Is the Chamorro language dead?

Like dry leaf bouncing erratically in the open waters, someday it would soak and sink to the bottom of the sea, never to be seen again. Sadly, this is how I see the demise of our native tongue. Up ahead, our children would see the loss of something intrinsically valuable as it recedes with the tide of neglect, so mutilated by the demands of modernity.

Sure, it’s sad watching a language disappear with each new generation that loses most of their native tongue. But like Latin, the native Chamorro language will slowly fade into the ash heap of history. We may be able to speak it, but the requisite scaffold it needs so it is used in perpetuity has slowly faded into oblivion. Its fading echo would be the only relic left behind for the indigenous people of these isles. We would only learn of its intrinsic traditional value when it’s gone.

Understandably, folks have related how hard it is to read in their lingo. Indeed, it is humiliating! But many of us are victims of an educational system that teaches English as we move from grammar to high school. We developed literacy in English while we devolve into illiteracy in our own native tongue. It’s nobody’s fault. But look at the long-term effects of illiteracy in our own language. It’s our last hope to perpetuating our peoplehood, isn’t it?

I learned my Chamorro in the first and second grades. Learning the written aspect of it never waned in spite of the instructional discontinuation. I have struggled during the initial years of penning my thoughts to ensure some appreciable measure of being conversant on issues, written with clarity. It became a lot easier with constant writing exercises through the years. It felt good, though I still refuse to use the orthography from Guam. It isn’t representative of the Chamorro taught then nor is it anywhere near what the learned folks have shared and conveyed to us before moving on.

The decision to bury my written column in the vernacular is founded in the assessment that hardly anybody reads Chamorro these days. Specifically, I quiz if I’ve done justice in the use of the written Chamorro or did I exact the complete opposite—discouraged more than encouraged its use. It seems an issue often treated with the adage, “After all is said and done, a lot more is said than done.” And unless there’s strong and wide support of encouragement to continue, it ends on the last week of April.

It is this sad assessment plus 40 years of walking up to the loneliest mound on earth that hastened ending this journey this year. I will prepare an obituary for it. It seems a useless journey I liken to the narrowing of the arteries. Eventually, it loses its use and function. But I think I’ve conquered my dream of writing in my vernacular. Thank God it came with the love of writing and tons of inspiration. To write successfully is to write. Proficiency comes with the routine and critical review or reasoning. Nothing else! That I will end my written Chamorro will not change, in any form or fashion, my being Chamorro.

Throughout the period, I’ve returned, time and again, to expressing my understanding of indigenous cultural traditions. It includes realistic takes on the contemporary relationship between indigenous land and culture we brave as mouthwash though often disoriented. I even ventured questioning since when did Chamorros have a chant or was the use of hula truly indigenous and inherently part of traditional Chamorro dance or isn’t this basically Polynesian? Why not inject the Spanish influence? Why dance something that is far removed from indigenous culture? Adaptation doesn’t represent our true cultural tradition even if it’s called “contemporary.”

In brief form, do we fabricate cultural arts or do we defer and premise it on history? Why the fabrication? Isn’t this a commercial exploitation of perceived cultural art that was never a part of indigenous or traditional history? Did we have Chamorro warriors blowing conch before engaging the enemy? Weren’t they more into hiding to surprise them? But the arts and indigenous medicine are components of the overall cultural traditions of these isles. Its revival is vital to recapturing the essence of our people and I tip my hat to the hardworking crew.

Indeed, I’ve also openly expressed my nationalistic sentiments about these isles and its people. I wasn’t ready to surrender sovereignty easily, but 78 percent of our people voted—through a plebiscite—in favor of an agreement establishing a permanent relationship with the U.S.

Interesting the quirk of fate: the very issues I feared then have begun showing their ugly fangs in the expressions we read or hear about today among some of our indigenous people. Be that as it may, we’re a bit too late Amy, right? So what paradigms must we employ revisiting and rebuilding a dysfunctional relationship with the U.S.? Do we cater to our nationalistic aspirations or the reality of now? The former looks like a long journey, isn’t it?

Down the stretch, we could expect returning scholars to begin scribbling the history of these isles that would be presented from an indigenous’ perspective. In short, it’s the writing of our history by our very own about “Our Story.” They’d also begin scribbling island literature in the vernacular for wider use throughout public schools. This revolution has begun already with the First Festival of Pacific Arts. It would revive the pride of islanders in this part of the world, a movement that will strengthen as we pull ourselves out of neo-colonialism into greater self-government. It’s a long process that will require resolve, strength, conviction, and resilience to show that we too are capable of handling our own sovereign and domestic affairs. And a lot rides on how well we strengthen our democratic institutions today.

There are salient issues that come to mind, though we conveniently skirt pondering our future with any sense of purpose. As you sift through fact and fiction of the current state of affairs, have you any idea how we end up crashing all over the place? Aren’t you also a player in the deepening mess? Do we step up to the plate so we can be counted as real agents of change for the better? Like I’ve said before, it’s all in the palm of your hands and the entire nine yards begins with the self. Biba Chamorro Lingo!

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[I] John DelRosario Jr. is a former publisher of Saipan Tribune and a former secretary of Department of Public Lands.[/I]