by Melissa Gonzalez-Maza
These reflections on multilingual practices are part of a cumulative project from Kathleen Guerra’s Spring 2023 ASEM: The politics of bilingualism in the US. Students were asked to reflect on how multilingual practices, coupled by the formal and informal language policies in their communities, have cumulatively shaped their identities.
During the fall of 2022, I had the privilege of participating in a study abroad program in Ecuador for nearly four months. While I was abroad, I had the opportunity to live with Ecuadorian families, some of which presented its challenges. Given Ecuador’s historical political context and prevailing social and cultural norms, it was often difficult and frustrating at times to be living with a mestizo family because there is still a lot of stigma and discrimination around indigenous people and their languages. While staying with an older mestizo family in Ibarra, Ecuador, I found myself in numerous awkward and uncomfortable situations arising from negative comments about indigenous languages and its people. On one occasion, I was sitting at the kitchen island with four older women and my host siblings in their thirties. One of the older women started a conversation about indigenous people and their language. Although I don’t remember the exact context of the conversation, it went something like: “I hate when they [Otavaleños, other indigenous communities] speak their language. It sounds so ugly.” To which my host sister responded, “you realize you use Kichwa words every day, right? You use words like ‘wamra, wawa, taita…” and then a silence followed.
My family has deep indigenous roots in Oaxaca, Mexico, which I have recently begun to explore further. It is important to acknowledge that the primary reason I don’t know much about my indigenous heritage is because of the stigmatization and discrimination towards indigenous communities across Latin America, but more generally across the world. My great-great grandfather fled his community to avoid being killed or forced to fight for something he didn’t believe in. Although my great-grandfather grew up speaking Mixtec, he chose not to teach his children, including my grandmother, his language. It wasn’t until I grew older that I became aware of the significance of being indigenous or speaking an indigenous language and realized that much of my culture had been erased in efforts to assimilate to the dominant culture. Only a few of my relatives among those remaining in my family speak and understand Mixtec, and none of the younger generations know the language. This realization brings me immense sadness since language is an integral part of my identity and something I take great pride in.
The systematic oppression of indigenous languages on a larger scale poses a threat to the preservation of culture heritage for all indigenous communities. As someone actively striving to reconnect with my indigenous roots, it can be discouraging to hear negative remarks about an indigenous language. During my time abroad, I decided to get a tattoo that reads “Dios ma bada kuiya,” which means “God never dies” in Mixtec. Despite my pride in my roots and culture, there have been moments when I felt hesitant to explain the meaning and significance of my tattoo, particularly when I was in Ecuador surrounded by mestizo families. Younger generations, like me, are beginning to push back against this stigmatization and strive to reclaim our lost language practices. However, these efforts are often met with resistance from dominant “standard” language speakers. I’ve been asked before by younger relatives in Mexico why I am so interested in learning Mixtec, while older family members can’t contain their smile as I tell them it is because I want to be able to take pride in our culture to its fullest extent. I don’t want to continue hiding my ancestor’s language practices; I want to embrace them and prove our resiliency. We are still here and want to be seen.
When thinking about Latin American countries that still have strong indigenous peoples, language, and culture, it becomes crucial to think about the implications of these two different worlds coming together. The stigmatization of non-dominant languages in Latin America not only erases cultural practices and identities but also marginalizes a group of people associated with a minoritized language. While Spanish remains the predominant language in Latin America, there are individuals who also speak indigenous languages. Despite the historical context of all Latin American countries, indigenous languages have faced and continue to face stigmatization. Reflecting on the conversation held by the four older women in Ibarra, Ecuador, it highlights the ignorance often exhibited by individuals from dominant groups. Specifically in the context of Ecuador, many people incorporate Kichwa into their speech every day because of the strong indigenous influence that remains despite efforts to suppress it. It raises the question of how an older mestizo woman can be comfortable using Kichwa words in her sentences, such as “mira que linda esta esa wawa” but be offended when indigenous people speak the same language. Considering factors such as social status and indigenous connections or lack thereof, it kind of makes sense why some mestizo Spanish speakers have such uninformed perspectives of indigenous languages.
Language is a huge part of my identity and represents the work I aspire to do. I love the language I grew up speaking, Spanish, and I take pride in my ability to speak and communicate in Spanish. Although Spanish was not the native tongue of my ancestors, it is the language my family now identities with, and have learned to embrace. Sometime in the near future, I hope to embark on a journey of learning a dialect of Mixtec, which was my ancestors’ languages but were lost as they tried to assimilate their families. Despite resistance from relatives and dominant language speakers, I am determined to reclaim a language that was taken away from my family, a language that is inherently ours. Similar to how being a Spanish speaker was not always something I felt eager to share with others because of the negative associations attached to this group, particularly brown Spanish speakers, I have learned to embrace it. Whenever an opportunity arises, I will proudly speak Spanish because of my love for it, and I hope to one day be able to fully embrace one of my ancestors’ languages as well.