Briefly covers the history of indigenous languages and libraries, focusing on the role of the library in cultural genocide and language loss, then provides protocols and best practices for libraries seeking to support indigenous languages in their collections and programming.
5. This kind of thinking can be dangerous:
“we know what
people need; they just
can’t articulate it”
…because it is patronizing
6. Libraries were part of the
genocidal project of the
Americas
Bison Skull Pile. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bison_skull_pile_edit.jpg
7. Who were
Aboriginal language
books written for?
HINT: usually not
Aboriginal people
Traditional Olympic Coat, 1965.
http://www.hbcheritage.ca/hbcheritage/history/blanket/outerwear/home
8. “Having books in
which the vernacular
is found would foster
its use and the more
the mother tongue is
kept alive the more is
the child diffident in
using the English
language” – Edgar
Dewdney, Indian
Commissioner at
Regina
APrimerfortheUseoftheMohawkChildrencover.InternetArchive.https://archive.org/details/cihm_13268
17. Rooted in place. Rooted in the land.
Image courtesy of Jessie Loyer
18. How to go
forward?
Actively assessing
your role as
library and
individual
librarians in
oppression,
acknowledging
privilege, and
listening
Image courtesy of Jessie Loyer
19. To linguists and anthropologists, we thank you.
But we
need to be
conscious
of who is
involved
Image courtesy of Sarah Quick
20. “For Indigenous ppl, reclaiming language involves
overcoming many obstacles. For Settlers, learning
our languages is for fun.”
@apihtawikosisan
21. Experts already exist; don’t
reinvent the wheel
Dorothy Thunder. ammsa.com Lorna Williams. http://www.tru.ca/sils/schedule/lornawilliams.html
Larry Grant. ubc.ca
28. Connect with your
community
Be responsive to
their needs
Be aware of your
role
Restore historical
relationships
Image courtesy of Jessie Loyer
Jessie Loyer, Librarian,
Mount Royal University
@jmloyer
jloyer@mtroyal.ca
Editor's Notes
Tan’si nitotemtik.
First off, let’s talk about libraries. They aren’t neutral; as social institutions, they function to select, perpetuate, and enforce a certain type of culture. Edwards outlines three researchers who identify with this revisionist history of libraries – Bruce Burtis, Michael Harris, and Dee Garrison, who believe that the “careful selection and dissemination of books acted as agents of social control exercised by members of the upper classes” often for the purposes of improvement.
Indigenous people have traditionally been ill-served by libraries, because that process of selection has named us in ways we don’t recognize, not in our own languages, and the way we are treated leaves us to history. Oversimplified, libraries are oppressive to indigenous recognition, as they provide tools for civilizing, converting and assimilating “the Indian problem” away.
Quick caveat: I love libraries! I’m a child of libraries, I’m a librarian, and I think that for many indigenous children, the library can be a place of quiet safety and creativity. But it’s essential that we are critical of their role in our societies.
We use this sort of rhetoric for many decisions in libraries: people can’t articulate their information needs, etc. This is dangerous, particularly because that sort of reasoning was used in the genocidal act of residential schools – taking indigenous children away from their families to civilize them was seen as doing it for their own good. Think about the rhetoric you are using to talk about services you offer; decolonize.
As part of industrial education, libraries participated in cultural genocide. By privileging books written in settler languages and enforcing their use through programming and collection development, libraries were involved in the decline of indigenous languages.
We have good examples of early Aboriginal language books, which often found their way into libraries, but they were often not written FOR Aboriginal people. Examples like the Dictionary of the Hudson’s Bay language in Cree, printed in 1701, are clearly meant for people working in those areas who were non-indigenous.
We also find primers and prayer books for children, like the Mohawk primer of Roman Catholic prayers in 1777 and the Book of Common Prayer in 1780 which was in Mohawk and English, but it’s important to remember that the first books on indigenous language were written by missionaries trying to learn those languages.
Great quote in Paper Talk, from the Indian Commissioner at Regina, that reading books written in indigenous languages encouraged its use and children were slower to learn and speak English, which was an important part of the “civilizing process”. He recognized that books written in their own languages would slow that process.
Despite these problems with early language books and what they were being used for, there are some excellent examples found in this book, Paper Talk, of indigenous communities supporting libraries.
Mohawk school: realization that fundraising outside of government funding would be necessary for a school to teach in Mohawk and to have a Mohawk library
Charles Angus Cooke was a Mohawk bureacrat who advocated for a circulating Indian Affairs library, was supported by chiefs, but ultimately shot down for funding reasons and the idea that native people weren’t interested.
The Aamijiwnaang library was seen as deterrent to “morally innappropriate behaviour” and aid mental improvement, but despite support in community, it was seen as not in Indian Affairs’ best interests
Lady Wood Library on Lennox island was supported by the Mi’kmaq community, seen as a space for cultural activities (making moccasins, beadwork) as well as repository for books
We are part of this history of social control and oppression. We don’t like to think of ourselves in this way; our ethic is of service. But in order to embody that, we have to come to terms with this history and start to make our space less antagonistic to indigenous language and culture.
These historical issues have echoes to the present. There are some incredible, heart-warming examples of librarians who are addressing the lack of libraries on reserve right now, particularly because libraries often get funded through funding for schools. While the on-reserve librarians I know completely support education, the library is a different sort of space, requiring separate funding. For example, Manisha Khetarpal is the librarian at Maskwacis Culture College and she’s been working to start a public library there. Are there partnerships between your library and the reserves in your area?
There are more opportunities now for librarians to be relevant in indigenous language programming as more communities create their own programs: immersion schools, language programs at colleges. This is Kipohtakaw Education Centre school at Alexander Reserve, close to where I grew up; these types of programs almost always need more materials, more space, and more funding.
If we truly believe that we as librarians are responsive to our communities, that our libraries as institutions responsive, then this is something that is clearly being articulated by our users. Indigenous community members support language revitalization, and, perhaps sparked by Idle No More, even settler populations are seeing the need to create better relationships.
This is clear community need that requires a response.
Image by Hero Machine.
Many libraries have sections on serving Aboriginal communities in their strategic plans. But language is culture. If you claim to serve these populations, it follows that you must support indigenous language revitalization.
Relationships are central to indigenous communities, but also to libraries. We claim relationships as libraries with our users, hoping to help them, to support them. Libraries need to recognize and tend to their own relationships with indigenous patrons, with communities, and with larger language and culture efforts around the country.
As we support Aboriginal cultures, connection to the land is central. Connecting to the land connects us with each other; indigenous languages are often better at articulating these relationships. How do we, as libraries, connect to the land, to the place where our library stands?
Making connections between the people and the land is important; this relationship is described through indigenous language.
So how to we go forward? These are some things to keep in mind, not only how our institutions function to oppress indigeneity (think about your collections policy around discarding inaccurate indigenous material) but also how we as individual librarians are privileged. Listening is key; what are people asking for? What do they want?
This is Sarah Quick, who is an ethnomusicologist who stayed with us when I was a kid to work with my grandfather. She basically changed the way I thought about anthropologists, because she still has a relationship with my family today. There are many excellent linguists and anthropologists who, like Sarah, have done amazing things to preserve our languages. I thank them for their work. Kinanaskomitinawaw.
However, we need to be conscious that the people involved in indigenous language programming at our libraries are indigenous. We have been forcibly separated from our languages; we need to be actively involved now.
Chelsea Vowel, who went to school with me and who writes as apihtawikosisan, has some smart words about language reclamation. It’s not an easy process for us. There is often trauma involved around language, sometimes shame.
We aren’t experts in indigenous languages. Fluent speakers have been teaching off their kitchen tables for decades, they have been scrounging for spaces at Friendship Centres and school gyms, they have pulled together amazing teaching materials using photocopiers and duotangs. Find your experts in your communities and support them! Do not try and offer a competing program.
Dorothy Thunder at the U of A, Nehiyaw
Dr. Lorna Williams at Uvic, Lil’wat
Larry Grant at UBC, Musqueam
Maybe that means simply asking what they need. Maybe that means binding their materials so that they are less fragile. Maybe that means opening up spaces for their work to be done.
There are lots of barriers to accessing indigenous language resources; on facebook I see a lot of people who want this sort of teaching desperately but simply don’t know where to go for this knowledge.
Especially in academic libraries, we need to be aware of the obstacles we present: does a community member need a particular kind of card? What about if they don’t have a fixed address? What if they don’t have ID? What about their family members – do they have access too? What if they aren’t a student the next semester?
Academic institutions have created these silos of indigenous language material that indigenous language learners cannot access because of structural barriers.
This is my mom working on the Walking With Our Sisters exhibit. This exhibit works ceremony into its iterations around the country, because the people involved know the importance of ceremony.
Indigenous language learning often circles around ceremony; for some of us, it’s the first or the only time we’ve heard our languages used. But there are certain restrictions around ceremony: times of the year, songs that belong to a family, men’s words and women’s words. These vary widely. We’re not used to restrictions like this in the library world; we champion open access in a Western sense. But indigenous knowledge is structured radically differently than the Masters programs we took to become librarians. We must make sure our programs and collections recognize and respect these restrictions.
Do not be nostalgic about indigenous languages. We don’t belong only in the past; we are here in the present; we want our languages to be in the future. Here’s a good example of the way Cree adapts to new concepts, like comic books. Indigenous languages are living languages.
The comic book shown is about gang life, from the Healthy Aboriginal Network.
This is a screenshot of Google maps, where I searched “Hobbema” and Maskwacis came up as a result. Hobbema recently changed the name of their First Nation back to the original Cree name, meaning Bear Mountain Hills.
This happened a few years ago at a reserve just outside of Calgary, where I have cousins. When I was growing up, we called it Sarcee. Then it changed the name to Tsuu T’ina, which we pronounced with a very noticeable “ooooh” sound on the first syllable. Over time, as more language work was done, more people on the rez learned their language through the Gunaha institute, original pronunciation became more accepted and used.
We need to be flexible as communities grapple with language revitalization; it isn’t a simple process. Do our programs and our collections reflect this?
Starting off or supporting an indigenous language program means recognizing where we fit. What do we offer participants, elders, members of the community? What other programs do we offer that would be helpful for these participants? Are we acting in a good way, asking elders to open up sessions, be involved, share their knowledge? How is ceremony embedded in the process?
Reciprocal relationship are important.
We should be asking these questions
Why are we doing this? Who wants this? Who has asked for this?
Who benefits? Are we representing the nations of our land? Of the traditional territory that the library stands on?
That last one is particularly important – who else can be part of this? Essentially, we are asking who isn’t in the room. Sometimes as librarians we are so excited that someone showed up for a program that we don’t think about who isn’t there: that can be helpful for restructuring the next iteration of a program.
In summary, protocols around indigenous language work should focus on connections to the community and the land, being responsive to these needs (taking time to truly listen to their needs and wants), being aware of our roles in providing support, space, and funding assistance, and thinking critically about our historical roles as oppressors of indigenous language and culture to restore these relationships.
Ekosi.