I AM DENE; THEREFORE, I SPEAK DENESULINE

 

 Six generations of   incredible Dene women,  all fluent Desuline speakers My great grandma,Sophia grandma, Christine Adam my mom,  Therese Deranger big sister Dora Flett , her daughter, Donna Deranger, and her baby, Sandra  photo taken in the 1970's. Three generations of Dene speakers left in my family, by 2021

I was raised in a small northern community in Alberta, Canada, in the Hamlet of Fort Chipewyan among Cree, Dene, Métis and non-natives (settlers). Why did I put settlers in italics?  I don't like to use the term settlers because I view it as derogatory and dehumanizes a collective group.  After all, none of us are personally responsible for the actions of our ancestors. Moreover, in the age of reconciliation there is no need to shame. Reconciliation will only work if both parties know their actions have consequences, particularly in current times because we know better. To perpetuate the term settler does not bring us closer to reconciliation, but in fact continues to divide us.  

My parents and my grandparents spoke Denesuline fluently. Neither my parents nor my grandparents attended residential schools. We were poor but we spoke our language. As I get older, I am beginning to appreciate truly the richness of my Dene language and culture. It was the younger children like me who in my family attended residential school. You may be aware these schools were created by the government of Canada to kill the Indian within the child, and by and large it worked. It started first by preventing us from speaking our language and then creating a feeling of inferiority surrounding being Indigenous.  The culture of residential school perpetuated the feeling of never being good enough or measuring up to the non-Indigenous population.

I am a product of residential school at the same time I have the resilience of my ancestors flowing in my blood.  Residential schools created the conditions for Indigenous peoples to become ashamed of speaking their mother tongue. I had no choice into which family I would be born, just like those of European ancestry, which is why I feel strongly not to perpetuate calling them settlers. Why would I want to shame them?  

I have always held pride in the ability to understand Denesuline.

Really? To be completely honest with myself there must have been something holding me back from being able to speak Denesuline fluently. However, I will not blame residential school for not speaking my language today. It is ridiculous that I didn't master my language. After all I was raised hearing the language being spoken all around me. I should be fluent. But I am not.  And there is no pride in that.

 To say I am proud of being Dene comes with responsibility. That responsibility and honour is to keep our language alive.  And it is not too late.  A good friend, an advocate for keeping the Blackfoot language alive, Dr. Betty Bastien, once said to me all you need are two Indigenous speakers to keep a language alive.  Thankfully, we have more than that.  And after speaking to an author who wrote 90 books this weekend who said he writes books not about because he knows about something but rather to learn about a subject, he writes to learn more. It made perfect sense to me.  When I blog I am often trying to process something I'm going through.  He says we should question. Well, I am on a quest to learn why I am not fluent in my native tongue, and to change that fact.

 I am taking a stand to ensure that in the next generation, those under 60 years of age will become fluent in Denesuline.  Beginning with myself. The journey will begin with asking the question: “Why am I not a fluent speaker already?”   

When I moved to Ottawa my mother was still alive, and she kept the language alive for me. But recently I realized that I didn't know any Dene speakers in Ottawa, and I was losing my fluency. I wasn’t even hearing it any more. I knew I needed to do something fast before it was too late. This realization ignited a sense of urgency in me.

To that end I have made arrangements for a group of Denesuline speakers to meet monthly, beginning next month, to visit and speak our language. And since it is a pandemic and we are all over Canada, this will take place over the phone.  I think that the inquiry as to why I am not a fluent speaker will be something I will be discovering on my own and perhaps among this group, who have surely all faced challenges in maintaining their fluency. I want it to be like a group of friends just visiting, like in the old days.  But we will only be speaking Denesuline, even myself.

At the end of the day, I ought to discover pride for my mother tongue. And more importantly, to help revitalize a language that is far too close to extinction. Then I can honestly say with satisfaction” “I am Dene; therefore, I speak Denesuline,” because I will be assuming my responsibility for keeping Denesuline language alive in honour of my mother, and ancestors. This is what me being proud of being Denesuline looks like.

Walking my talk finally, by not fooling myself.