OPINION: The deep value of language in preserving our culture

We have so many good reasons to put in the effort to iliisatuut Inupiuaŋnamik (learn Inupiatun). Indigenous scholars have said that our languages are uma (alive), just like this beautiful nuna (land/Earth) that we live upon. Angayuqaq Oscar Kawagley, a Yup’ik scholar, said, “I have to draw on my language to fully experience the mountains, the moon, the sun, the river, the spruce tree, the taste of Hudson’s Bay tea, the wolf, the eagle and the paramecium — it is a living language!” When we speak our language we exchange breath, sound, energy, thoughts, feelings, meaning and life with the living world around us. Indigenous languages have a spiritual, ecological and relational component that we don’t want to miss out on.

Elders like Naungaq Richard Atuk, who leads the language group I attend every Saturday, showed us how our language is expressive. Expressions convey a deeper meaning to what is said by how it is said. Mr. Atuk shared how he never heard our language spoken out loud in anger. Traditionally, we did not have profanity, because that wasn’t our way of life. We did not say goodbye in our language. Instead, when our siuliavut (first ones, ancestors) left someone’s inni (house), they would say piiragumausi, which means: May you all go forward in life, do the best you can, be good, be well, and I leave you with good thoughts about your future. This deeper meaning in one expression conveys our Inupiaq values and relational understanding of the world.

The good energy exchanged through our language is like relational medicine. Learning our language can help us heal from colonial and intergenerational trauma. Many of our Elders, like Mr. John Tetpon from Shaktoolik, were harmed or punished for speaking Inupiatun in the school setting. Because of these experiences, it has been challenging for our Elders to teach us what they can remember. One of our Elders, Egeelana Sophie Nothstine, has courageously spoken about her childhood experiences and still attends our language group and teaches us what she can. It’s wonderful to see Egeelana’s strength and hear Egeelana’s encouragement as we attempt to retain what was taken by missionaries and schoolteachers who followed and implemented harmful educational policies. Our language group has learned how to hold space and process the grief we all have due to language loss so we can still engage in learning. Language learning involves so much more than learning a language — we are also learning our history, way of life, values, and how to be in right relationship again. We are learning who we are and where we come from.

It’s difficult to see our fluent speakers pass away before we could learn from them. Time is of the essence right now. For five years, I have worked alongside other dedicated language learners to learn and preserve our language. But we must have intergenerational commitment to continue these efforts. We need to engage in language reclamation with our Elders, Elders in training, relatives, community members, young people, and allies. Every new expression that we learn adds a beautiful piece of our language back to our collective spirit. Everyone has a role to play on this learning journey. We can all commit to language learning, and funders can sponsor language preservation efforts. Our living language allows our soul to learn, experience recognition and can help us co-create a flourishing future. As Tatauq Josie Bourdon taught us in language group yesterday, Ilipsi nanilaġa Inupiuraqtuinasiaġġumausi – all of you, no matter where you are living, keep speaking Inupiaq, keep persevering, keep learning, keep going.

To close, I’d like to share this poem that my 15-year-old panik (daughter) Uiġanna wrote:

“My knees sink to the beat of the drum. I’m holding the weight of my culture on my back — the sung words are the only thing that gives me the strength to keep bouncing my knees, to keep dancing. I dance because if I stop then I’ll die by the side of what my grandmother was forced to abandon — something she was so ashamed of, that she needed to hide. I dance because I might be a part of the last generation — the remaining words of my language are being lost in Western translation. I dance because the drums are the beating heart keeping my culture alive. Everything that once was thriving is now on life support and we’re signing the papers, ready to pull the plug — ready to stop the only thing remaining that has helped us survive. Paiyumnaqtunga — I carry hope.”

Jessica Saniġaq Ullrich is a tribal citizen of Nome Eskimo Community, an assistant professor at Washington State University and a 2022 Aspen Institute Ascend Fellow.

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