Why are the Dutch “really bad speakers” in Lakota?
Names given to new concepts provide glimpses into history and culture.
When a language community is confronted with a new concept, it can respond in several ways. The English language cheerfully steals when it is not inventing new words (neologisms), its speakers generally unconcerned with maintaining linguistic purism. Other languages, including global languages like French and minority languages like Lakota, take a more defensive position. By promoting a culture of practice or empowering a regulatory body, they attempt to limit the adoption and influence of foreign loanwords. For example, in Icelandic, your friendly neighborhood web-slinger is called Kóngulóarmaðurinn, which perhaps rolls off the Viking tongue but fits awkwardly across the top of a comic book. While the Germans, Japanese, Russians, and Thais all work on machines that are called (more or less) “computers,” Icelanders boot up a tölva, a term coined in 1965 that merges the Icelandic words for “number” and “witch” or “seer.” In a mass- and social-mediated world, developing indigenous neologisms is a way to maintain the unique character of a language and to assert a specific cultural identity.
The Lakota language, spoken by a few thousand people in the north-central US, is currently experiencing an inspiring revitalization effort. Although the language is critically endangered, the establishment of immersion programs, the creation of a summer language institute, and increasing efforts to develop learning materials and media content all point to a strong community interest in maintaining the language. Last summer, I visited Sitting Bull College on the Standing Rock Sioux Reservation in North Dakota — now the epicenter of an emerging indigenous rights movement — to attend the Lakota Summer Institute (LSI). LSI’s 120-odd students were primarily school teachers from across Lakota country, but a sizable contingent of interested outsiders was also warmly welcomed. I audited classes titled “Intensive Lakota for Beginners” and “Lakota Phonology,” while advanced students participated in classes such as ethnobotany and Lakota poetry. Journalist Patrick Cox was also in attendance conducting research, and recently released an episode of The World in Words podcast titled “The Standing Rock Sioux are also fighting for their language.” The story provides an interesting introduction to the Lakota revitalization movement, tracing the history of the writing system and profiling several interesting speakers and activists. It’s great, have a listen.
The final section of the podcast episode discusses neologism development in Lakota. Ben Black Bear, an educator and native speaker, describes how the Lakota term for “apple” (tȟaspáŋ) was derived from a term for “wet snow,” which the inside of the apple resembled. I was reminded of a conversation I had with a fluent speaker about terms for geography and nationality. The Lakota dictionary lists few terms for contemporary nation-states — all native Lakota speakers are bilingual in English, and would use the English terms for Tajikistan or Egypt or Iceland. There are a few exceptions, however, related to the specific historical interactions that the Lakota have had with other peoples.
Many Lakota names clearly evoke the 18th and 19th century world in which they originated. The French are Wašíču ikčéka, or in literal back translation “ordinary white people,” a term presumably developed when French fur traders were the only Europeans in regular contact with the Lakota. The Americans are Mílahaŋska, or “long knives,” a rather grim reference to the sabres carried by the US cavalry. Canada is Uŋčíyapi Makȟóčhe, or “their grandmother’s country,” where their grandmother (the British monarch) reigned. The Chinese are Pȟečhókaŋ Háŋska, “long topknots.” And so on.
Finally, my conversation and subsequent (completely unscientific) research revealed that two nations, in particular, are thrown some shade. The Germans, who I imagine were first met by Lakota as settlers in the 19th century, are Iyášiča, or “bad speakers.” I wonder if this is a reference to the settlers’ English language skills, or to the German language itself. Even less comprehensible to the Lakota, apparently, were the Dutch, or Iyášičaȟča.That ȟča at the end of the word means “really,” as in “really bad speakers.” If a fluent speaker happens to read this, I’d love to know more.
Many new words are developed during a workshop that is conducted annually at LSI, where a group of fluent speakers propose, debate, and vote on new words. The process is captured in a bonus video from the documentary Rising Voices:
The neologism development work is publicized on a website where speakers can now find both “approved” and proposed Lakota terms for things like wifi (ikȟáŋšniyaŋ), tablet computer (žaŋžáŋ-épatȟaŋ) or carbohydrate (uŋškáŋpi). Geographic terminology proposals include: Zuyá Yápšni Makȟóčhe / Switzerland ( “they do not go to war + country”); Wakpá Mniwáŋča Makȟóčhe / Brazil ( “river sea (Amazon) country”); Watȟáŋni Makȟóčhe / Greece (“country of antiquities”) and even Čháǧa Wíta / Iceland (“ice island”).
Peter Hill puts forward a case for Lakota in his TEDx Talk (above):
Lakota is a living thriving language; one in which we should be able to talk about fiber optic cables, plate tectonics and astrophysics as well as how to adorn a deerskin pipe bag with porcupine quill work.
Speakers of indigenous and minority languages have many perspectives on how, and occasionally whether, their language should interact with an increasingly globalized world. If they are to persist, languages must somehow adapt to the changing lives and contexts of their speakers. While some language communities will absorb new terms from outside, others fight to maintain a distinctive vocabulary that respects a unique cultural perspective.
