Simon Bird recently posted a reflection on FaceBook that resonated with me in many ways. Ten years into his online adventures with language as #CreeSimonSays, what he writes is pretty personal, but it is also honest and even vulnerable in addressing the genuine challenges and the emotional cost of opening himself up to others in work that he and I, and all of our fellow language warriors agree is sacred. Each of us, in our own way, tries to help – in many small ways – to light up a positive path that might encourage others to find their way to Cree language reclamation. Not all those who see the light respond with kindness, yet, if Simon can persist, so can we.
Simon – and many other Cree Literacy colleagues – do the work as a matter of birthright. As a môniyâw, I was given responsibility for this work by the late Freda Ahenakew, and I try my best to honour it every day. Arok Wolvengrey, another of late Freda’s devoted adoptees, has devoted his life to doing the same. I am grateful for the many ways I’m am welcomed into Cree circles again and again, but I understand that my attitudes and opinions will always be those of an outsider. Nevertheless, as the Commanche linguist and language warrior Kate Pewenofkit has said, it “takes all of us.”
Here’s what Simon had to say about his own experiece:
I want to say thank you. Thank you for the small moments when you made me feel it’s okay to do this work. There have been many times, especially this past year when I just wanted to be left alone. I had unsolicited PMs sharing how this group has helped nourish distant relations. One lady shared how she didn’t have a relationship with her biological mother but by asking her about the Cree words helped her get closer. Another was how cancer survivor at the hospital was battling depression and this group was one of the few things she looked forward to on a daily basis. Thank you to those that have come up to me to shake my hand to say thank you. These folks say it with such a genuine smile and sincerity that I can’t help but keep going, yet there have been moments I almost threw in the towel.
Then there was the elder who passed on. She always called me Chief. She’d say you’ll always be my Chief because that’s how we met, from my political days. Politics can be brutal because our own people are meanest to each other, they call Indian Politics a blood sport & it got worse when FB came around. This is a term I heard from seasoned politicians. My mental health has always been a priority and I knew starting this group would bring some of that hate over.
In politics a small jab was to call me “Simon Says” or “Simple Simon”. These were very few but I was shocked these same people were the ones getting huge notoriety and love from the public. It didn’t take me long to see how they really operate and how scheming was part of their “success.” The politician who coined the phrase “Indian Politics is a blood sport” did share with me how northern people, including northern leadership, still retain bygone hospitality and mutual respect. He said the favourite part of his job is visiting the north, it’s like visiting with the old people that started the FSIN. I respected him because of his views and learned to see through his eyes, but it made me realize maybe instead of trying to change people’s views I should just try to maintain what we still have. After this, I knew my political days were coming to an end.
The next question was, what do I do with the platform I’ve inherited with my consistent advocacy for First Nations during the Harper years and my constant push for better in First Nations Youth & Education. After I made my move away from politics to reconnect with education in the beautiful mountain side of Treaty 7, with few Cree speakers around, it didn’t take me long to yearn for my language. I was far from home and far from fluent speakers. But after sharing some Cree words and memorable ways of learning words and phrases I found the perfect recipe for this home sickness for my language. I loved learning the local Indigenous language but my connection to home was strong and still is today.
It was now 2015, almost 2 years since leaving politics and 5 years since having the best job I’ve ever had: being a school Principal back home. It didn’t take much but after some good folks asked I start a page, I carefully considered a name before announcing anything. I remembered seeing an interview of actor Will Smith sharing his story about how he chose his character’s name for the 90’s show Fresh Prince of Belair. His co-star said, “Just remember, whatever you decide will be what people will know you as.” So he chose his own name Will Smith. The story goes that the actors and producers knew the show was going to be a big hit, in this same way, with all the positive feedback from friends and new friends teaching Cree on social media was going to be big. This was on the heels of Idle No More in 2012 and more and more of our people were being proud of who they were and no longer ashamed of being an Indian.
For me, I’ve never been shy of who I was and always loved my language. So, knowing I had a bit of a presence, at a time folks were hungry for the language I started #CreeSimonSays. There were still haters out there from the political days, mostly keyboard warriors, so I decided to beat them to the punch and make light of the lateral violence. Many of these same people were serious gatekeepers or language bullies.
People were being attacked on social media for asking simple questions or “misspelling” Cree words. It was and still is disgusting. How can we expect people to learn about our language when every question they have spurs lateral violence, belittlement or shame? We fume about how residential schools stripped away our language. Aren’t we doing the same thing?
So with that in my head, my virtual space was staked out as an open circle of learners and those lonely for the language. Being protective came naturally because it’s how I operate my classrooms, or schools as an administrator. If you’re not there to support the kids by showing up to work, if you’re playing political games to get your way, I’m sorry, but you’re not in the right place.
As for my virtual learning space on social media – with ignorant people gaining “followers” themselves always in the back of my head – how could I teach Cree without being attacked that I’m teaching “the wrong Cree”? Yes, this happens often. Our people, fluent or not, put each other in boxes. But I always saw my language roots stemming from an era before reservations existed because my first teacher, my late kohkom, was born on the land and she taught me that different ways of knowing were to be respected and appreciated. So that’s where I came up with the whole name, CreeSimon. People couldn’t argue about which Cree because it was Simon’s Cree. The hashtag (#) was the last piece of the name, added the day before I started the group in a moment of last minute inspiration, was still new back then but I knew adding it signalled that it was fresh, new and would be trending. I also realized that by adding it, you could track it across the internet.
But before I officially launched this name I asked my 13 year old son for his blessing. I asked him if it’s okay I use “Simon Says” as part of the name. Because he would have to carry that legacy, his father would be known as a “Cree Simon Says”. It was a moment for sure for me because I grew up being bullied. My teenage years were tough and my stint in politics had all the same dynamics. But my son had no hesitation. We were on one of our daily walks on the Bow River in Cochran, Alberta. He was being bullied himself, but not as much. He said it was up to me. So that’s how #CreeSimonSays was born. It’s a name that provides space for the learner a safe space to ask questions, a fun space that embraces our indigenous humour and a place that provokes you to see how much we have in common, across dialects, as indigenous people, and most importantly as human beings.
Comanche language warrior Kate Pewenofkit hit more than a few nerves all around the world of Indigenous language reclamation when she first posted the meme on FaceBook that we’ve used as a cover image here. It hit nerves in the Cree community, too, particularly among those struggling to learn Cree on their own, or working at universities. Many of these self-motivated students have had no choice but to seek out alternate paths for learning because the “normal” path: learning in childhood from parents, or in an established immersion classroom, or with a fully fluent master speaker from their own home community, is not available to them.
Some community efforts, conversely, seem to grow from the impulse to protect and preserve all that is unique about their own individual dialect. In imagining a path to language recovery, preservation of every detail seems like an obvious virtue, especially in communities that have been traumatized by generations of linguicide driven by residential schools. Recognizing those external forces and the damage they have inflicted, it seems only logical to take on the role of a protector. A goalkeeper, perhaps, standing in front of the net, determined to deflect anything different because it might pose a threat.
But here’s the thing: for healthy languages, change and adaptation are normal. Change is a sign of good health! It happens all around the world, whenever speakers from different communities are in contact with one another, adjustments are made. Uninterrupted by colonization, Cree bands from all across nêhiyaw-askiy may well have continued their annual cycle, travelling from winter to summer ranges. The late Elder Barry Ahenakew has described springtime assemblies with “six or seven miles of nothing but tipi”: an assembly of smaller bands who were all followers of leading chiefs. Cree people would gather for ceremony “when the leaves were the size of a dime or a bit bigger.” They would spend weeks or even months together. There were certainly dialect differences, but those differences didn’t prevent with understanding, or undermine respect.
David Crystal is a highly respected linguist and author of the book Language Death. He is famously quoted: “The only languages which do not change are dead ones.” Linguists,who have spent decades observing languages around the world consider this statement to be a universal truth. Languages only stop changing when nobody speaks them anymore.
And that’s where a serious problem arises. The harder communities work to keep outside influences out, the more they diminish their language’s chance of survival. It may not be what they intend, but the harder they work to enforce specific community norms, the fewer community members they find who are willing or able to abide by their restrictions. Input from anyone who fails to comply is rejected or attacked. Bullies take pot shots. Do they really care about language, or are they just bullying? Is there really a difference? To use a very old-time expression, they’re biting off their nose to spite their face. By actively preventing change, they are also actively driving language death, no matter what they intend.
Collectively, we decry the shortage of teachers. Every new-minted teacher is a prayer answered, and a triumph of their personal commitment to dedicate themselves to benefit their language. Fresh-faced new teachers graduate and are recruited by hopeful communities. Many are recruited into different dialect communities from those where they grew up or learned Cree. In some cases, they come under attack almost immediately for their failure to conform to somebody’s idea of community norms. Teachers’ pronunciation or dialect may be criticized, or they may be accused of speaking “University Cree” (a fairly common insult in Manitoba, Saskatchewan and Alberta). Almost before they begin, the careers of these idealistic new teachers are derailed. And the young children they’re hoping to inspire? They become innocent bystanders, watching as the emotional wellbeing of those new teachers is eroded. Remember: these new teachers haven’t been trained – as Simon Bird was – in the bloodsport that is “Indian Politics”. They haven’t begun to develop the personal toughness they’ll need to endure these attacks. The community, meanwhile, feels betrayed, and begins searching for their next new recruit. And those young children sitting in their classrooms? They watch the cycle of attack repeat itself. Nobody benefits from the downward spiral. The goal of reclamation moves just a little further away; language death steps closer.
Maybe CreeSimon’s kohkom had it right, referring back to that era before reserves and the Pass System kept Cree people isolated from one another. Maybe we can all learn and benefit from her understanding that different ways of knowing deserve respect and appreciation. I, for one, respect the ten years that #CreeSimonSays has offered the Cree language, shining a light to help others find the path. I’m grateful for Simon’s willingness to lead in a positive way (even if I sometimes privately complain about his spelling!) because like Simon, and like Kate Pewenofkit, I know that revitalization is about community, collaboration and community. And that takes all of us.
