Monday, October 17, 2005
Here is the story that was in the Star Tribune on Sunday that I thought you might find interesting and/or encouraging...
New life for dying language
EAN HOPFENSPERGER, Star Tribune
Cleone Thompson's mother was sent as a child to an Indian boarding school where she was hit with a ruler if she spoke Ojibwe. Seven decades later, Thompson is now part of an unusual experiment to breathe life back into the language her mother was punished for speaking. Thanks to a new federal grant, the young children she greets with the word "boozhoo" at the day care center she runs from her home in Minneapolis will be part of the first Indian-language immersion program in the nation for urban preschoolers.
Thompson said that in about 10 years most of the elders on the reservations will be gone and there won't be anyone left who speaks the language. "That's why we've got to do this now," she said. Thompson's mother, Emma Fairbanks, now a frail 79-year-old, can hardly believe the turn of events. "I never thought it would come back," she said. "I was worried they [future generations] would forget their Indian ways." About 55,000 American Indians are enrolled in tribes in Minnesota. Roughly 3,000 are fully fluent Ojibwe speakers and about 30 are fully fluent in Dakota, according to estimates by the Grotto Foundation, which has focused much of its philanthropy on language revitalization. Many Indian people can say certain words and phrases, but few can carry on a conversation, community leaders say. It's part of the legacy of the boarding schools that American Indians were forced to attend for decades.
"My parents didn't want me to speak Dakota; they were afraid for us," said Jennifer Bendickson. She is a program director at the Alliance of Early Childhood Professionals, which was awarded the federal grant to launch the preschools this month. "They would talk to each other in Dakota, but when we came in, they'd stop."
While universities and tribal schools have offered language and culture classes over the years, new ideas are taking root across Minnesota. Dozens of people are attending night classes in Ojibwe and Dakota at "language tables" in schools and community centers. There's an Ojibwe immersion preschool in Leech Lake; Indigenous Language Symposiums are held annually. Specialized classes are sprouting up, including one that teaches Dakota to entire households -- as opposed to an individual -- in the Upper Sioux community. And University of Minnesota language students drive up to Canada on weekends this time of the year for an immersion experience harvesting wild rice and learning the accompanying vocabulary.
Even so, much of the learning is being done piecemeal, said Margaret Boyer, executive director of the Alliance for Early Childhood Professionals. Research shows that immersion programs, from preschool to high school, are the best route to developing a core group students who are truly fluent, she said. "If you want to learn Spanish, you can go to South America," Boyer explained. "If you want to learn French, you go to France. But there's nowhere in the U.S. you can go and hear only Ojibwe or Dakota. So the best way to learn is immersion - and starting at a young age." These are Minnesota's first languages and saving them is saving an important piece of Minnesota heritage, say language activists. The word Minnesota, for example, is based on the Dakota word Mnisota which means "land where the water reflects the sky," said Neil McKay, University of Minnesota Dakota instructor. Values and a world view For Indian people, the language conveys the values and world view of their ancestors and their culture, said Gabrielle Strong, who oversees the Grotto Foundation's language program. For example, the word for family in Dakota means "the people who live in the same lodge" -- a much broader meaning than in English.
A Dakota elder sat in front of several preschoolers at All Nations Child Care Center last week, with a backdrop of colorful drawings of eagles, wolves and other animals that long have been symbols in Indian cultures. "Today we're going to count numbers," he said to the little girls. "Ready?" The girls nodded and began chanting, "Wancha. Nunpa. Yamni. Topa. Zaptan." "Wahshte," said the teacher. "Good." For the next 15 minutes, the children practiced animal names, colors and the alphabet. By next year, those 15 minutes will grow to three hours, and the program will be conducted only in Dakota. Similar immersion programs will be launched at Four Directions Child Development Center and Cherish the Children Learning Center, as well as Thompson's home day care, called Nokomis Child Care.
If all goes as planned, the first batch of tiny Dakota and Ojibwe speakers will graduate in three years. There's a ripple effect, said Boyer. Parents must take a class to learn the same materials as their children. The "language tables" have agreed to incorporate the children's weekly vocabulary. And people playing community bingo in the Phillips neighborhoods - where the immersion centers are - will hear the numbers yelled out in Dakota or Ojibwe, she said. "Our project rolls a lot of different things into one," said Boyer. "So all around the community, when people meet each other, they can use the same words." The model, said Boyer, hails from New Zealand, where the Maori Indians slowly brought back their language from near extinction. Hawaii used the same technique of immersion programs starting with preschoolers, with success, she said. That trend now is moving across the United States, she said. "We're one of the leaders," she said, referring to Minnesota.
The sheer dearth of fluent speakers, much less speakers who are skilled teachers, makes a full-blown language revitalization movement difficult, said community leaders. There's a distinct shortage of teaching materials such as books, music and tapes in Ojibwe and Dakota. At All Nations preschool, for example, the Dakota-language ABCs posted on the walls are hand-drawn letters with hand-drawn pictures. And there are no pretty preschool books or catchy kids' songs. In fact, Grammy award-winning musician Keith Secola has offered to record a CD of children's music that can be used in these and other pre-schools, said Boyer. Secola, an Ojibwe, even gave a mini-performance for the children at a park last weekend. The preschools -- and other language programs -- are likely to buy language materials from Canada, where language revitalization is about 10 years ahead of the U.S., said Dennis Jones, an Ojibwe language instructor at the University of Minnesota. About five years ago, the Canadian government, which also had forced its native children into boarding schools, issued a public apology, he said. It earmarked $365 million for language revitalization, money now being used to develop teaching materials and rekindle the country's first languages.
Minnesota's language activists dream of seeing that happen here. They imagine the day when American Indians can click on the radio or TV, and find Ojibwe or Dakota programming; when street signs will be printed in native languages, when kids can get a video of "The Lion King" dubbed in a native language. "Right now there's a little flame we're fanning ever so gently," said Strong. "We're hoping it becomes a brushfire."
New life for dying language
EAN HOPFENSPERGER, Star Tribune
Cleone Thompson's mother was sent as a child to an Indian boarding school where she was hit with a ruler if she spoke Ojibwe. Seven decades later, Thompson is now part of an unusual experiment to breathe life back into the language her mother was punished for speaking. Thanks to a new federal grant, the young children she greets with the word "boozhoo" at the day care center she runs from her home in Minneapolis will be part of the first Indian-language immersion program in the nation for urban preschoolers.
Thompson said that in about 10 years most of the elders on the reservations will be gone and there won't be anyone left who speaks the language. "That's why we've got to do this now," she said. Thompson's mother, Emma Fairbanks, now a frail 79-year-old, can hardly believe the turn of events. "I never thought it would come back," she said. "I was worried they [future generations] would forget their Indian ways." About 55,000 American Indians are enrolled in tribes in Minnesota. Roughly 3,000 are fully fluent Ojibwe speakers and about 30 are fully fluent in Dakota, according to estimates by the Grotto Foundation, which has focused much of its philanthropy on language revitalization. Many Indian people can say certain words and phrases, but few can carry on a conversation, community leaders say. It's part of the legacy of the boarding schools that American Indians were forced to attend for decades.
"My parents didn't want me to speak Dakota; they were afraid for us," said Jennifer Bendickson. She is a program director at the Alliance of Early Childhood Professionals, which was awarded the federal grant to launch the preschools this month. "They would talk to each other in Dakota, but when we came in, they'd stop."
While universities and tribal schools have offered language and culture classes over the years, new ideas are taking root across Minnesota. Dozens of people are attending night classes in Ojibwe and Dakota at "language tables" in schools and community centers. There's an Ojibwe immersion preschool in Leech Lake; Indigenous Language Symposiums are held annually. Specialized classes are sprouting up, including one that teaches Dakota to entire households -- as opposed to an individual -- in the Upper Sioux community. And University of Minnesota language students drive up to Canada on weekends this time of the year for an immersion experience harvesting wild rice and learning the accompanying vocabulary.
Even so, much of the learning is being done piecemeal, said Margaret Boyer, executive director of the Alliance for Early Childhood Professionals. Research shows that immersion programs, from preschool to high school, are the best route to developing a core group students who are truly fluent, she said. "If you want to learn Spanish, you can go to South America," Boyer explained. "If you want to learn French, you go to France. But there's nowhere in the U.S. you can go and hear only Ojibwe or Dakota. So the best way to learn is immersion - and starting at a young age." These are Minnesota's first languages and saving them is saving an important piece of Minnesota heritage, say language activists. The word Minnesota, for example, is based on the Dakota word Mnisota which means "land where the water reflects the sky," said Neil McKay, University of Minnesota Dakota instructor. Values and a world view For Indian people, the language conveys the values and world view of their ancestors and their culture, said Gabrielle Strong, who oversees the Grotto Foundation's language program. For example, the word for family in Dakota means "the people who live in the same lodge" -- a much broader meaning than in English.
A Dakota elder sat in front of several preschoolers at All Nations Child Care Center last week, with a backdrop of colorful drawings of eagles, wolves and other animals that long have been symbols in Indian cultures. "Today we're going to count numbers," he said to the little girls. "Ready?" The girls nodded and began chanting, "Wancha. Nunpa. Yamni. Topa. Zaptan." "Wahshte," said the teacher. "Good." For the next 15 minutes, the children practiced animal names, colors and the alphabet. By next year, those 15 minutes will grow to three hours, and the program will be conducted only in Dakota. Similar immersion programs will be launched at Four Directions Child Development Center and Cherish the Children Learning Center, as well as Thompson's home day care, called Nokomis Child Care.
If all goes as planned, the first batch of tiny Dakota and Ojibwe speakers will graduate in three years. There's a ripple effect, said Boyer. Parents must take a class to learn the same materials as their children. The "language tables" have agreed to incorporate the children's weekly vocabulary. And people playing community bingo in the Phillips neighborhoods - where the immersion centers are - will hear the numbers yelled out in Dakota or Ojibwe, she said. "Our project rolls a lot of different things into one," said Boyer. "So all around the community, when people meet each other, they can use the same words." The model, said Boyer, hails from New Zealand, where the Maori Indians slowly brought back their language from near extinction. Hawaii used the same technique of immersion programs starting with preschoolers, with success, she said. That trend now is moving across the United States, she said. "We're one of the leaders," she said, referring to Minnesota.
The sheer dearth of fluent speakers, much less speakers who are skilled teachers, makes a full-blown language revitalization movement difficult, said community leaders. There's a distinct shortage of teaching materials such as books, music and tapes in Ojibwe and Dakota. At All Nations preschool, for example, the Dakota-language ABCs posted on the walls are hand-drawn letters with hand-drawn pictures. And there are no pretty preschool books or catchy kids' songs. In fact, Grammy award-winning musician Keith Secola has offered to record a CD of children's music that can be used in these and other pre-schools, said Boyer. Secola, an Ojibwe, even gave a mini-performance for the children at a park last weekend. The preschools -- and other language programs -- are likely to buy language materials from Canada, where language revitalization is about 10 years ahead of the U.S., said Dennis Jones, an Ojibwe language instructor at the University of Minnesota. About five years ago, the Canadian government, which also had forced its native children into boarding schools, issued a public apology, he said. It earmarked $365 million for language revitalization, money now being used to develop teaching materials and rekindle the country's first languages.
Minnesota's language activists dream of seeing that happen here. They imagine the day when American Indians can click on the radio or TV, and find Ojibwe or Dakota programming; when street signs will be printed in native languages, when kids can get a video of "The Lion King" dubbed in a native language. "Right now there's a little flame we're fanning ever so gently," said Strong. "We're hoping it becomes a brushfire."
// posted by Tammy Wachter @ 5:45 PM 
