I found a really good description on Reddit recently of how dialects develop. The name of the original writer had been removed (and it was 14 years old), so I can’t give credit where it’s due, but this description is too good to be wasted. The writer says:
In general, dialects form wherever there’s a lack of communication between groups [who share the same language]. Language change is a pretty constant thing, so when people don’t talk [to one another], their languages change, and diverge from each other. Things like mountain ranges and rivers can have this effect … Note also that things were different before cars: if you were 50 miles away from someone, you didn’t see or speak to them very often.
If you think about English it’s not hard to picture the most common dialects spread around the globe. North American with Canadian English above the 49th parallel, American English below. British English in England, Australian English down under. We can visualize the migrations that separated the world’s pockets of English speakers (even really large ones) keeping them apart from one another, at least over the last few centuries. Today, global media gives us instant access to dialects that differ from our own, right in our own homes – or cars! Maintaining a virtual connection even while you’re on the road definitely breaks down the isolation of that 50-mile car ride.
We know that within each of these large English dialect groups, there are many sub-dialects. Like Newfoundland English, for example, or the way they say “aboot” for “about” in Toronto. Or how they use Creenglish words like “holah!” on the Rez.
In fact, linguists have come to understand that every individual speaker of English (and every other language, for that matter) puts their own unique spin on their language. So speakers may identify with a particular dialect, or language community, yet still embrace some unique variations that are theirs alone.
Now, let’s try to keep that picture of English dialects in mind, and compare Cree.
We’ve come to have a fairly good understanding of the fundamentals of (at least) the Western dialects: Plains Cree (y-dialect) to the south, Woodlands Cree (th-dialect) to the north, Swampy Cree (n-dialect) largely in Manitoba, Moose Cree (l-dialect) at the tip of James Bay. We understand that there is a geographical component to identifying these dialects, though it’s smaller in scale than the divisions in English. We even know about that single distinguishing sound (the y, n, th and l) that can help us instantly tell the western dialects apart.
But here’s a question about Cree that comes up again and again: Why are some speakers – and communities – so determined to preserve and protect the sanctity of their own dialects that they exclude content from others? Imagine if your public library was so focused on local books that they rejected everything else. Like Shakespeare, for example, or Orwell.
On one hand, maybe it’s no surprise that people want to lock down what is uniquely theirs in a world where colonization and Residential Schools worked so hard to extinguish the language as a whole. The survival of Cree – in all its forms – is something that is precious and remarkable. Almost every community has its own language warriors working in their own ways to record and preserve – to the best of their ability – what is unique in their corner of nêhiyaw-askiy. Unfortunately, perhaps unintentionally, some end up turning their backs on their sister dialects. And sometimes that protective instinct can become a stranglehold.
I’m thinking of communities that are determined to maintain their own unique spelling system. This sometimes comes to the point that children who learn it, then move away, are instantly, unintentionally, rendered illiterate. The rug is pulled out from under them, through no fault of their own. Literacy is a tool we use to help navigate our world. It’s meant to be a bridge, not an isolating wall (or a rug, for that matter!)
As a môniyâw, and an admitted non-speaker, I’d like to humbly offer a different perspective, gathered from years of linguistics training, but also from years of working with Cree speakers all over the west. Here it is:
What if colonization – the pass system in particular – actually enforced and deepened the isolation that fostered language change from one community to the next, and, actually deepened divergence from a central shared model? The pass system, after all, created the invisible barriers that effectively turned many reserves into concentration camps, where nobody could enter or exit without signed permission from the Indian Agent.
Now that the world has shifted away from that evil, and the colonial invisible barriers are removed, why would Cree people work to keep them in place?
I’ve even heard people argue that the government-drawn imaginary line that separates Saskatchewan from Alberta represents a dialect boundary: a justification for reinforcing an “us versus them” division, despite the mountains of commonality (and near-identical pronunciation) that Plains Cree shares on either side. After all, Cree people were still confined to their reserves when the Government of Canada invented that line in 1905.
Remember: before treaty, Cree people moved freely across the plains, the woodlands, and the muskeg. They were in regular contact with relatives as well as neighbouring bands. The historical record shows that as late as 1884, roughly 2,000 Crees gathered for a Sundance hosted by Poundmaker’s band. It seems only fair to assume they gathered there to participate, and pray, and support one another in ceremony. It’s hard to imagine them accepting trivial dialect variance as a barrier.
Other stories tell us of other summer camps where multiple bands gathered to share ceremony, to visit, to fish or hunt together. It was the best time of year for parents to find suitable partners for their marriageable sons and daughters. These gatherings are documented in Cree place names like kistapinânihk meaning “meeting place, gathering place” (the original name of Prince Albert, Saskatchewan). Annual gatherings at places like these were an opportunity for people from all over to visit and converse in the language they shared. These events – the opposite of isolation – came to an abrupt halt with the assignment of reserves, the Indian Act, and especially the fundmentally illegal Pass system. The Pass system was purposely designed to prevent freedom of association amongst Cree people from different bands, and thus eliminate the chance of another uprising comparable to that of 1885.
If we look again at English, t’s easy to picture all of the English dialects beginning in a single place, with a great deal in common. And that, regardless of the differences, all of those dialects are called “English” (even if the posh speakers look down on the Cockneys). But it’s important to remember that Cree dialects also had a common point of origin. Dr Kevin Brousseau has even given us an excellent assessment of developing differences in his newly published Lexical Roots of Old Cree, examining dozens of dictionaries to find the points of divergence, along with core vocabulary items that survived very much unchanged from one dialect to the next. Cree dialects have a great deal in common that can be harnessed to contribute to language revitalization.
Mutual intelligibility – the ability of speakers from one area to understand and share a conversation with speakers from a different area – is one test linguists often use to distinguish different dialects from different languages. And English shows us again and again the benefits of shared resources across dialects, such as books and dictionaries. Tools like these are an enormously beneficial to speakers in language maintenance, no matter where they live. Through the use of standard spelling (and a little tolerance of variation like the “u” in “colour” and vocabulary issues such as “pants” versus “trousers”), most English dialects easily pass the test of mutual intelligibility. Generally speaking, Cree can do the same, but building walls around individual communities instead of bridges between them moves communities farther and farther from the shared roots they need for survival.
And here’s another fact that linguists generally take as truth: All dialects are created equal. (I confess: the blog post title was a trick question!) Some might argue that the Queen’s English (or these days, the King’s) is the ultimate model that everyone should follow. But, no matter how posh the Queen and King may sound, it’s really not true. So long as a dialect maintains the capacity to express complex thoughts, emotions, and abstract concepts, no dialect is inherently superior or more “primitive” than any other.
Another barrier between Cree speakers that can do more harm than good is the rejection of “University Cree” – rejection of speech characteristics learned by students fighting to reclaim language through the only tools they’ve been able to access. Students working to reclaim Cree are the answer to generations of prayer, yet their hearts are often broken and their years of education sacrificed when they arrive in communities that are more interested in building walls than bridges. That impoverishes everyone, including the Cree language overall.
Here’s one final linguistic truth: The only languages that are not changing are dead languages. Think Latin, or Ancient Sumerian, or any of the over-three hundred North American Indigenous languages that have already been wiped out in the course of colonization. Languages, after all, don’t die because the speakers die. They die when community members switch to a dominant neighbouring language (like English), and quit speaking it to their children. Some speakers believe they can protect the language by preventing change and insisting on “correctness”. Some stop sharing it to prevent further change. They become critics of anything and anyone that fails to meet their standard. Sometimes this comes across as lateral violence, where new learners are mocked and shamed or demoralized for their “imperfect” attempts. Which pushes them to give up, and simply … speak more English.
Cree people survived in the face of genocide because of their ability to change and adapt. Those same gifts are no less essential for the survival of language. Recording and remembering the difference between dialects is important, too. Nobody is saying that dialect differences should be flattened or erased. But for the survival of the language as a whole, a handful of specific dialect differences may not be nearly as important as finding ways to work collaboratively, to make use of every available resource, to be open to exposure to different dialects, to find all that is “mutually intelligible” in them, and to remember that all healthy, living languages change, and to especially remember that only healthy, living languages can thrive.
Communicating fully, vigourously, regardless of dialect differences; recognizing and embracing dialect difference without building walls to keep the “wrong” stuff out. Embracing beneficial changes – like standard spelling – because they will benefit the language as a whole. These are traits of healthy, robust dialects, each dialect as good as the next in spite of their differences. Healthy, robust dialects make up healthy, robust languages that possesses the ability – like Cree people themselves – to grow flexibly, and to thrive.
