Delphine Red Shirt. Photo by Rich Luhr / Flickr

Why we don’t use First Language Speakers in the Classrooms
By Delphine Red Shirt
Lakota Country Times Columnist
www.lakotacountrytimes.com

Recently I had the fortuitous opportunity to see a Lakota classroom in session. These were little ones, wakanyeja who were under the watchful eye of a Lakota teacher. I came in on a Friday when school ended early so, it looked like the kids were watching a movie on a laptop. But, when I came in, they went into full performance.

At first, I didn’t realize that I was blocking the large poster board that had some Lakota words written on it, written with perfect diacritics. But, then the young teacher came and unceremoniously made me move so that the wakanyeja could see the poster on the bulletin board near the door that I was blocking, I moved very quickly so I didn’t interrupt the reciting of whatever was on that poster.

After that the wakanyeja asked each other questions, one by one, each would pass a tapa that they used to take turns. Each one would, as wakanyeja do, charm the observers, while seemingly trying to figure out, in their minds, a question to ask in Lakota. Each one would smile, laugh, and tease the question out of themselves. It was fun to watch.

At first sight, it was impressive. Even the song, they later sang. I was there for less than half-an-hour, so I was mesmerized by all the Lakota I was hearing, from both the hoksila, who seemingly couldn’t sit still long enough to ask a question; and the confident, superior-attitude, wicincala who knew they could outsmart the boys at this age. I was so proud of them.

I had hope, the kind of hope that Darrell Robes Kipp, a Blackfoot educator had when he started a Blackfoot language immersion school. Kipp worked most of his life to revitalize the Blackfoot language. His name in Blackfoot is Apiniokio Peta or Morning Eagle. Kipp was born in 1944 in Browning, Montana, and died there in 2013 at the age of 69. He attended colleges in Montana as well as Harvard University in Boston, Massachusetts.

I met him several years ago when he was the keynote speaker at a language conference. I recognized him right away as I overheard him ask at the airport how he could get to the hotel where the conference was being held. I was renting a car and so, I introduced myself, told him I was there for the same conference, and I offered him a ride. He trusted me to get him there safely. A tall, strong looking man, he seemed very confident in his place in the world.

He had a sense of humor that I was lucky enough to enjoy for the next few days when he took a friend and I to dinner for giving him a ride that day. I had a chance to talk to him, as I was familiar with what he was trying to accomplish.

Later, I even had the honor to teach one of Kipp’s Blackfoot students from Browning, Montana, who took Lakota for his language requirement in college. His student, a young man who is articulate and confident in his Blackfoot culture and in the Native American world in general took Lakota and never worried about the difficulty of not being a part of the culture.

I asked Kipp, when I last saw him, if he felt that his school would make a difference in the lives of second language learners. He, very honestly, shook his head, saying, “I don’t know.” A sign of a great teacher.

Standing in the classroom of the wakanyeja, on the Pine Ridge reservation, where we are losing the Lakota language rapidly. I felt hope watching them. I asked the teacher if I could introduce myself as they got into a line, ready to board the bus home. I stood up and in my best classroom voice introduced myself in Lakota. A wicincala raised her eyebrows as if to say, “what?!”: Lakolyapi he (he being the verbal question mark). They stood silently, again, I asked a different question, one that I thought they would be familiar with: Wasituyapi he

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They did not answer. So, I asked them in English: Do you speak Lakota? (pause) Do you speak English? The noise told me they understood me perfectly in English. But, not in Lakota. In hindsight, as I looked at the poster board with the neatly written Lakota, with perfect diacritics, I realized that these wakanyeja were readers. Not speakers. The comprehension is not there. Only the ability to read the diacritics perfectly. Even the question they were asking each other, earlier had been taped above the blackboard.

Earlier that day, I had a conversation with the principal. When the language teacher for the older elementary children was introduced, I was told the Lakota teacher graduated from a local college and had passed the language requirement but was not a fluent speaker.

Which, I am sure that is the right direction one would head if there were no fluent speakers. We can put as many non-fluent speakers with certification in the classroom as we want, but why would we do that if there are still, and I repeat, there are still many fluent speakers in Pine Ridge (who would benefit from a job), and we need them in the classrooms.

As Darrell Kipp said, for second language learners, it is like throwing darts at the dartboard, without real skill; Kipp wasn’t sure of the outcomes.

As I listen to the wakanyeja, I realize, this is the result in relying too much on linguists and outsiders. We need balance. We need both fluent male and female speakers (no formal education needed) in the classroom, now. Those of us who are experienced in teaching it, need only to provide the curriculum and let the speakers teach, intuitively with guidance. Before it is too late.

(Contact Delphine Red Shirt at redshirtphd@gmail.com)

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