A Love Letter to Second Language Learners

Dear Second Language Learners,

You are some of the bravest people I know. With abounding love and empathy, and

the realness that is the ways of our peoples, I wanted to write to you these words: I

know.

For those working through grammar books and sharing language through social

media, signing up for classes, and/or asking family and community members for

words, for those at all levels of skill, whether you’re starting out in your language

journey, or have been involved with language work for a while, for those who are on

the front lines of advancing the language movement, or those secretly interested in

learning, but are scared to death to do so, I write this love letter to all of you.

I know that at some moments, the work can feel futile – in the recesses of your mind,

in the very secret parts of your heart, sometimes you might wonder – can my

language really be revitalized? Or is it just really going to go the way of so many

languages and die anyways? To that, please Dear Second Language Learner, press

on; learn your words, exercise them, and protect them because your language

remains alive as long as you have these words inside you. After all, caring is

contagious; my friend who was gifted with a fluent parents and is himself

conversational once told me, “I would care more about language if I saw that people

actually cared,” instead of mostly seeing leadership espousing its importance from

top-down. I can tell you with certainty that by staying true and consistent, by

sharing why it’s important with others when moments arise but also living by

example, it catches on. Never give up.

I know that language work and language learning leaves your heart in your palm,

open for anyone to flay everything about your very essence of being – questioning

your motivations, quizzing your skill, dissecting your identity and authenticity as an

indigenous person or the pureness of your blood. It makes me wonder if anybody

who achieves conversational ability or fluency can emerge, speaking well, but also

whole.

You are perhaps a different person before you began your language journey. Maybe

you are feeling like your view of your own people has been warped through your

work. Maybe you feel battle-worn and scarred and that once upon a time, before this

all began, you were different – less pained. Know that all of these feelings are just

the transfer of sentiments from what your community feels, onto you; it is now time

to give those feelings back to those systems gave them to us, for they do not belong

with our people.

I know that if you only did language work, it could seem like you are working with

seemingly harsh and cruel peoples. I was talking with an Adult Second-Language

Learner in rural community, one relatively rich in language, who told me, “Maybe it

would be easier to learn the language in Anchorage, because then you’re away from

the criticism.” But know that this sensation comes from somewhere: the love of

language our people have, the fierce sense of protection for preserving it in its

“perfect form,” and the very real fear to see it changed, altered or disappear. We

have to keep knowing and believing that going forward, for espousing love and

making it synonymous with language work, is not only how we will stave off

bitterness, but it is how our communities will heal and end the inheritance of

shame; we want to pass down the language, not the pain.

When those remaining fluent speakers are our eldership, it can be easy to think of

our languages as languages of the old; what our work is, however, is to once again

make them languages of the young. Reclaiming our languages as the younger

generations and taking ownership of them as ours requires so much bravery. I know

that we give our children upwards of 5 years to practice learning their first language

– to babble, practice the sounds, and make mistakes, knowing that they will

eventually self-correct, but it seems we do not allow adult second language learners

the same. In fact, it is the only way language has ever been learned.

I once introduced myself to an elder in my language, who was part of the boarding

school generation and she began to cry and couldn’t continue speaking with me,

because she had uttered it was so good to hear the words coming from a young one.

Our languages must once again become the languages of the young; taking

ownership of our languages as the young is the charge of those who live without

that pain. You need nobody’s permission to reclaim your own words of your people.

Because the missionaries and the boarding schools that took the words out of our

elders’ mouths – they are now gone; we know that if we young people do not take

up the charge, who is killing our languages now?

And I know the struggles you have to work through regarding dialectical

differences, respecting the special styles and cadences that have grown in our

communities, which make our words unique. But the language landscape is such

that we must ask ourselves, if in being unwilling to learn all ways, will we lose the

ways of all? I know what it feels like to wonder, if in loving our languages, are we

loving them to death? I know what it’s like to wonder if our peoples will ever accept

an evolving living language over a “perfect” dying one.

And for those learning an indigenous language who are non-Native, I take my hood

off to you. Know that the more people we have learning our languages, the stronger

they become; we need more language, not less of it; and more language will always

be a good thing. By helping keep them alive, you too are advocating for our peoples,

perspectives and communities, and I thank you. I once heard someone say, “If you

share your culture, then it cannot be taken away from you.” Give yourself the

permission you need to learn an indigenous language. And if you are ever in times of

doubt, remember this: I never had a Spanish teacher who was from Mexico or

Bolivia or Spain.

Dear Second Language Learner, you who choose to go down this path, to work

through the frustrations of asking for money to get back what was taken from you,

who struggle through tribal dynamics and personal politics to bring language work

into fruition, who feel like you’re grasping to actualize within others why our

languages are even important, who get challenged for your accented speech, who in

championing language or Native-positive legislation have to push back on policy

makers wary of favoring “one minority over others,” who carries on despite

disagreements about dialect, who are battling apathy about language from those

who are closest to you, who are making the time because you know we all have time

for that which we truly value, who are working to coax words from our precious

elders who share though it may gravely pain them to speak – I give you every

possible respect, courtesy, and accolade that is owed to you and your bravery in

trudging through. Don’t stop believing.

With abounding empathy and love,

Another Second Language Learner