MPR’s Elizabeth Stawicki presents report on attempts to save the Ojibwe language. Report includes various interviews, including Jim Northrup.
At one time more than 300 American Indian languages were spoken in the U.S. But with each passing generation, many of the indigenous languages have died; others are on the verge of disappearing. With that in mind, tribes from northern Wisconsin and Minnesota are trying to keep their Ojibwe language from going silent and along the way gain new insight into how their ancestors viewed the world.
Transcripts
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ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Camille Lachappa remembers, as a young girl nearly 30 years ago, hearing old men speak Ojibwe on the streets of Hayward, Wisconsin.
CAMILLE LACHAPPA: And they seemed like they were having a really good time, you know? Laughing and talking. And I stood there for just a moment, watching these men. And they probably were making fun of me. I don't know. [CHUCKLES]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Lachappa says she can count on her hands the number of fluent speakers now on the Lac Courte Oreilles Reservation in Northwestern Wisconsin. Most of them, she says, are over 60 years old, like this elder who speaks about March snow.
SPEAKER 1: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: This elder along with several others appear on the area radio station at least four times a day.
ERIC SCHUBRING: I'm Eric Schubring. This is WOJB Reserve Wisconsin broadcasting from Lac Courte Oreilles.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Lachappa, who's general manager produces segments which are intended to, not only teach the language, but also provide an insight into the Ojibwe traditional way of life that is synonymous with nature. This elder explains with a translator that spring is near if a hard crust forms on the snow.
SPEAKER 2: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
INTERPRETER: As spring approaches, it starts to warm up.
SPEAKER 2: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
INTERPRETER: The snow shall begin to start melting.
SPEAKER 2: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
INTERPRETER: If it is still cold, then there will be a hard crust on the snow.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Ojibwe is part of the large Algonquian family of related American Indian languages, which also includes Cree, Arapaho, and Cheyenne. One linguistic source, the Ethnologue of Languages, says there are about 35,000 Ojibwe speakers in the world. But most of them are in isolated areas of Canada.
KELLER PEP: If we are to be Ojibwe, if we do not speak our languages anymore, we're merely descendants of Ojibwe people.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Keller Pep is unusual on the Lac Courte Oreilles Reservation. He's fluent in Ojibwe and he's only 30 years old. Pep, who is from the Red Cliff Band, grew up in the Twin Cities and wasn't raised with a language. But in college where he studied art and Native American studies, he went through a transformation by learning Ojibwe. He says he began to feel the deep connection among the language, the Earth, and the Anishinaabeg, the Ojibwe word for what they call themselves, the first people.
KELLER PEP: You know, with our languages, we don't have a motherland to go back to. This is where the languages have come from, have been for so long. So they're so connected to the natural environment of this land, of this region.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: About 100 miles Northwest of the Lac Courte Oreilles Reservation is the Fond du Lac Reservation in Northern Minnesota. On this day, when the fog is so dense, it looks like apparitions moving across the dirt roads. It's easy to imagine hearing some of the earliest human language spoken in the North Woods.
JIM NORTHRUP: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Writer Jim Northrup gives his name in Ojibwe. He says his clan is bear. He's from the Fond du Lac Reservation and lives in Sawyer.
JIM NORTHRUP: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Northrup has lived among Minnesota's white birch and Jack pine most of his life. He remembers speaking some Ojibwe as a child until boarding school, where speaking the language earned him a slap on the neck from teachers. Now he says speaking Ojibwe brings him peace.
JIM NORTHRUP: It feels good. It brings back memories of my parents, my grandparents. All the old people that used to talk. So hearing it again is a good feeling.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Northrup along with other tribal members meet twice a year for a language conference in Cloquet. On this day, Northrup's 11-year-old grandson Isega will deliver the opening prayer. Northrup calls him Isega, which means woodtick in Ojibwe because the boy clings so fiercely when he hugs. On the drive, Northrup gives his grandson some last minute tutoring on a prayer that, in part, asks the spirits and creator to help them learn the Ojibwe language.
JIM NORTHRUP: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
That means let's eat. OK, take it from the top.
ISEGA: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: This year's statewide conference attracts only 35 people.
SPEAKER 3: This is a mutton. Everybody say wabijeshe.
PARTICIPANTS: Wabijeshe.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Some sit around a 15 foot table at the Cloquet Community Center where facilitators show slides of different activities and challenge the participants to say the corresponding Ojibwe words.
SPEAKER 3: [SPEAKING OJIBWE]
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: Northrup and many others say they feel a spiritual strength after the language exercise, almost like being at a revival. He says he hopes Indians and non-Indians will try to understand even a bit of the Ojibwe language because he says doing so would go a long way toward healing wounds of the past.
JIM NORTHRUP: If they start to learn the language, then I think respect will just naturally follow. If somebody takes the trouble to learn the language or learn a little bit of it, that shows that they're respecting me. So I like the idea of anybody and everybody learn and use the language. It's important.
ELIZABETH STAWICKI: On the Fond du Lac Reservation in Northern Minnesota, I'm Elizabeth Stawicki, Minnesota Public Radio.
[INSECTS CROAKING]
[DISTANT DOG BARKING]