the native speakers themselves and with commissions of highly trained specialists. In addition, the whole debate between coining purely Quechua terminology versus loanwords needs to be taken into account in each case. In this way, the new terms would be reflective of the way the native speakers actually think and speak, and it would thus be more likely that they would adopt the neologisms. On the other hand, although some loanwords might be necessary, especially in the scientific and technical fields, the HAQL is to be commended for attempting to coin as much as possible from within Quechua. Mass borrowing, from Spanish or any other language, could be a serious threat to Quechua, given that it is both numerically and socially a subordinate language, and mass borrowing is well known as one stage in the process of language death. In Quechua it is even more important, not least because the language is losing prestige among its speakers through this perception of ‘not having enough words’. However, creating neologisms must be done very carefully. And to be done well and creatively it requires training in linguistics, particularly derivational morphology, of which most of the Academy members do not appear to have a solid understanding. Beyond this, we must ponder the question of how such neologisms are disseminated once they are coined. Trying to impose an invented word by telling Quechua speakers they are wrong and speak ‘bad’ or ‘corrupt’ Quechua if they use a loanword, is counterproductive. Bilingual speakers may well react by saying, ‘Well, if I can’t speak proper Quechua any more, and the Quechua I do speak isn’t good enough, then I’ll stick to Spanish’. The purist, prescriptivist attitude of the Academy has just this effect, so much of their work with neologisms could possibly be seen as worse than none at all. The Academy could have a role to play, for example, in reviving native vocabulary that is dying out in the face of loanwords (such as añay or añayki for gracias, or arma(ku)y for bañar(se)). But this will only work if they approach it from a promotional rather than a prescriptive philosophy. This is the central role of academies for other languages ‘endangered’ by wholesale borrowing, such as Icelandic and Faroese. Done properly, this does work and tends to be accepted fairly well by the speaker populations (P. Heggarty, Interview, 20 December 2002). To become truly effective in the area of modernization and coining new words, the HAQL members need to become much more knowledgeable in linguistics. They need to carry out studies in language planning, dialectology, sociolinguistics, historical linguistics, comparative linguistics, pragmatics, semantics, pedagogy and anthropology to be able to develop the Quechua language. They have to take into account the seminal contribution to

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Quechua linguistics in particular, and Andean languages in general, of recognized linguists, and the multidisciplinary nature of language planners who have been working for many years at national and international levels. As Heggarty suggests, it should be recognized that the top Academy members do constitute a potential source of well-educated native (or nearnative) speakers for tasks, such as helping to coin neologisms and spreading the language to new, more prestigious domains. They are all professionals (although not in anything related to language or linguistics), and these are just the sort of people who, with a more balanced, open, collaborative attitude, really could help turn the situation of Quechua around (Interview, 20 December 2002).

Note (1) 2SING = marker of the second person singular conjugation; 3SING = marker of the third person singular conjugation; AGEN = agentive, makes a verb into a noun that indicates the doer of the verb; DIM = diminutive suffix; EUP = euphonic, suffix added to possessed nouns ending in consonants, between the noun and the possessive suffix, simply to avoid having two consonants come together; GEN = genitive, indicates the possessor of a possessed noun; INF = suffix denoting the infinitive form of a verb; LOC = locative, indicating locational relationships of time, space or idea (i.e. ‘by means of/in/on/at’); PART = suffix converting a verb into a participle; PL = plural suffix for nouns; POSS = possessive, indicating possession of the noun being suffixed; REF = reflexive suffix for verbs; VERB = verbalizer, suffix that changes a noun to a verb.

Part 5 Spreading the Language of the Apus: Acquisition Planning and Revitalization Struggles

13 Preparing for Pedagogy

Acquisition planning for a given language is most often related to educational and revitalization efforts, since both of these areas clearly have the potential to influence the number of speakers of that language. And indeed, Quechua pedagogy appears to have been one of the Academy’s intended primary purposes almost since its inception. Although the original Statutes make no specific mention of Quechua acquisition, pedagogy, revitalization or any goals regarding the dissemination of the language, there does appear to have been some type of formal association with the Peruvian Ministry of Education at the High Academy of the Quechua Language’s (HAQL’s) founding. On the other hand, pedagogical goals and objectives are definitely mentioned in the most recent Statutes. The single goal of the HAQL that is related to acquisition planning is ‘to promote and develop linguistic research, teaching, and learning of Quechua with an eye towards structuring a Quechua pedagogy and different cultural manifestations’ (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 5). Although it only lists one major goal, however, the HAQL has numerous more concrete objectives related to the teaching and learning of Quechua: (a) to achieve the habitual and generalized use of Quechua in the Quechua-speaking population; (b) to use Quechua in the eradication of illiteracy; [. . .] (g) to promote State and private participation in the study and knowledge of the Quechua language; [. . .] (i) to promote the effective exercise of the right of the Quechuaspeaking communities to receive a complete education in their own language; [. . .] (k) to integrate the Quechua language into the world, through its oral and written spread by way of the Internet, publication of books, dictionaries and other media; [. . .] (p) to participate fully in the process of planning, educational training and academic execution of BIE and of literacy training, with the Ministry of Education, for the Quechua speaking populations. (*Estatuto, 2001: Art. 6) 217

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These goals and objectives have been ingrained into all the members of the Academy. Not only in formal interviews with them, but also in normal, daily conversations, one can frequently hear statements about how necessary it is to cultivate and spread ‘our ancestral language’ through the HAQL’s Quechua classes, and the importance of convincing learners and the general public alike of the language’s ‘ancestral cultural value’. Of course, it is also important to them that people learn not only to speak (pronounce) the language correctly, but also to read and write it correctly. I was conversing one day with a relatively newer member of the Academy, and he insisted that speaking, reading and writing Quechua correctly were, in fact, the primary objectives of the HAQL (Fieldnotes, 1 July 2002). The members are determined that Quechua should be taught at all levels of the educational system, primary, secondary and post-secondary. They recognize that laws have been passed to this effect, but the laws are not being enforced, and they are emphatic in their desire to make this come to pass. One HAQL associate member succinctly summed up the opinion expressed by many members on numerous occasions: ‘En algunas escuelas ya se viene impartiendo la enseñanza del quechua. Más que todo en centros educativos particulares como en Pukllasunchis y otros, cuando esto debería partir de centros de enseñanzas estatales [. . .] y no del privado’ (F. Requena, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 5B) (In some schools they are already teaching Quechua. Mostly in private schools like Pukllasunchis and others, when this should actually be happening in public schools [. . .] not [only] in private ones). Clearly, they are determined that Quechua be considered at the national, State-sponsored level, and not limited to individual private schools in Quechua-speaking areas. And not only Academy members, but also other members of the community promote the importance of including Quechua in national education: Yo creo que el quechua debe ser incluido en la educación a nivel nacional. Una razón es por identidad y otra por necesidad porque hay circunstancias en las cuales por decir las personas hacen trabajos fuera de la ciudad y en las zonas rurales normalmente las personas utilizan el quechua más que el castellano. (R. Pérez, City of Cuzco, Tape MOI 1A) (I think Quechua should be included in [the] education [system] at the national level. One reason is for identity and another because of necessity, because there are circumstances in which some people do jobs outside the city and in rural zones where the people normally speak Quechua more than Spanish.) This is an example of common ground between the HAQL and other organizations in the community. Knowing that they share a common goal in many cases can be enough to get different parties to work together. However, it is often in the area of deciding the specific, intermediate steps to achieving

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that goal where such collaborations fall apart. As we have seen, this tends to be the case with the Academy and its attempts to forge alliances with other organizations as equal partners with equal knowledge and expertise to offer. While their avid defense of the necessity of Quechua language education has been a constant over the course of the last 55 years or so, the HAQL has gone through periods of greater or lesser pedagogical activity, depending on the talents, inclinations and availability of its membership. This is reflected in the change over time of the Statutes as well, from less to more overt emphasis on pedagogical functions. Regardless of such changes over time, the Academy has remained firm in its dedication to its ideological principles and its educational function, and has sought to spread those principles to other regions of the Quechua-speaking world.

Preparing for the Classroom In terms of revitalizing the use of a language and spreading it to new domains, of course education is a primary activity. At the same time, acquisition planning includes not only teaching, but also planning and research to determine the best ways to accomplish the acquisition goals. The HAQL has been making efforts to contribute in this area. A number of members have written textbooks, a few have published pertinent articles that have appeared in Inka Rimay, and of course the teachers of the Quechua courses have produced their own handouts and other materials, reflecting planning for their classes. The first of the published articles, entitled ‘Educación bilingue intercultural’ (Bilingual Intercultural Education) and written by *Pacheco Farfán (1999), defends the necessity for Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE). It appeared in *Inka Rimay 4 (1999: 19–29). The remaining three articles all appeared in *Inka Rimay 6. The first of these, ‘Fundamentos para la enseñanza oficial de la lengua quechua’ (Foundations for the Official Teaching of the Quechua Language), by René *Farfán Barrios (2003: 136–148), outlined the various social, political and educational foundations for teaching Quechua at the national level. The second, ‘La educación intercultural’ (Intercultural Education), by Silvestre *Palomino González (2003: 148–154), was basically a repetition of Pacheco Farfán’s arguments from his 1999 article. The final article, ‘Canciones y poesías educativas de acuerdo al calendario cívico escolar’ (Educational Songs and Poems according to the Civic School Year), by Martín *Manya Ambur (2003: 230), offered ideas for songs and poetry that would be appropriate to include in a Quechua curriculum, and that would contribute not only to civic and national awareness, but also offer good opportunities to practice Quechua. In this sense, this final article was the most concretely relevant to teaching per se. All of the individual, book-length publications by Academy members are textbooks of one sort or another, ranging in publication dates from the

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earliest years of the Academy up to the present day. *Espinoza Navarro wrote his Primer curso de enseñanza del idioma quechua (First Course for Teaching the Quechua Language) in 1956, after which there appears to be a considerable temporal gap before another textbook appeared. Since three of the books did not have publication dates, it is difficult to say with any certainty just how much of a gap there was. These three undated books are Bernabé *Cardeña Cueva’s Curso de quechua I (Quechua I Course), Mario *Mejía Wamán’s Lecciones de quechua (Quechua Lessons) and *Manya Ambur’s Hablando quechua con el pueblo (Speaking Quechua with the People). Antero *Barreto Ascarza’s Uña wik’uña, qelqa ñawinchay qallarina, lecto-escritura básica (Basic Reading and Writing), which is an introductory level textbook geared for elementary school children, was produced in 1993. In 1995, *Villasante Ortiz produced a trilingual textbook, Yachasun qheswata/Aprendamos qheswa/ Learning Quechua. The most recent production, in 2003, was Software multimedia para la enseñanza del idioma quechua (Multimedia Software for Teaching the Quechua Language), by Wilbert Alberto *Camac Huilca. This last is the only one that is not a textbook, but rather an investigation of the kinds of state-of-the-art technologies that are being brought to Quechua education. Interestingly, none of these texts is currently used in the Quechua classes offered by the HAQL. Rather, a series of lessons has been developed for each level and handwritten in notebooks used by the Quechua teachers. These notebooks appear to have been developed principally, although not entirely, from the grammar and morphology sections of *Herencia Fernández’s 2000 grammar book, Qheswa simipi seq’e yapaykuna/Morfología quechua. This is perhaps not too surprising given the fact that at the time his book was published, he was HAQL’s Director of Teaching. All the teachers of a given level have the same information, and all of them teach using the same format found in this notebook. I confirmed this fact when a student who had finished all six levels of the Quechua course shared her course notebooks with me. I compared them to the notebooks the Academy gives to the teachers, and the content was almost identical, with only minor differences that seemed to be owing to the student’s note-taking style. Clearly, such works are an attempt to contribute to Quechua pedagogy. However, it is not enough to simply produce textbooks. The quality of the content must also be taken into account. My examination of the mentioned textbooks revealed a number of weaknesses. Perhaps most significant is that none of the books incorporates the most recent findings of pedagogy research, instead relying mainly on grammar translation exercises. The books provide lists of vocabulary to be memorized – nouns, verbs, pronouns, functional morphemes – along with brief grammatical explanations. While such an approach may still have its place in certain contexts, current research indicates that it is insufficient as the sole approach in a language classroom in which the goal is to produce fluent speakers. Grammar translation provides little opportunity for students to practice speaking the language in any real context.

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In addition, all of the books are written in and for the HAQL sociolect. Obviously, any text must be based on some particular variety, and this is the one the HAQL has chosen. This choice is not necessarily a problem for the students who are learning the language from ground zero, at least during the learning process itself. Where it becomes problematic is for the native Quechua speakers who grew up speaking a different sociolect, and for the new learners when they have to go out in the field and use this sociolect with speakers who do not know it. In this regard, the choice of dialect to teach seems to indicate more consideration of the monolingual Spanish speakers learning Quechua as an L2, than of the native Quechua communities who already speak other dialects. Such a focus is perfectly valid in theory, since it promotes the appreciation and use of Quechua among mainstream Spanish-speaking society. However, at the same time it seems to contradict that part of the HAQL’s Statutes pertaining to spreading literacy among the native Quechua communities. It also makes it difficult for the newly bilingual Quechua learners to communicate with the native speakers their jobs require them to serve.

Creating the Centro de Enseñanza of the HAQL Perhaps the area in which the Academy has had the most impact on acquisition planning is in the classroom itself, with their attempts to teach Quechua to native and non-native speakers alike. As with their collaborations, these attempts over time have met with uneven success. The HAQL, under the leadership of Espinoza Navarro, formed the Escuela Superior de Enseñanza Quechua (Quechua Language School) between 1963 and 1965. Its primary purpose appears to have been to teach the Quechua language to interested parties who would then become members of the Academy (*Espinoza Navarro, 1983: 29). However, it appears that this first attempt was not entirely successful, since the same article mentions that the Escuela was later reopened in 1970 with 400 students. From this, one can infer that at some earlier point, the school had become inactive. A similar case of attrition seems to have occurred between 1970 and 1974, when the next president of the Academy again ‘reinitiated the functions of the Escuela Superior de Quechua with 300 students, in the classrooms of the San Borja School’ (*Espinoza Navarro, 1983: 31–32). This latter quote also makes clear that the school that was created was a conceptual construct without a physical space. The HAQL had to offer its classes in borrowed spaces. Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad del Cusco (UNSAAC) also frequently provided classroom space for them, since a number of the Academy members were professors at the University. In fact, the association between UNSAAC and the HAQL was officialized in 1999 with an agreement to share resources and investigative efforts for the purpose of ‘teaching

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and training the members of the UNSAAC university community and of the HAQL in the appropriate use of the Quechua language, with the goal of promoting scientific investigation in all specialties of human knowledge’ (*Convenio de Cooperación, 1999). This agreement included teaching Quechua language and culture, publishing research, and providing physical facilities and equipment for carrying out these two functions. The original agreement was for a 3-year period, with a clause allowing for its automatic renewal at the end of that time, but also permitting either party to refuse its renewal. Thus, this original agreement expired in 2002. During my fieldwork in Cuzco, I could not find any concrete indication that it had been renewed. As of June 2013, however, the HAQL had once again signed collaboration agreements with UNSAAC and with the Teaching Institutes to offer Quechua courses (M. Mamani Huayhua, personal communication, 30 June 2013). Meanwhile, the various agreements with other institutions notwithstanding, from 1963 to 2009, the HAQL apparently did not have official Ministry of Education (ME) recognition for their Centro de Enseñanza. As of 1983, Villasante Ortiz, the HAQL president at that time, was in negotiations with the ME to found the Instituto Superior Pedagógico de Quechua,1 which would receive official sanction from the Ministry. The proposed purpose of this Institute was to train teachers to speak Quechua so they could work in the rural monolingual regions of the Andes (*Espinoza Navarro, 1983: 37; *Micro Noticias Institucionales, 1983: 45). It would appear that these negotiations ultimately came to nothing, since no further mention of official sanction by the ME can be found either in later editions of Inka Rimay or in the private archives of the Academy. Such a conclusion is further supported by the numerous conflicts between the Ministry and various members of the HAQL. In addition, I asked a number of HAQL members about this Instituto Superior, and none of them had any knowledge either of its existence or of its approval by the ME. And on speaking with Nicasio Rincón of the Regional Ministry in Cuzco, I was informed that the Academy had no direct participation with them (Tape MOI 9B). Despite the archives’ reticence on this particular matter, they do offer up considerable information on other matters relating to the HAQL’s educational efforts. For instance, there was the repeating cycle of starting the Escuela Superior de Quechua and then losing impetus and students every few years until fairly recently. It was not until 1998 that the HAQL began offering regular, organized Quechua courses following a specific curriculum. From then until 2013 (the last year for which I was able to get numbers) more than 11,300 students graduated from their language school, including graduates from the regional and international affiliates. According to the curriculum the Academy developed, these courses were designed for two distinct groups of learners: those who had no previous knowledge of Quechua, and native speakers who wanted to improve their Quechua and/or become literate in Quechua.

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Finally, in 1998, the HAQL officially institutionalized the Escuela de Quechua, now formally known as the Centro de Enseñanza del Idioma Quechua de la Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua (Quechua Teaching Center of the HAQL, or QTCHAQL for short) ‘as one of the priority activities of the HAQL’ (*Pacheco Farfán, 2003: 252). The difference between this venture and previous ones, such as the Instituto Superior, is that this time the institution included not only a curriculum and teaching plans, but also an infrastructure. The HAQL had obtained an old school building just a few blocks from the Plaza de Armas, in which they began holding their classes in 2001. The Academy finally had its own space in which to hold classes, an achievement that made it unnecessary to rely on other organizations and institutions to provide classroom space for them. The Centro de Enseñanza del Idioma Quechua was born. With the HAQL’s separation from the ME in 2010, any discussion of their previous relationship is important to mention, but now becomes simply part of the historical record. The administration and curriculum structure of the HAQL is slated to be changed in the near future. No one knows if the Centro de Enseñanza will continue. If it does, it will probably take new form in content and structure. One thing that may come under fire is the whole concept of the HAQL as a teaching institution. For my part, I think there is a semantic confusion among many in the HAQL between a ‘Language Academy’ and ‘Language School’; ‘academia’ also means ‘school or institute’ in Spanish. Given this fact, should a ‘Language Academy’ have (or be) a ‘Language School’? This question will no doubt be answered by the Ministry of Culture in due course. In general terms, language academies promote teaching and learning of the language at all levels (acquisition planning), and they are also devoted to corpus and status planning, but they are not directly involved in teaching the language through their own language schools. While it is not necessarily a bad thing for the Academy to also function as a school, it may be a decision they want to reconsider. Given their desire to prove themselves equal to other such professional institutions, they might want to consider setting themselves parallel to other academies’ functional structures.

Curriculum The basic structure of the curriculum for non-Quechua speakers is a series of six courses, each one month long; in effect, the entire curriculum can be completed in 6 months of daily classes of 1.5 hours each. There are a total of 300 contact hours, broken down according to the following guidelines: 180 hours of theoretical instruction, 100 hours of practical instruction, 15 hours of evaluations (exams and such) and 5 hours of cultural experiences (*Contenido curricular, 2002; *Contenido silábico, 2002).

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This is the basic schedule, but as it happens, during the South American summer vacation months of January, February and March, they also offer accelerated classes at the intermediate and advanced levels. These daily classes, as one student informed me, are double (or more) the duration of a regular class, so that twice (or more) the material can be covered in a onemonth course (Fieldnotes, 28 June 2002). This acceleration enables more advanced students to finish up the curriculum in fewer months, which can be an advantage for those who need certification in Quechua for their jobs. It turns out that the summer months are also the busiest for the Academy. They have more students during those months because so many of the people who want or need to study Quechua are free of work obligations at that time. That makes it an ideal time for them to dedicate themselves to their studies for several hours a day. The 6-month-long terms occur in the following progression: (1) Reading, Writing and Dialogue I. Introduction: motivation, importance and origin of the Quechua language. Courtesy greetings and common greetings of the Andean-Inka people. Quechua alphabet. Reading and writing practice via phrases, vocabulary, greetings, interviews, short sentences, brief dialogues. Acquisition of vocabulary: verbs, personal pronouns, people and things found in the classroom and at home, the community (ayllu), foods, the human body, colors, animals, plants, days of the week, months, seasons of the year, phases of the moon, natural phenomena, memorized dialogues using verbs related to these themes. (2) Reading, Writing and Dialogue II. Consolidation of reading and writing. Grammatical parts of the sentence and grammatical categories: nouns, adjectives, pronouns, verbs. In each category they cover classification, vocabulary, phrases and sentences. Also covered: syllabification, punctuation, practice with brief memorized dialogues. (3) Grammar I and Dialogue III. More in-depth work with the grammatical parts of a sentence: classification of verbs, adverbs, postpositions, conjunctions, interjections, indefinite articles, special morphemes, all exemplified through phrases, sentences and memorized dialogues. (4) Grammar II and Dialogue IV. Quechua morphology, declensions (grammatical cases), conjugation and special morphemes. More practice with sentences and memorized dialogues. (5) Morphological Analysis and Dialogue V. Morphological analysis, with emphasis on special morphemes. More with verbs: grammatical accidence (inflection as a grammatical device), conjugation. Memorized dialogues, phrases, sentences, compositions, narrations, poetry, songs, etc. (6) Research Methodology. Composition, revision, translation. Theoretical conception of methodology, stages of methodology, practical design of research projects.

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Per the *Contenido silábico (2002), this last course is optional rather than required, and as it happens, few native Spanish-speaking students take it. It is also in this class where students begin planning their research projects for the thesis they must write and defend in both Spanish and Quechua. This thesis is a necessary requirement for them to become Full Members of the Academy after receiving their diplomas, and the research is generally carried out during their tenure as Associate Members. One student told me that she wrote her thesis in Spanish, and then found a translator to translate it into Quechua for her to be able to fulfill the requirements to become a Full Member of the HAQL. She said that although she has a fair command of spoken Quechua, she did not feel competent to write her thesis in it. Furthermore, she knew that a number of other graduating students had done the same thing. It seems to me that such a practice cannot help but raise questions about the efficacy of the program. According to a high-ranking member of the HAQL, the addition of the last two courses was at the request of the students themselves, who wanted the opportunity to continue their studies at a deeper level (Fieldnotes, 12 July 2002). The addition of these two courses was logical from another perspective as well. The goal of teaching Quechua is not only ‘to disseminate the basic grammatical principles of Quechua, but also to teach the different patterns or cultural manifestations of the Andean-Inca world’ (*Pacheco Farfán, 2003: 257). Thus, to have time in the curriculum to move beyond teaching grammar, it was necessary to add more advanced courses. At least one Academy member feels that although they have made progress expanding the program to 6 months, it is possible, and perhaps even necessary, that they could expand it even further in the future (F. Requena, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 5A). As with any endeavor, such an expansion of the program would have both positive and negative consequences for students. The positives are fairly obvious: a greater variety of learning opportunities for those genuinely interested in learning the Quechua language and culture. The negatives might not be so apparent. One possible negative, depending on the types of courses offered, could be identifying qualified instructors with a background appropriate to teach the respective course material. This is especially relevant since there are only so many instructors available in the HAQL, and many of them have other jobs besides teaching for the Academy.

Cost of Studies Another possible negative could be the cost of the full course of education. While fifty soles (approximately US$17.00) a month may not seem like very much in the United States, it is a significant amount of money for the average person in Cuzco. On top of that, there are a number of other smaller fees for various necessary services: five soles for proof of enrollment in each course, which is essentially an official receipt of enrollment; ten soles for the Certificado

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de Estudios, or transcript; and thirty soles for the diploma, which students receive at the end of the course of studies. These fees are on a par with fees charged by other institutes in Cuzco that offered Quechua classes. Interestingly, this cost has not gone up at all in the last 10 years. It costs the same per course now as it did when I did my fieldwork. At the same time, they now also offer accelerated classes, which cost 120 soles (approximately US$43.00) per course. Necessary course materials are something of a hidden cost, although charging separately for materials is consistent with educational practice in other institutions, including the national school system. Cost of materials is not mentioned in any of the enrollment materials or course information, but all students are expected to buy any books or publications necessary for the classes (L. Saco, Associate Member, Tape 1B HAQL). Regardless of how many courses there are or their cost, the essential format and final evaluation are all the same. At the end of each course, there is a comprehensive final exam to test the students’ understanding of and proficiency in the material for that level. These exams are typically no more than two pages and offer very mechanical exercises, with little or no spontaneous production on the part of the students. Thus, again we see a very rote approach to learning and evaluation, losing yet another opportunity to enhance actual communication skills.

Curricular Goals The HAQL justifies its Curricular Plan in terms of maintaining and passing on the language as the ‘great historic legacy’ of the Incas, which they fear is dying out and losing its linguistic purity. They see it as their duty to ‘rescue and put into practice its use’, since the Peruvian educational system has not: become developed in any integrative manner, especially in the AndeanInca world, due to a lack of a bilingual intercultural education that includes the two nationalities with their own philosophy and conception of life and the world. In this whole process of development, education has been seen as an imposition rather than a true process of exchange between two cultures. (*Contenido curricular, 2002) This makes it clear that the HAQL views Quechua language education not only as a means of promoting communication, but also as a means of understanding Incan philosophy and the Andean cosmovision. According to them, research plays an important role in this process of coming to understand the culture: so that all linguistic, technical and scientific advances of the AndeanInca world, after being rescued and adapted to our modern world, can

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serve as a foundation for our development. And in every process of investigation, the linguistic method is the most effective to arrive at the truest assertions. (*Contenido curricular, 2002) Their ultimate goal is to train as many people as possible to become identified with Andean cultural patterns so that they will want to maintain the Quechua language. Thus, they accept all levels of speakers into their classes, from native Quechua speakers and bilingual Quechua–Spanish speakers who want to ‘consolidate their language through reading and writing’ and understand the grammatical structure of Quechua so that they can become teachers of their own language, researchers of their own reality and defenders of the language and culture; to Spanish speakers who desire to learn to speak Quechua (*Contenido curricular, 2002). This latter group is not necessarily destined to become either teachers or researchers of the language, but simply needs to become proficient in the language for reasons usually relating to the practice of their careers. According to the Curricular Plan, the idea is to divide the classes into two groups: (1) native-speaking Quechua and bilingual Quechua–Spanish students, and (2) Spanish-speaking monolinguals who have no experience with Quechua. However, according not only to my own observations, but also to descriptions of the composition of their classes by a number of students, it appears that in practice the two groups are mixed in a single class. This mixing of skill levels in a single class is generally considered to be a pedagogically unsound practice, since it can lead to boredom for the more advanced students and frustration for the beginners.

Student Perspectives on the Curriculum In informal interviews with several newer HAQL members, I brought up the question of why they wanted to study Quechua. All the members were from the Cuzco region and had already had some exposure to Quechua, even if they were not entirely fluent in it before beginning classes. In general, their reasons for wanting to further their studies were related to instrumental attachments, such as needing the certification for purposes of obtaining or keeping jobs in the rural Quechua-speaking regions. In many cases, the market for teachers and lawyers in particular, but also professionals from other fields, was (and still is) so glutted in the major cities that the only hope they had for employment was to go to the provinces or to more rural areas. In these areas, besides being required by law to be able to speak Quechua to get the job, the professionals would not be able to communicate with their clients if they could not speak the language. The following is the experience of a new member of the Academy who was in the process of finishing up her thesis to graduate from the program:

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Hay entusiasmo por estudiar quechua y es fuerte. Va creciendo y por ejemplo en poder judicial hay bastante abogado que sale ahorita cantidad, y no hay trabajo. Entonces la ciudad ya está al tope. Entonces, le dicen, “tú te vas a una provincia.” De la provincia lo mandan a un distrito, pero “¿tienes certificado de quechua?” Ah pues que se presente el que tiene, ¿no? Entonces el profesional ahorita debe tener ese certificado de quechua. Inclusive evaluado. No solamente es tener certificado. Evaluado. [. . .] Ese es el objetivo que el profesional está como loco queriendo aprender el quechua. (Fieldnotes, 28 June 2002) (There’s enthusiasm for studying Quechua, and it’s strong. It keeps growing and, for example, in the legal field there are a lot of lawyers coming out now, and there isn’t enough work for them all. The cities are overloaded with lawyers. So then they tell them, ‘Go to a province [to work]’. From the provinces they send them into a district, but then ‘do you have a certificate in Quechua?’ Aha, so the jobs go to the applicants who have the certificates, right? So professionals now have to have that Quechua certificate. And they have to be evaluated. It’s not enough to have the certificate. They have to be evaluated. [. . .] That’s why the professionals are desperate to learn Quechua.) Many of the members who had previously been students, such as this one, seemed satisfied with the way the curriculum was organized and taught, or at least they didn’t criticize it. Of course, the student cited above was already a native speaker who knew how to work and think in Quechua. Given the wide range of professional fields from which students come, however, I occasionally wondered if the non-Quechua speakers who were just beginning to learn the language found the generalized lessons as helpful. Might it not have been more helpful, for instance, to gear vocabulary lessons towards the fields in which these professionals worked? While I never did get an opinion out of any Academy members on this question, I was not the only one who thought about it: Generalmente se hacen cursos en la Academia y ahí van abogados, médicos, estudiantes. Yo preferiría poner por ejemplo un curso de quechua para abogados para enfatizar un poco los términos jurídicos, los términos de delito, de culpa, de crimen y de todas esas cosas. A los médicos para enfatizar los temas de salud. Sería mucho mejor, pero muchas veces no se logra juntar muchos alumnos. (P. Sicaya, City of Cuzco, Tape MOI 11A) (Generally the Academy offers courses and lawyers, doctors and students take them. I would prefer to see, for example, a Quechua course specifically for lawyers to emphasize more juridical and criminal terminology, terms relating to crimes and guilt and all those things. And then for the doctors, to emphasize health topics. It would be much better, but often

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they can’t attract enough students [from the same field to make such specialized courses practical].)

Instructor Qualifications and Course Programming There is a core team of 10 teachers who teach the majority of the classes at all levels. If there is a larger than usual number of enrolled students, there are other HAQL members who can teach, since there is always a pool of new members who have graduated from the Academy’s program. For the most part, the instructors at the HAQL come from a variety of professional fields, but very few of them come from education. They receive their training in Quechua from the Academy, but this does not include pedagogical training. Even those in education do not have a strong background in pedagogical theory or second language acquisition. Thus, they tend to follow the same methodologies their own instructors at the Academy used with them. One day, I gave a presentation on teaching methodologies for second language acquisition. It was well attended by both students and instructors, as well as top Academy members. At the beginning of the presentation, I asked them how they taught their classes, what methodologies and strategies they used. A couple of instructors responded. They did not know how to answer me in general terms, apparently not having a true understanding of what I meant by teaching methodologies or strategies. Instead, they described a typical lesson plan, outlining the lists of verbs and suffixes their classes were practicing (Fieldnotes, 6 July 2002). Often it would be one instructor who would remark upon such a lack of preparation on the part of another one, although I never heard any given instructor comment on such deficiencies in him- or herself. But HAQL members are not the only ones who realize each others’ pedagogical weaknesses. People in relevant fields from outside the Academy also focused on the HAQL instructors’ lack of training. Mr Soto of UNSAAC commented that while he did not have personal experience of the classes, he had talked to a number of people who did, who were not impressed with the quality of the teaching and felt they had learned nothing (Tape MOI 4B). For his part, Mr Pico of the Instituto Pastoral Andino (IPA) made the important distinction between knowing the language and knowing how to teach the language: Me parece que les falta formación lingüística, antropológica, etnográfica. Una cosa es saber quechua y otra cosa es saber la razón de tu lengua, de tu cultura, de la lógica, de la filosofía que está detrás de esa lengua, y eso les falta mucho a ellos. Hasta enseñar les falta. O sea metodología de la enseñanza del quechua. Andan perdido en estos aspectos. Saben quechua, pero no saben enseñar quechua. Es distinto, ¿no? (Tape MOI 6A)

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(It seems to me that they [the Academy members] lack linguistic, anthropological and ethnographic training. It’s one thing to know Quechua and another thing to understand your language in depth, your culture, the logic and the philosophy behind the language, and many of the Academy members lack this. Even teaching skills are lacking. That is, teaching methodology for Quechua. They are lost in that respect. They know Quechua but they don’t know how to teach Quechua. It’s different, you know?) Although these two quotes constitute hearsay, they come from reliable members of the community who have worked in the fields of BIE and anthropology, respectively, for many years. Furthermore, they are reporting experiences they have heard from people who have actually participated in the classes, and are very similar to my own observations when I attended the classes. But even people within the community at large have heard things about the Academy’s teaching, as one musician I interviewed explained: Para aprender a las clases que dictan, por ejemplo, mucha gente yo he visto que fracasan, se sienten muy frustrados. No usan un método, una conversación familiar y cotidiana, sino que usan digamos que buscan una pronunciación muy pura y para mucha gente que no habla el quechua les resulta tan imposible que se terminan desanimando y se van ¿no? Yo creo que se está manejando un quechua a nivel demasiado académico. Debería haber un mayor acercamiento a un nivel más práctico con las masas, con las comunidades propiamente quechuahablantes, ¿no? (F. Ventura, Tape CM 7B) (To learn in the classes they teach, for example, I’ve seen many people fail, they’re very frustrated. They [the teachers] don’t use a method, familiar, everyday conversation; instead, they use, that is, they seek a very pure pronunciation, and for many people who don’t speak Quechua, it is so impossible that they end up getting discouraged and quitting, you know? I think they’re using a level of Quechua that’s too academic. They should bring it down to a level that’s more practical for the masses, for the truly Quechua speaking communities, you know?) With perceptions such as these from the community, from students themselves and from my own observations, it seems safe to say that the pedagogical efforts of the HAQL are not bearing quite the fruit they had envisioned.

Note (1) An Instituto Superior Pedagógico is a recognized institution of post-secondary education in many Latin American countries. It is not a university per se, but rather a specialized training center for high school graduates who would like to become teachers. In this particular case, the HAQL proposed this to be such a center specifically teaching Quechua to already-trained teachers.

14 Learning Quechua with the HAQL

The previous chapter touched lightly on teaching methodologies of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL). In this chapter, I provide specific examples of three classes of different levels, which I will then analyze in light of current pedagogical research. The ultimate goal is to explore their likely effectiveness in producing new Quechua speakers. Most classrooms were too small for enrollments, with all seats filled and the overflow sitting or standing around the perimeters of the room or sharing seats with other students. The more advanced classes generally were not so overcrowded. These were also the only ones that were offered in a classroom at the HAQL main office in the Galerías Turísticas, and were only taught by a high-ranking member of the HAQL Board. The classroom space in the Galerías Turísticas was much smaller than those at the Quechua Teaching Center of the HAQL (QTCHAQL) in Chaparro, accommodating no more than 15 students, so it makes sense that the larger classes at the lower levels could not be held there. The majority of the elementary and intermediate classes were held from 7:00 to 8:30 pm. The advanced classes were often taught from 4:00 to 7:00 pm twice a week at the HAQL main office, although sometimes the instructor would change it to a morning class instead, or even to a weekend date. It seemed that the advanced students were often at the mercy of the availability of the teacher. Given his very busy work and travel schedule, it was necessary for the students to be somewhat flexible in their own availability. It bears mentioning that at this level, a number of the students were themselves already members of the HAQL, taking the course as a refresher.

First Level Quechua Class (Introductory) On the day I observed this class, the teacher arrived a little early to the classroom. He greeted the few of us who were already present and then began to review the notes he had brought in a small notebook. After the class had been going on for a while, I realized this notebook was basically the textbook. 231

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Students slowly filtered into the room a few at a time until the classroom was completely full. In all, there were more than 40 students. A few of them were native Quechua speakers, but most were Spanish speakers who needed to learn Quechua because of their jobs. Once everyone had arrived, the instructor took attendance and began the class. By the time all of the students had arrived and the preliminary administrative work such as attendance was out of the way, a good deal of time had already passed. As a result, the 1.5-hour-long class became an hour-long class. This is essentially the same dynamic I noted in all of the classes I observed, at all levels. The instructor began the class saying, ‘¿Qallarinapaq imataq ruwasunchis? ¡Sayariychis! Allin tuta kachun.’ (To begin with, what are we going to do? Stand up! Good evening.) Some students answered in chorus, ‘¡Allin tuta yachachiq!’ (Good evening, teacher!), but the rest seemed confused and said nothing. Then he asked us to pray the ‘Our Father’ and the ‘Hail Mary’ in Spanish. Once we were through all of the opening business, he erased the blackboard and began to list the months of the year in Quechua and Spanish. After finishing this list, he asked the students to repeat them together as a class several times. Then he went one by one through the class, picking out individual students to repeat different months. After this rote activity, he commented briefly on the linguistic purity of the Q’iru community, which he said maintained the original form of Quechua. He told us, ‘Otras comunidades no hablan bien el quechua. En otros lugares tienen su propio vocabulario y eso puede ser un gran problema’ (Other communities do not speak Quechua well. In other places, they have their own vocabulary and that can be a great problem). Then he immediately moved on and wrote out the days of the week on the blackboard, again in Quechua and Spanish. And again, he made the students repeat the list in chorus and then individually. At no time were any questions asked or answered in which the students had to use the days of the week – whose names were coined by the HAQL – in a conversational context. After working with the days of the week, the instructor moved on to seasons of the year. This time, he did not make the students repeat the terms out loud, but rather, simply presented them to the students in written form and told them to practice the words at home. Again, there was no contextualized use of the vocabulary. All comments, directions and other interactions in the class were carried out in Spanish. In other words, he taught Quechua through Spanish. At this point in his lecture, the teacher went off on a small tangent, commenting, ‘El castellano tiene 60 millones de palabras. El quechua es más rico semánticamente, morfológicamente y seguramente tiene más palabras’ (The Spanish language has 60 million words. Quechua is a much richer language semantically, morphologically and it certainly has more words). Then he informed the class about materials available at the HAQL: an advanced grammar that cost 20 soles, an elementary grammar costing 10 soles,

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cassette tapes for 10 soles and a dictionary worth 50 soles. He ended mentioning a collection of songs. From this brief aside, he moved on to another one on the necessity of learning Quechua and what was being done about it (or not) nationally: Los abogados aprenden el quechua con las computadoras. Hay muchos profesionales que no saben el quechua. Ahora está exigiendo el gobierno. Toledo dijo que el quechua es opcional en todos los centros de educación a nivel nacional, pero en muchos colegios no enseñan el quechua. (Lawyers learn Quechua with computers. There are many professionals who don’t know Quechua. Now the government is insisting on it. [President] Toledo said that Quechua is optional at all national educational institutions, but in many schools, Quechua is not taught.) After making this last comment, the instructor moved directly to another list of vocabulary. He simply finished his comment and then abruptly said, ‘Ahora vamos a estudiar los fenómenos naturales en quechua’ (Now we’re going to study natural phenomena in Spanish) and began writing a list of weather and meteorological terms on the blackboard. For this topic, the instructor did not provide the name (‘natural phenomena’) in Quechua; he presented it only in Spanish. Again, as with the seasons of the year, he did not have the students repeat the vocabulary, but rather simply read them out loud for the students as he wrote them on the board. This was understandable to a degree, since having the students repeat everything takes up a considerable amount of class time, and class time this night was beginning to run short. After he finished writing out the last vocabulary list on the board and reading it to the students, he said, ‘¿Ñachu?’ (essentially ‘Are you done yet?’). This was the only spontaneous Quechua utterance during the entire class. At the end, the instructor finished the class by saying: ‘Bueno, con esto termina la clase’ (Okay, that’s all for today). He did not assign any homework other than for them to review the vocabulary on their own at home (Fieldnotes, 21 June 2002). I observed this particular instructor on several occasions, and his class format was always the same. There was no real interaction between teacher and students, or among the students themselves. It was completely teacher-centered.

Third Level Quechua Class (Intermediate) In this class, there were 22 students, but there were still not enough seats in the classroom for all of them. As in the first level class, many were seated on the floor or standing around the edges of the room. There were no student

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desks in this room, but rather just regular wooden chairs. Some students sat two to a chair. This kind of overcrowding and lack of flat surfaces made it very difficult for the students to take notes. The teacher began by asking everyone their names and taking attendance, an activity that took several minutes. Then she moved into the first lesson of the day, which was the present progressive tense. She began with an explanation of the suffix that indicates this tense before having the students practice it: Presente progresivo. Nuqa kashani. Ese -sha indica el progresivo, ¿ya? Qan kashanki. Pay kashan, kasan. Nuqanchis ka-shan-chis. Nuqayku ka-sha-yku. Qankuna ka-sha-nkichis. Paykuna ka-sha-nku. ‘Yo estoy siendo’, ‘tú estás siendo’, ‘él está siendo’. (Present progressive. Nuqa kashani. That -sha indicates the progressive, you see? Qan kashanki. Pay kashan, kasan. Nuqanchis ka-shan-chis. Nuqayku ka-sha-yku. Qankuna ka-sha-nkichis. Paykuna ka-sha-nku. ‘I am being, you are being, he is being’.) Upon hearing these equivalents in Spanish, the students began talking among themselves. The verb ‘to be’ is not generally used in a progressive tense (even in English) unless it is part of a passive voice construction such as ‘I am being followed’. Hearing it used simply as ‘I am being’, etc., seemed to confuse them. While the students talked and tried to work out their doubts with each other, the teacher remained silent, not attempting to clarify or change her example. Once the students had quieted down, she had them repeat the conjugations after her together as a group, and then one by one, the same as in the first-level class. This meant that all conjugations were repeated 22 times, which took a considerable amount of class time. About midway through this pronunciation exercise, the instructor stopped them a moment to correct their pronunciation. She insisted that they pronounce the suffix -shan with an extra glide before the a [shian], although the majority of Quechua-speaking students simply said -shan: ‘kashian’ vs. ‘kashan’, which is actually how the word is written. This is a regional variation in pronunciation, but the teacher did not clarify this. When the class was almost through this pronunciation exercise, she interrupted them once again to ask the students to write down their full names for her, because, she said, the person in charge of enrollments could have gotten confused when the students enrolled. After saying this, she finished off the repetition exercise. Several students in this class were native Quechua speakers, and only a few of them were studying Quechua for the first time. The native speakers seemed to be bored with the exercise. They began joking around with each other in Quechua and not paying attention to the lesson. I noticed this

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occurrence frequently in her class, since this was another of the classes that I attended fairly regularly. At one point, one of the native-speaking students told the teacher that the word was not pronounced ‘kashiani’, but ‘kashani’. He had two other native speakers pronounce it as well, to clarify the pronunciation of the -sha suffix. One of them did actually pronounce it ‘kashiani’, the same as the teacher, and the other said ‘kashani’ like the student who had asked them to pronounce it. Another interesting occurrence in the class was that the Spanishspeaking students had a difficult time with the [sh] sound of the suffix, since this is not a sound that exists in Spanish. They kept attempting to pronounce it [ch], and another discussion ensued with the teacher regarding this phenomenon. After these two little discussions, the teacher changed topics to the past progressive. She wrote the suffixes on the blackboard, and read them aloud. In Quechua there is an inclusive and an exclusive form of the pronoun ‘we’. Although the teacher presented the two pronouns, she did not explain the difference between inclusive and exclusive, which in Quechua is a crucial difference. This time when she began to recite examples of the past progressive, she pronounced the suffix [sha] and not [shia]. This resulted in students also pronouncing it inconsistently. Furthermore, the Spanish-speaking students again pronounced [cha] instead of [sha], but by the end, after considerable effort, they finally managed to at least approximate the correct sound. After having the class practice the past progressive collectively once or twice, she immediately moved on to the future progressive, again with no transition between subjects and with no explanation of the structure or its grammatical uses. As with the previous tense, she wrote the above examples on the board and had the students recite all of the forms a couple of times together as a class. This time, she did not pick out individual students to recite them one by one. She wrapped up the future progressive before moving on to a dictation exercise: Esto es lo que hemos confirmado, los progresivos del verbo ser y estar. Ahora tenemos dentro del verbo copulativo existe también el verbo kay pero que está oculto. Está impregnado tanto en el sustantivo como en el adjetivo. Ahora voy a dictar: Imaynanpiqa mana kay simichaqa rihurinchu. Pakasqa hina puririn chayrayku churana -n siqiwan qanllallipi rimay tukuqtin tupachin -mi siqiwan. Qhipapi churana kunka wakipi tukukuqtin. En castellano, en muchos casos el verbo kay dentro de la oración gramatical se encuentra, no necesariamente como kay sino en forma tácita llevando la letra -n cuando la palabra termina en vocal y -mi cuando termina en consonante. Qhawarichiqkuna. Payqa allin sipasmi. Así como vemos en este ejemplo termina en consonante. Sipas, no cierto. A este sipas vamos a aumentar este morfena -mi. En ninguna parte encontramos el verbo kay, pero este verbo kay está en -mi.

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Ahora, willakuy, nota. Entonces, ¿cómo vamos a traducir “payqa allin sipasmi”? ‘Ella es buena muchacha’, ‘ella es buena señorita’. El verbo kay está oculto. Si es la segunda, en la segunda persona, si es la tercera, en la tercera persona. Se puede usar esto con todos los pronombres. Nuqanchisqa yachasunchismi runasimita. ¿En qué tiempo está esto? En la primera persona del plural. No solamente con los pronombres podemos realizar, sino con otros verbos con todo podemos realizar aquí. ‘Nosotros vamos a aprender quechua’. El verbo kay está quí. ‘Nosotros estaremos aprendiendo quechua’. El verbo kay significa ‘ser, estar, haber, existir’. (Fieldnotes, 7 July 2002) (This is what we have shown, the progressives of the verbs ser and estar [‘to be’]. Now we have within the copulative verb, there also exists the verb kay, but it is hidden. It’s embedded within both the subject and the adjective. Now I am going to dictate: Imaynanpiqa mana kay simichaqa rihurinchu. Pakasqa hina puririn chayrayku churana -n siqiwan qanllallipi rimay tukuqtin tupachin -mi siqiwan. Qhipapi churana kunka wakipi tukukuqtin. In Spanish, in many cases the verb kay is found within the grammatical sentence, not necessarily as kay, but as a tacit form carrying the letter -n when the word ends in a vowel and -mi when the word ends in a consonant. Qhawarichiqkuna. Payqa allin sipasmi. As we see in this example, it ends in a consonant. Sipas, right? To this sipas, we are going to add the morpheme -mi. Nowhere do we find the verb kay, but this verb kay is in -mi. Now, willakuy, notice. So how are we going to translate ‘payqa allin sipasmi’? ‘She is a good girl, she is a nice young lady’. The verb kay is hidden. If it [the verb] is the second, in the second person, if it is the third, in the third person. This can be used with all the pronouns. Nuqanchisqa yachasunchismi runasimita. What tense is this in? In the first person plural. We can do this not only with pronouns, but also with other verbs, with anything. ‘We are going to learn Quechua’. The verb kay is here. ‘We will be learning Quechua’. The verb kay means ser, estar [two Spanish equivalents for ‘to be’], ‘there is/are’, ‘to exist’.) As can be seen, she provided no logical transition between the conclusion to her lesson and the following exercise. Nor did she explain the purpose of the dictation exercise before she began; it was only after the fact that I realized that she was providing a review of all the tenses she had just explained. In fact, my first impression was that she was beginning another lesson, this one on the verb kay, ‘to be’.

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After finishing with this explanation on kay, she returned to her original dictation exercise with the following sentence: ‘Wawaywanmi rishan chuqllu mikhuq’. In this case, there arose problems with the verbs mihuy versus mikhuy. At this point, one of the native Quechua-speaking students protested, ‘En cada ciclo que estamos trabajando cada vez nos cambian, nos cambian y al final no sabemos cuál vamos a usar’. (Every term we work with this, and every term it gets changed on us, and in the end, we don’t know which one to use.) The teacher answered: Ya mamacita. Justamente mira. Claro que hay otros que confunden esto. De todas maneras, la explicación es buena, ¿no cierto? Yo mismo hasta hace poquito trabajaba siempre con esto, pero hemos tratado de ir a las comunidades porque a veces es bueno explicar con la grabadora, así hemos estamos yendo. Esto sí no fue en el Congreso, sino por lo que hablan la gente. (Fieldnotes, 7 July 2002) (Yes, dear. Just look. Of course there are others who confuse this. Anyway, the explanation is good, right? I myself, until just recently, always struggled with this, but we’ve tried to go to the communities because sometimes it’s good to explain with a tape recorder, so we’ve been going. Of course, this wasn’t at the conference [i.e. wasn’t a result of conference decisions], it came from how people talk.) Then another student objected that the verb, which the teacher had written ‘mijuy’ on the blackboard, should be written with an’h’. The teacher said that /h/ sounds like /j/ at the beginning of a word, but not in the middle.1 After this brief clarification, she returned to the lesson and dictated a couple more sentences in Quechua and Spanish: Marían chayamusqan Lima llaqtamanta. ‘María había llegado de Lima.’ (Maria had come from Lima.) Joséwanmi añawi huñuq risaq. ‘Con José voy a recoger fruta.’ (With José I am going to gather fruit.) ‘¿No se dice ‘pallamusaq’?’ (Shouldn’t it be ‘pallamusaq’?) questioned a native Quechua speaker in an undervoice so the teacher couldn’t hear. The student was correct, because pallay is the more commonly used verb. But the teacher was also correct; she had simply chosen a verb that was not as commonly used in that particular context. Since the teacher didn’t hear the student’s question, however, she didn’t clarify this, and continued with her dictations: Chakraypaqmi wanuta apashani. ‘Para mi chacra estoy llevando guano.’ (I am bringing fertilizer for my field [of crops].)

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Chakraypaqmi wanuta apamurqani. ‘Para mi chacra he traído guano.’ (I have brought fertilizer for my field [of crops].) These sentences were meant as practice for the students to write all the different tenses we had just recited orally in class, but the teacher didn’t explain that to the students. At first glance, there appeared to be no rhyme or reason to her choice of dictated sentences. Those who were studying Quechua for the first time seemed very confused by the exercise and were struggling to write the sentences. The native Quechua speakers didn’t have the same trouble, but still seemed not to understand the point of what they were doing, and exhibited rather disgusted reactions towards the dictations (Fieldnotes, 7 July 2002). The teacher mixed verb tenses mechanically without giving context or explanation for them, and moved from one topic or activity to another with no transitions. This made the lesson rather difficult to follow. Her manner of mixing them was also unsystematic and her explanations in answer to students’ questions were neither clear nor convincing, giving the impression that she really did not have a strong grasp of Quechua grammar, of basic dialectology and phonology, or of teaching methodology. This impression was furthered when she referred to verb tenses when what she meant was person and number agreement: ‘What tense is this in? In the first person plural’.

Sixth Level Quechua Class (Advanced) The sixth level class is technically known as Instruction in Research Methodology, and according to the syllabus, it includes theoretical conception of methodology, stages of methodology and practical design of research projects. In the five or six classes at this level in which I was invited to participate, I witnessed no discussion of anything that appeared to be related to these topics or to research methods at all. Rather, the majority of these classes focused on coining neologisms and advanced intensive grammar review as related to morphology, as well as simple memorization of the grammatical terms that were published in the book on Quechua morphology that formed the basis of the Quechua classes (*Herencia Fernández, 2000). The class presented below took place at the main office of the HAQL. The classroom provided a nice atmosphere, especially as compared with the QTCHAQL. It even boasted a whiteboard rather than a blackboard. Unlike the classrooms in Chaparro, there were enough desks for all of the students and there was no overcrowding. There were only 15 students in this class, all of whom were native bilinguals of Quechua and Spanish. The one disadvantage to this space was that, being in the main office, there were numerous

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interruptions. These ranged from incoming telephone calls and faxes to people interrupting the class looking for the instructor for various reasons, owing to his position in the Board of Directors of the Academy. These interruptions cut into class time, which effectively made these classes shorter than those at other levels, even though they technically met for the same number of contact hours. On this particular day, class started 15 minutes late. The instructor began the class in Quechua, and in fact conducted part of the class in Quechua. He switched to Spanish a very short time later when he began his demonstration of coining grammar terminology: Ahora acuñemos algunos términos en quechua: Nisqanta rimaq = Semántica. Runasimi nisqanta rimaq = semántica quechua. Qhiswa simi nisqanta rimaq utaq runasimi nisqanta rimaq = semántica quechua. Se discutió mucho sobre la diferencia entre qhiswa y runasimi. Unos estaban a favor de qhiswa y otros del runasimi. A final, acordaron utilizar tanto qhiswa como runasimi. Kunanqa rimasunchis runasimi siq’i yapaykunamanta. Much’a-na-ya-kapusha-sqa-nkichis-puni-raq-chu-s. Rikhusqanchisqa hina huk rimaypa qhipallanpi askha sipakunawan yapakushan, chupanchakushan. [. . .] Con esto la Academia, tal como dijo un miembro, está tratando de crear su propia estructura gramatical. Esta es una escuela y ya tenemos gente que está hablando en el mismo lenguaje. [. . .] Estas mismas escuelas que tenemos están enseñando en todas las filiales. Ya les dije que cuando vaya a Chalhuanca voy a enseñarles a hablar así perfectamente. Estamos formando hermano un ejército de profesionales. Eso estamos armando. (Fieldnotes, Sixth level Quechua class, 16 August, 2002) (Now let’s coin some terms in Quechua: Nisqanta rimaq = ‘semantics’. Runasimi nisqanta rimaq = ‘Quechua semantics’. Qhiswa simi nisqanta rimaq utaq runasimi nisqanta rimaq = ‘Quechua semantics’. We spent a lot of time discussing the difference between qhiswa and runasimi. Some were in favor of qhiswa and others of runasimi. Finally, they agreed to use both qhiswa and runasimi. Now we are going to talk about Quechua morphology. Much’a-na-yakapu-sha-sqa-nkichis-puni-raq-chu-s. As we had seen, after a word there are many roots that are added to it and follow it like a tail. [. . .]

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With this, the Academy, as one member said, is attempting to create its own grammatical structure. This is a school and we already have people who are speaking the same language. [. . .] These same schools that we have are teaching in all the branches. I already told them that when I go to Chalhuanca, I am going to teach them to speak like this, perfectly. Brothers, we are training an army of professionals. That is what we are doing.) Here it can be noted how the instructor subtly inserts his ideological orientation into his class lectures. This teacher was particularly good at this kind of thing, making effective use of metaphors to make his points. In some instances, such as in the passage below, he is more overt with his promotion of the Academy and its abilities, as well as his apparent disdain for certain individuals considered to be persona non grata by the HAQL. Evidently, for him, promoting the ideologies of the Academy is as natural as teaching, and thus comes through easily in his teaching. His immediate return from his ideological digression to the lesson on Quechua morphology terminology seems to highlight this: Entonces ahora vamos a entrar en la categoría gramatical: Runasiminchispiqa manan mayqin rimaypas kuyurinchu. Imayman mallkip sapin kuyurinchu hinallataqmi mana kuyurinchu imamanpis. Chaymi chayqa hatun kamachikuy. En quechua no existen verbos auxiliares. Todo es a través de la morfología. (Fieldnotes, Sixth level Quechua class, 16 August 2002) (So now we are going to begin [talking about] grammatical categories: in our Quechua [language] no word moves. Just like the roots of a tree, it does not go anywhere. That is why this is the main rule. Auxiliary verbs do not exist in Quechua. Everything is [done] through morphology.) This was where the class ended. He didn’t add any words to sum up the lesson, or assign any homework except to continue studying and reviewing. From these details, it can be seen that the basic class format is the same as the others, and is a very teacher-centered class. Students were given very little opportunity to demonstrate their own learning. In this particular class, there was no student participation, even to ask questions or repeat after the instructor. They simply listened and took notes. It also bears noting that this teacher had a tendency to speak metaphorically, particularly when he spoke in Quechua. Often these parts of his explanations did not make sense, nor sometimes did they seem to bear any relation to the point he was explaining in Spanish. In fact, at one point, the Quechua that he spoke was so difficult and convoluted that I could make no sense of what he wanted to say. This exemplifies how difficult the Academy’s sociolect is to understand.

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There were three major differences between this class and the others. The first was that in this class, at least part of the class was conducted in Quechua. The second was that this instructor clearly had an understanding of Quechua grammar and morphology, although his ability to communicate it clearly didn’t match his understanding. Finally, his tangents and asides were much more radically ideological than those of the other two teachers.

In Summary: Acquisition Efforts It seems safe to say that the main contribution that the HAQL has made in recent decades to the preservation and revitalization of Quechua is related to the category of acquisition planning. More than any other effort in which they have engaged, teaching Quechua is what puts them in the public eye and brings in the income to keep them operating. They do teach a lot of Quechua classes, and they do turn out a fair number of graduates. Their goal, in the words of one HAQL member, is essentially to teach pride in the Quechua language and culture, through the teaching of the language itself at all educational levels. This is a laudable goal, and if one looks at sheer numbers of graduates from their courses, they could be said to be achieving a considerable measure of success in promoting and spreading the language. However, there are more accurate ways to measure success in acquisition planning than mere numbers of graduates. Actual fluency achieved is one of them. Many of the older, top-ranking members of the HAQL are quite fluent, and in fact a few are native-speaking bilinguals. However, the majority of the members are graduates of the program, and the fluency of those who did not come into the program already speaking Quechua – that is, those who came in as second-language learners – left much to be desired. Given that the pool of teachers for the Quechua courses comes from the Full Members of the HAQL, this lack of fluency is cause for concern regarding the future quality of their teaching program. There is already some reason to doubt the program’s effectiveness, given the current teachers’ lack of pedagogical training and the lack of fluency achieved by the current graduates. Of course, there is always hope from the students who already speak Quechua, who presumably took the classes to either learn to write or to improve the skills they already had. And in fact, these students are quite fluent in Quechua, so if their understanding of the workings of Quechua grammar is sufficient to be able to explain it to new students, these would be the ideal candidates for the teacher pool. These are the students most likely to be groomed for teaching positions, not the second-language learners. The major drawback to developing fluency lies in the pedagogical approach used in the program. The very teacher-centered style, with little conversational interaction with students, may help them learn vocabulary

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and the mechanics of the grammatical system, but it doesn’t give them any real opportunity to actually practice speaking in an authentic way. And in the lessons where teachers tried to save time by writing out vocabulary on the board and reading the words once for the students before telling them to practice the words at home, it also did not give the students the opportunity to practice pronunciation of the words even once under the guidance of the teacher. The similarity of the formats for the three classes is quite obvious, confirming that the HAQL espouses a grammar-translation methodology. Although teaching grammar and translation may be useful to a certain point, it should not be the only approach used in a language teaching situation where real communication is the ultimate goal (Buszard-Welcher, 2001: 341). Other aspects of their teaching and curriculum also point up their lack of familiarity with pedagogical research or with contemporary teaching methodologies. For example, the teacher-centeredness of the classes and lack of group work denies the students collaborative and cooperative learning opportunities. The lack of a mix of methodologies and teaching approaches (the so-called eclectic approach) makes the teaching a one-size-fits-all affair, not taking into account the possibility of different learning styles. The use of rote memorization and completely mechanical practice exercises, rather than encouraging pragmatic, sociolinguistic and communicative competence, may build vocabulary and abstract knowledge of the grammar, but does not encourage fluency. And the evaluation procedures, the exams, were not sufficient to accurately evaluate students’ practical learning. I had a great deal of personal interaction with Associate and junior Full Members on a daily basis. These, of course, were all graduates of the Academy’s program. In trying to entice them into conversation in Quechua, I often noted how many of the graduates actually seemed uncomfortable trying to speak it and avoided using it. I view this as some small evidence of the failure of the educational program to achieve its stated goals of producing more Quechua speakers and helping to spread and revitalize the language. On a more pragmatic level, many of the students had no previous knowledge of Quechua before starting this program, and need to be able to truly speak the language if they want to work in the rural communities where it may be their only hope of finding a job. That means they need at least as much emphasis on speaking and listening skills as on reading and writing skills, and perhaps more. The way the HAQL teaches Quechua, means these oral skills are what they are least likely to gain with any fluency. Thus, in reality, the HAQL is not serving the needs of their clientele with the structure and methodology they use in their courses and their insistence on a sociolect that is not spoken or even understood in the rural zones. The graduates may have a diploma, which is enough to get them the job initially, but they still will not have the competence to communicate with their clients in the rural communities, which could eventually lose

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them their jobs. At the very least, they will have to struggle greatly in their first months on the job to understand and make themselves understood, before they start learning the linguistic variety of the people with whom they are working. Regarding the evaluation procedures, the exams are a reflection of the teaching methodology used for the courses. That is, they test rote, mechanical skills, vocabulary in isolation from context, knowledge of but not ability to apply grammar by focusing on grammar, morphology, vocabulary and short translations using the HAQL’s academic sociolect. In addition, there is no oral or listening component to the final exams, so all four of the basic communication skills, as well as essential communicative and pragmatic competencies are not fully assessed. Thus, the students are not evaluated in any meaningful communicative way. This runs counter to current pedagogical theory for second language acquisition, and could hinder an accurate evaluation of the useful learning that has actually taken place and the fluency achieved by the students. A final consideration in the effectiveness of teaching and learning is the student’s level of receptivity to the material being taught. Contemporary theory considers a concept known as the affective filter to be a critical factor for effective learning to take place. This is essentially a person’s psychological receptivity to learning; the higher the affective filter, the more negative emotional and motivational factors are interfering with the learning process (Krashen, 1981: 21–22). It can be influenced by a wide range of factors, from the physical learning environment, to class size and teacher involvement with students, to learners’ attitudes and emotions in general or towards the specific class or subject matter. Affective filter is something that neither the administration nor the instructors seemed to take into account. The physical environment of the classes is a prime example of this. The street on which the Centro de Enseñanza is located is a narrow street, poorly lit and the building is in desperate need of repair. There is not even a bathroom or running water in the building, and the second-story floors, where the HAQL has its classrooms, are so old and in such bad condition that one might easily put a foot through the floorboards in several places. It is likely that given the straitened financial circumstances of the HAQL, this is the best they could afford, and they do not have sufficient resources to make even the most essential of necessary repairs on the building. Most, though not all, of the Quechua classes are taught in this building. Some have other venues available to them: Hay muchos profesionales que trabajan y ellos solicitan, piden y dicen, “hágannos el favor de dictarnos en nuestras horas que no sean horas de trabajo”, ¿no? Entonces, ellos dicen, “tenemos en nuestro trabajo un local donde de repente ahí nos mandan a un profesor y nos puede dictar.” En el caso del Instituto Nacional de Cultura se está haciendo eso. De la Academia ha ido un profesor y ahí está

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dictando, ¿no? En un local amplio, elegante, cómodo para ellos y así una cosa que no haiga mucha bulla. (L. Saco, Associate Member, Tape HAQL 1B) (There are many professionals who work and they come to us saying, ‘Do us a favor and teach us [Quechua] outside of our work hours’, you know? Then they say, ‘We have a room at our job where maybe you could send an instructor to teach us’. This is what they’re doing at the National Institute of Culture. A teacher went from the Academy and he’s teaching there, you know? In a big, fancy room, comfortable and quiet for everyone, where there’s not a lot of noise.) Ms Saco specifically mentioned the nice, quiet, comfortable classroom that the National Institute of Culture provided for their employees. Although no one I interviewed commented on the surroundings at the QTCHAQL, it does seem noteworthy that a recently graduated student would so specifically detail the luxurious surroundings of a classroom situation at another site. Such an observation highlights the contrast between what many students must have known was available elsewhere – being professionals who worked in these other environments – and where they were studying. Thus, the poor condition of the QTCHAQL establishes a rather depressing atmosphere in which to hold classes. Although the HAQL may not have had many options in locations, it still must be recognized that such an atmosphere may have an impact on the students’ psychological receptivity, putting them at a subconscious disadvantage from the start. In addition, at least in the first- and second-term classes, the classrooms were full beyond capacity, with students crowded around the walls and sitting on the floor when there were no more seats available. The run-down ambience and the overcrowded classrooms both lent an air of quiet desperation to the classes, which I felt as soon as I entered the room, and which seemed to have an impact on the attitudes of the students. Although they seemed somewhat interested in the material, they were not particularly active. After all, it is difficult to be enthusiastic about learning something when you have to worry about getting mugged on the way to class, and you cannot be sure of finding a seat in the classroom once you arrive, or even of being able to cross the room without putting your foot through the floor. Most of the students in these classes come from the professional associations with which the HAQL has its contracts, so they are probably accustomed to much more elegant – not to mention safer – surroundings, thus influencing the affective filter even more. As a matter of curiosity, I visited a number of other Quechua teaching institutes while in Cuzco, and in all cases, the physical environment where classes were held was much more conducive to comfort and security. This includes neighborhood, condition of the building and arrangement of the individual classrooms. Although I did no formal student attitude surveys, certainly their behavior in the classroom

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indicated that they were not fully engaged with the lessons, which definitely has an impact on quality and quantity of learning that occurs. It should be noted that this analysis of the Academy’s pedagogy is based solely on the classes I observed that were offered through the Cuzco-based HAQL. It would be interesting to be able to participate in some classes offered at different regional affiliates to see if they follow the same pattern, given that the teachers in those branches are products of the QTCHAQL. One detail that differs in some cases is the dialect taught at the affiliates. I know from having spoken to a number of visiting representatives of affiliates in P’isaq and Ayacucho that some branches do teach their own regional dialects in their language classes. Since these are the varieties spoken in those regions, teaching those varieties makes the most sense and is the most likely to have a positive impact on maintenance or revitalization in their respective zones. However, in the regions where the affiliates are manned by members transplanted from the Cuzco area, the dialect taught is qhapaq simi. This could create confusion among both bilinguals and monolinguals in that region, since the people in those communities already have their own varieties. In the end, the fact remains that the HAQL’s teaching efforts are still limited in geographic scope, primarily to the Cuzco metropolitan area. Given the Academy’s conflictive relationship with institutions at the federal level, they have not been able to make headway on their more ambitious goals of influencing Quechua education nationally. Their efforts and contributions have been limited to the local spheres of Cuzco and the other regions where branch affiliations exist. And given all the numerous factors discussed in this chapter, their contribution to maintaining or expanding language use in any real, functional way is in serious doubt.

Note (1) This point requires some special clarification. For quite a while, the HAQL’s recognized alphabet did not include the /j/, but at the 2004 Third World Conference of Quechua, they modified it to include /j/ as a ‘special intermediate consonant’, which apparently means that the consonant is only used within words between vowels, but not in word-beginning or word-final position (Conclusiones del Tercer Congreso Mundial, 2004).

15 Where Do We Go From Here? Final Thoughts and Recommendations

HAQL and Language Policy and Planning in Peru The High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) has been active over the nearly 60 years of its existence in all three areas of language planning: status, corpus and acquisition planning. They have organized numerous conferences, produced a variety of publications, taught Quechua to thousands of students and done their best to influence public policy regarding Quechua. Now the ultimate question remains: have they been an effective vector of maintenance and revitalization of the Quechua language? In Chapter 3, I examined a number of language academies around the world to develop an idea of the functions such institutions typically serve. It is helpful now to briefly compare the HAQL with other such institutions to determine whether and how it fits into the general paradigm of language academies. Based on the information available, there appears to be a pattern of emphasis among language academies on corpus planning, at least once the academies are well established, the languages widely recognized and the right to their existence uncontested. In the case of some of the Indigenous language academies, as well as Euskaltzaindia, the Royal Academy of the Basque Language, there is also a focus on status planning, with efforts to promote literary and sometimes academic activity in the language. However, according to Nahir (1974: 8–98), even at the outset of the existence of some of the older institutions, such as the French, Spanish and Italian academies, their emphasis was more on linguistic purism, a function of corpus planning, than on any other role in language planning. While some of their activities might influence other spheres of language planning, their main efforts are thus primarily geared towards corpus planning. 246

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The HAQL of Cuzco also began its existence with a purifying function (Niño-Murcia, 1997: 134–135), even if that does not continue to be its prime function today. Granted, it continues its attempts to purify the language, but it also now devotes as much time – if not more – to status and acquisition activities. In this regard, it is unlike many of the other academies mentioned. It actively attempts to promote the use of Quechua in new functional domains, which is in the realm of status planning. Consider, for instance, its annual competitions for new literary works in Quechua, and the books and journals it publishes about the language. The Quechua classes it offers also clearly bring the Academy into the acquisition arena. Such work would seem to indicate that they are indeed fulfilling their Statutes. As this study has documented, however, the HAQL has suffered over the years from a lack of effective implementation of its language policy and planning (LPP) initiatives and plans. They are not entirely to blame for this. Owing to their lack of official recognition or authorization to act from the federal government, they have always suffered from a lack of funding to implement any activities, and furthermore have lacked the more wide-reaching infrastructure that federal support could give them. In short, they have neither clout nor budget. At the same time, they must accept some of the blame for this failure, since they failed to follow through on some of the steps the government required of them to be included in the federal infrastructure. As of July 2013, even though the HAQL has been incorporated as part of the Ministry of Culture since 2010, they still had not received any funding from the Federal Government, continuing their uncertain status and future. At a more internal level, some of their failure to achieve their goals must also be laid at the door of their strategic planning processes. In short, they appear not to have any: none of the information I obtained gave any indication of setting specific, explicit objectives to be met or timelines within which to meet them. Such goals and objectives are listed in their Statutes, but in their day-to-day operations and meetings, there was never any evidence of short-term planning and goal-setting for implementing and evaluating their programs and projects. Added up with the specific shortcomings addressed in previous chapters, a picture emerges, not of an academy operated by professionals with training for the tasks they seek to undertake, but of a club of Quechua aficionados with unshakeable ideological underpinnings that feed high-sounding plans, but with a lack of adequate preparation to carry them out.

Recommendations and Suggestions for the HAQL In summary, the HAQL has carried out a number of projects, initiatives and efforts that have been aimed towards meeting their statutory goals and objectives for maintaining and revitalizing Quechua. Some of these, such as

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the local and regional status planning activities in and around Cuzco discussed in Chapter 10, have achieved their proposed goal of bringing more attention to the language and making people more aware of the importance of the culture. A number of their other activities, on the other hand, have been so driven by and impregnated with their Cuzco-centric, Inca-centric, HAQLcentric ideologies that they have only served to antagonize and alienate other potential allies, collaborators and even whole regions of native speakers. The first and foremost suggestion, then, to help the Academy improve its image and its acceptance by other language planners and educational agencies, is to be more flexible and more open to outsiders. Such a course of action would actually be following through on the discourse of acceptance that they included in a number of their conference conclusions, and would also increase the chances of success for maintaining and revitalizing Quechua. Grenoble and Whaley emphasize the necessity of collaboration by many interested parties, not least of which is the speech community in question: A revitalization program must begin with an honest assessment of human resources. Speakers are not just an important sign of the language’s vitality; they are critical for teaching the language and for helping create new domains for its use. In addition to speakers, a revitalization program needs committed, energetic people to implement it and to support it for many years. [. . .] With successful programs, community members are often able to name key individuals whose efforts have made the program possible. It cannot be overemphasized that this effort needs to come from within the community itself. External human resources, such as linguists, professional pedagogues, teacher-trainers, and language planners can be brought in to assist the community. In fact, depending on the levels of existing language resources, they may be essential, but these external sources cannot provide the core of support necessary to create and sustain a revitalization program. (Grenoble & Whaley, 2006: 41) According to this, then, the Academy has little hope of achieving its goals without seeking not only support and impetus from within the communities it claims to serve, but also expertise and training from authorities with more background in linguistics and LPP than its members have. This means the members need to be willing to recognize their own weaknesses and accept help in strengthening those areas, such as linguistic and pedagogical training. They need to become aware of the difference that exists between spoken and written language, as well as to learn the intricacies of Quechua dialectology. Perhaps there is some hope for a change in the thinking of the HAQL. Recall, for instance, the discussion in which a younger member suggested

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that perhaps it was time to start recognizing the validity of the three-vowel alphabet, and not rejecting out of hand the work of those who use it. Certainly a number of specialists from outside the HAQL feel that such a loosening of their rigid stances, in more areas than just the alphabet question, would be not only to the Academy’s benefit, but to everyone’s. It would also reopen the door to collaboration of the truest sort, as that between equals, not only with other professional organizations, but with the communities themselves. Heggarty made a much more specific recommendation, based on his own inside observations of the hierarchy and politics within the HAQL: All that is really needed is a change in the people at the top, most of the members of the old guard who jealously guard their positions of ‘status’ there, and seem to rank this a much higher priority than the promotion of the Quechua the Academy purportedly exists to serve. Inside the Academy is all personal politics, and this dictates its behavior and positions on most linguistic issues far more than the needs of Quechua: the alphabet question is one good example. I’m fairly sure that some of the ruling clique are indeed aware that there are huge problems with their five-vowel proposals, but cannot own up to it because they’d lose too much face to admit of any possibility of an alternative to their Academy’s proscriptive ‘norm.’ How likely is a change at the top? Well, an attempt was made in the late 1990s to try to get a linguist voted as president of the Academy, but narrowly failed due to a marshalling of connections by the old guard to maintain their own control over the institution. This could perhaps succeed in the future, though managing it would take a concerted campaign of persuasion to get enough people to vote in favor of a very different president to the ones now in high positions in the Academy. I find this unlikely, not least because after the failure of the last attempt, most of the members active in trying to achieve such a change lost heart and stopped attending the Academy. This is a vicious circle, and perpetuates the ruling group. Moreover, it may well be that just a change of president might not be enough, many of the old guard in positions of ‘authority’ would have to change too. Alternative scenarios are perhaps that the ruling clique eventually all get so old that they lose influence and control, or a concerted campaign to get a host of new members to join, members who would turn out to vote for a different president. (Heggarty, Interview, 20 December 2002) Given the observations of these various people and my own perceptions of the possibility of an ideological shift within the HAQL, perhaps there is still hope that the Academy can begin to move slowly away from its previous

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rigidly held ideologies. That would be the best move of all to insure both the HAQL’s survival and its ability to make a greater contribution to Quechua maintenance and revitalization. Together with such internal changes, the Academy should not seek to impose all its beliefs and ideologies in the other countries where it attempts to be active. Rather, it should act more as a diplomatic institution to enhance its efforts in the other Andean countries. Each country already has its own laws, systems and ways of doing things that likely work well for them. They are independent nations that are no longer part of the Inca Empire, an entity that belongs to the ancient past. The HAQL needs to accept that each country has undertaken its own efforts, and they each have their own objectives regarding Quechua, as well as their own experts. Rather than imposing, once again, they should seek collaboration and collegiality to work together with all the language planning agents who work in those countries. In a slightly different direction, perhaps the HAQL could consider the question of whether they want to be a language academy in the sense of other official academies such as those discussed in Chapter 3, or whether they could better serve the cause of Quechua maintenance and revitalization by concentrating their energies more on being a language school. Given the chronic lack of funding and their self-imposed isolation from other language planning efforts, perhaps the HAQL is attempting to spread itself too thin in attempting to be all things to all people. Such a decision – to limit the direction of their efforts – should not be taken lightly. They would need to be very realistic about their abilities and their knowledge base, and very concrete in their objectives. On one hand, since so much of their effort is directed to their Quechua classes, and that is the income-producing arm of the Academy in any event, perhaps it would make sense for them to concentrate solely on teaching Quechua classes. This would imply, however, that they bring themselves up to date on teaching methodologies and make sure that all of the teachers are adequately trained in Quechua grammar. On the other hand, when I talked to a number of people both within and outside of the Academy regarding what would make them a more effective organization, very few people mentioned their teaching at all. Most of them concentrated on the more external activities that tend to put the HAQL in the public eye, such as this comment by Ana Paredes of CADEP, a regional NGO: En buena medida lo que sería muy bueno para la Academia, más allá de ponernos de acuerdo o no en cuanto a las vocales, más bien que se articule más con esas instancias que están tratando de desarrollar el quechua para conectar con las otras acciones estratégicas. Por ejemplo, el uso en las radios, la valoración de la lengua, la actitud del entorno del contexto de los sujetos de los hablantes y los no

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hablantes respecto al idioma. Creo que en ese aspecto hay que trabajar muchísimo, ¿no? No podemos centrarnos solamente en el aspecto gramatical. Los más radicales son las personas de mayor edad también. Ya no es cuestión solamente de vocales y de consonantes, sino que hay que trabajar, tratar de construir un contexto más favorable hacia la cultura porque esto de la pobreza ya no es cuestión de gramática. Hay gente que cuando oyen hablar quechua, inmediatamente asocian pobreza, delincuencia, migración, fracaso escolar, subestimación a la persona. Hay que articular la propuesta de la lengua con una propuesta política en el contexto social. (Tape MOI 5B) (In large part, what would be very good for the Academy, beyond agreeing or not on the vowels, would be for them to join themselves more with those institutions that are trying to develop Quechua, to connect with other strategic actions. For example, its use in radio, valorizing the language, the attitudes towards Quechua of the users and non-users of the language in its contextual surroundings. I think that in that regard there is much work to be done, you know? We can’t concentrate only on the grammatical aspect. The most radical ones are also the oldest ones. It is no longer a question simply of vowels and consonants, but of working, trying to construct a context more favorable to the culture, because poverty is not a question of grammar. There are people who when they hear Quechua spoken, immediately associate it with poverty, crime, migration, academic failure, underestimation of the person [who speaks it]. We need to articulate the linguistic proposal with a political proposal in the social context.) Such perceptions by outsiders would make it seem that many have the expectation that the HAQL behave more like an actual language academy than simply a language school. To do this, they must involve all sectors and vectors of society, including the owners and users of the language themselves. All the existing efforts should be linked and unified. They need to respect and take into account the top-down and bottom-up efforts undertaken both nationally and internationally, and count on a highly trained intellectual team, as their name suggests (‘High’ Academy). This team would preferably be interdisciplinary, and would necessarily include linguists and receive collaboration and advice from national and international experts. Likewise, a team of Quechua-speaking experts needs to be trained, similar to members of the Academy of the Mayan Languages. Otherwise, the users of the language will not be able to participate effectively in the technical and linguistic questions that need to be resolved. In any event, whether the HAQL decides to narrow its focus to either a language academy’s function or that of a language school, or decides to continue in both directions, it remains clear that if it wants to become truly effective in maintaining and revitalizing Quechua, it needs to remove itself

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from isolation, reach out to other experts and organizations, and modify its aggressively Cuzco-centric and Inca-centric stance. As Marr notes: to try to encourage young Peruvians to speak Quechua on account of the greatness of the Incas is self-defeating: what young speakers quite understandably question is not the historical legitimacy of the language, but its relevance and status in the present. (Marr, 1998: 223, emphasis in original) Thus, even the very tenet underlying the HAQL’s ideologies may be working against the Academy, and needs to be reconsidered if the real aim is to attract more people to speak the language.

Local and Global Implications of the Study This investigation has focused on the work of a single language planning entity, the HAQL, in trying to contribute to the maintenance and revitalization of Quechua. In reality, one would have to say that the study provides a more cautionary lesson on what not to do to achieve a certain degree of success in such an endeavor, than it does exemplary lessons on how to achieve that goal. In fact, at the national level the other two major Andean countries, Bolivia and Ecuador, have made more coordinated, coherent and successful efforts at language standardization, maintenance and revitalization than has Peru, thus providing better examples of what to do to succeed in preserving Quechua, or any diglossic or endangered language. In all fairness, this lack in Peru cannot be solely blamed on the HAQL, since such efforts also necessarily include the federal government and the Ministry of Education. According to Cerrón-Palomino (personal communication, 5 January 2007), among others, in truth ‘there is no room for linguistic coexistence [and] it is difficult to expect any kind of linguistic vindication; thus, any project in such a direction remains purely in the territory of rhetoric and good intentions’. This point needs to be remembered regardless of what organization is under discussion. Despite a wealth of rhetoric regarding valorization of the country’s multi-ethnic and plurilingual heritage, the de facto reality is that these multiple heritages are not valued by society as a whole, and any federal decrees that may be produced are not strongly enforced. Even so, there are lessons that can be learned from the HAQL’s experiences, and these lessons can be applied in a variety of sociopolitical situations around the globe. The major lesson to be learned is that teamwork is key in any such undertaking: Language planning, to be effective, must include other types of social planning: altering institutions and appointing change agents— educational, religious, or political—to bring about changes in culture,

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material and nonmaterial, and systems of social interactions. Planned language spread […] depends upon shifts in other areas of behavior. (Heath, 1976: 16) This means that a number of different fields of expertise involving both macrolevel and microlevel issues, not only linguistics and language planning, must necessarily be involved. Macrolevel issues include such things as ‘governmental support for a local language or lack thereof, national language planning and education goals, attitudes towards bilingualism, and so on [. . .] Microlevel issues, in contrast, are those which involve the demographics, attitudes, cultural practices, and circumstances of a local speech community’ (Grenoble & Whaley, 2006: 22). These lists give an idea of the different specialties that will need to be involved. However, if one individual or group begins to push themselves forward over all the others, the effort could be doomed to failure, or at best minimal individual successes. There is no room for egos to take over if the effort is to be a success. History has borne out this basic tenet time and time again: witness the successful ‘divide and conquer’ tactical strategy. And the truth of Abraham Lincoln’s famous words, ‘United we stand, divided we fall’, has been proven repeatedly in any number of world situations. Furthermore, any such work must also be engaged upon with solid interest, participation and collaboration from the population most nearly affected by it: in this case, the Quechua-speaking communities themselves – or whichever speech community is under consideration in other parts of the world (see Eggington, 2002). Numerous researchers over a span of decades have confirmed the value of this spirit of collaboration and participation, and that experience has been borne out, in a negative sense, in the case of the HAQL. A corollary to the lesson of teamwork is that each group or individual must recognize their own areas of expertise – and therefore, the areas in which they also lack expertise – and be willing to work within those areas. Thus, language teaching should be left to those who both know the language and understand pedagogy. Promotion of cultural activities should be done by those who understand and appreciate the culture and who have connections to sources that can publicize such events. Language policy should be carried out by linguists and language planning agencies, whether these be Indigenous activists with training in these areas or outsiders with a fine understanding of the issues involved. In short, specialization from an interdisciplinary perspective is necessary together with the teamwork. A deep love for and dedication to the language and culture is a necessary but insufficient condition. Expertise is also required. A final lesson is that maintenance or revitalization needs to stem from practical causes, not ideological ones. That is, why is Quechua relevant and important today? The glorious Inca past may be completely justified and

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worthy, but it does not serve any useful, practical purpose for the people of today who find themselves shunned because of their linguistic link to that long-ago culture. Give them and the rest of society a good reason why Quechua is useful and practical today, and you will be more likely to convince them to learn it and use it. This argument applies not only to the native Quechua speakers. It is also true of the Spanish speakers who need to learn the value of the Quechua language, as well as learning to speak it. It must not be forgotten that the teaching and daily use of Quechua is not only for bilingual Spanish–Quechua speakers. It must also be directed at the monolingual Spanish speakers (Quechua as a second language) who live in the big cities. Remember, for example, that owing to immigration from the sierra over the last half century or so, the Lima metropolitan area is now considered to be one of the largest Quechua-speaking zones in the country. Thus, focusing on monolingual Spanish-speaking populations is an area where language planning efforts need to be directed. All of these elements need to be coordinated somehow. It is entirely possible that some form of Academy of Quechua will ultimately come into being that can serve this purpose, but it would have to be composed of intellectuals, scholars and language experts trained in linguistics and language planning. Moreover, these individuals would need to be able to submerge their own personal ideologies and egos to the greater good, to be able to work together with members of the native communities (the real owners of the language), the different sectors of society and a wide range of institutions, organizations, individuals and populations. In other words, top-down and bottom-up efforts and initiatives from multiple perspectives need to be articulated. At the same time, the efforts need to be recognized, authorized and supported by local and national governments, and incorporated into the economic infrastructure of the country, thereby gaining the financial resources necessary to carry out so much of this work. Other specific elements that should be explicitly taken into account, not only in LPP for Quechua in Peru, but in any LPP situation for an endangered language, are two of the major weaknesses of the HAQL. First, a concrete, goal-oriented action plan with both short- and long-term objectives for implementation needs to be established, together with measures to evaluate the progress being made towards those goals. Second, if language education/ acquisition is to be part of the LPP plan, the language educators must have some formal training in language pedagogy and L1/L2 acquisition theory – and at least an introductory knowledge of (socio)linguistics would be helpful as well. In applying these observations to other global contexts, it must be remembered that we are speaking of a classic diglossic situation, where one language is clearly subordinated to a more dominant one socially, economically and politically. Thus, any implications from this study would likely be

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most relevant to a similarly diglossic situation. That being the case, in general terms, my efforts here at determining the efficacy of a given language academy in such a classically diglossic society could provide ideas and information for planners in other diglossic societies to consider in their own efforts; that is, what worked here, what did not and why. Such analysis could be used in other cases to help them design an effective linguistic institution and understand the relationships within the professional and social communities that the institution would need to build. One subject that particularly strikes me, because of the ferocity with which both sides have defended their positions in the case of Peru, is that of standardization. Perhaps in other countries and other sociolinguistic contexts, such serious conflicts over ideologies for standardizing the written language might not arise, but given human nature, this seems unlikely. In Peru, speakers of some Quechua varieties may feel oppressed, not only by Spanish, but also by the dominant form of southern Quechua, to the point that a sort of double diglossia is being created. This leads to a double dose of linguistic shame, which, as I indicated on pages 70–71, might be driving the extinction of lesser-spoken dialects even faster than might otherwise have been the case. If similar situations are occurring in other diglossic societies, the language planners in those contexts need to be aware of this possible negative rebound effect and try to be more flexible and inclusive, rather than insisting on a specific standardized form in speech as well as writing. A final observation on LPP and its implementation: the advantages of technology, to the degree available, should not be overlooked. This has traditionally been another weakness of the HAQL that I have not examined in this investigation, although I do note that they now have a Facebook presence. Although technology is not necessarily the ultimate answer, and the same degree of technology is not available in all parts of the world, it can be a very useful tool for archiving, teaching, networking and sharing ideas and information, investigating and so on. Media and technology should be taken advantage of to the extent possible in any given situation (see CoronelMolina, 2005, 2012).

Future Directions In the present study, I have undertaken an analysis of the efficacy of a single language academy based in one location. Given some of the interesting allusions I heard during a number of conversations, it seems safe to assume that there are various ideological and practical discrepancies between the HAQL and a few of its branch academies (in particular Ayacucho and P’isaq). It would be interesting to carry out similar ethnographic studies at those branch offices to help shed further light on these distinctions: is there any difference in their approaches to their respective communities of influence

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and in how they are perceived in their regions? Such a comparative study could further elucidate effective (or not) strategies for language planning by a language academy. The same is true of comparative studies between the HAQL and language academies for endangered languages in other parts of the world. Given the apparent success (a perception based solely on the available literature on them) of such academies as the Academy of the Mayan Languages and the Euskaltzaindia, it would be enlightening to discover just how accurate this literature is, whether these academies are achieving as much as they claim to be, and if so, what they are doing differently from the HAQL to achieve success. Such studies would provide more evidence to support the work of language planners, linguists and educational planners in other parts of the world dealing with diglossic situations of endangered languages. It is important to be able to discover successful cases of language planning organizations and understand what they have done, and why, that has made them so successful. This does not mean only language academies, but other language planning agencies as well. Clearly, such organizations exist, and the activities and achievements of a number of them have been documented. It would be helpful (a) for such studies to be more widely available, and (b) for more such studies to be carried out, to broaden the base of information on which other organizations can draw. In this way, language planners can make comparisons of what works and what does not in a given set of circumstances.

Appendix 1: Log of Audio-Recorded Data

A. Interviews with HAQL Members (code: HAQL) Tape #

Interview date

Interviewee name

Relative position in HAQL

1A–B 2A–B 2C–D 2E–G 3A–C 4A–B 5A–B 6A–B 7A–B 8A–B 9A–B 10A–B 11A–B 12A–B 13A–D 14A–D

22 June 2002 23 June 2002 29 June 2002 30 June 2002 1 July 2002 6 July 2002 10 July 2002 25 July 2002 27 July 2002 30 July 2002 31 July 2002 2 August 2002 4 August 2002 8 August 2002 11 August 2002 12 August 2002

Luzmila Saco Pedro Barriga

Associate Member Emeritus Member

Antonio Mojado Saturnina Conde Federico Requena Fabio Peñalosa Esteban Roque Jacinto Pinto Manuel Posada Alberto Mayorga Anselmo Salinas Marcos Condori Eusebio Mamani Romero Piñonate

Junior Full Member Senior Full Member Associate Member Associate Member Senior Full Member Junior Full Member Junior Full Member Senior Full Member Associate Member Associate Member Senior Full Member Emeritus Member

Each tape number represents a single interview, but some interviews filled more than one tape; these are the tape numbers with letters that go beyond sides A and B.

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B. Interviews with Members of Other Institutions (code: MOI) Tape #

Interview date

Interviewee name Affiliation

1A–B 2A–C

18 June 2002 19 June 2002

Rosa Pérez Felix Vargas

3A–C 4A–B 5A–B

24 June 2002 30 June 2002 7 July 2002

6A–B 7A–B 8A–B 9A–B

13 July 2902 14 July 2002 28 July 2002 4 August 2002

10A–B

11 August 2002

11A–B 12A–B 13A–B

17 August 2002 24 August 2002 24 August 2002

Municipalidad de Cuzco Universidad Nacional San Antonio Abad de Cuzco (UNSAAC) Nicanor Serrano Consejo de la Nación Quechua Enrique Soto UNSAAC Ana Paredes Centro Andino de Educación y Promoción ‘José María Arguedas’ (CADEP) Ricardo Pico Instituto Pastoral Andina (IPA) Rigoberto Toro Asociación Pukllasunchis Marcelina Collazo Asociación Pukllasunchis Nicasio Rincón Dirección Regional del Ministerio de Educación Cirilo Alvarado Dirección Regional del Ministerio de Educación Paulina Sicaya Municipalidad de Cuzco Julio Zanabria Instituto Nacional de Cultura María Santa Cruz Centro de Estudios Regionales Andinos Bartolomé de Las Casas (CBC)

C. Interviews with Community Members of Cuzco (code: CM) Tape #

Interview date

Interviewee name

Occupation

1A–B 2A–B 3A–B 4A–B 5A–B 6A–B 7A–B 8A–B 9A–C 10A–B

22 June 2002 16 July 2002 21 July 2002 26 July 2002 28 July 2002 10 August 2002 14 August 2002 17 August 2002 25 August 2002 28 August 2002

Juan Acuña Ernesto Apaza Luisa Contreras Cipriana Choque Fermín Sánchez Mateo Puma Felipe Ventura Santiago Rivera Donato Pino Delia Matos

Tour guide Artist/artisan Elementary school teacher Elementary school teacher Street vendor College student Musician Policeman Librarian Radio announcer

Appendix 1

D. Tape-Recorded Conference, Spontaneous Conversations and Radio Programs in Quechua Tape # Conferences 1A–B 2A–B Spontaneous conversations 1A–B 2A–B 3A–B Radio programs 1A–B 2A–B

Date

Event

28 June 2002

Conference in Urubamba

5 July 2002 16 July 2002 28 June 2002

Socializing in a bar Socializing in a restaurant Making jokes

25 July 2002 29 August 2002

Radio Tawantinsuyu Quechua class Radio Tawantinsuyu Quechua class

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Appendix 2: Publications Associated with the HAQL Related to Status, Corpus and Acquisition Planning

Status planning Inka Rimay 1 (1963)

Poetry, riddles, ‘insults’, drama in Quechua, pp. 71–110, 113–116, 122–127, 131–134, 137–158, 187, 189–192 Transcriptions of two radio programs in Quechua, pp. 165–167

Inka Rimay 2 (1983)

‘La poesía quichua santiagueña’, pp. 17–21; short article about Quechua poetry/short stories in Santiago del Estero, followed by three short children’s stories written in Quechua Poetry (bilingual), pp. 90–104 ‘Asirikunapaq/Para sonreir’ (jokes and riddles in Quechua), pp. 235–239

Inka Rimay 3 (1994)

Concurso de Poesía Quechua/Runasimiman Harawi, pp. 70–80; the poems in Quechua that were entered in the poetry contest, and which ones won

Inka Rimay 4 (1999)

Higidia Torres Escalante, ‘Imas mari imasmari/Adivinanzas’, pp. 92–93; riddles Eugenia Carlos Rios, ‘Paukar t’ika/Leyenda en huch’uyqosqo’, pp. 98–101; bilingual legend Martín Manya Ambur, ‘Agua es vida en el mundo/Kausay unu teqsimuyuntinpaq’, pp. 101–102; list of sentences about the importance of water to life, in Spanish and Quechua; ‘Poema en castellano al agua/Unumanta harawi qheswa simipi’, pp. 102–103

260

Appendix 2

261

Status planning

Inka Rimay 5 (2000)

Inka Rimay 6 (2003)

Publications of Individual HAQL Members (found in Primary Sources of Bibliography)

Teófilo Cárdenas A. (Rumi Ñawi), ‘Harawikunaqa sonqo nunamanta lloqsiqmi, chayrakun harawikunaqa ima pachapas, munaqninpaq imakunapaqpasqelqashanallan’, p. 107; ‘Tuta thantankunapuwan’, p. 108; quechua poems Teófila Vargas de Loayza, ‘Maman/A la madre’, pp. 109–110; bilingual poem Armando Valenzuela Lovon, ‘Inti Raymi: qhapaq kawsay/Inti Raymi: vivencia majestuosa’, pp. 111–114; bilingual poem Bernabé Cardeña Cueva, ‘Qheswa simiman’, p. 115; poem Leandro Herencia F., ‘Llaqtaq takiynin qheswasimi rimanyninpywan, aimaraes llaqtakunapi/La canción popular y su quechua o runasimi en los pueblos de aimaraes-Apurimac’, pp. 62–71; list of various songs in Quechua, with limited commentary bilingually in Quechua and Spanish Carmen Tayriphaq, Jorge Lira, Juana Delgado, ‘Llulla hak’akllumanta willakuy/Del pito mentiroso’, pp. 135–138; bilingual store Corsino Gutierrez, ‘La cultura y el wayno’, pp. 138–142; transcription of some huaynos in Quechua, with introductory comments in Spanish José Aragón Aedo, ‘Canto al lenguaje humano/Runa simi man harawi’, pp. 183–191; poem and reflections on language in Quechua Jesús García Tapia, bilingual poems side by side in Quechua and Spanish; pp. 188–192 Francisco Nina Espinosa, ‘K’ana runa/Hombre caneño’, bilingual poem; p. 193 Ricardo Castro Pinto, ‘La danza de qollas’, pp. 207–212; songs/ music in Quechua, preceded by an introduction in Spanish Martín Manya Ambur, ‘Canciones y poesías educativas de acuerdo al calendario cívico escolar’, pp. 230–235; brief intro in Spanish, several songs and poems in Quechua transcribed Celia Ordoñez Sanchez, ‘Qelqa willakuy: hawa runa hanaqchaq’, pp. 240–242; bilingual legend with a bilingual introduction Amalia Astete Arencio, Apolinario Saldívar Bolívar, Antonio Loto, Qallariy/Génesis, poemas en runasimi y español, 1995 Amalia Astete Arencio, Apolinario Saldívar Bolívar, traducido por los niños de Mara, Apurímac, Paco Yunque, versión bilingüe castellano-quechua, 2002 Delia Blanco Villafuerte, Nunaypa rurun/Frutos del alma, 1993; poetry in Quechua (Continued)

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Status planning Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Qosqo, poemas del Inka, 1963 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Canciones al desarrollo comunal, en quechua i castellano, 1965 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Guión del Intiraymi, 1977 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Machupicchu, poemas del Inka, 1984 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Sapiencia Inka, 2000; bilingual book, some Spanish explanation, but much in Quechua, relating to Andean culture; includes graphization, poems, ceremonies in Quechua, explanations of beliefs, etc., so crosses boundaries between status and corpus planning (in particular graphization and modernization) Martín Manya Ambur, Qheqaq ñan, camino de la verdad (quechua-español), 1972 Armando Valenzuela Lovón, Aukillu, 2012; Quechua translation of Antoine de Sainte-Exupéry’s Le petit prince Armando Valenzuela Lovón, La civilización andina: nuevo enfoque científico, filosófico y tecnológico, 2006 Armando Valenzuela Lovón, Las maravillas del quechua inka, 2002 Armando Valenzuela Lovón, Rutas turísticas del Cusco, 2009 Armando Valenzuela Lovón, Sabiduría inka, 2011 Corpus planning Graphization Inka Rimay 1 (1963)

Inka Rimay 2 (1983)

Andrés Alencastre, ‘Escritura fonética del quechua’, pp. 13–24 Santiago Astete Chocano, ‘El lenguaje de los °qeshuas’, pp. 25–28; also addresses use of prefixes and suffixes Tarquino Guevara Salas, ‘Síntesis fonológica del idioma quechua’, pp. 32–35 Julio Francisco Macutela, ‘Sistema de grafías para el idioma quechua’, p. 36 Juan de la Cruz Salas, ‘Grafías del kechua, runa simi o quishwa’, pp. 37–38 M. Nicanor Jara, ‘Alfabeto quechua’, pp. 39–42 ‘Alfabeto práctico de las lenguas aborígenes del Perú’, pp. 176–186 ‘Grafías para la escritura de divulgación del quechua’, p. 201 Doroteo Callo Suma, ‘El uso de la ‘j’ en la escritura del idioma quechua’, pp. 129–134 Uriel Montúfar M., ‘El uso de las cinco vocales en los idiomas quechua, aymara i dialectos’, pp. 135–139 Paulino Candia Serrano, ‘Runasimi seq’ellunpaypi melq’otiwan rimana/Consonantes globalizados del alfabeto quechua’, pp. 140–141 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Uso de la consonante ‘f’ en el seq’ellunpa o alfabeto quechua del Cusco’, pp. 142–145

Appendix 2

Corpus planning Graphization Inka Rimay 3 (1994)

Inka Rimay 4 (1999)

Inka Rimay 5 (2000)

Inka Rimay 6 (2003)

Publications of Individual HAQL Members Standardization Inka Rimay 2 (1983)

Codification HAQL as an Institution Inka Rimay 2 (1983) Inka Rimay 4 (1999)

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David Samanez F., ‘Ortografía quechua: normas para la escritura del quechua del Qosqo’, pp. 36–45 Ángel Herbas Sandoval, ‘Una vez más acerca de los problemas de la escritura quechua’, pp. 51–52 Juan Antonio Manya A., ‘Fuentes escritas de la lengua quechua del Perú’, pp. 61–69 Bernabé Cardeña Cueva, ‘Nombre de las letras del alfabeto quechua’, pp. 11–12; Cardeña proponed the alphabet, and it was approved in June 1999 in the Tercer Congreso Internacional Extraordinario del Qosqo Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Importancia de las concordancias fonéticas: esclarecimientos fonéticos’, pp. 15–18 Domingo Dávila Pezúa, ‘El idioma quechua en resumen’, pp. 51–55; basically a revisiting of the phonemes of Quechua and how they should be graphically represented Juvenal Pacheco Farfán, ‘Amauta Faustino Espinoza Navarro: paradigma del hombre andino’, pp. 18–26; brief biography of Espinoza Navarro, with some of his writings on graphization included Paulino Candia Serrano, ‘Pisqa hanllalliuq qhapaq runasimi = Idioma quechua pentavocálico’, pp. 37–42; again, a defense of 5 vowels, with word lists exemplifying their use Daniel Estrada Pérez, ‘El problema del tri y pentavocalismo en el quechua’, pp. 20–27 Domingo Dávila Pezúa, ‘El pentavocalismo en el aspecto estructural y morfológico del runasimi o quechua’, pp. 87–93 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Manual para aprender quechua del Cuzco, 1999

Segundo Villasante Ortiz, ‘Evolución de las grafías i fonemas quechuas a través de los diccionarios i decisión proposicional de la Academia’, pp. 116–128 Diccionario quechua-español-quechua/Qheswa-español-qheswa simi taqe, 1995; 2nd ed., 2005 Domingo Dávila Pezua, ‘Características del quechua’, pp. 158–162 Paulino Candia Serrano, ‘Runa simi: idioma de persona’, pp. 30–32; list of vocabulary in Quechua Leandro Herencia Fernández, ‘Qheswa simipi seq’e yapaykuna/ Declinación quechua’, pp. 60–68; side by side Quechua and Spanish versions (Continued)

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Corpus planning Codification

Inka Rimay 5 (2000)

Inka Rimay 6 (2003)

Publications of Individual HAQL Members

Lizardo Pérez Araníbar, ‘Proceso de ‘extranjerización’ de los pueblos inka-tawantinsuyanos’, pp. 76–79; article written in Spanish, but with some terms translated into Quechua Efraín Farfán Barrios, ‘Variedades dialectales de la lengua quechua’, pp. 87–88 Julio Palomino Díaz, ‘Aprendiendo la numeración quechua’, pp. 46–50; list of how to count to high numbers in Quechua Lizardo Pérez Araníbar, ‘Organización educacional o Kunay y realización cultural o yachay ancestrales’, pp. 108–118; article written in Spanish, but with some terms translated into Quechua Juana Delgado Tarifa, ‘El diminutive en el ‘runa simi’,’ pp. 202–203 Paulino Candia Serrano, ‘Uso de pares mínimos’, pp. 236–239; list of minimal pairs Paulino Candia Serrano, Aknan qhapaq runasimi/Así es el idioma imperial, 1998; word lists, glossary Paulino Candia Serrano, Inka runasimiq qhapaqkayninkuna/Las riquezas de idioma de persona inka, 2002; lists of long Quechua words that translate to entire phrases or sentences in Spanish; also lists of vocabulary David Samanez Flórez, Gramática del quechua del Qosqo, 1996 Uriel Montúfar M., Diccionario quechua-español, españolquechua, 1990; dictionary of Cuzco-Collao Quechua Domingo Dávila Pezúa, Fonética y morfología quechua o runasimi, Tomo I, 1998 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Vocabulario trilingüe en quechua, castellano e inglés, 1956 Apolinario Ciriaco Saldívar Bolívar y Justa Amalia Astete Arencio, Por las sendas del runa simi en Santiago del Estero Mario Mejía Wamán (ed) Diccionario quechua español, 2001; revised edition of Jorge Lira’s 1941 version

Modernization/Elaboration Inka Rimay 1 (1963) Transcriptions of two speeches in Quechua, pp. 170–175 Inka Rimay 2 (1983) ‘Presentación/Reqsichiy Simi’, pp. 5–6; introduction in Quechua to the issue ‘Oficialización del idioma quechua: Decreto Ley 21156/ Chaninchasqa kamachi’, pp. 52–54; bilingual version of Decreto Ley 21156 Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Conocimientos cívicos sobre nuestra patria el Perú’, pp. 163–164; listing of facts about sociopolitical/geographical reality of Peru, translated into Quechua

Appendix 2

265

Corpus planning Modernization/Elaboration Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Adios póstumo a Kilko Warak’a: discurso necrológico’, pp. 39–41; titled in Spanish, written in Quechua Doroteo Callo Suma, ‘Thupa Amaru, inkaq ankallikuyninpa qallariynin/Estallido de la revolución de Thupa Amaru Inka’, pp. 165–173; bilingual title, article in Quechua only Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Piturimay huarmi, qhari kausayninkuta chaninchanakuspanku/Dialogo de un hombre y una mujer apreciando sus valores personales’, pp. 175–178; bilingual title, article in Quechua only Faustino Espinoza Navarro, ‘Inka Pachapi Apu Kamachikuna/ Leyes de la época inkayka’, pp. 181–185; bilingual title, article in Quechua only Zenovio Baca Mogrovejo, ‘Ch’eqa llaqtapi tuta qhaswa’, pp. 186–187 Lisandro Yañez Fernández Baca, ‘Machupijchu cheqaq tariqnin’, pp. 220–222 Roberto Barriga Rozas, ‘Imagen y figura OSEA’, pp. 227–228; bilingual article Inka Rimay 4 (1999) Emilio Huamán Huillca, ‘Laq’o wayq’opi mana chaupinchakuy siwikuna/Circunferencias excéntricas de la quebrada de Laq’o’, pp. 44–46 José Aragón Aedo, ‘Pitumarca llaqta/Pueblo de Pitumarca’, pp. 58–59 Hermógenes Meléndez Nina, ‘Homenaje póstumo en los 218 aniversario del suplicio de Tupac Amaru II/Iskay pachaq chunka pusaqniyoq watapi Tupac Amaru II ñak’ariynimpi’, pp. 79–83 Inka Rimay 5 (2000) Armando Valenzuela Lovón, ‘Caracteristicas lingüísticas del quechua/Runasimiq chani rimay hamut’aynikuna’, pp. 28–37; bilingual article on the nature of the Quechua language Mario José Atapaucar Obando and C. Yajima, ‘Sut’i anti orqokunapi ñawray yupay hatun yachaymanta ñawray chirumantapas kunankama yuyaychasqa tiqrakuna’, pp. 73–88; glossary in Quechua of mathematical and geometric terms, with some explanation in Spanish Celia Ordoñez Sánchez, ‘Panparaqay llaqta/Historia del distrito de San Antonio’, pp. 125–131; bilingual article Higidia Torres Escalante, ‘Yachachisaykichis ymayna wayk’ukuyta/Les voy a enseñar cómo cocinar’, pp. 147–148; bilingual recipes Juan Inka Roka Huaman, ‘Algunos delitos sancionados en el Tawantinsuyu’, pp. 154–157; list of some legal terms/sanctions in Quechua, with explanations in Spanish (Continued)

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Corpus planning Modernization/Elaboration Hermógenes Meléndez Nina, ‘Conozca Tungasuca, tierra del gran procer Tupac Amaru II/Reqsiy Tungasukata, chay qollanan Tupaq Amaruq llaqtan’, pp. 165–168; bilingual article Efraín Chevarría, ‘César Vallejo en el runasimi Qosqo qollaw’, pp. 168–182; several of Vallejo’s poems side by side with Quechua translations; introduction in Spanish Armando Becerra Zevallos, ‘Wiñaypaq ripuna wasi punkupirimani/Hablo en la puerta de la última morada’, pp. 223–224; bilingual homage to the Inka Faustino Espinoza Navarro Armando Valenzuela Lovon, ‘Adio al Inka Faustino Espinoza Navarro/Discurso fúnebre: Wañuypi kacharpari hamawt’a: Faustino Espinoza’, pp. 249–251; speech in Spanish and Quechua Bernabé Cardeña Cueva, ‘Qheswa (rimay) quechuwaman t’ikrakusqanmanta/Sobre la variación del qqec-hua a quechua’, pp. 251–253; bilingual article Inka Rimay 6 (2003)

Lizardo Pérez Araníbar, ‘Guerra a las pobrezas i miserias del Cusco i los cusqueños ‘urbano-citadinos’’, pp. 65–66; article in Spanish with some terms introduced in Quechua Eloy Chamba Sotomayor, ‘Respuesta a la sentencia de Martha Hidebrandt en cuanto al idioma quechua que no tiene raíz, historia, nivel científico; además está en extinción: nosotros le vamos a demostrar lo contrario desde el Cusco/Martha Hildebrand: yachay qheswa simiq saphiyoq, taqeyoq, chanin hamut’ ayniyoqkasqanta. – Nisqayki hina cheqaqchu extinsionpi tarikun qheswa simi. – qosqomanta pacha qawarichisaykiku mana hina kasqanta’, pp. 158–162; bilingual article Emeteria Uñapillco Roca, ‘Bicentenario del nacimiento de la peruana-francesa Flora Tristan Laisney: historia de una pasión y un destino’, pp. 183–186; bilingual article Teófila Vargas Salcedo, ‘Primeros auxilios/’‘Ñaupaq ñeqen – K’iri onqoy anchaykuna’, pp. 194–201 Leandro Alvino Herencia Fernández, ‘Inkakunaq hatun yachayninkuna, hatun llank’aninpuwan, qhapaq rimayninpa ukhunpi/Ciencia y tecnología insana dentro de la riqueza lingüística quechua’, pp. 213–220 Elena Gutierrez Zantbrano, ‘¿Qheswa simi rimay, qheswa simi yachayñachu?’ pp. 243–246; bilingual article

Publications of Individual HAQL Members

Antero Barreto Ascarza, Calendario cívico-escolar/Yachay wata yuyaqe p’unchaykuna, 2000; bilingual collection of essays, poems, songs, historical celebrations, etc., related to civic topics

Appendix 2

267

Corpus planning Modernization/Elaboration Paulino Candia Serrano, Perúsuyu Kamichiy Qelqa (La Constitución del Perú) Paulino Candia Serrano, Ñaupaqllamanta qallariykuna yachana qanchis yupa/La metafísica del número siete, 1996 Paulino Candia Serrano, Atawpa punkun/La puerta de la felicidad, 1998; bilingual collection of phrases, proverbs, sayings of famous people and philosophers Faustino Espinoza Navarro, P’isaq, guía turística, 1983; bilingual tour book Leandro Alvino Herencia Fernández, Qheswa simipi seq’e yapaykuna/Morfología quechua, 2000; this book contributes to modernization because it is written in Quechua, and to codification because it deals with morphology and grammar Mario Mejía Wamán, Teqse, o los fundamentos para una filosofía peruana y de Amérca Andina. Bilingual edition Loanwords and neologisms Inka Rimay 2 (1983) Humberto Concha Flórez y Juana Linares Chávez, ‘Rudimentos de neologismos del idioma quechua’, pp. 146–157 Inka Rimay 3 (1994) David Samanez F., ‘Ortografía Quechua: normas para la escritura del quechua del Qosqo’, pp. 36–45; pp. 42–45; deal specifically with loan words in Quechua, including how to write them Acquisition planning Inka Rimay 4 (1999) Inka Rimay 6 (2003)

Publications of Individual HAQL Members

Juvenal Pacheco Farfán, ‘Educación bilingüe intercultural’, pp. 19–29; article defending the necessity of BIE René Farfán Barrios, ‘Fundamentos para la enseñanza oficial de la lengua quechua’, pp. 136–148; article outlining the various social, political and educational foundations for the teaching of Quechua at the national level Silvestre Palomino González, ‘La educación intercultural’, pp. 148–154; similar to the above article Martín Manya Ambur, ‘Canciones y poesías educativas de acuerdo al calendario cívico escolar’, pp. 230 Antero Barreto Ascarza, Uña wik’uña, qelqa ñawinchay qallarina, lecto-escritura básica, 1993; elementary textbook for teaching children to read and write Quechua Faustino Espinoza Navarro, Primer curso de enseñanza del idioma quechua, 1956 Martín Manya Ambur, Hablando quechua con el pueblo (n.d.) Segundo Villasante Ortiz, Yachasun qheswata/Aprendamos qheswa/Learning Quechua, 1995; trilingual textbook, Quechua, Spanish and English (Continued)

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Acquisition planning Bernabé Cardeña Cueva, Curso de quechua I Wilbert Alberto Camac Huilca, Software multimedia para la enseñanza del idioma quechua, 2003 Mario Mejía Wamán, Lecciones de quechua Some publications found listed under status planning can also be categorized under acquisition planning as pedagogical materials.

References

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Manya Ambur, M. (n.d.) Hablando quechua con el pueblo. Cuzco: Self-published. Manya, J.A. (1994) Fuentes escritas de la lengua quechua del Perú. Inka Rimay 3, 61–69. Cuzco: Municipalidad de Cuzco. Mejía Wamán, M. (n.d.) Lecciones de quechua. Lima: Universidad de Ricardo Palma. Micro Noticias Institucionales (1983) Inka Rimay 2, 43–48. Cuzco: PAQL. Montúfar, U. (1983) El uso de las cinco vocales en los idiomas quechua, aymara i dialectos. Inka Rimay 2, 135–139. Pacheco Farfán, J. (1994) Filosofía Inka y su proyección al futuro. Cuzco: Universidad Nacional de San Antonio Abad. Pacheco Farfán, J. (1999) Educación bilingüe intercultural. Inka Rimay 4, 19–29. Cuzco: HAQL. Pacheco Farfán, J. (2003) Actividades de la Academia Mayor, durante el ejercicio de la presidencia del Dr. Juvenal Pacheco Farfán. Periodos: 1996–1998, 1999–2000. Inka Rimay, ‘Qoriwata’ Cincuenta Años ‘Bodas de Oro’ 6, 246–259. Cuzco: Municipalidad Provincial del Cuzco. Palomino González, S. (2003) La educación intercultural. Inka Rimay, ‘Qoriwata’ Cincuenta Años ‘Bodas de Oro’ 6, 148–154. Cuzco: Municipalidad Provincial del Cusco. Pari Rodríguez, A. (2002) Memoria resumida del ‘II Congreso Mundial de la Lengua Quechua’ realizada del 9 al 12 de octubre de 2002, en la ciudad de Cochabamba. Unpublished manuscript. Perfil Ayuda de Memoria (2002) Cuzco: HAQL archives. Pilares Casas, G. (2002) Informe, 18 April 2002. DINEBI-UNEBI. Programa General/Ruwaykuna Mast’arikuynin. Cincuenta Años, Bodas de Oro/Pisqa Chunka Hunt’asqa ‘Qori Wata’ (2003) Cuzco: HAQL archives. Resolución Ministerial No. 1218-85-ED. Officialization of Quechua and Aymara alphabets and rules for spelling and punctuation. Passed 18 November 1985. Lima: Ministry of Education. Resolución Ministerial No. 4023-75-ED. Alfabeto básico general del Quechua. Passed 16 October 1975. Lima: Ministry of Education. Resolución Presidencial No. 001-90-P-AMLQ (1994) Establishment of the basic alphabet of Imperial Quechua. Internal Academy document signed by the HAQL President in 1990; published in Inka Rimay 3, 10–11. Resolución Presidencial No. 25 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 30 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 34 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 36 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 37 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 38 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 39 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 53 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 55 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 56 AMLQ (2001) HAQL archives. Resolución Presidencial No. 62 AMLQ (2002) HAQL archives. Runasimi-Aymara Aru: hacia su reivindicación (selección de ponencias) (1997) Proceedings of the V Congreso Internacional de las Lenguas Quechua y Aymara, Argentina – Bolivia – Colombia – Chile – Ecuador – Peru. Academia Peruana del Idioma Quechua, Región Arequipa; Academia Peruana de la Lengua Aymara, Filial Arequipa. Arequipa, Peru, February 1997. Valenzuela Lovón, A. (2002) Las maravillas del quechua inka. Cusco: Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua. Valenzuela Lovón, A. (2006) La civilización andina: nuevo enfoque científico, filosófico y tecnológico. Cusco: Academia Mayor de la Lengua Quechua.

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Index

Academia de la Lengua Mapuche, 34 Academia de la Lengua Ñahñú, 34 Academia de la Lengua y Cultura Guaraní, 34 Academia de la Llingua Asturiana, 33 Academia de Lenguas Mayas de Guatemala, 34, 42–43, 251, 256 Academia Peruana de la Lengua Aymara, 34 Academia Peruana de la Lengua Quechua (Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language, PAQL), 75–77, 82, 102, 118, 160. see also High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) Académie Africaine des Langues, 33 Accademia della Crusca (Italian Academy), 31, 34–35, 43, 246 Achuar language, 68 Acomayo, Peru, 149 Acuña, Juan, 258 Afrikaanse Academie, 33 Afrikaanse Taalkommissie (Afrikaans Language Commission), 33 Alas Peruanas University, 149 Alencastre, Andrés, 76–77 Almanza, Mario Molina, 79 Alvarado, Cirilo, 151–152, 258 Amazon Commission on Indigenous and Afroperuvian Affairs, 81 American Indian Language Development Institute (AILDI), 42 Apaza, Ernesto, 258 Appied, André, 190 Apurimac, Peru, 149 Arabic language, 32, 33, 39–40 Arequipa, Peru conferences in, 134, 179, 201 HAQL branch, 98, 154, 179

Argentina conferences in, 134, 135, 137 HAQL branches, 98 Inca Empire in, 45, 84 Quechua language in, 122 Arguedas, José María, 76 ARI Commission, 150–151 Ashaninka language, 68, 69 Asociación Pukllasunchis, 146, 183, 258 Association of Engineers, 148 Association of Indigenous Teachers of the Quechua Language, 192 Association of Journalists, 148 Association of Rural Communities of Peru, 147 Astete Arencio, Amalia, 166 Atahualpa, 49 Austria HAQL branch, 98, 100, 153 Awajun language, 68, 69 Ayacucho, Peru, 154, 245, 255. see also Quechua language, dialects, Ayacucho Aymara language alphabet, 69, 179 and bilingual education, 66 conferences about, 188, 201 corpus planning, 64 decline, 52 ejectives, 195n1 government training in, 68 during Inca Empire, 46 language academies, 34 as lengua general, 49, 116 as school subject, 135 use in evangelism, 50–51 Bagua, Peru, 66 Bar Association, 148 Barbados, 61 281

282

L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

Barreto Ascarza, Antero, 220 Barriga, Pedro, 93, 96, 110–113, 118, 128, 132–133, 138, 168, 203–204, 257 Basque language, 33, 40–41 Bermúdez, Francisco Morales, 62 bilingualism Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE), 27, 41, 64, 162, 217–221, 226 and diglossia, 69–70 in Ecuador, 154 educational materials, 3, 219–221 and General Education Law, 61–62 government agencies, 63–64, 65–66 and language shift, 21–22, 60 Ley Nacional de Lenguas, 65, 79–80, 161 National Law on Education, 65 National Office of Bilingual Education, 64, 141 objections to bilingual education, 65–66 Project of Experimental Bilingual Education (PEBE), 63 Regional Curricular Project, 67 Blanco Villafuerte, Delia L., 166 Bolívar, Simón, 57 Bolivia conferences in, 134, 135, 179–180, 190 HAQL branches, 98, 154 Inca Empire in, 45, 84 language academies, 37, 154, 180 Quechua language in, 26, 122, 165, 252 Booraa (Bora) language, 68 Boza, Julio, 76–77 Cáceres, Armando, 94–95 Cajamarca, Peru, 49, 98 Cajatambo, Peru, 70 Callao, Peru, 70 Camac Huilca, Wilbert Alberto, 220 Canada HAQL branch, 98, 100, 153–154 Canas, Peru, HAQL branch, 99 Candia Serrano, Paulino, 166–167 Candozi/Kandozi language, 68, 69 Cardeña Cueva, Bernabé, 220 Cashinahua language, 68, 69 Centro Andino de Educación y Promoción ‘José María Arguedas’ (CADEP), 250, 258 Centro de Estudios Andinos ‘Bartolomé de Las Casas’ (CBC), 150, 165, 209, 258 Cerezo, Vinicio, 42 Cerrón-Palomino, 140, 180 Charles V, King, 50

Chile HAQL branches, 98, 100 Inca Empire in, 45, 84 language academies, 37 Chocano, Santiago Astete, 76 Choque, Cipriana, 258 Cochabamba Academy, 154 Collazo, Marcelina, 146, 258 Colombia HAQL branches, 98 Inca Empire in, 45, 84 language academies, 37 Conde, Saturnina, 93–94, 257 Condori, Marcos, 257 Contreras, Luisa, 258 Council of the Indies, 55 Council of the Quechua Nation, 193, 258 Council of Trent, 50 Councils of Lima, xiii, 50–51 Creole elites, xiii, 51–57, 61, 63, 77 Cuevas, Teodomiro Gutiérrez, 59 Cuzco, Peru. see also Quechua language, dialects, Cuzco author’s experiences in, 3, 11–18, 112–115 as center for Inca history, 54, 75, 84, 108–110 as center for Quechua linguistic resistance, 54–56 city government, 16, 142, 163, 258 conferences in, 134–136 Founding Day celebration, 112–114 HAQL’s role in community, 8, 84, 144–148, 164, 169–171 map, 85 Milenaria Ciudad del Cusco celebrations, 169 Peruvian nationalism in, 57, 108–110 Regional Cuzco Identity Day, 149, 169 Danish language, 29 Deutsche Akademie für Sprache und Dichtung (German Academy for Language and Literature), 32 Dewan Bahasa dan Pustaka (Institute for Language and Literature), 32 Día del Indio, El, 60 dictionaries Arabic, 39–40 Basque, 41 Dictionary of the Quechua Language, 88, 93, 135, 155, 177–178, 194, 200–201

Inde x

early Quechua, 116–117 French, 36 Hebrew, 39 and language academies, 32–33 Quechua dialects, 62, 194 Russian, 32 Spanish, 37 Dirección Nacional de Educación Bilingüe Intercultural (National Office of Bilingual Intercultural Education, DINEBI), 79–80, 168 Dúmezil, Georges, 190 Ecuador HAQL branches, 98, 153 Inca Empire in, 45 language academies, 37, 154 Quechua language in, 26, 122, 154, 252 Egyptian Academy, 39 English Academy of Southern Africa, 33 English language global dominance of, 3 language academies, 33 and language purism, 28–29 loan words in, 206 Esa Eja language, 69 Escobar, Gabriel, 190 Escuela Superior de Enseñanza Quechua (Quechua Language School). see Quechua Teaching Center of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (QTCHAQL) Espinoza Navarro, Faustino, 167, 170, 220 Esquivel, Antenor Vargas, 169 Euskaltzaindia (Royal Academy of the Basque Language), 33, 40–41, 43, 246, 256 Euskera. see Basque language Ewegbe Academy, 33 Farfán, Pacheco, 219, 223 Farfán Barrios, René, 219 Faroese language, 212 Federación Agraria Revolucionaria Tupac Amaru (Tupac Amaru Revolutionary Agrarian Federation, FARTAC), 149 Federación de Campesinos del Cuzco (Federation of Peasants of Cuzco), 149 First Declaration of Barbados, 61 French language establishment of, 35

283

global dominance of, 3 language academies, 31, 35–37 in Quebec, 36 Fryske Akademy, 33 Fujimori, Alberto, 64–65, 78 García, Alan, 64, 66–67 Germany HAQL branch, 98, 100, 153 Godenzzi Alegre, Juan Carlos, 168, 180 Gonçález Holguín, Diego, 52, 117 Gran Maratón Guinness de Oratoria Quechua, (Great Guinness Marathon of Quechua Oratory), 169–170, 176 GTZ (German Technical Cooperation Society), 63 Gustav III, King, 32 Gutiérrez, Alencastre, 187, 189–191 Ha-Aqademia La-Lashon Ha-Ivrit (Academy of the Hebrew Language), 33, 38–39 Harakbut language, 69 Hebrew language ancient, 38 language academies, 32, 33, 38–39 language policy and planning (LPP), 38–39 and religion, 27 revival, 22 Herencia Fernández, Leandro Alvino, 94, 142, 166, 220 High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), xiv, 76–77. see also Academia Peruana de la Lengua Quechua (Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language, PAQL); Inka Ramay journal; Quechua Teaching Center of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (QTCHAQL) Academic Assembly, 88–90 Academic Council, 96–97 acquisition planning, 8, 246–247 author’s ethnographic approach to, 6–18 author’s experiences in, 3, 11–18, 112–115 Board of Directors, 12, 78, 90–92, 96, 114–115, 249 branches, 97–100, 152–155, 255 celebrations and ceremonies, 164, 169–171 collaborative projects, 8, 142

284

L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) (Continued) with community, 144–148 with government, 142–144 with indigenous organizations, 149–150 with NGOs, 150–152 with professional organizations, 148 with universities, 149–150 Commission on Philological and Linguistic Investigations, 101–102 conferences, 133–141, 169 conflicts within leadership, 83–84, 94–96, 249 Coordination Commission, 101 corpus planning, 8, 177–195, 246–247 Court of Honor, 90 criticisms of, 135–141, 144–148, 241–245, 247–252 Departmental Quechua Language Academies (regional), 98 Dictionary department, 89, 96–97, 102, 194 founding of, 75–84, 161–162 funding, 78, 81, 91, 103, 142, 155, 168, 170, 247 future of, 247–256 ideologies of, 5, 7–8 constructions of Inca past, 56, 107–125, 170–171, 176, 253–255 exclusivity of authority, 107–108, 126–133, 136–137, 200, 226–227 five-vowel system, 154, 161, 172, 178–195, 198–199, 251 language purism, 28, 38, 117–125, 130–133, 177, 226, 232, 246–247, 248–249 preference for Cuzco dialect, 101, 120–125, 130–133, 162–163, 180, 181, 197, 211 influence on laws, 159–164, 218 internal linguistic debates, 178–182 language use of members, 15–16, 114–115, 175 Legal and Linguistic Councils, 93–96 library, 15, 91–92 literary contests and festivals, 154, 164–165, 174 and monolingual Quechua speakers, 115, 130–133, 144–148, 203–204 offices of, 85–87

publications, 165–168, 260–268 Quechua classes, 17, 217–245 relationship with city of Cuzco, 84, 144–148 renovation, 211 revitalization efforts, 246–256 staff, 12 standardization, 196–201 status planning, 7–8, 159–176, 246–247 Statutes, 100–103, 159–160, 165, 193–195, 196, 200, 217 structure and hierarchy, 88–100 and tourism, 148 translation services, 168, 210 Huachaca, Antonio Navala, 58 Huancayo, Peru, 3 Huaral, Peru, 70 Huarochirí manuscript, 52 Huaura, Peru, 70 Huerta, Alonso de, 52 Humala, Ollanta, 67 Hungarian language, 32 Icelandic language, 212 Inca Empire comparisons with European empires, 115 death of, 57 geography, 84 language diversity, 46 language policy and planning (LPP), xiii–xiv, 45–46, 48 Quechua language in, 45–46 romanticism in Quechua ideology, 56, 102, 107–125, 170–171, 176, 253–255 indigenismo modern, 56, 58–60 and natural resources, 66 neo-indigenismo, 61, 76 official indigenismo, 59–60 Inka Ramay journal, 7, 17, 103, 116, 118, 127, 142, 165–167, 179, 210, 260–268 Institución ABACO, 148 Institut d’Estudis Catalans, 33 Institute of Advanced Andean Studies. see Quechua Teaching Center of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (QTCHAQL) Instituto da Cultura e Lingua Portuguesa, 31–32 Instituto Nacional de Cultura, 258

Inde x

Instituto Nacional de Investigación y Desarrollo de la Educación (INIDE), 3 Instituto Pastoral Andino (IPA), 229–230, 258 interpretation services, 68 Inti Raymi (Festival of the Sun), 11–14, 167, 170–171 Iraqi Academy, 39 Italian language, 31, 34–35 Italy HAQL branch, 98, 100 Japan HAQL branch, 98, 100, 153 Japanese language, 33 Jaquaru language, 69 Junín, Peru, 198 Kakataibo language, 69 Kichua language, 68 Kokugo Chosa Linkai (National Language Research Council), 33 Kukama/Kukamiria language, 68 Kurdish Academy, 33 L’Académie Française, 31, 35–37, 39, 43, 246 language academies in Africa, 32–33 in Asia, 33 in Caribbean, 32 in Europe, 32–38, 40–41, 43–44, 112, 246 history of, 31–44 ideological role, 4–5 for indigenous languages, 33–34, 41–43, 251, 256 in Latin America, 37–38, 42–43, 131, 154, 180 in Middle East, 33, 38–40 in Southeast Asia, 32 language death, 3, 21–22 language laws. see Peruvian government language loyalty, 20–21 language maintenance, 21–22 language policy and planning (LPP) acquisition planning, 8, 23, 30, 254–255 Arabic language, 39 Mayan languages, 43 Quechua language, 217–245, 268 codification, 28

285

Quechua language, 52, 200–201, 263–264 corpus planning, 8, 23, 25, 28–30 French language, 43–44 Italian language, 43–44 Mayan languages, 43 Spanish language, 43–44 covert language policy, 69–70 defining, 23–24 functional domains, 25, 26–27 by governments, 30 Israel, 38–39 Peru, 8, 56, 58, 59–60, 68, 141, 142–144, 162 graphization, 177–195, 262–263 hispanization, 53–56, 57, 60, 63–64 during Inca Empire, xiii–xiv, 45–46, 48 literature on, 6 loan words, 181, 202–211, 267 modernization, 28 Arabic language, 39–40 Hebrew language, 38–39 Quechua language, 201–213, 264–267 renovation, 28, 211 standardization, 8, 28 Arabic language, 39 French language, 35 Mayan languages, 43 Quechua language, 51, 60–61, 150, 177–178, 196–201, 252, 263 status planning, 7–8, 23, 24–25 Quechua language, 7–8, 24–25, 159–176, 260–262 language purism, 28–30, 38, 117–125, 130–133, 177, 226, 232, 246–247 language reversal (RLS), 21–22 language revival, 21–22 language shift, 21–22 Latin language, 27 Leguía, Augusto B., 59–60 Lima, Peru conferences in, 134 HAQL branch, 98 music industry, 71 NGOs in, 150 Peruvian nationalism in, 108 Quechua literary events in, 165 Quechua speakers in, 70, 254 Spanish loyalists in, 57 Llave, José Taco, 79

286

L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

L’Office de la Langue Francaise (Quebec), 36 López, Adolfo La Torre, 79 Mamani, Eusebio, 118–120, 123–124, 257 Mamani, Zacarías Alavi, 155 Manya Ambur, Martín, 219, 220 Matos, Delia, 258 Matses language, 68 Matsigenka/Matsiguenga language, 68–69 Mayan languages, 34, 42–43, 195n1 Mayorga, Alberto, 94–95, 117 Medical Association, 148 Medrano, Juan Espinosa, 52 Mejía Wamán, Mario, 220 Mexican Academy, 33 Micaela Bastidas National University, 149 Mochica language, 116 Mojado, Antonio, 94–95, 257 Molina, Cristóbal de, 52 Molina, Diego de, 52 Monatsigenka language, 68 Murui/Muinami language, 68, 69 Nahuatl language, 131 National Commission of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples (CONAPA), 66 National Institute for the Development of Andean, Amazonian and Afroperuvian Peoples (INDEPA), 66 National Policy on Languages and Cultures in Education, 65 National University of Cuzco, 190 nationalism. see also High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), ideologies of in Cuzco, 57, 108–110 Inca Empire as basis for, 108–110 and language purism, 29 rejection of European/Hispanic influences, 110–115 Navajo Language Academy (NLA), 34, 41–42 Nomatsigenga language, 69 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 8, 30, 63, 126, 129, 150–152, 159, 168, 183, 192, 195 Nordisk Spraksekretariat (Nordic Language Secretariat), 32 Norwegian language, 29, 32 Nursing Association, 148

Ollantay, 52 Organización Pusaq, 150 Ortiz, Villasante, 220, 222 Oyón, Peru, 70, 153 Palomino González, Silvestre, 219 Paredes, Ana, 250, 258 Pashto Academy, 33 Peñalosa, Fabio, 94, 129, 207, 257 Pérez, Daniel Estrada, 87, 103 Pérez, Rosa, 147, 258 Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language. see Academia Peruana de la Lengua Quechua (Peruvian Academy of the Quechua Language, PAQL) Peruvian government collaboration with High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), 142–144 Constitution of 1920, 60 Constitution of 1979, 62–63 Constitution of 1993, 161 General Education Law, 61–62, 78, 81, 161–162 General Office of Interculturality and Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 68 independence from Spain, 56–58 interpretation/translation training, 68 Law of the Right to Prior Consultation by Indigenous or Original Peoples, 68 Law Regulating the Use, Preservation, Development, Recuperation, Promotion and Spread of the Originary Languages of Peru, 67 Ley Nacional de Lenguas, 65, 79–80, 161 Ministry of Culture, 67–68, 78, 81, 82, 83, 103 Ministry of Education, 3, 16, 65, 79, 82, 142–144, 258 Bilingual Intercultural Education (BIE), 58, 162 National Office of Bilingual Education, 64, 141 National Policy of Intercultural Education and Bilingual Intercultural Education, 65 National Institute of Culture, 128 National Law on Education, 65 Office for Indigenous Affairs, 59 Office of the Ombudsman, 67

Inde x

official indigenismo, 59–60 Quechua translation of Constitution, 159, 167, 194, 210 Philip II, King, 49 Philip IV, King, 54 Philip V, King, 31 Pico, Ricardo, 229–230, 258 Pino, Donato, 258 Piñonate, Romero, 257 Pinto, Jacinto, 257 P’isaq, Peru, 132, 245, 255 Pitumarca, Peru, HAQL branch, 98–99 Pizarro, 49 Poma de Ayala, Felipe Guaman, 52 Portuguese language, 31–32 Posada, Manuel, 148, 151, 257 Project of Experimental Bilingual Education (PEBE), 63, 66 Puma, Mateo, 258 Puno, Peru bilingual education in, 63, 66 HAQL branch, 98 Indigenous revolts in, 59 official languages, 67 Puquina language, 46, 49, 116 qhapaj simi. see Quechua language, dialects, ‘Imperial’ Qheswa Simi Hamut’ana Kuraq Suntur. see High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) Q’iru community, 232 Qosqo National Prize, 161, 162, 165 Qosqo yupaychana taki, 169 Quebec, 36 Quechua language. see also bilingualism; High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL) alphabet, 60–61, 69, 137, 154, 177–195 branches Central, 197 Southern, 187, 197 and code-switching, 15–16 codification, 52, 200–201 conferences about, 133–141, 179–181, 188, 190, 201, 210 corpus planning, 8, 28, 62–64, 177–195 dialects Alto Napo, 181, 183 Ancash, 68 in Argentina, 122 Ayacucho, 47, 62, 68, 180–181

287

in Bolivia, 122 Cajamarca-Cañaris, 62, 183 Chanca, 190 Cuzco, xiii, 46, 52, 62, 68, 118, 120–125, 180, 184 in Ecuador, 122 Huailas, 47, 62 Huancay, 47 ‘Imperial,’ 116, 131, 154, 161, 162–163, 166–168, 172, 190 Junín-Huanca, 62 linguistic classification, 47, 177 qhapaj simi, 77 San Martín-Chachapoyas, 62, 68 Dictionary of the Quechua Language, 88, 93, 155, 177–178, 194, 200–201 and diglossia, 45, 58, 69–70, 254–255 ejectives, 184, 195n1 endangered, 4–5, 212 government training in, 68, 82 grammar terminology, 208 graphization, 177–195, 262–263 during Inca Empire, xiii–xiv, 46 on the Internet and social media, 70 legal status under Fujimori government, 64–65, 78 under García government, 64, 66–67 under Humala government, 27–29 during Inca Empire, 46 as official language, 62–63, 67 under Toledo government, 65–66 under Velasco government, 62, 77–78, 183, 192 as lengua general, 49, 52–53 linguistic study of, 141, 166, 177–178, 194–195 literary works colonial period, 52 literary contests and festivals, 154, 164–165, 174 oral tradition, 192 in pedagogy, 219 poetry, 155, 165–166 Qosqo National Prize, 161, 162, 165 loan words in, 181, 202–211, 212 in mass media, 70, 174 mathematical terminology, 209 modernization, 8, 108, 201–213, 264–267 morphology, 142, 166 in music, 71, 169 names for, 116

288

L anguage Ideology, Polic y and Pl anning in Peru

Quechua language (Continued ) neologisms, 204–211 orthography, 8 phonetics and phonology, 178–182 purism, 117–125, 205–208, 232 Quechua Grammar, 177, 201 on radio, 70, 164, 170–174, 251 revitalization efforts, 3, 5, 22, 71, 201–213, 252 rural vs. urban, 70 as school subject, 135, 174, 217–221 as second language, 5, 172–174, 221, 254 during Spanish colonization, xiii–xiv, 48–56 standardization, 8, 51, 60–61, 150, 177–178, 196–201, 252 status planning, 7–8, 24–25, 159–176 technical vocabulary, 24, 201–202, 206–207 on television, 170 textbooks, 219–221 use in evangelism, 50–51 vowels, 154, 161, 172, 178–195, 198–199, 251 Quechua Language Day, 27, 161, 163, 169 Quechua speakers discrimination against, 5, 70–71, 251 legal rights, 58, 65 literacy, 27, 76, 136, 187–188, 211, 217, 221 relationship with High Academy of the Quechua Language (HAQL), 115, 130–133, 203–204 Quechua Teaching Center of the High Academy of the Quechua Language (QTCHAQL), 14, 86, 90, 221–245 cost of studies, 225–226 curriculum, 223–225 facilities, 243–245 first-level classes, 231–233 founding of, 221–223 ideological goals, 226–227 instructors, 229–230 sixth-level classes, 238–241 student perspectives, 227–229 third-level classes, 233–238 Radio Cusco, 170, 172 Radio La Hora, 170

Radio Líder, 170 Radio Los Andes, 170 Radio Nacional, 170 Radio Tawantinsuyu, 172, 259 Real Academia Española (RAE), 31–32, 37–38, 112, 246 Real Academia Galega, 33 Requena, Federico, 128–129, 148, 198, 207, 225, 257 Richelieu, Cardinal, 31, 35 Rincón, Nicasio, 222, 258 Rivera, Santiago, 258 Roque, Esteban, 122, 181, 257 Rowe, John H., 190 Royal Nepal Academy, 33 Rubio, Diego de Torres, 52 Rumi Maqui Rebellion, 59 Runa Simi. see Quechua language Runasimita yachasun kusikuywan (Let’s Have Fun Learning Quechua), 172–174 Russian Academy, 32 Saco, Luzmila, 257 Salas, Guevara, 186 Salinas, Anselmo, 257 Samanez, David, 94–95 San Marcos University, 54 San Martín, José de, 57 Sánchez, Fermín, 258 Sanskrit language, 44n1 Santa Cruz, María, 209–210, 258 Santo Tomás, Fray Domingo de, 49–50, 52, 116–117 Saussure, Ferdinand de, 192 Secoya language, 68, 69 Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path), 64 Serrano, Nicanor, 258 Sesotho Language Academy, 33 Sharanahua language, 68, 69 Shawi language, 68, 69 Shining Path. see Sendero Luminoso (Shining Path) Shipibo/Konibo language, 68, 69 Sicaya, Paulina, 258 Sindicato Unitario de Trabajadores en la Educación del Perú (SUTEP), 148 sociolinguistics, 6, 8–10 Soto, Enrique, 140, 143, 229, 258 Spain HAQL branches, 98, 100, 153 Spanish colonization of Peru constructions of Inca past, 116–117

Inde x

effect on status of Quechua, xiii–xiv, 75 independence from, 56–58 and language policy and planning (LPP), 48–56 suppression of Quechua language, 53–56 uprisings against, 53–56 Spanish language and diglossia, 69–70 dominance of Castilian, 31 dominance over Quechua in Peru, xiii–xiv, 5, 25, 175 global dominance of, 3 grammar, 37 hispanization, 53–56, 57, 60, 63–64 language academies, 31–33, 37–38, 112, 246 in Latin America, 31, 33 orthography, 37 phonetics and phonology, 184 as qualification for voting in Peru, 58 in Quechua purist ideology, 118 use in indigenous language academies, 43, 114–115, 175, 232, 239–240 SUTEP union, 14 Swedish language, 29, 31 Syrian Academy, 39

Tupac Amaru II, 57, 61 Turpo, José María, 59 TV Mundo, 169 TV Sur, 169

Tawantinsuyu. see Inca Empire Tayacaja, Peru, 153 Technological University of the Andes (UTEA), 149 Telugu Academy, 33 Tikuna language, 68 Toledo, Alejandro, 65–66, 180 Torero, Alfredo, 140 Toro, Rigoberto, 258 Travis, Linda, 16

Wampis language, 68, 69 War of the Pacific, 59 World Council of Indigenous Peoples, 61

289

Union of Arab Academies, 33 Universidad Nacional Federico Villareal, 165 Universidad Nacional San Antonio Abad de Cusco (UNSAAC), 140–141, 143, 149–150, 173, 179, 187, 199, 221–222, 229, 258 Universidad Nacional San Marcos, 165 Urdu Academy, 33 Urubamba, Peru, 14, 154, 259 Usca Paucar, 52 Valcárcel, Luis, 76 Valera, Blas, 50 Vallejo, César, 166 Valverde, Vincente de, 49 Vargas, Felix, 199, 258 Vega, Garcilaso de la, 115, 116 Velasco Alvarado, Juan, 52, 61–63, 77, 161, 192 Velásquez, Paulina Arpasi, 79 Ventura, Felipe, 258

Yanesha language, 68, 69 Yauyos, Peru, 70 Yine language, 68, 69 Zanabria, Julio, 258