Becoming "Fully" Hopi: The Role of The Hopi Language in The Contemporary Lives of Hopi Youth

Becoming "Fully" Hopi: The Role of Hopi Language
in the Contemporary Lives Of Hopi Youth--

A Hopi Case Study of Language Shift and Vitality
Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation
Authors Nicholas, Sheilah Ernestine
Publisher The University of Arizona.
Rights Copyright © is held by the author. Digital access to this material

is made possible by the University Libraries, University of Arizona.
Further transmission, reproduction or presentation (such as
public display or performance) of protected items is prohibited
except with permission of the author.
Download date 14/08/2018 03:34:47
Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/194190

BECOMING “FULLY” HOPI:
THE ROLE OF THE HOPI LANGUAGE IN THE CONTEMPORARY LIVES OF
HOPI YOUTH – A HOPI CASE STUDY OF LANGUAGE SHIFT AND VITALITY
by
Sheilah E. Nicholas
______________________
Copyright© Sheilah E. Nicholas 2008
A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the
GRADUATE INTERDISCIPLINARY PROGRAM IN AMERICAN INDIAN STUDIES
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

For the Degree of
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
In the Graduate College
THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA
2008
2
THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

GRADUATE COLLEGE
As members of the Dissertation Committee, we certify that we have read the dissertation
prepared by Sheilah E. Nicholas
entitled Becoming “Fully” Hopi: The Role of the Hopi Language in the Contemporary
Lives of Hopi Youth—A Case Study of Hopi Language Shift and Vitality
and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement for the
Degree of Doctor of Philosophy
Dr. Tsianina Lomawaima Date: May 8, 2007
Dr. Teresa McCarty_________________________________________ Date: May 8, 2007
Emory Sekaquaptewa Date: May 8, 2007
Dr. Yetta Goodman Date: May 8, 2007
Dr. Mary Jo Tippeconnic Fox Date: May 8, 2007
Final approval and acceptance of this dissertation is contingent upon the candidate’s
submission of the final copies of the dissertation to the Graduate College.
I hereby certify that I have read this dissertation prepared under my direction and
recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement.
_Dr. Tsianina Lomawaima_________________________ Date: May 8, 2007

Dissertation Director:
_Dr. Teresa McCarty______________________________ Date: May 8, 2007

Dissertation Director:
3
STATEMENT BY AUTHOR
This dissertation has been submitted in partial fulfillment of requirements for an

advanced degree at the University of Arizona and is deposited in the University Library
to be made available to borrowers under rules of the Library.
Brief quotations from this dissertation are allowable without special permission, provided
that accurate acknowledgment of source is made. Requests for permission for extended
quotation from or reproduction of this manuscript in whole or in part may be granted by
the copyright holder.
SIGNED: _Sheilah E. Nicholas___

4
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
“Hak so’on naala hiita ang mongvasiwmangwu.” “No one accomplishes

something worthwhile, or of benefit alone.” There are many who have assisted me in
bringing this dissertation to completion. Foremost, I acknowledge the Hopi youth and
their families who are at the heart of the dissertation. Their cooperation and willingness
to share their personal cultural and linguistic life histories lay the foundation for the work
and scholarship I will pursue.
Special acknowledgement goes to the late Emory Sekaquaptewa and Dr. Teresa
McCarty. As both my mentor and clan uncle, Emory cultivated within me the same
passion for and commitment to the Hopi way of life that he held and demonstrated
through his efforts to maintain, revitalize as well as preserve the importance and integrity
of the Hopi language. I will continue his legacy to best of my ability. Terri McCarty has
served as chair for my master’s thesis and doctoral dissertation and has essentially
nurtured my long and transforming journey through academia with conviction and
unwavering patience. I benefitted greatly from Emory’s and Terri’s guidance grounded
in their areas of expertise, Emory’s extensive knowledge of Hopi culture and Terri’s
understanding of and experience with ethnographic research methods. I am indebted to
both.
I also acknowledge the support and assistance of the other members of my
doctoral committee: Dr. Tsianina Lomawaima, Dr. Yetta Goodman, and Dr. Mary Jo
Tippeconnic Fox in reviewing the drafts of the dissertation manuscript. Their
suggestions for revisions, offered from their respective fields of study, contributed
significantly to the final manuscript. I also extend sincere thanks to Dr. Dorothy
Washburn, whose interest in the study of the Hopi language allowed her to recognize and
point out the influence of Hopi, my first language, on my writing style. This
understanding of my writing style has proved invaluable to me.
My friends, many of whom are also my colleagues, figure tremendously in the
completion of the dissertation. Their constant words of encouragement and abiding belief
in my potential to make a contribution to my community of Hopi and other Indigenous
communities will continue to inspire my work.
Finally, my heartfelt thanks to my husband, Joseph, our children, Sarah, Seth, and
Zoe, and my mother, Laura, whose support of my journey was demonstrated in so many
ways. Most of all, they allowed me the time and space to pursue my destiny.
5
DEDICATION
For the Hopi people who have maintained a firm belief in and adherence to the
Hopi way of life in order that succeeding generations of Hopi will remain a distinct
people.
6
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Page
LIST OF TABLES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
LIST OF FIGURES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 16
ABSTRACT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION. BECOMING “FULLY” HOPI: THE ROLE OF THE

HOPI LANGUAGE IN THE LIVES OF CONTEMPORARY HOPI YOUTH—A HOPI
CASE STUDY OF LANGUAGE SHIFT AND VITALITY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
The Purpose of the Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21

Research Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 22
Significance of the Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
The Contemporary Hopi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .26
Hopisinom, The Hopi People . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27
Hopitsàatsayom, Hopi Youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Hopilavayi, The Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31
“Itàalavayi Sulawiwma.” “Our Language is Disappearing.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Community Perceptions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 32
Hopi Ways of Knowing as Orienting Framework . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 36
Emergence: The Hopi Theory of Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .38
“Landmarks”: Hopi Terms and Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 42
Literature Highlights . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Language Loss; Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Creating a “Minority” Population . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45
Ogbu’s Culture Model . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 46
Hall’s “Transcending” Culture . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 48
Language Socialization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
Indigenous Language Revitalization; Language Planning . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Language revitalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51
Positive language shift. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Language planning . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55
Organization of the Study . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57
CHAPTER 2 METHODOLOGY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
Multiple, Intergenerational Case Study Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

Research Methods . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63
Focused, In-Depth, Life History Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64
Participant Observations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65
7
TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued
Page
Selecting the Data Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

Permission to Conduct Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Interviews . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Identifying Participants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 69
Participant Consent . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72
Developing Interview Questions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75
Respecting Interview Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 83
Technical Problems and Unanticipated Surprises . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84
Transcribing the Interview Tapes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
Data Analysis . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Studying and Reducing the Interview Text . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87
Managing the Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
Analyzing and Interpreting the Interview Material . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
CHAPTER 3 PORTRAITS: CONTEMPORARY HOPI YOUTH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93
Life History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . 94
Tutuqayto, Going to School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95
Miss Indian Arizona . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Aspirations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
The Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .102
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103
Life History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . 103
Tutuqayto, Going to School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
Pahanqatsi, The Mainstream World . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108
Aspirations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110
The Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112
Life History . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . 113
Tutuqayto, Going to School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 114
Aspirations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115
The Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116
CHAPTER 4 HOPI LANGUAGE IN CULTURE: CULTURAL MARKERS OF

IDENTITY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 118
Establishing “Roots:” Cultural Rites of Passage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119

8
Page
Himuwungwa, Clan Identity; Kitsokinawi, Village Affiliation . . . . . . . 119

Hopitungwni, Hopi Names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Tsakotungni, birth/childhood name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119
Katsintungni, initiation name . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 120
Maraw-, Wuwtsimtungni, adult ceremonial name . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Hopi Youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
Himuwungwa, clan identity; kitsokinawi, village affiliation . . . 121
Hopitungi, Hopi names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .122
Pahantungni, Anglo/English names . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 124
Hopi Kinship: “A Complex Tangle of Relationships” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Traditional Family Household Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .127
Contemporary Family Relationships . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 128
Itàaso, Our Grandmother . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 129
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 130
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
Itangu, Our Mother . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 135
Itàakwa, Our Grandfather. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .137
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .137
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 137
Itana, Our Father . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 139
Taha, Maternal Uncle . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 140
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 142
Kya’a, Paternal Aunt . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 143
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Kinship Relationships: Courtship and Marriage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 146
Beginning Ceremonial Journeys. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Katsinvaki, Initiation into the Katsina Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Ritualized Performances: Social Dances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 150
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . 151
9
Page
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . 153
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . 155
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157
CHAPTER 5 THE “MISSING PIECE”—USING THE HOPI LANGUAGE . . . . . . . 159
Puma Hooyi. They Have “Come of Age.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160

Rude Awakenings . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .162
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 162
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 164
Fragile Identities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Conflicting Ideologies: “Being” Hopi or “Speaking” Hopi . . . . . . . . .165
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 165
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 170
Hopi Language Classes . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 176
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 180
Seeking Personal Fulfillment: “Wanting in Tradition” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 188
CHAPTER 6 THE HOPI IDENTITY FORMATION PROCESS: ACTIVE

PARTICIPATION AND INVOLVEMENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191
Hopiqatsit Ang Nuutum Hintsakme’ Hopisinoniwtingwu. Participating Along

with Others in the Hopi Way of Life, One Becomes a Hopi . . . . . . . . . 192
Justin: Hopi Farmer . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 192
Jared: Hopi Musician . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 198
Dorian: Miss Indian Arizona . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 201
Contemporary Hopi Society . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 204
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 205
The Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Jared . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
Dorian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 208
Justin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 210
10
Page
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 212
CHAPTER 7 HOPI LANGUAGE SHIFT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215
Schools and Schooling: Catalysts for Hopi Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216

Grandparent Voices: Life Histories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Marie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 218
Clara . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219
Vivian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221
Pahanvaqya—Tutuqaywisa: “Initiation” into the White Man’s World—
Going School . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 222
Itangum, Itanam Itamungem Kyaananawakna: Our Mother, Our
Fathers Wanted Better for Us . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 224
“Pay Nu’ Qa Suutokngwu.” “I Would Not Forget [the Hopi
Language] . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 228
Yumat’ti; Somat’ti: Becoming Mothers; Becoming Grandmothers . . . 229
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 231
Parent Voices: Life Histories . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 232
Dorian’s Parents: Anna and Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Childhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Anna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 233
Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .233
Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Anna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 234
Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .235
Participation in Traditional Activities . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
Anna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 235
Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .236
Schooling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
Anna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 236
Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .237
Adulthood/Parenting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
Anna . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237
Doran . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 239
Jared’s Mother: Charlene . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Childhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 241
Schooling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 242
11
Page
Justin’s Parents: Lillian and Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

Childhood . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
Lillian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247
Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Lillian . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Schooling . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 249
Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 250
Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 252
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
CHAPTER 8 INTROSPECTION: LOOKING INTO OUR HEARTS AND

MINDS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 256
The Grandparent Perspective: “We Became Proud.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257

“Itàalavayi Sulawiwma.” “Our Language is Diminishing.”. . . . . . . . 257
“Itam Kwiivitoti.” “We Became Proud.”. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 262
“Hak Lavayit Akw Màatsiwtangwu.” “By Means of the Language,
One Has an Identity.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 267
“Pam Pay Hakiy Ev’ningwu.” “The Desire [to Live the Hopi Way of
Life] Comes from Within.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 271
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 277
The Parent Perspective: “We’re Living the Life of a Pahaana Now.” . . . . . . 279
Practicing a New Way of Life; Becoming “Accustomed” to Speaking
English.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
Language and Identity: Hopi Youth, Strangers in Our Midst . . . . . . . 280
Language and Identity: “Choosing” to be Hopi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 283
“Every Household is Different” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287
Hopi Language Ideologies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 290
Hopi language as cultural identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .290
Hopi language as religious practice . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
Hopi language as cultural practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 291
Birthright: “Why Not Be the Hopi That You’re Supposed
to Be.” . . . . .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 295
Summary . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 298
12
Page
CHAPTER 9 LANGUAGE AS CULTURAL PRACTICE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .301
The Hopi Oral Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303

Ritualized Practices . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 306
Hopi Naming Rituals . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307
Kinship terms . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 308
Teasing as “Expressing Humility” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .311
The Planting of Corn as Ritualized Practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 316
Social Dancing as Ritualized Performances . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321
Katsina Songs: “Prompting the Hopi Conscious” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 323
Language, the “Missing Piece” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329
Respect, Disrespect . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 331
Teasing as Criticism . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 333
Male, Female Religious Societies . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335
The Hopi Identity Formation Process: Affective Enculturation . . . . . . . . . . . 337
Hopi Names: “Marks of Identity” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 339
Natwani, The Practice of Planting Corn by Hand . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 343
Song: The Most Spiritual Form of Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 345
CHAPTER 10 YAN PASIWTINI, THIS IS HOW IT WILL COME TO BE:

PROSPECTS AND PROCESSES; IMPLICATIONS AND
RECOMMENDATIONS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 349
Research Questions and Concerns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

Conclusions . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352
The Contemporary Hopi Cultural Identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 352
The Role of the Hopi Language in the Cultural Identity Formation
Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 353
The Pattern of Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 354
The Impact of Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 355
Becoming Hopi Citizens Amidst Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 359
Cultural and Linguistic Strongholds; Prospects and Processes . . . . . . . . . . . . . 360
Prospects for Hopi Language Revitalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
Youth motivation—“wanting in tradition” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361
Traditions: Language as cultural practice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 363
Acting on faith; acting infFaith . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 364
A culturally distinctpPeople . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365
Hopi songs . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 365
13
Page
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Youth Generation . . . . . . . . . . . 368

Self-reflection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 369
Personal responsibility . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 370
Cultural pride . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 371
(Re)delineating boundaries of ethnic identity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 372
Language as cultural p ractice . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 374
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Grandparent
Generation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
Return to Hopi . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
Retrospection . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 375
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Parent Generation . . . . . . . . . . 376
“I Chose to Be Hopi.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 376
Powers of Discernment . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 377
Cultivating the Hopi Language . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 378
One’s Inherited Parental Duty and Obligation—Reciprocal Respect . . 379
Challenges to Hopi Language Revitalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 380
Implications for Hopi Cultural and Linguistic Continuity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383
Hopi Youth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 383
Parents and Grandparents . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 384
Community . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 384
Hopi Language Revitalization Initiatives . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 386
Recommendations for Hopi Language Revitalization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 387
At the Tribal Level . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 389
At the Community Level . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 397
At the School Level . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 400
Epilogue . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 406
APPENDIX A: THE HOPI CEREMONIAL CALENDAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407
APPENDIX B: INFLUENCES OF SCHOOLING ON HOPI LANGUAGE

MAINTENANCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 408
APPENDIX C: LETTER OF INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 409
APPENDIX D: PARTICIPANT’S CONSENT FORM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 410
APPENDIX E: PARENTAL CONSENT FORM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 412
APPENDIX F: ASSENT FORM FOR MINORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414

14
Page
APPENDIX G: HOPI.LEXICON – DORIAN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 415
REFERENCES . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 419
15
LIST OF TABLES
Table 1. Hopi Cultural Terms and Concepts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
Table 2. Profiles of Initial Youth Study Participants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
Table 3. Actual Study Participants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72

16
LIST OF FIGURES
Figure 1. The Hopi Reservation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 27

17
ABSTRACT
The contemporary environment of Hopi youth includes village life and active
participation in both Hopi cultural institutions and the Western education system without
the lengthy durations away from home and family at distant boarding schools endured by
their parents and grandparents. Yet there exists a fundamental difference in how today’s
Hopi youth are growing up from that of their parents and grandparents—Hopi youth are
not acquiring the Hopi language. A rapid and alarming trend toward English
monolingualism, or language shift, is starkly evident among the younger generations of
Hopi.
This sociolinguistic situation raises many questions about the vitality and
continuity of the Hopi language especially in terms of intergenerational transmission of
the cultural values essential to the formation of a Hopi cultural identity, as well as
maintaining the integrity of the Hopi language among the Hopi people. Thus, this
multigenerational case study sought to ascertain the role of the Hopi language in how
Hopi youth define and assert their personal and social identities as members of Hopi
society, and to make explicit the principles and values of the Hopi way of life essential to
becoming “fully” Hopi. The cultural and linguistic experiences of three Hopi youth, aged
19 at the time of the study, provided the context for exploration. Members of the parent
and grandparent generations were included in order to understand and establish a
comprehensive picture and pattern of the intergenerational language shifting process as
well as Hopi language maintenance within each family household manifested in the
varying degrees of Hopi language proficiency among the three young adults.
18
Two key findings emerged from the study. First, the study showed that cultural
experiences are key to developing a personal and cultural identity as Hopi, but a
linguistic competence in Hopi, especially in ceremonial contexts, is fundamental to
acquiring a complete sense of being Hopi. Secondly, the effect of modern circumstances
apparent in behavior and attitude among Hopi is evidence of another shift—a move away
from a collective maintenance of language as cultural practice to maintenance of
language and cultural practice as a choice of personal use.

19
CHAPTER 1
INTRODUCTION
BECOMING “FULLY” HOPI: THE ROLE OF THE HOPI LANGUAGE IN THE
LIVES OF CONTEMPORARY HOPI YOUTH—A HOPI CASE STUDY OF HOPI
LANGUAGE SHIFT AND VITALITY
“Um tsayniiqe as paas Hopiningwu.” “When you were a child, you were fully Hopi.”
My mother uttered these words as she observed my recent attempts to use the
Hopi language in conversing with her. As an adult, I now struggle to express myself in
Hopi, a language I had spoken with ease as a child. At the age of eight, in response to a
humiliating language experience in school, I abruptly stopped using Hopi to speak to my
parents and other Hopi speakers. My mother’s advice that I “put away” my Hopi to
avoid further humiliation had unforeseen consequences—language shift in my personal
life. Now, because I no longer spoke Hopi fluently or proficiently, my mother’s words
struck deeply. Her statement expressed a strong link between language and cultural
identity. I recall responding defensively stating, “I’m still Hopi.” Further reflection on
this brief exchange developed into a growing insecurity in my personal identity as a
Hopi. Although I maintained a receptive ability in Hopi, I now wondered, without a
strong facility in using my heritage language, was I still Hopi? Could I claim to be Hopi?
My research interest became a personal quest as well.
As I pursued my research interest surrounding the impact of language shift on
contemporary Hopi youth, I was confronted by yet another personal reality. My children
20
who are biracial and were raised for the most part, in an urban, interracial, monolingual
English household do not understand nor able to use the Hopi language. In retrospect, I
now conceded my role in contributing to their alienation and feelings of estrangement
from their Hopi community and people. Confronting this reality was at first a shocking
realization but has spurred an intense desire motivated by a sense of urgency to address
this linguistic situation for the younger generation of Hopi which includes my own
children.
Subsequently, my own efforts to regain my speaking ability as well as the desire
to revitalize my use of Hopi began in earnest through learning to read and write Hopi.
My efforts caught the attention of Emory Sekaquaptewa, a research anthropologist at the
University of Arizona’s Bureau of Applied Research and Anthropology (BARA). He
extended me an invitation to assist him in his Hopi Literacy Project which provided Hopi
literacy lessons to Hopi youth in reservation schools. Through this work, I became
painfully aware of the tremendous impact of language shift on the Hopi people especially
visible in the trend toward English monolingualism among the younger generations.
Despite being raised from birth in the Hopi environment and culture, many youth are
non-users of Hopi. My empathy and attention were drawn to such Hopi youth. I became
particularly intrigued by the question of why these Hopi youth enrolled in the Hopi
language classes offered at the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School. Moreover, I reflected on my
own motivation to take Hopi language literacy classes. The Hopi language was my first
language as a child, but I had spent most of my adolescence and adult life away from
Hopi. As a result, my participation in Hopi cultural traditions was minimal, yet I

21
maintained a strong receptive ability in the language. On the other hand, the students in
the Hopi language classes had actively participated in the Hopi culture throughout their
lives yet were not “users” of the Hopi language. I was compelled to understand this
complex phenomenon, including: what was the source of motivation for these youth in
taking Hopi language classes; how Hopi youth interpreted the characterization of them as
qa hopi, not Hopi, by older Hopis; and the role the Hopi language plays in how Hopi
youth define, mold, and assert their personal and social identities as members of Hopi
society and as Hopi citizens in the broader sense.
The Purpose of the Research
The goals of this study were fourfold: (1) to ascertain the role and influence of
the Hopi language in the identity formation process of contemporary Hopi; (2) to
establish a picture and pattern of the intergenerational linguistic shifting from Hopi to
English as well as Hopi language maintenance within and across individual family
households; and (3) to identify the cultural and linguistic strongholds that can be viewed
and targeted as potential sites of revitalization, and (4) to reinvigorate, among the Hopi
people, the communal ethic embodied in the Hopi words, nami’nangwa, sumi’nangwa, to
live with mutual concern toward one another, and in this mood, united in a common
purpose, proceed in the manner of togetherness so that things are made possible—
balancing traditional and contemporary lifestyles, balancing English and Hopi, in
essence, being bicultural and bilingual.

22
At the center of this multiple, intergenerational case study were three young
adults, age 19 at the time of the study, who had taken Hopi language classes at the Hopi
Jr./Sr. High School. These classes, while open to all students as electives under the
foreign language curriculum, were comprised of predominantly Hopi students. The
interest and agency of Hopi students enrolling in these classes served as the catalyst for
exploring language shift among the Hopi people. I first examined the cultural and
linguistic experiences of these youth within the contexts of their cultural and social
environments—in the home among family and extended family members, in the
ceremonial realm of the kiva, in the cultural practices of social dancing and planting corn,
in their schooling, and in the Hopi language classroom. I followed with an exploration of
the life histories of the parent and grandparent generations to illuminate factors
contributing to the intergenerational changes in language attitudes, behaviors, and
language use practices for both Hopi and English, and subsequently to the language shift
from Hopi to predominantly English among all generations of the Hopi people.
Research Questions
This study was guided by the questions: (1) How is a Hopi cultural identity
developed or acquired? (2) What is the role of the Hopi language in the identity
formation process of Hopi youth? (3) In the trend toward English monolingualism, how
are Hopi youth redefining what constitutes a Hopi identity? (4) What is the pattern and
process of Hopi language shift? My overarching concerns included: What is the impact
of language shift on the identity formation process of contemporary Hopi youth? What
23
role does the Hopi language play in the contemporary lives of Hopi youth? When Hopi
youth are no longer socialized through their heritage language, are they still learning the
cultural appropriate social knowledge—the important principles and values—of Hopi
citizenship?
The study findings have important implications for how the Hopi people will
ensure cultural and linguistic continuity and vitality for the future generations of Hopi.
Significance of the Study
Foremost, this study demonstrates that the Hopi people have research needs and
priorities about survival as a distinct people in the contemporary context. Therefore, the
study allows and provides them with an opportunity and venue to “respond” to their
needs and concerns. While confirming an upheaval that has the potential for ominous
cultural and linguistic consequences, the findings of the study also affirm the strength of
Hopi culture—what of the traditions, practices, and religion remains salient, and perhaps
why as well. More importantly, through the voice of Hopi youth, the study informs the
Hopi people, identifying not only the sites of struggle, but also the sites of strength which
offer hope for the future. Moreover, attending to the struggle—adhering to the Hopi path
of life—will require faith and a (re)commitment to this path at a collective level, but
possibly more so at a personal and individual level.
In the broader context, this Hopi case study offers the perspective of a society
whose traditional cultural ways remain largely intact. The Hopi adhere to traditions in
order to maintain “balance” on behalf of all people, all living things. At Emergence,
24
when the Hopi people selected the short, blue ear of corn symbolizing this way of life
they accepted this responsibility. Neither the responsibility nor the sense of
responsibility have diminished, as expressed in the words of a community elder who
stated,
We have a lot to contribute to the world. When you learn about Hopi, you learn
about that balance between your responsibilities to yourself, your society, your
whole world. That’s how Hopis think about it. This is passed through the
language. (December 23, 1996)
More significantly, this case study offers an Indigenous, specifically Hopi
perspective. How language shift and maintenance among the Hopi at the “micro-level” is
understood will contribute to the “macro-level” (Yazzie cited in Battiste, 2000, p. 47)
understanding of indigenous language shift in order to inform language revitalization
efforts, or as coined by Fishman the “world-wide language maintenance/language shift
case-file” (as cited in Fase, Jaspaert, & Kroon, 1992, p. 396).
Brice-Heath as well (as cited in Ochs, 1988) emphasized the importance of and
contribution that studies of non-mainstream sociocultural groups offer.
Widely differing conditions of socialization . . . determines the ways children

have access to, can participate in, or are rewarded for responding to or producing
specific language forms. [Studies] described in the context of what adults do
with language and the extent to which young children have access to these
language forms . . . [will provide] good evidence on which to make judgments
about the extent to which principles of conventionality and the saliency of certain
of those conventions at certain points in children’s maturational development as
well as in coordination with their growing social awareness of themselves as
members of a culture. (p. vii)
In particular, she points to “the importance of recognizing that oral language
performance stands within an array of other communication forms . . . . [That] numerous
other symbol systems hold different levels and types of influence in different societies . . .
25
role assignment and the nature of their distribution . . . the net of associations” (p. ix), all
which work to ensure the individual becomes a competent member of society. This
applies to the Hopi case study of language socialization, Hopi being a non-mainstream
culture and an historically oral society. Describing the socialization conditions unique to
Hopi, a communal society, contributes to the body of knowledge about the ways the
social organization of Hopi, including what adults do with the language and how children
access, participate in, and benefit from learning and producing specific behaviors and
language forms. This sheds light on the interface of culture, language and identity (Ochs,
1988).
In the remainder of this chapter, I provide the context for the dissertation. I begin
with a brief overview of contemporary Hopi society—the land, the people, the youth, and
the Hopi language. I follow by describing the Hopi theory of life as an orienting
framework as well as a narrative account of Hopi epistemology, Emergence. Both serve
to provide a frame of reference for the dissertation. I next describe the status and vitality
of the Hopi language as perceived by the Hopi people and confirmed by a subsequent
formal, quantitative assessment of the Hopi language. I also introduce key Hopi terms
and cultural concepts significant to the discussion and used throughout the dissertation. I
conclude by highlighting the literature I draw on and integrate into the analysis and
discussion of the study findings.

26
The Contemporary Hopi
Hopituy Tutskwa’am—Land of the Hopi People
The Hopi are the westernmost of the Puebloan groups to have returned and
established residence on their destined lands—a vast area known to them as Hopitutskwa.
This return followed a period of historical and mythological migration to the four corners
of the earth commencing at the time of Emergence into the Fourth World.1 Located in
the northeastern region of the state of Arizona, the Hopi reservation is situated on and
around the three southernmost fingers of Black Mesa. A geographical, linguistic, and
cultural enclave within an enclave, the Hopi reservation lies within the larger Navajo
reservation that in turn lies within the boundaries of three southwestern states, Arizona,
New Mexico, and Colorado, and the larger U.S. society. Today, the reservation
boundaries encompass 1.6 million acres of their aboriginal lands2 (see Figure 1).
1
During these migrations, the people (including all races) were sent out to seek the lands that would sustain
the way of life—represented by a particular ear of corn—chosen by each group. In their search, each group
experienced and learned about life. The Hopi people, unable to find their destined lands—which would
sustain the Hopi way of life represented by the short, blue-ear of corn—turned back, and retracing their
footprints, returned to the lands near their symbolic place of emergence, sipapuni, “located at the bottom of
the [Grand] Canyon of the Little Colorado River, above its junction with the Colorado River,” (James,
1974, p. 7; see also Nequatewa, 1967).
2
In 1996, The Hopi Tribe was awarded a settlement by the federal government allowing for the purchase of
420,265 acres of aboriginal lands with monies gained from the Land Settlement Act of 1882. The terms of
the settlement allows for purchase of 500,000 acres of additional aboriginal lands to be placed in trust
status. The Hopi Tribe’s Land Team (HTLT) which oversees land purchases for economic development
and land preservation has made purchases based on “the ability to continue religious, cultural and
traditional practices,” as well as valuable resources, and potential for economic development (Hopi Tribe’s
Land Team honored for economic development plan and land preservation efforts, The Hopi Tutuveni,
Vol. 15, Issue 23, November 10, 2005, pp. 1-2, 11).
27
Hopisinom, The Hopi People
The Hopi people number about 12,000, of whom just over 7,000 reside in and
around 12 villages situated across three mesas in northern Arizona.3 The remaining
5,000 live off the reservation in various rural and urban areas across the United States
(Hopi Tribe of Arizona, 2004). Hopi, a matrilineal society, traces and carries clan
descent through the mother’s totemically named clan. The Hopi Tribe Enrollment Office
lists 35 existing clans. Traditionally, the residential unit was the extended family, but
today Hopi households are largely comprised of nuclear family units.
3
The villages of Walpi, Sitsom’ovi, and Haano on First Mesa, with Polacca at its base; the villages of
Musangnuvi, Supawlavi, and Songoopavi on Second Mesa; and the villages of Orayvi, Hot’vela, Paaqavi,
Munqapi on Third Mesa, with Kiqötsmovi at its base.
28
Figure 1. The Hopi Reservation

29
Vehicles and school buses that crisscross the reservation carrying residents to
work and school sites are evidence of modernity and change as well as the incorporation
of a cash economy and Western education. The tribal government and schools are
primary employers on the reservation, but a large percentage of Hopi people are skilled
carvers, potters, silversmiths, basket makers, and weavers who enjoy lucrative incomes
from the sale of their crafts. Local businesses—trading posts/gas stations, restaurants,
one hotel—and a recently constructed medical facility also offer employment. The Hopi
people also continue to live much as their ancestors did, tending to fields of corn, squash,
beans, and melon as well as participating in the ceremonies, which remain integral to the
Hopi way of life. Each village community functions as a socially and ceremonially
autonomous unit and continues to carry out traditional cultural activities that revolve
around a rich ceremonial calendar (see Appendix A).
Hopitsàatsayom, Hopi Youth
Most of today’s Hopi youth are born on the Hopi Reservation and grow up in
their village communities throughout their childhood, adolescence and young adult lives.
Raised among their immediate and extended families, youth participate from birth in the
myriad activities associated with Hopi cultural institutions—baby namings, initiations,
weddings, social dances, the tradition of planting corn by hand, and religious
ceremonies—that continue to be practiced in contemporary Hopi life.
The opening of the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School on September 2, 1986 marked a
momentous event in the educational history of the Hopi people. Hopi youth no longer
30
faced the lengthy separations from home, family, and culture at distant boarding schools
such as Phoenix Indian School in Phoenix, Arizona, Sherman Institute in Riverside,
California, Haskell Institute in Lawrence, Kansas and others—that were endured by their
parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents (Qoyawayma, 1964; Simmons, 1971;
Udall, 1985; Yava, 1978). Most children now attend one of seven elementary schools
located in or near the village communities and transfer to the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School for
grades 7 through 12.4 The junior-senior high school is located off State Highway 264
between the First Mesa village of Polacca and the Hopi Agency community of Keams
Canyon. In 2002, 90% of its student population was Hopi. The remaining 10% was
comprised of non-Hopi students including Navajo, Hispanic, Black, and White students,
many of whom were children of non-Hopi tribal and school faculty and employees, as
well as foreign exchange students.
Increased mobility and access to technology have given contemporary Hopi youth
greater accessibility to the mainstream world. Regular family and school excursions to
neighboring towns and cities (many have also traveled to foreign countries) in addition to
media and technology, especially television and the computer, have greatly broadened the
exposure of Hopi youth to mainstream American culture. This is in remarkable contrast
to the schooling experiences of their parents and grandparents who had limited
knowledge and access to the larger society prior to leaving the reservation to attend
distant boarding schools. Consequently, contemporary Hopi youth are highly aware of
4
Keams Canyon Boarding School (K-6), First Mesa Elementary School (K-6), Second Mesa Elementary
School (K-6), Hopi Day School (K-6), Hopi Mission School (K-6), Hotevilla-Bacavi Community School
(K-8), Moenkopi Elementary School (K-6), Hopi Jr./Sr. High School. Hopi youth also attend the Jeddito
Public Schools (elementary) and Tuba City Public Schools (junior/senior high school).
31
and experienced with mainstream society and beyond. Most will likely venture into the
wider society for varying durations of time, but others will choose to remain on the
reservation.
Hopilavayi, The Hopi Language
The Hopi language is one of the Uto-Aztecan languages “found from Idaho in the
north (Shoshone) to Central America in the south (Pipil).” 5 Hopi is described as “of
great comparative linguistic interest because of its status as a separate branch within
Northern Uto-Aztecan” (Hopìikwa Lavàytutuveni, Hopi Dictionary: A Hopi-English
Dictionary of the Third Mesa Dialect, 1998, p. xv). Most Hopi speakers regard the
language as having three dialects: First Mesa Hopi, Second Mesa Hopi, and Third Mesa
Hopi. The dialectal differences are apparent in the pronunciation of syllables containing
vowels with a grave accent (à, è, ì, ò, ù). In Third Mesa speech, these syllables have a
falling tone. In First Mesa speech and the Second Mesa village of Munsangnuvi, most of
these syllables end in aspiration or in an h-like sound. In the Second Mesa speech
communities of Supawlavi and Songoopavi, these syllables are pronounced as if having
no grave accent. Uto-Aztecan Language Specialist, Dr. Kenneth Hill, provides a
technical linguistic description which depicts four distinct language varieties.6
5
Present day Uto-Aztecan languages include: Northern—Serrano, Cahuilla, Cupeño, Luiseño, Tübatulabal
(California); Ute/Southern Paiute/Chemehuevi, Kawaiisu, Shoshone, Comanche, Mono, Northern
Paiute/Paviotsa (Numic); Tohono O’odham, Pima, Pima Bajo, and Northern Tepehuan, Southern Tepehuan
(Tepiman); Southern—Tarahumara, Guarijío, Cahita-Yaqui/Mayo (Taracahitan); Cora, Huichol,
Nahuatl/Mexicano/Aztec, Pipil (Corachol/Aztecan). Hopi comprises a separate branch of Northern Uto-
Aztecan.
6
The four distinct varieties of the Hopi langage: (1) First Mesa Hopi of Walpi (Wàlpi) and Sichomovi
(Sitsom’ovi) (also spoken at Polacca [a Tewa word] and Hano [Hanoki—mainly a Tewa-speaking
32
Nevertheless, the Hopi language is mutually intelligible across the three mesas and
continues to be the viable medium of intergenerational interaction during cultural and
ceremonial activities. Hopi remains a language still spoken by all generations, including
children, but this is rapidly becoming “Hopi speech interjected with English terms”
(Jenkins quoted in The Navajo-Hopi Observer, 1991, p. 1).
A 1983 study conducted in one village school noted that Hopi students came to
school predominantly speaking Hopi, pursuing projects and school subjects in both Hopi
and English, and being introduced to the Hopi writing system (Haussler & Tompkins,
1983). However, in a 2000 pilot study I conducted in this same village school, I observed
English to be the medium of communication, interaction, and instruction throughout the
school (Nicholas, 2005). Hopi language shift was starkly evident in this Hopi community
school. Faculty and personnel added that English was also the primary language of use in
the homes and community.
“Itàalavayi Sulawiwma.” “Our Language Is Disappearing.”
Community Perceptions
The Hopi people speak often about the demise of the Hopi language. The use of the
Hopi language in daily conversation and communication, particularly between the older
and younger generations is diminishing. Parents and grandparents openly acknowledge
that they don’t speak Hopi to their children anymore. More disturbing for the older Hopi
community]); (2) Second Mesa Hopi of Mishongnovi (Musangnuvi), rather similar to First Mesa Hopi; (3)
Second Mesa Hopi of Shipaulovi (Supawlavi) and Shungopavi (Songòopavi) (described in Kalectaca
1978); (4)Third Mesa Hopi: Oraibi (Orayvi—“Old Oraibe”), Kykotsmovi (Kiqötsmovi—“New Oraibi”),
Hotevilla (Hotvela), Bacavi (Paaqavi), and Moencopi (Mùnqapi).
33
is that the Hopi language as the means of passing on Hopi history and cultural and
religious knowledge from young to old is severely threatened. An immediate concern
among the older Hopi is that youth appear to be increasingly involved in activities that
are qa hopi, not Hopi, such as substance abuse, gang membership, and domestic
violence—activities that violate the principles of the Hopi way of life. Hopi parents and
elders perceive a connection between such behaviors and the inability of younger Hopi to
understand and speak the Hopi language.
A growing awareness that young Hopis were growing up not understanding or
speaking Hopi was voiced in a variety of public forums. Community members,
grandparents, and parents who actively participate in traditional activities and events,
ceremonies and dances, pointed out the lack of preparedness among Hopi youth to attain
a deeper, or spiritual level of understanding of these activities and ceremonies. From
their observations, Hopi adults and elders described Hopi youth as no longer behaving
humbly or having “respect for anything.” Instead, Hopi youth are perceived as
tsàatsayom, children, who have not yet attained maturity—learned the precepts that guide
one to think maturely and therefore, behave in a distinctively Hopi manner—despite their
years in age. They have not yet “become Hopi” in behavior and attitude.
At one village forum, Western education was cited as contributing to this rapid
shift. A community member commented, “Some of us who didn’t go off to school still
speak a lot of the Hopi language. Now, the younger generation who speak English only,
they don’t know how to speak like us [fluently and proficiently], but this isn’t their fault.
They had to attend school, for whatever reason.”

34
These concerns prompted the Hopi Tribe to assess the status of Hopi language
fluency in the reservation communities. The Hopi Language Assessment Project
(HLAP), funded by an Administration for Native Americans (ANA) grant, confirmed a
significant language shift from Hopi to English among the Hopi people. English was
spoken as the primary language in at least half of the 347 households (representing 1,293
individuals) surveyed, particularly among the younger Hopi in the households (HLAP,
1997). The survey results also confirmed the influence of Western education in the
progression of language shift among the Hopi people. The following statistics illustrate
this progression. In 1977, 100 % of Hopi surveyed in the “60 & above” age category
possessed a conversational Hopi language ability with 97.6% who claimed Hopi to be the
first language they learned to speak as a child. Of this age group, 37.7% shifted to
English language use after starting school. The maintenance of Hopi among those
entering school as Hopi speakers diminished in succeeding generations. In the 40-59
year age group, 82.6% learned Hopi as a first language, but after starting school, English
had become the main language of use for 66.2%. For those 20-39 years of age, 54.9%
spoke Hopi prior to entering school with a shift to English for 80.3% of this group.
Among the 2-19 year age-group, only 23.8 % started school as speakers of Hopi, but after
entering school, 93.1% were speaking primarily English (Source, see Appendix B). In
addition, the differences in the maintenance of Hopi across these generations of Hopi
speakers indicated to me that the pattern and process of intergenerational language shift
varied across Hopi households. This variation in receptive and speaking abilities among
the Hopi people was borne out by the three Hopi youth at the center of this study: Dorian
35
did not understand Hopi, but interjected Hopi words into conversations; Jared understood
and spoke some Hopi, but could not carry on a conversation in Hopi; and Justin described
himself as a speaker.
Language shift, if unaddressed, will present a more ominous consequence
expressed by a community member, “If we don’t work on this language issue, we’re just
going to be Hopis in name only. There will be no meaning beyond that.” In other
words, a cultural identity that is “in name only,” an ethnic label, has not been experienced
and therefore is devoid of its ancestral knowledge, history, and fundamental principles
and values of life having not been experienced. Whereas, a Hopi cultural identity
involves a “process” by which one internalizes the Hopi ethics and values and becomes a
Hopi. The Hopi clan, kinship system is the mechanism that defines the individual’s role
in terms of conduct and obligation to others within and beyond the immediate family in
daily as well as specialized interactions. The process of “becoming” Hopi leads to an
understanding of one’s role in the community and fulfilling the expectations of this role
according to long-established cultural standards. As one Hopi elder stated, “If you are
Hopi, you will never forget your culture because you know who you are, and you . . .
know what your responsibilities are [to your family, community, people, and the world]”
(Village of Munqapi, January 1997).
Hopi culture, then, offers a certain essence of being. Hopi, as a term, has multiple
definitions including: human being, behaving one—civilized, peaceable, polite, adhering
to the Hopi way, fluent in the language (Hopìikwa Lavàytutveni, 1998, pp. 99-100).
Spicer (1975) held that a people maintained a moral image of themselves through
36
interpretations of their history and expressed through cultural ideals and goals. As such,
culture is defined as the experience of being human over a long period of time, of sharing
this humanness, or humanity with others, hence, an accumulation of the human
experience expressed through language. Thus, language remains a significant aspect of
the enculturation process into Hopi society, and thereby points to a direct relation
between language and cultural behavior/cultural ethic designed to ensure cultural
survival. Without the Hopi language, the succeeding generations of Hopi will be unable
to access the implicit ethics and principles of Hopi—“humility, cooperation, respect, and
universal earth stewardship” (Kuwanwisiwma, 2005, p. 16)—and will struggle to acquire
the appropriate social behaviors and values of Hopi society and the means to pass them
on.
Hopi Ways of Knowing as an Orienting Framework
Much of the research on indigenous and minority experiences and issues
continues to give voice to their “struggles” as forms of “resistance” against interventions
from outside, by the dominant society (Ogbu, 1991; Ogbu & Gibson, 1991). This Hopi-
specific case study proposes to convey the Hopi perspective of “struggle,” as a way of
life chosen at Emergence expressed in this statement from Hopi oral tradition: “Itam it
hìita a’ne tumalat qatsit namortota. Yaw son haq Hopit qatsiyat sòosok aw
sùutaq’ewni.” “We [as a people] chose this difficult life of hard work and struggle [at
Emergence]. It is said that no others would willingly commit to this way of life” (E.
Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, October 25, 2000).

37
This study also proposes to convey the importance of adhering to the Hopi way
encapsulated in the body of knowledge referred to as navoti, the “historical knowledge of
events to which the speaker has a direct and personal link, either by virtue of having
experienced the events being discussed, or because the information is ritual knowledge
the speaker has been entrusted with as a member of a religious society” (Dongoske,
Jenkins, & Ferguson, 1993, p. 28). Navoti has also been carried from the time of
Emergence and transmitted to the present by each succeeding generation of Hopi through
tutavo, teachings, instructions, guidance, as well as tuutuwutsi, “reiterations or
remembrances” (p. 28) through rituals, ceremonies, social institutions, art forms/symbols,
stories, histories and song which comprise what is referred to as Hopi oral tradition; the
oral tradition continues.
This study articulates the research as arising out of the specifics of Hopi
epistemology—Emergence, and methodology—the oral narratives, rooted not in survival
struggles against outside influences and forces, but in adaptation strategies. For the
Hopi, adaptation was premised on maintaining cohesiveness and unity—community and
connection, leading a moral existence, and attaining spiritual fulfillment and spiritual
eternity.
Toward this end, the Hopi experience, accumulated over a long period of time,
produced mechanisms—customs, the clan system, ritual, ceremony, language—through
which adherence to the core principles of Hopi continue to be maintained. These
mechanisms also provide the means for accommodating new situations and ideas without
diminishing the sense of being a Hopi people. Inherent in these mechanisms is the
38
importance of exercising the “proper” behavior patterns in the Hopi social, emotional,
and intellectual worlds which become crucial to developing the powers of discernment
essential for the survival of the Hopi way.
By means of this cultural map, the Hopi people know who they are as a distinct
people, where they come from—their origin and history, and their purpose in life—to
follow the path toward their intended destiny, and therefore, are able to judge whether
something new is good in terms of enhancing the path toward their destiny; they can
accept or reject it. This continues to resonate in the following statement from Hopi oral
tradition: “Haqàapiy yaw qatsi qatuvostini, hak yaw pas somatsinen, sùuput
namortamantani.” “It is said, that in a time when life becomes difficult [complicated],
one has to be very discerning in order to choose the right way [the Hopi way]” (E.
Emergence: The Hopi Theory of Life
Older Hopis commonly preface their narrative accounts with the expression, “I hapi
tutavo.” “This is the teaching [about the origin of the Hopi people and the philosophy of
the Hopi way of life].” The following narrative of the Emergence story is well known to
the Hopi people.
Itam haqam pötskwanit makiwya, hintaqat qatsit itamumi màatakna. Qaa’öt,

natwanit akw itam yesni; pu’ haqé it hintsakyaniqat itamuy aa’awna. I’qatsi ani
tumala; kyàananvotpi. Nikyangw i’himu yep tuptsiwni, put akw pay hak itamuy
ookwatuwni; itamumi paalay tsölöknani.
We, [the Hopi people] at that place [of Emergence] received our life path; what
kind of life we were to lead was made known to us. It was by means of corn,
cultivating corn, that we would live and where [the location/environment] we
39
were to undertake this life sustaining practice. This way of life would be one of
hard work; survival would be a struggle. However, by means of our belief [in this
way of life], and because of our faith, a greater power would take pity on us and
bestow upon us drops of rain.
Whiteley and Masayesva’s (1998) description of the Hopi Emergence story and the
Hopi philosophy of life provides further context.
According to their genesis narrative, the Hopi emerged from a layer under the
earth into this, the fourth, world, by climbing up inside a reed. Upon arrival, they
met a deity, Maasaw, who presented them with a philosophy of life based on three
elements: maize seeds, a planting stick, and a gourd full of water. Qa’ö, “maize,”
was the soul of the Hopi people, representing their very identity. Sooya, “the
planting stick,” represented the simple technology they should depend on: There
was an explicit warning against over-dependency on technology, which had taken
on a life of its own in the third world below, producing destruction through
materialism, greed, and egotism. Wikoro, “the gourd filled with water,”
represented the environment—the land and all its life forms, the sign of the
Creator’s blessing, if the Hopis would uphold Maasaw’s covenant and live right.
Maasaw told them life in this place would be arduous and daunting, but through
resolute perseverance and industry, they would live long and be spiritually rich.
(p. 189)
The account also told that the people (humankind), while still in their Third World,
were aware of another world and the existence of someone whose footsteps they heard
above them. After their emergence into the Fourth World, the following dialogue
between a contingent of Hopi sent to petition Maasaw was said to have occurred:
Itamumi, [Màasaw] pangqawu, ‘Ta’a, paypi uma antsa öki. Hìitakya sen uma
ooviya.’
To us, [Màasaw] said, ‘All right, so you have arrived [here in the Fourth World.
There must be something that you seek.’
Itam as yep puuhut qatsit yesvani. Kur pay um yep mòoti qatùuqe umpi it
himu’yta. Noqw itam sen as umum yep yesni.
[The people replied,] We are seeking to live a new way of life. It is apparent that
you are the first to reside here and therefore own this place. Whereas, we wonder
if we might live here with you.
40
Pay pi uma’a. Nu’ yan hin qatuqw put aw uma sùutaq’ewye, pay uma yesni.
Pay nu’ panis sòoya’yta.
[Màasaw responded,] Well, it is up to you. The way I live, if you are willing to
live as I do, you will make a life here. I have only the planting stick. (E.
Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, November 9, 2006)
This brief dialogue encompasses Hopi cosmology while defining the fundamental
principles—industry, prayer, humility, sincerity, heartfelt effort, and cooperation—of the
Hopi way of life. These continue to govern how the Hopi people must live to ensure a
successful pursuit of a life based in corn agriculture. The underlying principle is one of
reciprocity: if the Hopi people live properly, moisture in the form of rain will be ensured,
and they will attain physical and spiritual fulfillment.
The account also recalls that the people quickly fell short of accomplishing their
intentions. Maasaw “seeing that the people still carried with them many of the ways of
the corrupted world [the Third World] . . . divided them into groups and laid out a life-
pattern for each of them” (Sekaquaptewa, 1989, p. 150). Calling the people [humankind]
together, Maasaw directed them to select from “different kinds of seeds of corn and grain,
of melon and fruit . . . . [Those who would become the Hopi people] took the shortest ear
of corn and also squash and beans” (Nequatewa, 1967, pp. 22-23).
The people were then sent out to the four directions of the earth to seek the lands
which would sustain the way of life represented by their choice of sustenance. During
these migrations, each group experienced and learned about life. Some of the people,
unable to find the lands that would sustain their food choice turned back toward the
origin of their migration. Realizing they were, in fact, searching for a preordained
41
destination, they retraced their “footprints” to a region barren and desolate, yet one that
would support the short, blue ear of corn and the life way it represented.7 This region
was the spiritual center of what would be known as the Hopi world, Tuuwanasavi. Upon
reaching this destination, “the people” who had completed their migration—reached
their preordained destination—acquiesced “to live a life of humbleness, hard work, and
prayer based on growing corn by hand” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 460), and
would henceforth identify themselves as the Hopi people.8 Sipaapuni was designated as
the symbolic place of their emergence into the Fourth World, and serve as a reminder of
that time when they became the Hopi people. 9
Here, they would pursue to fulfill their covenant—the life plan as laid out for
them—with Màasaw, relatively free from the intrusion of “other people, who would not
think that they had anything worth taking” (Nequatewa, 1967, p. 26). 10 Sekaquaptewa
states, “Put, itàanavotit enang akw piptsanta—oo’omawt, tokpela, tutskwa, tuuwaqatsi,
Tuwapongtumsi—itamungem yukilti.” “[With] that [the Hopi teachings], along with our
cultural knowledge, we continue to picture, visualize, conceptualize our universe—the

7
Leigh Kuwanwisiwma (2002) described these “footprints” as “the hallmark of Hopi stewardship over
these lands…described as ruins, burials, artifacts, shrines, springs, trails, rock writings (petroglyphs,
pictographs, or other forms), and other physical evidence of occupation and use . . . (silent reminders of the
past) . . . .” ( p. 161).
8
Emory Sekaquaptewa stated, “We [the Hopi people] were not always Hopis. [It is] when we got to Hopi
[the intended destiny—region, lands that] we became so [Hopi] because we accepted this way of life and
settled in that place which became the Hopi world” (Personal communication, November 10, 2006).
9
Sipaapuni, “the hatchway from whence the Hopis believe they emerged to the Fourth World,” (Hopi
Dictionary, p. 504) is “located at the bottom of the [Grand] Canyon of the Little Colorado River, above its
junction with the Colorado River” (James, 1974, p. 7).
10
The “reciprocal agreement” refers to the Hopi people accepting or choosing the life plan by selecting the
short, blue ear of corn as one of the food choices set before the people by Maasaw at the time of
Emergence. While the “choice” of the short, blue ear of corn is universal among the various Hopi clan
versions of the Emergence story, reference to the concept of “reciprocity” differs, i.e. Leigh
Kuwanwisiwma’s account is as follows: “The clans’ ‘spiritual covenant’ with Maasaw dictated the
migrations . . . Decisions to move on by these clans were purposeful with one thing in mind: to fulfill the
spiritual covenant by returning to the spiritual center of the earth.” (Kuwanwisiwma, 2002, p. 161).
42
clouds, the sky, the land, earth [the environmental forces], Mother Earth. For us, this
[existence, philosophy of life] was planned” (Personal communication, November 10,
2003).
“Landmarks”: Hopi Terms and Concepts
Throughout the dissertation key Hopi cultural terms and concepts central to the
discussion and analysis of the dissertation are identified and presented in Table 1 in order
that their importance is highlighted.
Table 1 Hopi Cultural Terms and Concepts

________________________________________________________________________
Key terms Key concepts
wunima: to be dancing maturity
noovalawu: to be preparing food lack of respect
Hopisinoniwti: to be behaving as a Hopi cultural responsibility
sincerity “taking part”
kinship terms: embodies principle of reciprocity “tangle of relationships”
respect: fear of authority, consequences; hak hooye: one reaches the

form of conformity age of independence,
emancipation
disrespect: reckless, no fear of consequences
developing Hopi competency
teasing is a life-long process
“hear” the stories, “see” the

images
43
Literature Highlights
Language Loss; Language Shift
Investigating the status and vitality of the world’s languages in the face of global
and societal-level change has yielded a wealth of research and literature on the
“phenomena associated with contact between languages and cultures” (Garret and
Baquedano-López, 2002, p. 339). Although sociolinguist, Joshua Fishman (1991), was
well-immersed in the field of minority language maintenance and shift by the early
1960s, it was Krauss’ (1992} prediction that generated a widespread realization and sense
of urgency about language shift and potential loss of many of the world’s smaller
languages (Fishman 1991, 2001). He stated that half of the 6,000 or more languages
spoken in the world would no longer be heard within a century. Subsequent studies
(Krauss, 1998; Crystal, 1999) continued to confirm the endangered status of many
Indigenous languages. Linguists linked the loss of language diversity to biodiversity
(Gibbs, 2002) as well as cultural and intellectual diversity (Crystal, 1999; Hale, 1998;
Zepeda & Hill, 1991). Sociolinguists Fishman (1991) and Spolsky (2002) cited a causal
series of events and responses to these: a changing economy (Palmer, 1997),
consumerism, and the institutions of change— schools and bureaucracy (Fishman, 1991;
Spolsky, 2002) as primary change factors which Skutnabb Kangas (2000) maintains are
historically rooted in colonialism and linguistic imperialism.
The impact of colonialism and linguistic imperialism on language diversity as
well is well-documented in the literature regarding the education of Native American and
other minority youth (Hill, 2002; McCarty, 2002c, 2003; McCarty, Watahomigie &
44
Yamamoto, 2003; Watahomigie & McCarty, 1996; Watahomigie, &Yamamoto, 1999;
Valdés & Figuerora, 1984; Valenzuela, 1999; Villanueva, 1997; Zepeda & Hill, 1992).
The systematic eradication of heritage languages in the boarding school experiences of
Native American youth has been brought to light (Lomawaima, 2000; Lomawaima &
McCarty, 2006; Swisher & Tippeconnic, 1999; Kawagley & Barnhardt, 2004; McCarty,
2002; Watahomigie & McCarty, 1994, 1996).
Current interdisciplinary—anthropology, linguistics, sociolinguistics, education,
language socialization—research is concerned with assessing the impact of language loss
and shift at the micro-levels, in Indigenous communities, giving particular consideration
to the human factors of loss—of the human psyche, humanness, intimacy, ways of life,
and spirituality (Bunge, 1992; Fishman 1991, 2000; Hill, 2002; Littlebear ,1999, 2004;
McCarty, 2002; Pecos & Blum-Martinez, 2001; Spolsky, 2002; Suina, 2004; Wong
Fillmore, 1991). Nevertheless, thousands of local languages are disappearing at an
unprecedented pace being replaced by a few world languages.
Case studies of Indigenous language shift continue to (Bulag, 2003; Fishman,
1991, 2001; Grenoble and Whaley, 1998; King, 2001) confirm that language shift is
indeed a macro-level global issue. Studies of language shift in the school (Holm &
Holm, 2003; Lee & McLaughlin, 2001; Platero, 2001; Sims, 2004; Spolsky, 2002;
Spolsky & Holm, 1977), community setting (King, 2001; Schecter & Bayley, 2002;
Spicer, 1975; Trujillo, 1997), and among minority and immigrant groups (Bentila &
Davis, 1992; Smolicz, 1992; Wong Fillmore, 2000) cite two persistent and pervasive
language ideologies underlying Indigenous language shift: 1) the minority language is

45
associated with low economic status, prestige, and disempowerment; and 2) the dominant
language is associated with economic advancement, success, and empowerment.
Ogbu’s (1991) studies on the experiences of minority populations in schools and
Hall’s (1976) definition of culture informed this study in regard to these pervasive and
persistent ideologies regarding minority languages and cultures in situations of
intercultural encounters and contact. Ogbu’s culture model framework and Hall’s notion
of “transcending culture” were of particular interest. Here, I elaborate on these further.
Creating a “Minority” Population
The phenomenon of “struggle,” perceived as “resistance” at the sites of
intercultural contact—schools, for this study—has been the focus of much research on
Indigenous and minority populations particularly in the areas of minority academic
achievement (Cummins, 1984; Deyhle, 1986; Tippeconnic & Swisher, 1999; Valdés &
Figuerora, 1994; Valenzuela, 1999; Villanueva, 1977). Schools, by means of the
educational curriculum and process—schooling and instruction in the medium the
dominant language—wrought what Fishman (1991) discusses as “dislocative
disadvantages”—demographic, cultural, and social—for the smaller and weaker
population in this contact situation. According to Ogbu (1991), the smaller group,
consigned to a “subordinate power position” becomes the “minority” (p. 383) population,
a category and identity created and founded on cultural and language differences.
Language and culture become political pawns in the educational arena, cited as the
sources of discontinuities manifest in social adjustment problems and low academic

46
success—the minorities’ “struggles.” However, according to Ogbu, culturally diverse
minority populations perceive and respond to their subordinate positions with differing
patterns of adaptation to the educational context based in what he identified as a “type of
cultural model that guides them” (p. 8).
Ogbu’s Cultural Model. Ogbu (1991) distinguished between two types of
minorities in his cultural model framework—“voluntary” immigrants in pursuit of
economic well-being, and “involuntary” minorities, who are present in the society
through slavery, conquest, or colonization—in terms of initial incorporation into and how
they are treated by the dominant society (Ogbu maintains that American Indians are
involuntary minorities). Ogbu’s two-minority culture model offers pragmatic
implications for minority education policy and curriculum development, including
heritage language programs. The cultural model advocates for consideration of (1) the
nature of the society in which the minority population is being educated, (2) the status of
the minority group in question, (3) the historical and wider forces that encourage or
discourage success and drive, (4) the group’s collective orientation toward achievement,
and (5) the group’s own notion of the meaning of the “how-to” (p. 6) of schooling in the
context of their own social reality in policy, curriculum, and program planning.
For this study, Ogbu’s (1991) cultural model, or “folk theory/system for getting
ahead, especially through education” (p. 16) can be applied to a (re)interpretation of how
each generation of Hopi perceived and responded to Western schooling in pursuit of
survival through co-existence with the dominant society. The Hopi cultural model has
47
espoused American/Western education as a way to enhance the lives of the Hopi people.
Each generation of Hopi has implored its youth to pursue a Western education with the
words: “You go to school. When you learn things of the English-speaking world, you
will become our ears [learn about and understand the outside world] and our mouths
[speak for the Hopi people]” (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, February 20,
2003). They were to bring back and share what they learned for the betterment of the
community
The cultural model concept also places a focus on the resiliency of the group’s
cultural foundation—cultural identity—which encompasses its cultural and linguistic
differences as well as its collective/social identity. According to Ogbu (1991), this
resiliency enables them to “cross cultural and language boundaries and be successful” (p.
20) particularly in terms of their own notion of success or survival. Gibson (as cited in
Ogbu, 1991) referred to this strategy as “accommodation without assimilation” (p. 20).
By adopting this strategy for responding to schooling, the group does not give up
its cultural identity; rather the group “accepts” by accommodation, outside interventions
for the promise of its benefits. Dorothy Eggan (1970), in her work on the use of affect
among the Hopi, describes a similar strategy which she termed “surface accommodation”
(p. 316). According to Eggan, Hopi children who were taken from family and culture to
distant boarding schools were able to “stay in a white world, while still living in the Hopi
world within themselves” leaving the inner core of Hopi identification intact (p. 316).
Applied to Ogbu’s (1991) cultural model, this learned response served as an internal
anchor and survival mechanism in situations of separation and alienation.

48
However, in contrast to Ogbu’s (1991) minority “resistance” theory, the Hopi
interpretation of “resistance” does not follow the Western notion of resistance against the
dominant society in culture contact situations. Rather, intercultural contact manifests in
the Hopi “struggle” to adhere to the moral image they hold of themselves. The moral
image the Hopi hold of themselves is described in the following excerpt from their formal
response to U.S. President Chester A. Arthur’s 1882 Executive Order designating the
boundaries of the Hopi Reservation lands (without consultation of the Hopi people):
It is here on this land that we are bringing up our younger generation and through
preserving the ceremonies are teaching them proper human behavior and
character to make them true citizens among all people . . . . Our way requires us to
conduct our lives in friendship and peace, without anger, without greed, without
wickedness of any kind among ourselves or in association with any people.
(James, 1974, p. 103)
Hall’s “Transcending” Culture. According to Hall (1976), increasing
intercultural contact initiates a deviation from the cultural plan (the society’s
educational/enculturation process) and subsequently diminishes the integrity of the
traditional cultural institutions through which a group indoctrinates its young. Hall
maintains that group members, collectively and individually, remain largely unaware of
the underlying culture system at work until their cultural program—their “cultural
unconscious” (p. 43) is interrupted. It is intercultural encounters which bring about not
only a disruption but a self-awareness of the structure of a group’s own cultural model.
Essentially, this awareness and knowledge of the self have been previously “denied [to
the group] . . . by virtue of the way the culture system works . . . below the surface of the
49
mind” (p. 44). A deviation from the cultural plan necessitates “transcending” one’s own
culture, bringing to a conscious level the nature of the system and its hidden controls.
Further, Hall maintains that a culture’s hidden controls are “ubiquitous” in the
cultural environment so as to be experienced as though “innate” (p. 42)—learned
behaviors become habitual responses so that a shared communicative pattern, persistent
and resilient in nature, develops. In the process of transcending culture, a conscious
awareness, understanding, and knowledge of the self occurs. Applied to the Hopi cultural
model, such deviations are viewed as the “testing” of one’s faith—practicing making the
“right” choices by adhering to the Hopi cultural plan—in difficult situations (E.
Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, October 20, 2006). Therefore, while
intercultural encounters cause disruption, they also offer the opportunity for self-
understanding and cross-cultural comparison. Ogbu’s (1991) cultural model and Hall’s
notion of transcending one’s culture in order to make explicit the nature of its underlying
system—principles, values, ideals, moral understanding—suggest cultural self-
awareness, self-knowledge and self-understanding as essential aspects of language
revitalization.
Language socialization research has not only shed light on the power relations
that underlie socializing interactions giving space and voice to minority and smaller
language communities (Baquedano-López 1997, 2000; González 2001; Schieffelin 1996,
2000) but reveals the significance of everyday mundane activities as conveying the
cultural knowledge guiding and organizing all social activity rarely articulated essential
to self-awareness, self-knowledge, and self-understanding.

50
Language Socialization
Language socialization research views the routines of everyday life as culturally
significant socializing activities. In particular, the work of Ochs (1988) and Schieffelin
(1990) in the Samoan and Kaluli cultures contribute a dual focus on linguistic form and
sociocultural context in addition to capturing change and continuity in language and
culture.
Further, Garret and Baquedano-Lopez (2002) point out that language socialization
research linked to the theoretical framework of language acquisition (learning how to use
language as a social tool to co-construct meaningful social contexts, and to engage in talk
as an activity) make explicit the knowledge one needs in order to function and be
regarded by others as a competent member of a particular community. The socializing
activity is the focus of language socialization research and as such provides the raw
material for empirical analysis of how the veteran engages the novice in situated
interactions. Methodologically, a focus on socializing activities demands that the
researcher be attentive to the larger sociocultural framework in which they are embedded
and from which they derive their significance for participants (King, 2001). Participants
in the socializing activity instantiate cultural knowledge through emotions and affective
stances (Clancy, 1999; Scheiffelin, 1990), and moral and normative evaluations (Fung,
1999; Rydstrom, 2001; Smith-Hefner, 1999).
Studies conducted in small-scale communities (Ochs, 1988, Samoa; Scheiffelin
1990, Kaluli) offer empirical basis for comparative work and serve as windows to
underlying principles of social organization and cultural orientation. For example,

51
Schieffelin and Ochs (1986) point out that the linguistic form and social activity of
teasing as an expression of affect is pervasive in some cultures and its role and function is
now understood as a verbal form of interaction and the socializing activity (Schieffelin,
1990, 1986; Eisenberg, 1986; Miller, 1986). This has particular application to Hopi
society in which teasing is pervasive as well.
In addition, the affective role of specialized and culturally unique linguistic forms
finds contribution from Lakeoff and Johnson (1980) who describe the use of metaphor—
a thought process linguistically and symbolically expressed according to some form of
systematic discourse—in everyday language and thought as a means to seek meaning in
everyday experiences. Metaphor is omnipresent in Hopi, an oral society. Sekaquaptewa
and Washburn’s (2004) work with Hopi katsina songs mark the use of metaphor as a
cultural linguistic form, and Washburn (1999) examines the use of metaphor in Hopi
mural art. Lakoff and Johnson (1980) add that metaphor is partially preserved and
propagated through ritual in cultural and personal usage. Whiteley (1998) and Page
(1983) identify ritual/ritualized practices and ceremony as figuring significantly in the
Hopi cultural model as a socializing activity of a traditionally unwritten language.
Language socialization research then bridges socializing activities and language
acquisition, critical insight for language revitalization planning.
Indigenous Language Revitalization; Language Planning
Language revitalization. Regenesis of national indigenous languages (Hinton,
2001) such as Irish, Welsh (Morgan, 2001), Hawaiian (Warner, 2001; Wilson & Kamanā,
52
2001) and Maori (King, 2001) in response to imperialism introduced the world to
language revitalization. Subsequent case studies of language revitalization efforts
depicted a movement toward cultural and linguistic revival; resistance against
homogeneity (McCarty, 2003). However, rather than a cohesive and unified global
effort, local and unique conditions underlying such revitalization efforts revealed
“intriguing divergences” (King, 2001) or efforts operating independently of each other.
Nevertheless, issues of identity, land, sovereignty, knowledge, history, and connection to
traditional ways of life appeared and continue to be the driving forces at the heart of
language revitalization endeavors.
The progression of language revitalization efforts has predominantly been
undertaken through school-based approaches initiated through bilingual education
programs, followed by indigenous bilingual education programs (Holm & Holm, 1995;
Platero, 2001; McCarty & Watahomigie 1997; Watahomigie & McCarty 1994; 1998;
Watahomigie & Yamamoto, 1999), and subsequently indigenous language immersion
(Arviso & Holm, 2001; Greymorning, 2001; Hinton, 2001; Supahan & Supahan, 2001;
Wilson & Kamanā, 2001) and indigenous community-based (Pecos & Blum-Martinez,
2001; Sims 2001) language programs/projects. The progression from school-based
approaches toward that of community-based efforts reflects, on one-hand, that school-
based efforts cannot alone fully address or resolve the linguistic conditions of smaller and
minority languages, but on the other hand, that schools can significantly and positively
impact such efforts and should be co-opted in language revitalization efforts (Fishman,
1991; McCarty, 1998).

53
Schools create situations that promote language use and materials development,
provide exposure to the language, initiate second language acquisition, address the legacy
of shame regarding heritage languages, and foster pride in language and culture. Such
outcomes deem school-based language revitalization efforts as worthwhile (King 2001).
Further, the incorporation of heritage languages into the academic setting through literacy
development of previously unwritten languages and implementation of language policies
have helped to promote the importance and status of heritage languages. Such initiatory
and contributory work on the part of the educational systems reflects what King (2001)
describes as a “pro-indigenous attitude” at the macro-societal level. In turn, micro-
societal efforts initiated by Indigenous communities (Benjamin et al, 1997; Pecos &
Blum-Martinez, 2001; Sims, 2001, 2005) reflect what King terms positive language shift,
revitalization aimed at “recouping or reinvigorating the use of the native tongue” (p.12)
with a renewed commitment to the maintenance of fundamental principles and values
inherent in traditional practices and lifeways.
Positive language shift. King’s positive language shift framework stems from her
work in two (rural and urban) Saraguno communities in the Ecuadorian Andes. King’s
findings suggest a “shift” in the focus of Indigenous language revitalization research on
cultural and linguistic “loss” to a focus on the saliency and use of particular cultural and
linguistic marks of identity in maintaining a distinct cultural identity amid wider-societal
level changes. In turn, such a shift in focus reveals the “prospects” and “processes”
(King 2001) of revitalization already underway in Indigenous community-based

54
revitalization efforts. Case studies of Indigenous language revitalization efforts have
revealed the importance of identifying the cultural, social, economic, and demographic
parameters affecting language shift (Kapanga, 2001), understanding the political and
social history that has shaped the different conceptions of the role of language, and
insight into the traditional and current dynamics of community (Sims, 2001, 2005). Case
studies also reveal efforts which are founded in core fundamental philosophical thought,
values and principles of culture: the Maori concept of whānau, family (King, 2001);
strengthening of the Hawaiian mauli, life force (Wilson & Kamanā, 2001); and
articulating concepts for bilingual education for the Yolngu (Northern Australia)
language utilizing the Yolngu terms of Ganma, a ceremonial area or estuaries where the
salt and fresh water mix, and Garma, shared ceremonial space (McConvell, 2001). Such
efforts demonstrate not only a clear delineation of ethnic identity and a strong desire for
differentiation (King, 2001) but in turn help realize local empowerment (Benjamin et al
1998; Pecos & Blum-Martinez, 2001; Sims, 2001, 2005). More important is the
recognition that local efforts can have an impact micro-societal level language shift
(Nettle & Romaine, 2001; Smith/Kocamahhul, 2001). This shift in the research focus
highlights cultural and linguistic vitality.
King’s (2001) work also points out new challenges—“new lines of division”
(citing Hill, 1993)—in response to continuing accommodation of societal level changes.
First, continued political and economic subordination results in language change—
appropriate language use/form—which creates new lines of cleavage. Second, King’s
study indicates that communities select different aspects of their culture for the purpose
55
of differentiating themselves from other groups, for the Saraguno communities, rural
lifestyle/dress versus language. Third, such lines of division and choice not only create
anxieties in identity construction but alter patterns of language use. For example, in
King’s study, (re)use of Quichua has occurred primarily in public and formal domains
whereas language use in the context of intimacy—family and friendships—were
infrequent. Such research and case studies have contributed much to understanding the
forces driving positive language shift in Indigenous communities which in turn, implores
continuing research efforts to consider the voice and role of indigenous communities in
language planning, what Hornberger (1997) terms “language planning from the bottom
up” (p. 357).
Language planning. Ruiz (1984) describes language planning efforts as
influenced by three basic orientations—language as a problem, language as a right, and
language as a resource—toward language and its role in society. Language planning,
language policy development and language education has historically been driven by an
orientation that views linguistic diversity as a problem. This orientation has bred inherent
hostility, divisiveness and the subsequent failure of bilingual education programs for
minority immigrant populations implemented with the goal of eradicating linguistic
diversity under the auspices of unity/nationalism. Language in education planning and
policy development—passage of the 2001 No Child Left Behind Act (P.L. 107-11),
passage of Propositions 227 (California) and 203 (Arizona)—demonstrate that the
language as a problem remains. However, Ruiz (1984) suggests that a language as a

56
resource orientation can initiate a positive shift in language planning and policy
development; one that views language as a “resource” to be managed, developed and
conserved. Such redirection appears to be underway across tribal communities in their
struggle for educational and linguistic self-determination (Romero-Little & McCarty,
2006).
Romero-Little & McCarty (2006) point to an evolving arena of Native American
educational policy initiatives—community-based language planning/revitalization efforts
and heritage language immersion approaches. Such initiatives are proving highly
effective and successful in generating new generations of users and contemporary uses
for community languages and are enhancing educational outcomes for Native American
youth. More importantly, such initiatives are grounded in an implicit understanding that
the heritage language remains fundamental to tribal sovereignty and self-determination,
and essential to the maintenance of a collective and personal cultural identity as well as
communal and personal well-being. Such bottom-up language planning is tied to local
circumstances (McCarty, 1998) and the unique contemporary sociolinguistic conditions
in tribal communities (McCarty, Romero-Little & Zepeda, 2006a; 2006b; 2006c).
Educational goals and policy development, the outgrowth of community initiatives and
efforts, are premised on tribal sovereignty as understood and exercised by Native
people—a Native bridge to English and the larger society (McCarty, 1998).
Further, the recent study of McCarty, Romero-Little & Zepeda (2006c) gives
much needed attention and voice to the youth experience in Native language shift and
retention to date, not yet well documented or understood. Youth discourses have
57
illuminated the social-psychological and macro-structural influences on language use
practices observed among youth who demonstrate a powerful force in setting the
language policy—using English—of the home and community. Parents as well as family
and community members are often unable to counter such language behaviors. McCarty
et al. cite the Navajo (Rough Rock), Hualapai (Peach Springs), and Hawaiian case studies
to point out that schools must become critical resources and allies in bottom up language
planning that envisions the school as a domain (1) where speaking the heritage language
is natural; (2) that influences heritage language practices in the home—reinforce rather
than replace; (3) that establishes a language as a resource orientation in which language
issues are framed and language attitudes are developed; and (4) that promotes the
heritage language as a resource to its speakers and human kind (McCarty, Romero-Little,
& Zepeda, 2006c).
Organization of the Study
The dissertation comprises 10 chapters. The introduction provides the context for
the study. In particular, an introduction to the Hopi ways of knowing and the Hopi theory
of life describes how Hopi society guides and organizes both secular and religious
activities. Chapter 2 is a presentation of the research methodology.
Chapter 3 introduces the three contemporary Hopi youth—Dorian, Jared and
Justin—and draws a portrait of their contemporary lives highlighting their past and
current participation in Hopi traditions and practices, Western schooling experiences, and
pursuit of personal interests and aspirations including learning Hopi.

58
Chapter 4 describes the privileges of membership in Hopi society gained through
birthright—maternal clan identity, birth and ceremonial names, maternal village
affiliation, and rites of passage—which anchors a sense of belonging as well as initiates
the process of learning “how one fits in.” Their experiences in (1) the Hopi cultural
institutions of the clan system; (2) the network of kinship ties and responsibilities; and
(3) their initial journeys into the ceremonial realm illuminate the role language assumes
in these cultural domains as well as how fully these youth were able to participate in and
thus, be influenced or affected by their experiences. Their status as young adults
becomes significant as their participation and involvement increases and more
specifically, how a Hopi linguistic competence relates to entrance into this phase of life.
Chapter 5 depicts the developmental stage of late adolescence/young adulthood
which is distinguished by a new attentiveness to family and community expectations in
all domains of Hopi life, and increasing involvement in the religious arena. For Dorian
and Jared, it was a time of personal turmoil and struggle directly linked to their perceived
inability to speak Hopi and associated to the community perception of youth expressed in
the statement Puma hooyi. “They have “come of age,” reached adulthood, gained
independence. The high school Hopi language classes eased their struggles somewhat
and each gained new insight into the importance about the role of Hopi in their lives.
Chapter 6 highlights the process of enculturation and Hopi language use in the
household and family environment of each of the three youth. As stated previously, the
differences among these youth as users of Hopi is evidence of differing language use
practices among Hopi families. Through reflection and prediction, these youth comment
59
about the state of contemporary Hopi society, their own Hopi language use, the future
status and vitality of the Hopi language, and how they will pursue their personal goal of
“becoming fully” Hopi.
Chapter 7 illuminates the process and pattern of shift in language use and
practices from Hopi to English across Hopi households in response to Western
education—the schooling process— and the Pahaana way of life. The shifting pattern,
generational in nature, accommodated the socioeconomic changes introduced via a new
style of life accompanied by a new language as well as opportunities to participate in the
Western world. The life histories or the “witness” accounts of the parent and grandparent
participants describe a move away from Hopi traditionalism, and the resultant upheaval
of the dynamics of family and community.
Chapter 8 presents the parent and grandparent perspectives on (1) the shift from
Hopi to predominantly English among all generations of Hopi, (2) the role of the Hopi
language as an aspect of a Hopi cultural identity, (3) the principles and values of Hopi
society conveyed through the Hopi language, and (4) the potential sites for maintaining
and revitalizing Hopi. The parent and grandparent perspectives indicated that the
resolution to the Hopi linguistic crisis lies in the Hopi life plan and suggests the need to
transcend (Hall, 1976) Hopi culture in order to make explicit the principles of this life
plan (Ogbu, 1991).
Chapter 9 opens with a presentation of the Hopi oral tradition which constitutes
the “literature” of Hopi. Essentially, the Hopi oral tradition defines for the Hopi people
how to be a people—in heart, thought, behavior, and conduct as they pursue life’s
60
fulfillment. First, specific aspects of Hopi oral tradition are discussed : (a) specific ritual
practices and social institutions identified as the transmission mechanisms which define
and sustain an oral and communal society; (b) the linguistic forms of kinship terms as
well as song words and phrases which persist and work to reinforce the principle of
reciprocity underlying both the social and religious practices of Hopi (Schieffelin, 1990);
and (c) the verbal behavior of teasing as an important aspect of how kinship connections
are acknowledged and linguistically expressed in the context of social interactions with
certain individuals (kin) which is further clarified. Next, the metaphor of the Hopi
language as “the missing piece” of the puzzle essential to deciphering the Hopi cultural
map provides the means to discuss how language shift and loss manifest in Hopi youth
who do not fully acquire a Hopi linguistic competence. The chapter concludes with an
exploration of the development of affect—an emotional commitment to the ideals of the
Hopi way of life— among the youth of this study. Affective enculturation is perceived as
developing the bonds that hold the promise for Hopi cultural and linguistic vitality and
survival.
Chapter 10 begins by identifying the prospects for and the processes underlying
positive revitalization for the Hopi language (King, 2001). Hopi rituals and
performances, cultural institutions and practices constitute the “strongholds” of Hopi
culture. They continue to maintain as well as cultivate a strong cultural identity and
commitment to the Hopi way of life among each generation of Hopi. The possibilities for
successful revitalization emanate from these strongholds. At best, they serve as a catalyst
for understanding how best to proceed in terms of determining the conditions necessary
61
for second language acquisition of Hopi to occur. Chapter 10 concludes by outlining the
conclusions and implications that emerge from this study as well as specific
recommendations for Hopi language planning.

62
CHAPTER 2
METHODOLOGY
In this chapter I discuss the research methodology and process undertaken in the
investigation of Hopi language shift and maintenance. The study utilizes a multiple,
intergenerational case study approach using the ethnographic methods of in-depth life
history interviews, and long-term participant observation. At the center of the study are
three case studies of three generations of contemporary Hopi; the focus—to determine the
role and influence of the Hopi language on the cultural identity formation processes in the
contemporary lives of Hopi youth.
Specific sub-questions were incorporated into the interview questions for each
generation of participants to engage each in reflecting on her or his total life
experiences—cultural and linguistic—in order to (1) elicit the language ideologies held
regarding Hopi as well as English (2) to bring to light the factors contributing to language
shift (3) to make explicit the principles and values of the Hopi way of life essential to
becoming “fully” Hopi and (4) to present the study findings to the Hopi people as a form
of assistance in making informed decisions about the maintenance and revitalization of
the Hopi language.
Multiple, Intergenerational Case Study Approach
The phenomenon of language shift among the Hopi people is a complex one. As
described in the Introduction to this dissertation, this linguistic phenomenon has resulted
63
in a pronounced “conflict,” or “gap” between the younger and older generation of Hopi
(Mead, 1970). Such generational “lines of cleavage” (Hill as cited in King, 2001, p. 191)
is evidence that the intervention of modernity—Western education, the wage economy,
mobility, and technology—and their associated social behaviors and values—into Hopi
society has had a tremendous influence on the Hopi way of life. Possibly more
significant has been the rapidity of these changes (Hall, 1976).
Utilizing a multiple, intergenerational case study approach offered an appropriate
methodology to understanding the complexity and nature of the impact of modernity and
rapid change on Hopi language ideologies and practices, particularly as experienced and
expressed across three generations and households.
Research Methods
In this study, I relied upon two types of data sources:
1. Focused, in-depth, life history interviews
2. Participant observation
I collected data using Seidman’s (1998) tripartite phenomenological interview
model which combines life-history with focused in-depth interviewing. This interview
study finds support in Smith’s (1999) Decolonizing Methodologies: Research and
Indigenous People. Smith maintained that collecting such oral histories becomes a
culturally appropriate (research tool) way of representing the “memories of injustice” and
“diversities of truth” held by people while allowing them to speak openly of their
personal struggles of staying on their cultural path against impossible odds (pp. 144-145).
64
In-depth, life history interviews offered an effective way of establishing the context and
source of participants’ retrospective data of exploring the dynamics of language shift,
language socialization patterns, and contemporary language practices, including their
impacts on identity formation among Hopi youth.
Focused, In-depth, Life History Interviews
Seidman (1998) in Interviewing as Qualitative Research: A Guide for
Researchers in Education and the Social Sciences states that “at the root of an in-depth
interview study is an interest in understanding the experiences of other people and the
meaning they make of that experience” (p. 3). The researcher’s task, then, is to
(re-)present the experience of participants in sufficient depth and detail so that those who
read the study can connect to that experience, learn how it is constituted, and deepen their
understanding of the broader theoretical and practical issues it reflects.
According to Seidman, in-depth interviewing as a method of inquiry is most
appropriate, and possibly “the primary and singular method of investigation”(p. xvi) in
some research situations. This argument, I believe, is especially applicable to the case of
Hopi language shift. For the Hopi people, language shift is an unprecedented
phenomenon, a lived experience of an oral society, therefore, accessible primarily
through the oral narratives of the people themselves. Seidman pointed out that through
interviewing the researcher is able to explore with participants their experience as they
“actively reconstruct their experience within the context of their lives” (p. 8). In the
process of “gathering their stories” (p. xv) the researcher better understands their
65
experience. Stories are viewed as a way of knowing, and gathering stories becomes a
meaning-making process. “Recounting narratives of experience has been the primary
means by which humans have made sense of their experience” (p. 2). In addition, I
borrow from Smith (1999) who stated that oral narratives are in fact, historical accounts
that “are stored within genealogies, within the landscape . . . even within the personal
names” conveyed through systems of knowledge, now “reclassified as oral traditions” (p.
33). Participant stories, then, are invaluable; “they are of worth” (Seidman, 1998, p. 2).
Seidman (1998) found the use of language significant to symbolizing experience;
human behavior is best understood through the use of language—telling stories.
Accordingly, Seidman posited that if people are allowed to talk freely in telling their
stories, they find themselves engaging in a “process of selecting constitutive details of
experience (from their stream of consciousness), reflecting on them, giving them order,
and thereby making sense of them” (p. 1). Through this process, access is gained “to the
most complicated social and educational issues, because social and educational issues are
abstractions based on the concrete experiences of people” (p. 1) manifested in peoples’
behaviors. Thus, interviewing is the primary mode of inquiry in this study, and the
participants’ stories provide the principle source of data.
Participant Observations
Seidman (1998) also emphasized the significance of people’s behavior. He
stated, “The meaning people make of their experience affects the way they carry out that
experience” (p. 4). Observations provide access to behavior and offer another avenue of
66
inquiry in generating data for this ethnographic study. Here, I look to Mason (1996) to
provide further rationale for participant observation as a secondary method of inquiry.
As a member of the Hopi community, I maintain part-time residence and travel to
Hopi frequently to participate in cultural activities, attend ceremonies, visit extended
family, and provide Hopi literacy instruction at the junior/senior high school. At the time
of the study, these visits offered myriad opportunities to observe the “daily routines,
conversations, language and rhetoric used, styles of behaviour (including non-verbal)”
(Mason, 1996, p. 61) used by large numbers of people in contexts across a range of
dimensions—homes, village, kiva, at ritualized performances, and community events.
According to Mason, this “social world of the community” conceptualized as occurring
in their “natural” settings provides an ontological perspective—“the nature of the
phenomena . . . or social realities” that this study pursued (p. 61). Further, Mason posited
“It is possible…to be an interpreter or ‘knower’ of such data as well as an experiencer,
observer, or a participant observer because of shared experience with the participant[s]”
(p. 61).
Using Mason’s (1996) description, as a researcher in my own community, I was
not only epistemologically privileged but involved (p. 61) in the Hopi social world.
“Involved” is to be active and reflexive in the research process, attaining the “kind of
data required and not available in other forms” (p. 63). Participant observation places
further emphasis on the “depth, complexity, and roundedness . . . in the naturally or
situationally occurring data” (p. 62). The subsequent analysis and construction of social
67
explanation, as Mason posited, occur “through some form of grounded and interpretive
data analysis” (p. 62).
Selecting Data Sources
For several years, Emory Sekaquaptewa, research anthropologist in the Bureau of
Research and Anthropology (BARA) at the University of Arizona, traveled to Hopi on a
monthly basis to provide Hopi literacy instruction to students at Hopi Jr./Sr. High as part
of his Hopi Literacy Project.11 From 1998 to 2002, I assisted Emory Sekaquaptewa with
his work at the high school. Hopi language classes, which were offered as foreign
language electives open to all students, were comprised of predominantly Hopi students.
Initially, I was quite surprised at the interest the classes generated among Hopi students.
My surprise emanated from the fact that these Hopi students had grown up immersed in
the Hopi culture and environment; and therefore, I assumed the Hopi language as well.
The following enrollment statistics from 1997 to 2002 demonstrate an increasing interest
among Hopi students in Hopi language classes:
• 1997-1998: 25 students; two Hopi I classes

• 1998-1999: 35 students; Hopi I and Hopi II classes
• 1999-2000: 63 students; high school Hopi I and Hopi II classes; junior high Hopi
I and II started in response to parental and student requests
• 2000-2001: 77 students; three levels of classes
• 2001-2002: Estimated 60+ students
11
In 1983, acting on a personal interest to study the Hopi language, traditionally an oral language, Emory
Sekaquaptewa began compiling a database of words on 5” x 7” index cards from researching and “lifting”
all Hopi words contained in ethnographic reports. These words were translated into a standard system. By
expanding on these original word forms, a 12,000-word database subsequently led to the 1998 publication
of the 30,000-word Hopi Dictionary—Hopìikwa Lavàytutuveni—A Hopi-English Dictionary of the Third
Mesa Dialect. This dictionary now provides Hopi with an orthography and an extensive Hopi
lexicographical instrument for Hopi literacy development.
68
During the academic years 1997-2001, Emory and I provided two or three days of
Hopi literacy instruction to the Hopi language classes. At the time of the study, the
curriculum and instruction was designed and provided by a two-member team comprised
of a Hopi/Navajo non-speaker of Hopi certified to teach English as a Second Language
(ESL) at the secondary level, and an adult Hopi speaker. The two instructors described
most students as non-speakers of Hopi, but also identified some students as fluent
speakers. The goals of the curriculum were (1) gain an awareness of their Hopi identity
through exposure to the language, primarily in its written form (2) motivate some
students to become speakers of the language as well as encourage them to promote the
use of Hopi in their homes and among their family members; and (3) encourage students
to help one another, particularly those who appeared as though “lost” or without a strong
cultural identity (Nicholas, 2000, p. 3). These curriculum goals suggested that Hopi
youth were perceived as struggling with identity issues and pointed to a strong link
between language and identity.
Permission to Conduct Research
The policy for conducting research on Hopi evolved during the late 1990s with
the need to respond to numerous requests from non-Hopi researchers in addition to the
exploitation of tribal knowledge by previous researchers. Hence, the Hopi Tribe’s
Culture Preservation Office (CPO) issues permission to conduct research under the
Policy “Protocol for Research, Publications, and other Mechanical Devices” and the Hopi
Tribal Ordinance 26. The outcome has seen the development of a “research protocol”
69
requiring the researcher to submit a study proposal. Both “outside”—non-Hopi—and
“inside”—Hopi—researchers must comply with the research protocol. I complied with
the required research protocol and received permission to conduct this research.
Interviews
Identifying Participants
My interest in what motivated Hopi students to take Hopi language classes
situated the students at the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School as “ideal” candidates for this study,
and the Hopi language classes as an excellent “pool” of potential study participants.
However, Seidman (1998) points out, researchers often “face gatekeepers who control
access to those people [potential study participants]” (p. 37). He identified gatekeepers
as falling into the range of “absolutely legitimate (to be respected) or self-declared (to be
avoided)” (p. 37).
In my situation, viewing the superintendent as an “absolutely legitimate”
gatekeeper, I requested a meeting to present my study. Emory, who had an established
relationship of mutual respect with the superintendent, accompanied me. While
acknowledging the importance of the intended study, the superintendent stated that the
current administrative policy prohibited research requests as a result of abuse and
exploitation at the hands of previous researchers; therefore, he could not accommodate
my request. The fact that my request was only to use the classroom as a site to present
the nature of my study to the students and to extend an invitation to them to become
study participants (I was not conducting research about the Hopi language classes or the
70
school site) did not alter his consideration of my request. Nevertheless, I submitted a
request to be placed on the agenda of the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School Board to seek
reconsideration of my research proposal.
While awaiting a response, I continued to travel to Hopi and assist Emory with
Hopi literacy instruction. My visits provided the opportunity to socialize with extended
family and friends in their homes, at various cultural as well as tribal activities, events,
and social centers, such as the art fair, the local restaurant, tribal offices, and so on. As a
result, “socializing” put me in contact with one former student and the parents of two
additional former students of Hopi language classes. I offered an invitation to the former
student participate in the study who stated that he was willing to participate in the study.
He also indicated that both his mother and grandmother would likely agree to be study
participants as well. The parents of the two additional students also stated their
willingness to participate in the study and provided approval for me to contact their
children. A follow-up by phone to the two former students netted their willingness to
participate in the study.
Meanwhile, my request to be placed on the agenda of the Hopi High School
School board was approved. Emory Sekaquaptewa accompanied me. I presented the
intent of my study to the Board who posed only minor questions, and unanimously gave
their permission to solicit potential study participants from the Hopi language classes. I
developed a letter of introduction (see Appendix C) and was given time in each Hopi
language classroom to present the intent of my study and extend an invitation to the
students to participate in the study. Two students responded to the invitation. In

71
addition, Emory Sekaquaptewa strongly recommended that I extend a personal invitation
to one specific student, a non-Hopi Native American of mixed heritage. According to
Emory, this student had demonstrated exceptional interest in and enthusiasm about
learning Hopi and had done exceedingly well in the class, more so than many of the Hopi
students. As a non-Hopi student, her motivation intrigued me as well. I included this
student as a potential participant.
As Seidman (1998) noted, telephone contact is often the necessary initial step. In
the follow-up telephone calls to each of these students and their families, I introduced
myself, the nature of my study, informed them that a letter of introduction via post mail
would be forthcoming, and that on my next visit, I would call to set an appointment to
meet with them. I was unable to reach one family, but received verbal consent of
participation from two families. At the conclusion of this visit to Hopi in early February
2003, I had confirmed five former and current students of the Hopi language classes as
participants in my study. At this time, having only verbal consent from these individuals
to participate in the study (I had not yet scheduled face-to-face meetings or requested
signatures of consent), the profiles of these initial study participants are identified in
Table 2. Each Hopi youth is identified as Participant A, B, C, D, or E.
As I began to schedule interviews, the actual members of households and
unanticipated turns of events—the deaths of two maternal grandparents, and withdrawal
of another—led to the necessity of modifying the intergenerational make-up of the study
participants as well as the final number of individuals participating in the study (see
“Technical Problems and Unanticipated Surprises” in this chapter).

72
Table 2 Profiles of Initial Youth Study Participants

________________________________________________________________________
Hopi High School
Participant Gender Status Ethnicity Community
A Male Graduate Hopi Third Mesa
B Male Graduate Hopi Second Mesa
C Female Graduate Hopi Second Mesa
D Male Current Student Hopi First Mesa
E Female Current Student Mixed Heritage First Mesa

Indian/non-Indian
As a result, the study became an inter-/multi-generational case study of three
former students rather than five former/current students of Hopi language classes. The
three former students were Hopi high school graduates, had each taken four semesters of
Hopi classes, and consisted of one female and two males. The profiles of the actual
study participants are shown in Table 2.
Participant Consent
In developing participant consent forms, two issues surfaced. First, because the
study included participants of various ages and familial status—adolescent, parent,
grandparent—this required that I develop “Participant,” “Parental,” and “Assent for
Minors” consent forms (see Appendices D, E, and F). Second was the issue of
anonymity.
73
Table 3 Actual Study Participants

________________________________________________________________________
Dorian, Age 19 Youth generation, Second Mesa
Anna Parent generation: mother, Second Mesa
Doran Parent generation: father, Third Mesa
Vivian Grandparent generation: paternal grandmother, Third Mesa

________________________________________________________________________
Jared, Age 19 Youth Generation, Second Mesa
Charelene Parent Generation, mother, Second Mesa
Clara Grandparent Generation, female, Second Mesa

________________________________________________________________________
Justin, Age 19 Youth generation, Third Mesa
Lillian Parent generation: mother, Third Mesa
Marshall Parent generation: stepfather, Second Mesa
Marie Grandparent generation: female, Third Mesa

________________________________________________________________________
Note. The names Dorian, Anna, and Doran are actual participant names. Approval from
these participants for the use of their actual names and identities is discussed in further in
this chapter.
Note. There are 12 Hopi villages located atop or below three mesas: First Mesa; Second
Mesa; and Third Mesa. Each study participant is affiliated with one village from one of
the three mesas which is noted.
Seidman (1998) pointed out the potential vulnerable position in which participants
may be placed as a result of sharing intimate aspects of their lives.

74
In-depth interviewing . . . cannot be likened to routine survey interviewing. First,

the topic of inquiry . . . is placed within the total life context of the participant.
That contextual exploration is likely to raise sensitive issues . . . . Second, the
interviews are recorded and the identity of the participant, even disguised, is
potentially discernible by someone who knows him or her. Third, the potential
vulnerability of the participant cannot be calculated ahead of time….For these
reasons…it is both ethically and methodologically desirable to seek it [informed
consent]. (p. 47)
The issues of vulnerability and anonymity were especially acute for Hopi, a close-
knit communal society that integrates communities across the three mesas through its
kinship-clan system. More specifically, the diminishing vitality of Hopi language as a
language of everyday life, especially prevalent among the younger generation of Hopi,
was a reality in the experience of each participant including the grandparents who now
limit their use of Hopi to ceremonies or in interactions with individuals of their
generation or other speakers of Hopi.
As a result, I attempted to be as accurate and responsible as possible in
constructing consent forms. I wanted to ensure that the participants I interviewed clearly
understood the purpose of the study. The purpose was not to “lay blame” or promote
“victimization,” but to seek out those factors that could be identified as contributing to
the changes in the language attitudes, behaviors, and practices and the resultant shift from
Hopi to English. I sought to explore, understand, and articulate the intergenerational
nature and degree of the shifting process in individual households as the initial step
toward addressing the current and future Hopi linguistic situation.
In addition, because the extensive use of participants’ words was central to my
study, protecting the anonymity of the study participants became a priority as I thought
through the research structure and process, and the subsequent development of the
75
consent forms. I took steps to maintain participant anonymity: I personally contacted
each potential participant, and conducted all interviews in the privacy of participants’
homes; I personally transcribed all interview audiotapes using only initials for proper
names, and I did not discuss the particulars of the interviews with anyone outside the two
co-chairs of my dissertation committee. All transcripts and audiotapes remain in my
possession. Pseudonyms were used in the final report for all participants with the
exception of Dorian, her mother and father. In particular, Dorian and her father, Doran—
firmly expressed a strong desire that their actual names be used in the dissertation. Doran
stated,
Use my real name because everybody’s opinions and viewpoints are gonna be
different based on their past experiences . . . and there’s nothing to hide . . . . If
another person can take the information and have more questions about it . . . and
they want to know who was it that actually said this . . . if I can be of help that
way, fine.
Subsequently, Dorian’s mother gave permission to use her actual name, Anna, in
the study. Although, the actual identity of Dorian’s paternal grandmother may be
recognized, I chose to use a pseudonym, Vivian, in presenting her life history and
perspectives throughout the dissertation.
Developing Interview Questions
The challenge in developing interview questions lay in encompassing and
capturing the experiences of a people that reached into a remote past and included the
history and impact of the ensuing legacy of language and cultural oppression as the result
of contact with others—Spaniards and Euro-Americans. Developing questions that

76
would elicit a comprehensive picture of Hopi language shift from the experiences of Hopi
across three generations added to the challenge. An additional challenge lay in my
determination to elicit participant stories, particularly those of the grandparent generation,
with and through the use of the Hopi language.
Seidman’s (1998) three-interview series model was designed “to have participants
reconstruct his or her experience within the topic under study,” in order to provide the
“concrete experiences” and establish the “context” from which to “explore” (p. 11) with
the participants the meanings their experiences hold for them. The first step consisted of
developing the broad questions I sought to answer through the voices of Hopi youth,
parents, and grandparents. The second step involved constructing questions according to
Seidman’s (1998) three-interview categories: Interview I-Focused Life History which
establishes the context of the participants’ experiences; Interview II-Details of the
Experience which allows the participant to reconstruct the details of their experience
within the context in which it occurs; Interview III-Reflection of the Meaning during
which the participant can reflect on “how the factors in their lives interacted to bring
them to their present situation” (pp. 10-11). The third step involved revising the
construction of the questions—the wording and phrasing—by considering the age and
interview experiences of the participants. Here, I present the interview questions in full.
Hopi Youth. Interview I: Life History

1. Growing Up
1a. Where were you born?
1b. Did you grow up in a Hopi village? Which?
1c. Who are your parents; what village[s] are they from?
1d. Do you know your clan?
77
1e. Do you have/know your Hopi name?

1f. Have you ever lived away from Hopi?
[If yes,] Where? How long? Why?
1g. While growing up, who did you spend most of your time with? Why?
1h. What things about Hopi did you learn while you were growing up? Who did you
learn these from?
2. Schooling
2a. What schools did you go to?
2b. What kind of activities did you do? Why?
2c. Who did you spend most of your time with?
3. Hopi Language
3a. Did you speak Hopi?
[If yes,] In your opinion, how well do you speak Hopi?
[If no,] Do you know any words, or phrases?
3b. Did you understand Hopi?
[If yes,] In your opinion, how well do you understand?
[If no,] Do you know any words or phrases?
3c. Where did you usually hear Hopi being spoken?
Who were the speakers?
4. Hopi Traditions
4a. Did you participate in any traditional Hopi activities?
[If yes,] What? Who helped you? In what ways?
[If no,] Why not?
Hopi Youth. Interview II: Detailed Experience

1. Contemporary Young Adulthood
1a. Do you live in a Hopi village now?
[If yes,] Which one?
[If no,] Where do you live?
1b. What kinds of things do you do when you are in your home?
In the village?
Who do you spend most of your time with?
1c. What kinds of activities did you do when you were in school?
Who did you spend most of your time with?
1d. What kinds of things did you do/were involved in when during school breaks
(weekends, holidays, summer)?
Who did you spend most of your time with?
1e. Do you participate in traditional activities/practices now?
[If yes,] What? Why?
[If no,] What? Why not?
2. Family
2a. What comes to your mind when you hear these Hopi words [terms]:
Itáaso, our grandmother.
Itáakwa, our grandfather.
78
Itangu, our mother.

Itana, our father?
Taha, maternal uncle.
Kya’a, paternal aunt.
2b. Do you spend time with these relatives now?
[If yes,] Why? When? What kinds of things do you do with them?
[If no,] Why not?
3. Hopi Language
3a. Do you speak Hopi now?
[If yes,] In your opinion how well do you speak Hopi?
[If yes,] In what situations do you speak Hopi? With whom? Why?
[If no,] Why not?
3b. Do you understand spoken Hopi?
[If yes,] In your opinion, how well do you understand spoken Hopi?
3c. Do your parents speak to you with Hopi? Yes/No.
[If yes,] In what situations?
3d. Do your grandparents speak to you with Hopi? Yes/No.
[If yes,] In what situations?
3e. Are there others who speak to you with Hopi?
[If yes,] Who? In what situations?
Do you respond to them with Hopi?
[If yes,] Why? [If no,] Why not?
3f. Do you use Hopi at any time, or anywhere in your daily life?
[If yes,] When? With whom?
[If no,] Why not?
3g. Do you ever hear others make comments about the Hopi language?
[If yes,] What are some comments you have heard?
4. School/Hopi Language Class
4a. How many classes of Hopi language have you taken?
4b. Did anyone advise or encourage you to take the Hopi language class?
[If yes,] Who? Why?
4c. What kinds of things did you do or learn in the Hopi language class?
4d. What did you expect to learn from the Hopi language class?
Are you learning these things? If yes, why? If no, why not?
4e. Do your parents/grandparents support your interest in the language class or
with the classwork? If yes, how? Why? If no, why not?
4f. Do/did you have friends in the Hopi language class?
[If yes,] Do you know why they are taking the class?
[If no,] Do you know why they are not taking the class?
Hopi Youth. Interview III: Reflection

1. Contemporary adolescent/young adult Hopi life
1a. Do you think being a young Hopi today is different from when your parents
were young?
79
[If yes,] Why and in what ways is it different?

1b. Do you think being a young Hopi today is different from your grandparents
were young?
[If yes,] Why and in what ways is it different?
1c. If you were to introduce yourself as a young Hopi person to others,
what would be important for you to include in this introduction?
2. School/Hopi Language Class
2a. When did you graduate from high school?
2b. When did you take the Hopi language class[es]?
2c. Why did you take the classes?
2d. Did anyone advise or encourage you to take the classes?
2e. What did you expect to learn/do in the class[es]?
2f. Did the class[es] satisfy your goal[s]? [If yes,] Why? If no, why not?
2g. In what ways could the language class could be improved or more effective?
2h. What did you plan to do when you graduated? Why?
2i. When you become a (name of profession), will you apply or practice that
training/profession on the Hopi reservation? If yes, why? If no, Why not?
2j. Will the Hopi language be useful or relevant to your profession/adult life?
[If yes,] Why?
[If no,] Why not?
3. Hopi Language
3a. Is the Hopi language important to you now as a young adult?
[If yes,] In what ways?
[If no,] Why not?
3b. Is the Hopi language an important part of being Hopi; being a Hopi?
[If yes,] In what ways?
[If no,] Why not?
3c. Will the Hopi language be important to you in your future?
[If yes,] Why?
[If no,] Why not?
3d. Will the Hopi language be important for your children?
[If yes,] Why?
[If no,] Why not?
3e. What do you think will happen to the Hopi language in 10 years? In 25 years? In
50 years? Why?
3f. Will reading and writing the Hopi language be an important part of Hopi in the
future?
[If yes,] Why and where will it fit in? [If no,] Why not?
3g. What role has/does the Hopi language played/play in your life? How will it be a
part of your adult life?
Hopi Parents. Interview I: Life History

1. Growing Up
80
1a. Where were you born?

1b. Did you grow up in a Hopi village?
[If no,] Where did you grow up? Why?
1c. Who are your parents? What village(s) are they from?
1d. Any brothers and sisters?
1e. What is your clan?
1f. Do you have a Hopi name? What is it?
1g. Have you ever lived away from Hopi?
[If yes,] Where? For how long? Why? When and why did you come back to
Hopi?
1h. Did you participate in traditional activities while you were growing up?
[If yes,] Why? Who were significant others who assisted you?
[If no,] Why not?
1i. Who did you spend most of your time with?
1j. What kind(s) of employment have you had on or away from Hopi?
2. Schooling Experiences
2a. What schools did you attend and where were they located?
2b. What kind of school activities were you involved in? Why?
2c. What are your memories of school?
2d. Who did you spend most of your time with in school?
2e. How did your schooling help you in your life?
2f. What kinds of activities did you do before and after school?
Over the weekends? Over breaks/vacations/summers from school?
3. Hopi Language
3a. Did you speak Hopi as a child?
[If yes,] In your opinion, how well did you speak Hopi? Why?
How did you learn to speak Hopi? With whom and where did you use Hopi
most?
3b. [If no,] did you know how to say any words, phrases in Hopi? How did you learn
them?
3c. [If no,] Did you understand spoken Hopi? How well?
3d. Where did you usually hear Hopi being spoken? Who were the speakers?
3e. Did you speak or hear Hopi being spoken while you were at school? In what
situations/context?
Hopi Parents. Interview II: Detailed Experience

1. Contemporary Hopi Parent
1a. Do you currently live in your maternal village?
[If no,] Where do you reside? Why? What is your maternal village?
1b. What is your current work? How long have you done this work?
1c. Do you participate in traditional activities?
[If yes,] Why?
81
[If no,] Why not?

1d. Are you involved in non-Hopi/traditional activities?
[If yes,] What? Where?
2. Family
2a. What is it like to be the parent of children growing up in modern times?
2b. Do you spend time with your child/children?
[If yes,] In what kind of activities? Where? When? Why?
2c. What comes to your mind when you hear the following words: Why?
itaaso—our grandmother; itaakwa—our grandfather; itangu—our mother; itana—
our father; taha—maternal uncle; kya’a—paternal aunt.
2d. What should your child/children know or learn about each of these relatives?
Why?
2e. [In your opinion] Do you children know this?
[If yes,] Why?
[If no,] Why not?
3. Hopi Language
3a. Do you speak Hopi now?
[If yes, in your opinion] How well do you speak it? How did you learn Hopi?
3b. Who do you speak Hopi with? In what situations?
3c. Do you speak to your child/children with Hopi?
[If yes,] When? Why?
3d. Does/Do your child/children respond in Hopi? Why? Why not?
3e. Does/Do your child/children speak to you in Hopi? When?
3f. Do you respond to them in Hopi? Why? Why not?
3g. [If no, to the question, Do you speak Hopi now?] Do you understand spoken
Hopi?
[If yes, in your opinion] How well do you understand? How did you learn?
3h. Do you ever hear comments/statements by others about the Hopi language?
[If yes,] what are some comments/statements you have heard?
How do you respond or what is your opinion regarding these
comments/statements?
4. Hopi Language Classes
4a. What do you think about your child taking the Hopi language class?
4b. Did your child seek your advice about enrolling in the class? Why or Why not?
4c. Are you aware of what they are learning in the classes?
[If yes,] What are examples of what they are learning or doing in the classes?
4d. Do you support her/his interest in learning the Hopi language in school?
[If yes,] Why and in what ways do you show your support?
[If no,] Why not?
4e. Do you think Hopi language classes are the best way to learn to speak the Hopi
language? Why or Why not?
Hopi Parents. Interview III: Reflection

1. Contemporary Hopi Parent
82
1a. In what ways is being a parent of a young Hopi today different from when you
were a young Hopi? Why?
1b. What advice do you or would you give to your child about being a parent?
1c. What things should they be sure to teach their children about becoming or being a
Hopi?
2. Hopi Language
2a. Is the Hopi language important in these modern times? Why or Why not?
2b. Is the Hopi language an important part of being Hopi? Why or Why not?
2c. Can one be Hopi without the language? Why or Why not?
2d. Does/Do your child/children speak Hopi?
[If yes,] How did they become speakers?
2e. [If no,] Do you want them to become speakers? Why?
2f. In 10 years, 25 years, 50 years, what will be the status of the Hopi language?
2g. Is reading and writing the Hopi language important to/for you? Why or Why
not?
2h. Is it important for your child/children to read and write Hopi? Why or Why not?
2i. What ideas/suggestions might you offer for how the Hopi language can be
strengthened especially among our young people?
Hopi Grandparents. Life History

1. Um tuwat haki? Um hin maatsiwa? Um himuwungwa? Um haqaq sino?
(And you are…? Name? Clan? What village affiliation? )
2. Hiitawat kitsokit ev um wungwa?
(In what village did you grow up?)
3. Um Hopilavayit enang ak wuuyoqti?
(Did you grow up with the Hopi language?)
4. Um haqam tuwat tutuqayto?
(Where did you go to school?)
5. Hiita um ak naatayawintangwu?
(What kind of work and play did you do as you were growing up?)
6. Um qa nuutum Hopit hintsakpiyat ang hintsakma?
(Did you participate in Hopi traditional activities?)
Hopi Grandparents. Family

1. Hin sen um pu’ uumömuy amumi qatsiyamuy aw wuuwanta?
(What is it like to be a grandparent of Hopi children growing up in these modern
times?)
2. Um him pumuy qatsiyamuy ang amumum hintsaki?
(What kinds of things do you do with your grandchildren?)
3. Noq um Hopiikwa pumuy enang amumum yu’a’ta?
(Do you speak to your grandchildren in the Hopi language?)
4. Haqam sen pas um pumuy amumum put ak yu’a’tangwu? Hiita hintsakpit ev’e?
(In what activities do you use the Hopi language with your grandchildren?)
83
5. Noq puma qa hisat umi Hopiikwa yu’a’a’tota, uumöm? Haqam? Ung noq hintöq
oovi?
(Do your grandchildren ever speak to you in Hopi? Where? In your opinion, why?
6. Noq uumi Hopiikwa lavaytotiq um Hopiikwa pumuy hu’ngwangwu? Hintoq oovi?
(When they speak to you in Hopi, do you respond in Hopi? Why or Why not?
Hopi Grandparents. Hopi Language

1. Um hin Hopilavayit ak uuqatsiy ang mongvasi?
(Was the Hopi language an important part of your life?)
2. Noq ung noq, hiita pas I’ Hopilavayi hiikya’ta? Hintoq oovi?
(In your opinion, how important is the Hopi language? Why?)
3. Noq hin Hopilavayi yukiqhaqami alöngti? (How has the use of the Hopi language
changed?)
4. Noq pam hin imuy tsaatsakmuy aw pu’ maatsilti?
(How has this affected our youth?)
5. Noq hin puma ahoy Hopilavayit tuuqayvayani; haq pumuy tuuqaynaniqe pas
makiwa’ta?
(How will the youth learn the Hopi language; whose responsibility will it be?
6. Noq naamahin hak Hopilavayit qa tuuqaykyang pay naat piw Hopi matsiwtangwu?
(Can one be Hopi without the language?)
7. Noq sen puma put peeniyat enangyani? Pu’ piw tungwanpiyat?
(Should they learn to write and read Hopi?)
Respecting Interview Structure
Seidman (1998) recommended “spacing” the three-interview series from “3 days
to a week apart;” (p. 14) he also acknowledged the reality that a perfect world does not
exist and conducting an interview under less than ideal conditions is better than none.
Distance, family, and work made it necessary to modify the structure and process of
gathering the stories of the study participants. All interviews were conducted during the
spring and fall of 2003, resulting in a five-month span of time between the initial and
final interview sessions. The first interviews were conducted in March and April of 2003
and the second in October of 2003. In addition, all interviews for the youth and parent
participants were completed in two interview sessions, with one exception—a parent
84
interview completed in one session. The grandparent interviews were designed to be
completed in one interview as a matter of respect, and in consideration of their age. All
grandparent interviews were conducted in October 2003.
Technical Problems and Unanticipated Surprises
The technical problems I encountered were minimal, the most significant being
the loss of 20-30 minutes of one parent interview during duplication of the tape
recording. Fortunately, with the initial interviews, I routinely listened to the tape
recordings as I traveled to Hopi as an exercise of mental engagement and preparation. A
meal break, also a routine, provided me the opportunity to jot down a brief summary of
the interview. Hence, although the actual wording of this particular interview was lost, I
had my notes to use as reference for this “missing” data. Another technical issue
involved use of the tape recording device, more so for me than the participants. While
the participants did seem to forget, or were able to ignore the device, I was especially
conscious about the recorder—making sure it was turned on, listening for the “click”
signaling the need to turn the tape over, making sure it was close enough to the
interviewee, and hoping the background noise would be minimal. I felt this behavior was
highly disrespectful to the interviewee. Technical issues surrounding background noises
did happen, but fortunately, the instances were few.
There were also unanticipated circumstances. Dorian’s and Justin’s maternal
grandmothers passed away before an interview was conducted. Jared’s maternal
grandmother was not a study participant. I sensed her considerable discomfort in

85
responding to the letter of invitation to participate in the study, and did not pursue her
consent. Consequently, the intergenerational nature of the intended study was modified.
The study became a multi-generational case study in which “alternate” individuals
representing the grandparent generation from the youths’ home village were invited to be
study participants and agreed to participate. This turn of events allowed for the
representation of both maternal and paternal grandmother perspectives as part of the data.
This is significant in that the involvement of the maternal and paternal grandparents in
the lives of Hopi youth is distinctly different in Hopi society, a matrilineal society. Hopi
youth tend to have a closer relationship with the maternal grandparents; therefore, the
maternal grandparents play a more visible and prominent role in their daily lives (see
Chapter 4).
Another surprise occurred in one parent interview session in which both mother
and father were present. When I arrived at their home, only the mother was present. She
preferred to wait for her husband to arrive before beginning the interview. When her
husband arrived, he quickly joined me at the kitchen table, but she did not physically join
us, nor did her husband invite her to do so. Uncertain how to “read” this situation, I
attempted to include her in the discussion by directing the questions to her, and
occasionally, her husband would pose an opportunity for confirmation of his responses.
But at the conclusion of the interview, although her attention was engaged as evidenced
by occasional interjections noticed during the transcribing process, her overall
participation was minimal. In addition, while the initial parent interview was scheduled
through the mother, she was evasive in scheduling a second interview. I sensed a strong
86
reluctance for a second interview session. Therefore, satisfied with the stories that were
provided in the first and only interview session with these parents, I did not pursue a
second interview.
Transcribing the Interview Tapes
All study participants were tape recorded. Although participants were given the
option to use Hopi (I stated to each participant that I understood spoken Hopi), the
interviews for the youth and parents were largely conducted in English, but Hopi
language—words and phrases—was interjected into much of the parent interviews. In
retrospect, this was likely due to developing as well as posing the questions to the parents
in English as a result of my limited fluency in spoken Hopi at the time of the study.
However, fluent code-switching between Hopi and English marked the interview tapes of
Justin’s stepfather, a fluent speaker of Hopi.
For the grandparent interview, I worked with Emory Sekaquaptewa to design
questions that would best elicit an understanding of the information being sought.
Therefore, the interview questions were written in Hopi and posed to the grandparent
participants by reading the prepared questions. Hopi literacy, a recent development,
posed a challenging if not a futile search for a transcriber of Hopi. My daughter
transcribed a few hours of recordings, but expressed that the use of Hopi terminology
interjected throughout the interviews, as well as a subtle, but distinct conversational style
was challenging for her. In particular, the grandparents, for whom the interviews were
posed in Hopi, predetermined that I would transcribe the grandparent interviews.

87
I began transcribing the interviews only after completing all the interviews. I
focused first on the youth interviews. This allowed me to become immersed in the youth
perspective. I next transcribed the parent interviews, and finally, the grandparent data.
Personally transcribing all of the interview sessions was a time-consuming and labor-
intensive endeavor, to say the least. But doing so essentially “recreated” the actual
interview sessions. In the process, I was able to also recapture the nuances that can
enhance the researcher’s understanding of the stories being told, such as the tone of a
chuckle accompanying a comment, or the discomfort expressed in a long pause, facial
expressions and body language that made more vivid the memories revisited. Strong
emotions and reactions are inherent in such “non-verbal signals” (Seidman, 1998, p. 98),
and I looked forward “to come to the transcript prepared to let the interview breathe and
speak for itself” (p. 100).
Data Analysis
Studying and Reducing the Interview Text
The interviews yielded an enormous amount of text and “rich” data to manipulate.
Seidman (1998) stressed that reducing the text must be undertaken inductively rather than
deductively; a caveat to the researcher against attending to the material with a motive of
matching the data to a predetermined hypothesis. It is important that the researcher
ensure that he/she has a healthy interest in the subject—one free of anger, bias, and
prejudice. The researcher’s task, then, is to reduce the text and data to what emerges as
of “most importance and interest” (Seidman, 1998, p. 99).

88
Today’s technology, particularly the computer and word processing software,
allowed me to manipulate and create multiple “working” copies into which I inserted
notations, “bolded” key terms, concepts, and important emerging topics/themes, and
color-coded categories of data, while maintaining the original version of the transcripts.
The data was coded as follows:
• Purple: language which included responses and comments about the Hopi language,
the Hopi language classes as well as language use—words and phrases;
• Orange: data about culture—practices, traditions, teachings, and knowledge;
• Green: perceived changes in traditions and practices, e.g. reference to the
incorporation of technology—television, VCRs—which distract the Hopi people from
attending to the corn fields; and
• Blue: personal comments, beliefs, and opinions, i.e. a stated prediction about the
future vitality of the Hopi language: “People are gonna always wanna have Butterfly
dances and kachina dances . . . [and] that’s gonna involve Hopi [language], singing
Hopi songs.”
Managing the Data
According to Miles and Huberman (as cited in Seidman,1998), the goal “in
marking what is of interest in the interview transcripts is to reduce and then shape the
material into a form in which it can be shared or displayed” (p. 101), and followed by
analysis and interpretation of the material. Seidman referred to this process as “crafting a
89
profile” of a participant’s experience—“an effective way of sharing interview data and
opening up one’s interview material for analysis” (p. 102).
Crafting profiles of the individual participants in the study occurred in two ways.
First, I developed profiles of each of the youth participants by grouping marked passages
into categories which included: personal statistics; childhood and adolescence;
traditional activities—family and communal; kinship/clanship relationships; kinship
terms/relationships; schooling experiences; personal interests/aspirations; Hopi language;
Hopi language classes; and reflection. The dissertation chapter “Youth Life Histories”
profiling each of the three youth participants was the outcome of this sequential process.
Second, while I followed the same process of developing profiles for each of the parent
and grandparent participants, marked individual passages were grouped in categories that
portrayed the pattern and process of Hopi language shift. The interview material is
shared in the dissertation chapter, “The Pattern and Process of Hopi Language Shift.”
Analyzing and Interpreting the Interview Material
Seidman (1998) stated that analysis and interpretation begin at the onset of
reading, studying, marking, categorizing, grouping, and labeling the interview material,
but another step of the interpretation process asks the researcher to ask of her/himself,
“what has been learned . . . from the interview process and what meaning they have made
of their work?” (p. 111). According to Seidman, the process of interpretation is
essentially the researcher’s response to the same question asked of the participant—“what
has their experience meant to them?” (p. 111). The researcher’s task is to make and
90
identify connections among the experiences of the participants and the literature, confirm
instincts, as well as describe the experience and make sense of it in order to gain new
knowledge and understanding.
The following are examples of how marked excerpts from the interview material
formed thematic connections:
• Across the youth experiences: contemporary Hopi youth are “living” the culture
which does not require Hopi language competency as a prerequisite; “living Hopi” is
experienced through active participation and involvement in the traditions and social
institutions; linguistic competence is essential to participating in the religious domain;
without a strong proficiency in the Hopi language, one’s sense of security in a Hopi
cultural identity is tested.
• Across generational experiences: Western education/schooling experiences was cited
as a predominant factor in the shifting of Hopi language use practices in the home.
• Confirmed instincts: salient features of Hopi remain in substance but may have
changed somewhat in form; the traditional identity formation process remains intact.
The following provides examples of the research work and the meanings
attributed to it utilizing Smith’s (1999) Indigenous research project terminology:
• Describing the experience: claiming—an official accounting of a collective history
and story; celebrating—“personal struggles of staying on a path against all odds,”
oral histories—representing “memories of injustice . . . an avalanche of voices crying
out” (pp. 144-145).

91
• Making sense of the experience: reframing—taking greater control over how
Indigenous issues and social problems are discussed and handled (1999, p. 145).
• Researcher seeing connections: intervening—proactive and vested (p. 147).
• Describing how the experience is understood—transformative (González, 2001).
The process of selecting data from the interview transcripts focused on the following
emerging themes: how these Hopi youth described their participation in Hopi culture;
how these Hopi youth were influenced in their thinking and behavior as a result of their
participation; the inherent principles and values that were instilled in these youth through
their participation; and in particular for Dorian and Jared, how each described the void in
fully grasping Hopi cultural concepts without the Hopi language as well as the criteria
they alluded to in defining themselves as distinctly Hopi even without a strong
foundation in the language.
Summary
In this chapter, I describe the steps undertaken and method of inquiry—in-depth
interviewing—to collect the stories of the study participants who are experiencing and
“living” the Hopi culture in contemporary times. Their personal stories provide the
primary access for exploring the phenomenon of language shift unprecedented in the
lived experiences of Hopi, traditionally and remaining largely an oral society. The
strength of in-depth interviewing as a research tool allows the researcher “to come to
understand the details of a people’s experience from their point of view . . . and [gain] a
92
deeper appreciation of the amazing intricacies and, yet, coherence of people’s
experiences” (Seidman, 1998, p. 103).
The next chapter introduces the three youth participants of the study. The chapter
provides a look into the contemporary lives of the three Hopi youth—Dorian, Jared, and
Justin at the center of this study. Specifically, the focus is on the extent of these youths’
participation in Hopi traditions and practices, schooling experiences, and their aspirations
at the time of the study. The intent of the chapter is to consider how contemporary Hopi
youth experience and negotiate their bicultural, bilingual life experiences.

93
CHAPTER 3
PORTRAITS: CONTEMPORARY HOPI YOUTH
In this chapter I provide the portraits of three contemporary Hopi youth—Dorian,
Jared, and Justin—whose cultural and linguistic experiences are at the heart of this study.
These portraits highlight their life activities at the time of the study, Western schooling
experiences, and pursuit of personal interests and aspirations including that of learning
Hopi. At the time of the study, Jared was attending community college away from Hopi
but making frequent weekend trips back to Hopi, while Dorian and Justin were living in
their immediate family households. In the ensuing narratives, I make liberal use of
brackets to provide additional perspective and/or grammatical clarification to excerpts
from the interview transcripts.
Dorian
A May 2002 graduate of Hopi High School, Dorian was 19 years old and the
reigning Miss Indian Arizona at the time of the study. Three interview sessions were
conducted during the period October 2003 through April 2004. The kitchen table served
as the interview setting and English was the preferred language. The first interview
session took place in the early afternoon while her mother was at work and her younger
brother was at school. The next two sessions occurred in the evening with both her
mother and brother present in the home but highly respectful of the purpose of my
presence—the television was turned off when I entered the home and both went into their
94
respective bedrooms. From time spent with Dorian during these interview sessions, I
describe Dorian as a petite, vivacious and precocious young Hopi woman as well as self-
assured and confident in manner.
In this post-high school year, while awaiting news about her application to the
two-year American Musical and Dramatic Academy in New York City, Dorian was
attending classes at the local campus of Northland Pioneer College (NPC), babysitting for
teachers, and traveling to other tribal reservations in Arizona as part of her Miss Indian
Arizona responsibilities. Although Dorian had been briefly employed at the Hopi Culture
Center Restaurant and at a local grocery store, the opportunity to gain practical and
valuable work or career experience was greatly limited on the reservation. Hence, Dorian
gave precedence to her Miss Indian Arizona duties and community projects emanating
from this position and postponed employment and higher education for the duration of
her reign as well. According to Dorian, it was essential for her to remain on the
reservation in her roles as representative of the Hopi Tribe and as an ambassador for
Indian people: “I thought I was right to stay here as long as I hold the title, to stay rooted
and grounded,” she stated.
Life History
Dorian was born in the border town of Tuba City, located at the northern
boundary of the Hopi Reservation. She is the second of three children. At the time of the
study, Dorian, a younger brother, and her mother comprised the immediate family
household. They lived in a mobile home near the base of Second Mesa. Her older
95
married sister lived in a mobile home “next door,” and her father lived near Kiqötsmovi
Village at the southern base of Third Mesa.
Dorian spent her early childhood, from birth to age four, in her mother’s home
village of Supawlavi, one of three villages on Second Mesa. The family later moved
down to the Housing of Urban Development (HUD) community known as Lower
Supawlavi near the junction of State Highways 87 and 264. This move was undertaken
to assist in the care of Dorian’s maternal grandmother. These HUD homes, equipped
with modern facilities such as in-door bathrooms, central heating and cooling, and
adequate space, afforded more comfortable living conditions for Dorian’s maternal
grandmother. A vivid childhood memory for Dorian was the daily routine of visiting and
caring for their maternal grandmother: “That’s the first place we go with my mom when
she gets off work . . . It’s the protocol to take care of her daily.” Dorian’s grandmother
passed away during the interview period, in May 2003.
Tutuqayto—Going to School
When asked about her Western schooling experience, Dorian matter-of-factly
stated, “School is an everyday routine; there’s no way around it.” She had attended only
local schools beginning at Second Mesa Elementary School transferring to the Hopi
Jr./Sr. High School upon reaching seventh grade.
In high school, Dorian took Native American Studies and Hopi language classes
in addition to other courses during her freshman year. In her junior year, she took a
beginning acoustic guitar class. English and math were her favorite subjects.
96
Accordingly she excelled in English and enjoyed writing. An avid reader, she read
literature textbooks, accelerated readers, and works by R. L. Stine and J. R. Tolkien while
in school. At the time of the study, she was reading the works of Louis Loury and John
Grisham and frequented the local public library.
Dorian described herself as “friendly” to everyone. “Everyone” included students
who were Pahaana, Anglo and Qömavkastiilas, Blacks, whose parents were either
teachers, employees of the tribe, or others working on Hopi, as well as foreign exchange
students. Dorian did not fraternize with any particular group but avoided “popular”
groups and those Hopi girls whom she viewed as prone to jealousy. Primarily, she spent
time with friends who were female cousins or guys whom she found “a lot easier to get
along with.” She explained that many of her cousins were male and so she grew up
“hanging” with boys more, was always comfortable around them, and felt she had
developed a good understanding of male behaviors.
In her extracurricular school activities, Dorian was a member of the cheerleading
squad, the cross-country track teams and was “one of the first female students to
participate in the school’s wrestling program” because she wanted to do something
different (The Hopi Tutuveni, 2003, p. 1). She had very specific motivations for joining
both the cheerleading and cross-country teams: “For cross-country, I just wanted to run
for my health. I didn’t want to win anything although I know I could have if I pushed
myself that hard. I wasn’t there for that. I just wanted to stay in shape. And
cheerleading, it was the only way I could get some dance experience.”
97
During her high school years Dorian also attended month-long summer camps for
the performing arts in California. After graduating, she had the opportunity to spend one
week in New York City to tour a student photography exhibit at the Smithsonian National
Museum of the American Indian George Gustav Heye Center. Dorian’s photographs
were part of this museum exhibit. The trip to New York City was significant and
especially gratifying because it had been a personal goal “to get there [to New York].”
Reflecting on her schooling, she stated, “When you’re small, you don’t have to think
about how you have to balance these two worlds . . . having to go to school and get your
education, but still at the same time, still keeping deeply rooted to your culture and
traditions.”
Miss Indian Arizona
Dorian described her journey to win the title of Miss Indian Arizona as a surprise
opportunity. An invitation to enter the Miss Hopi pageant was extended to her by a
member of the pageant committee soliciting interest from local Hopi young women. “I
never even had a thought in my mind about running [for the title],” Dorian said, until she
was approached and told that no applicants had come forth. Although she did not win the
title of Miss Hopi, as First Attendant (the runner-up title), she entered the Miss Indian
Arizona Pageant when Miss Hopi declined the invitation. Dorian’s talent performance,
utilizing dance and sign language put to music, won her the title of Miss Indian Arizona
as well as the Best Talent award.

98
As Miss Indian Arizona, Dorian gained broader insights into tribal people,
nations, Indian issues, and the opportunities afforded for young Indian women through
such pageants. She also developed personally. Initially intimidated by the general
cultural knowledge of the other pageant contestants (she equated such knowledge with
intelligence), she stated, “I was ignorant about . . . pageants . . . . [Now I realize that]
these girls, they’re not just here to look pretty; . . . . It’s about actual intelligence . . . [and]
I was intimidated . . . . They [the other pageant contestants seemingly] knew their stuff.”
However, Dorian was taken aback by the cultural knowledge that some of the pageant
contestants presented in representing their tribal people. She recalled,
A lot of their learning is just [of their cultural] past . . . . this is what they used to
do. This is what the traditional games were; this is what the traditional songs
were; this is what they did back then . . . a lot of it is past tense. They [some
pageant contestants] never had experienced traditional [practices] on a daily basis,
or even occasionally like [I did at] Hopi.
Dorian also gained a new perspective on tribal politics and tribal officials. Tribal
politics and tribal officials are often viewed and discussed among tribal people and in
mainstream society with humor, sarcasm, and ridicule. Therefore, it was likely that tribal
youth held similar attitudes with little opportunity to change these views. But now
Dorian stated, “This whole year, I’ve gained a wider perspective of [Indian] politics and
politics in general . . . . [Before,] I just thought they were cynical . . . there to look out for
themselves but I found out that there are some individuals in politics [who] actually do
the fighting for the rights of people . . . actually help their people.”
Dorian’s duties as Miss Indian Arizona included giving speeches, providing
opening prayers, performing or emceeing for various conferences and events, giving
99
presentations on various cultural topics, judging contestants, meeting significant
individuals such as Arizona Governor Janet Napolitano, Arizona Senator John McCain,
Native actors, and generally serving as ambassador for Arizona tribes while promoting
the Miss Indian Arizona pageant.
Dorian undoubtedly gained tremendously from her experience as Miss
Indian Arizona, regarding it as an opportunity other young Indian women would benefit
from as well. She posited,
We should have a Miss First Mesa, or a Miss Tewa, Miss Supawlavi Village,
Miss Hotvela [Village]. Then that way, when we have the Miss Hopi Pageant, all
the Misses from every village . . . run for Miss Hopi . . . when you’re running for
stuff like that, you learn a lot . . . . And your mom and them [family], they want
you to do your best so they tell you all these things [cultural knowledge] . . . . I
think that way they [young Hopi women] would get their local knowledge.
For Dorian, gaining cultural knowledge and understanding the significance of
Hopi women became crucial in identifying and representing herself as a contemporary
Indian woman. She stressed this perspective in her role as pageant judge and
emphatically stated,
I grill them [about their cultural knowledge] . . . I mean, to represent a Native

tribe, they have to actually have that [cultural] knowledge . . . what the[ir] roots
are, not just [state] ‘We’re the Piipash people; we do the Bird Dance’ . . . . It’s
[about] them being . . . Native American women and having to be in the
leadership role. I think that’s the only reason why I won the pageant. I knew
more about my traditions than anybody else, any other girl [pageant contestant]
down there.
At the start of this interview session, Dorian had expressed a nonchalant attitude
about her journey to becoming Miss Indian Arizona. She said, “Me being next in line [as
First Attendant to Miss Hopi], they sent me down [to Phoenix] . . . and I said, ‘Yeah, I’ll
go . . . what have I got to lose?’” Certainly there were few losses and much gained.
100
Aspirations
Dorian identified two career aspirations. Foremost was to seek a career in the
performing arts. She stated, “My goal [is] just to get out and do something different….
Ever since I was small, I wanted to do . . . performing arts, something nobody else [no
other Hopi] has done, and also wanting to push open a whole new door of opportunities
for future use.” Dorian expressed how her interest in the performing arts might create
positive change “back home.” She mused, “After I do that [get trained in the performing
arts] . . . and actually get satisfied with what I’ve accomplished, I plan to bring that back
home, open up my own school of theatre arts or performing arts.”
Creating change for her people stemmed from her own experiences with the “lack
of opportunities” available to Hopi youth who are pursuing contemporary interests and
career goals. Dorian stated, “Growing up out here . . . there’s nothing . . . no job
opportunities, no education opportunities besides the high school and elementary
schools.” Access to professional training particularly in the performing arts ideally
begins early for mainstream youth, but for Dorian, access had not been readily available.
She had to “go off [the reservation] to camps” in order to gain professional training.
More often, Hopi youth like Dorian are self-taught. Consequently, Dorian had been
getting ready for quite some time. “I’m pretty good at the tap and the jazz . . . so, I got
most of the dancing down . . . and the acting I’m good with . . . . [but] I still need . . . the
ballet part . . . [and] more vocal coaching.” Outside of this, she declared, “I’m ready.”
The two-year program with the American Musical and Dramatic Academy that
she hoped to attend would have her spending one year at their New York City location
101
and the second year at their Los Angeles location to study dancing, singing, and acting.
During our late fall 2003 interview, Dorian stated that she had been accepted into this
program and was preparing for the experience. Unfortunately, on my February 2004 visit
to Hopi, Dorian’s younger brother informed me that she was unable to finance this
opportunity and was currently working in Phoenix, Arizona.
A second career aspiration for Dorian was to work with children: “I wanna work
in an amusement park, that way I can keep the kids happy. Or, I want to be a teacher.
That way I’ll be the one to . . . help develop that lawyer or that doctor.” As Miss Indian
Arizona, Dorian met with Hopi children who astounded her with their career aspirations
to become scientists, lawyers, doctors, rocket scientists, and computer engineers. She
also found Hopi children to have a wealth of cultural knowledge including strong
opinions about what was right and wrong in contemporary Hopi society. Their opinions
stemmed from their observations of Hopi adults who have or have not adhered to Hopi
values and expected behaviors: “[They say] Hopi culture is not about drinking; it’s not
about drugs.” They also voiced their own admonishments: “If you’re drunk, don’t go to
the plaza. Don’t even go near the katsinas ’cuz you’ll [drunken individuals] mess them
up!” These children expressed their frustration at being perceived as merely children
whose thoughts, aspirations, and voices were frequently dismissed. They told Dorian,
“Nowadays, people don’t even listen to us kids. They think we’re too young to really
know anything, but we know a lot.”
Accordingly, listening to Hopi children enlightened Dorian and she confirmed
their feelings, “It’s true . . . . As you get older, you tend to think [and say about children],
102
‘Well, they’re just kids. They really have nothing great to say.’ They [adults] think [and
say], ‘Oh, just cute!’ But it’s not [just cute].” Dorian’s desire to “keep kids happy” came
to fruition during her reign as Miss Indian Arizona. A front-page photograph of the
October 2003 issue of The Hopi Tutuveni featured Dorian with two young “admirers” and
her “Teddy Bear Project.” The project’s goal was to distribute teddy bears to hospitals
and clinics located on Arizona Indian Reservations for children being treated in
emergency rooms “as a way to ease their pain and their fears.” The first 50 bears were
awarded to the Hopi Health Care Center Emergency Unit. She later distributed teddy
bears on the White Mountain Apache Reservation.
The Hopi Language
Dorian also aspired to be “fully Hopi.” Like many of her generation and younger,
Dorian does not fully understand spoken Hopi nor speak the Hopi language. While she
experienced and lived her life as a Hopi, “learning the basic things we [Hopi people] do
in English,” Dorian was also very cognizant of the importance of speaking the Hopi
language in order to understand the “in-depth stuff.” This had been made clear to her by
her mother whose words Dorian recounted: “We have to learn the language ’cuz my
mom tells me there are some things you can’t learn in English because it’s just hard to
explain it in English . . . If you don’t know it [the Hopi language], you don’t really
understand [Hopi culture].”

103
Jared
Physically, Jared is a strapping young man and his reserved demeanor veiled a
sensitive, thoughtful, but serious nature that rendered him mature beyond his years. Jared
turned 19 years old between the two interview sessions conducted, March 19 and October
11, 2003. Although Jared was a willing study participant, the two interview sessions
were conducted impromptu—he happened to be home at Hopi and available when I was
on a visitation to Hopi. The interviews took place at his home while his mother was at
work. The kitchen and kitchen table were the setting for each interview. The interviews
were conducted in English and completed in two sessions.
A May 2002 graduate of Hopi High School, Jared was experiencing his first
semester at a community college as well as living away from the Hopi reservation, his
village community, and his family for the first time. Although one older brother lived in
the Phoenix area, needing to live in close proximity to campus resulted in Jared having to
live alone in an apartment. He frequently returned home for weekend visits.
Life History
Jared was born in Keams Canyon, approximately 20 miles from his home village
on Second Mesa. The youngest of four children, he was following in the footsteps of two
older siblings by moving to the city; one brother was living in Phoenix and his sister lived
in Tucson. A second brother was living at Hopi. This move to the city was a significant
life event for Jared who stated, “I grew up . . . here in [my maternal village] . . . I haven’t
lived anywhere else.”

104
Jared described an early childhood spent predominantly with his mother and
maternal grandmother. The more than 10 year age difference between Jared and his
siblings distanced him from their company and attention. He stated,
My sister and brothers were still in high school [when I was a child and] they had
their friends . . . . I was still a baby so I had to stay home. Most of the time it was
just me and my mother, and my grandmother.” Jared also recalled a lot of time
spent alone at home. “Everyone was just working, even my grandmother, so she
wasn’t home . . . . There was no one around; my brothers and sisters were in high
school . . . [and] out having their fun. I was just basically, you know, [alone]
here.
Jared’s biological father was absent from his life although an urban-raised Hopi
step-father offered a stable father figure for a number of years. Jared described the
members of his immediate family and household as “really tied up in their work.”
Despite this, he declared, “I was raised [well].” According to Jared, the strict disciplinary
guidelines and adherence to them by his family were key factors in steering him away
from the negative influences and the destructive behaviors in which many of his peers
and friends were becoming increasingly engaged during their adolescent years. He
stated, “My mom used to . . . really discipline me. If I got in trouble, I got in trouble big
time . . . not being able to go out and play with my friends, or having my friends over, not
playing video games, just cutting certain privileges.”
As he grew older, peer pressure presented greater challenges to this foundation.
He observed significant personality changes in his friends, many of whom were also his
cousins, as they grew older: “They have a different personality after school . . . . They’d
go out and drink, get high and what not.” Many of his friends, cousins and others of his
generation were involved in qa hopi, unhopi, or deviant behaviors that, in his view, were
105
brought about by lack of parental responsibility and control, and increasing substance
abuse among the youth. Jared was adamant that he would not get involved in such
behaviors. He believed that the time spent by his mother and step-father advising and
encouraging him to avoid self-destructive behaviors was crucial to how he confronted
such mounting pressures to join in the behaviors of his peers.
Jared found that his most successful strategy to stay clear of trouble was to be a
loner. He recalled,
I just mostly stuck to myself when I was growing up . . . I mostly just stayed
home . . . Even though my friends wanted me [to join them], I know how it is; I
know my friends real good. If they didn’t do that stuff, I’d go along with them
and have fun with them . . . . Getting into trouble; it’s a waste of my time.
Essentially having few or no friendships was a better option than having “bad”
friendships. In making this choice, he also subjected himself to ridicule from friends and
relatives. He described his encounters: “When I was growing up, everybody . . . made
fun of me saying I was a good[y] two-shoes kind of person . . . . My friends, even my
family . . . my cousins . . . poked fun at me.” It may have been difficult for them to
understand his response: “I don’t want to do that [bad things].”
In retrospect, Jared realized that his success depended on the sacrifices he made to
attain his goal. He reflected on this and stated,
When you get to high school you start to realize that’s [engaging in deviant
behaviors] kind of stupid of them. Some of my close friends . . . are going to
jail. I think I was [in] a different category. I could have gotten into trouble. I
could be in jail right now, but I just thought about different people. [And I asked
myself] how would they react to me? How would they react to my parents? I
don’t want my parents having a bad name because of me. That kept me out of
trouble.
106
Jared completed elementary, junior high and high school in the local community
schools. Second Mesa Elementary School was the first school he attended and then he
transferred to Hopi Jr./Sr. High School. When asked what he liked most about school,
Jared replied, “I’m not sure . . . . At that age [elementary] . . . you don’t really know what
to think until you get matured, realize you have to learn this [the importance of
education].” Until then, school was a place where Jared went “to be with friends every
day . . . to get away from home, just to do something.” That schooling would be relevant
in his adult life was not a conscious thought until he reached high school age and had
matured.
Jared’s sports and extracurricular activities included track, basketball, soccer, and
chess, which allowed him “something to do after school.” For Jared, soccer was short-
lived but memorable. Evidently a teacher interested in forming a soccer team extended
an invitation to Jared. His initial mental response was, “Where’s the grass out here to
play soccer? [Followed by] ‘Why not,’ and I joined them.” Jared described his
experience as a soccer player to be fun but “uncoordinated ’cuz we didn’t know the
actual positions of soccer at that age.” Jared also “picked up” chess in elementary school
and became quite skilled at the game. He found chess to be enjoyable and mentally
challenging because “you have to think about your moves.”
As he moved through junior and senior high school, Jared’s interests changed: “I
guess like everybody would do, they’d change . . . move from sports to a different
activity and I guess that’s what I did [as well].” Music became Jared’s passion and he
107
filled his free time with developing his skill on the guitar: “During that time I [was]
learning my guitar so that’s what I would run to; I’d run to my guitar and then I would
kill time [playing the guitar].”
Jared’s exposure to music began early as he accompanied his parents to country
and western dances. A relative who played the guitar as a member of one local western
band played an influential role in Jared’s music interest. Jared stated, “We used to watch
him on the guitar. We had requests for him to play . . . that’s probably what one of my
influences was to learn how to play the guitar.” Learning to play the guitar began in
earnest when his sister bought him his first guitar as a birthday gift when he turned 15.
“She took me in [to town] on my birthday; she bought me a guitar. I had no clue how to
play a guitar. I sat home [and played with the guitar] and that was really time consuming
so I was never bored.” Jared’s desire to learn to play the guitar was incessant. “From
then on, every chance I got as an elective for my high school class, I wanted to [take]
band or guitar class. I didn’t get into guitar class until maybe a freshman in high school.
I picked up the guitar and learned basically on my own . . . and playing off the radio.” In
this manner, he learned a wide range of music from country-western music to his interest
in heavy metal.
Throughout high school and into college, Jared continued to pursue this musical
interest with a passion. He became a member of a band that performed locally and, on
the advice of a fellow band member, he took music theory classes as part of his college
academic program. Jared applied his knowledge of music theory to his kiva singing. He
said, “You take a lot of music theory and . . . rhythm and kind of bring that into the kiva .
108
. . . You find a pattern . . . It [music theory] helps you with that.” More significantly,
Jared’s music interest provided an alternative to getting into trouble. He stated, “For me
that [music and guitar] helped me a lot . . . not wanting to be involved in drugs and
alcohol and stuff. I mean that’s what I did; that’s what kept me at home.”
Pahanqatsi—The Mainstream World
The initial experience of living “away from home” for the first time had already
left Jared with lasting impressions about the mainstream world. One impression was of
the frenetic pace and noise associated with the hustle and bustle of city life that was very
different from living on the reservation. He offered the following description:
[In the] city you get fed up with the noise . . . all of these airplanes flying over us,
all these police cars, car alarms, sprinklers, people arguing. When you come out
here [the reservation], it’s just silence. [You] get away from all the frustration
. . . When you’re in the city, time just flies by but when you’re out here, you have
a lot of time to do things. That’s what I like about it out here.
Fortunately, the fact that Jared was able to return home frequently helped
tremendously in minimizing the experience of this culture shock.
Jared was also learning the difference between “urban Indians” and “reservation
Indians.” He described his introduction to a Navajo classmate. “I first met my classmate
[who] was a Navajo and I didn’t know she was [a Navajo] until she came up to me….
She didn’t think I was Navajo but she [said], ‘You don’t sound Mexican,’ and then she
asked, ‘Are you Navajo?’ I said, ‘No’.” Although he seemed surprised by this
experience, he explained her apparent ignorance by saying, “Well she’s a city Navajo;
she hasn’t been home in a while.” This introduction led to a friendship that according to
109
Jared came about due to their common American Indian heritage: “We really got to
know each other . . . in class and out of class . . . .The sad thing was it was just me and
her that were talking. I wasn’t talking to any other [of] my classmates.” He surmised
that, “I guess Natives just relate to Natives down there [in Phoenix] better than to white
people. Probably just because of trust too.”
While Jared and his Navajo friend seemed to “connect” because of their shared
heritage, he was surprised by her lack of knowledge about Navajo culture. He explained,
She didn’t know some things that I knew about Navajos . . . the basic things . . . . I
thought she would know about that ceremony that the Navajos go through with
the young girls [kinaaldá]; . . . I learned that from a TV station . . . But she didn’t
go through that ’cuz she moved away from up on the rez to Phoenix. That’s
where she grew up in Phoenix . . . . She knew things, but not that much.
Still another impression left Jared surprised at the persistent stereotype of
American Indians—vanished, noble, “at one with nature,” or savage—born in the
“cowboy versus Indian” era of Hollywood. This stereotype still colored how the larger
society, including other members of ethnic groups, continued to perceive and interact
with American Indians. Jared stated, “Everybody thinks I’m Navajo or Mexican . . . .
Sometimes Mexicans will come up to me blabbing in Mexican and I have no clue what
they’re saying. [And I’ll respond], ‘Sorry, I’m not Mexican.’ Or the girls will come [and
ask me], ‘Are you Navajo?’ [I’ll say] ‘No, I’m not Navajo.’ And I tell them I’m Hopi . .
. . They’d be so surprised.”
He further stated, “Some of those white people down there [in Phoenix] are kinda
scared [chuckles] to talk to me unless I talk to them first ’cuz you know they probably
stereotype me [like] I’m just being mean . . . . But nobody talks to you and it makes you
110
feel lonely unless you find another Hopi down there to talk to.” According to Jared, other
Hopis living in the cities did not live near each other. Only three other Hopi students
attended the same community college. The sense of loneliness in this alienating situation
explained Jared’s frequent weekend visits home. Returning to school from these
weekend trips was difficult: “I don’t want to go back . . . but you’re just obligated to
finish your school and so you just have to go back.” Pursuing higher education was often
further challenged by other factors, including financial ones. After two semesters, Jared
was back at home for the spring 2004 semester as a result of financial aid problems.
However, Jared also found that stereotypes could have a positive side. According
to Jared, when he identified himself to others as Hopi, he noticed a tinge of what he
called jealousy in their responses. He said, “They’d be so surprised and then they’ll be
kinda jealous . . . .They’ll tell me what they heard [about American Indians by saying]
‘You guys know everything.’” For Jared, “everything” referred to being “connected to
nature, typical things that they would think of natives.” Yet such exchanges brought a
sense of pride for Jared. “It makes me feel proud [that] you’re a part of a different
culture than anyone else. And they hold Hopi down there [in Phoenix with] high
respect.”
Aspirations
With music and guitar as his passions, Jared stated, “I always want to continue
with my playing, my music . . . and I want to come back out here and teach it out here. A
lot of kids come up to me [and say] ‘Teach me how to play a guitar,’ even my little
111
nephew.” Jared recognized that continuing to play his music and give this knowledge to
other Hopi youth was feasible and, in fact, would be a contribution to his community:
“Now that I’ve been introduced to reading music and theory, it’s a lot. I want to be able
to teach that. I have to learn [music theory] in order to bring it back out here . . . . That
[music and playing the guitar] helped me a lot [and could be a help] for people . . . not
wanting to be involved in drugs and stuff.” Jared understood that building on his current
knowledge and becoming a better musician would be a life-long learning process.
Although believing that being a musician as well as enabling other Hopi youth to
benefit from his experience and knowledge was possible, Jared pondered the reality and
practicality of this course. He stated, “I always want to continue on with my playing, but
you can’t really rely on that [playing music]. You want something to fall back on so . . .
I’m always trying to study computer graphics.” He recognized that he learned quickly
that which interested him—computers and electronics—and was taking drafting and
graphics courses as part of his academic program.
Becoming a good husband and father were future goals as well. Vivid in Jared’s
memory was the absence of his biological father: “He’s never really been a part of my
life . . . . He was never there for my junior high graduation . . . birthdays, Christmas, my
high school graduation, all my accomplishments.” He emphatically stated, “If I have kids
of my own, I don’t want to be like my father.” In marriage, Jared also planned to follow
a different course: “When I get married I’m gonna be the only one who doesn’t get a
divorce or have to pay child support.”

112
The Hopi Language
Jared also aspired to become “fully Hopi.” His experiences as a non-speaker of
the Hopi language implanted a strong message that one cannot be completely secure in a
Hopi identity without the Hopi language: “If you don’t know how to say anything in
Hopi then you’re not; you feel like you’re not [Hopi]” For Jared, birthright did not
guarantee or offer the privilege to “claim” a Hopi cultural identity. This was made clear
to Jared by those who expounded, “Just because your mom’s Hopi you can’t really say
you’re Hopi.” These experiences and messages provided the motivation for Jared to
learn to speak Hopi.
Justin
At the time of Justin’s interviews, April 25, 2003 and October 10, 2003, he was
19 years old and living with his parents and his 11-year old sister. They were awaiting
the arrival of another sibling. During the second interview, I was introduced to the new
addition to the family, a baby girl. Justin’s brief responses to the interview questions
despite prompting for further elaboration resulted in completing his interviews in two
sessions. During the first interview, I learned that Justin understood and spoke Hopi
fluently and therefore offered him the option to respond in Hopi. He preferred English
although he accommodated my request to provide me with the Hopi version of his Hopi
name and clan. The interviews were conducted in his home in the early evening and at
the kitchen table. His mother watched television nearby during both interview sessions.
113
Justin’s shy, soft-spoken demeanor confirmed a gentle and sensitive nature but
veiled his strong sense of family responsibility and self-discipline. A 2002 graduate of
Hopi High School, Justin was accepted and planned to attend Eastern Arizona College in
Phoenix following graduation but stated, “When I got out of school, things changed a lot .
. . . It [attending college] just never happened.” He was instead keeping very busy
tending the family’s fields, working alongside his father on construction projects, and
continuing to be actively involved in traditional kiva activities. Despite this change in
plans, he rationalized that possibly he was not ready to pursue higher education at that
time. He explained, “For me, leaving this place, my farming, the culture . . . that just got
to me. That’s [school] way down there, so I just left that [plan] just to stay out here.”
Yet, Justin remained committed to furthering his education and asserted, “I’m still gonna
do that [go to school].”
Life History
Justin was born in Keams Canyon but grew up in his mother’s home village on
Third Mesa. With the exception of “getting away for awhile” from the Hopi reservation
and his home village, usually to Flagstaff, Phoenix, Albuquerque, and Tesuque (New
Mexico) to visit relatives, Justin had never lived off the reservation. Justin recalled his
early childhood by saying, “I usually just hung out by myself . . . . I usually just played
outside my grandma’s house.”

114
Justin provided the following account of his schooling: “I went down here [to]
the Hopi Head Start a year then I was in kindergarten down at the Hopi Day [School and]
I think half of first grade. Then from then on I went to Hotevilla-Bacavi [Community
School] for the rest of years ‘til seventh [grade]. Then my eighth grade year I was up at
the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School. So I was up there [Hopi High] ‘til I graduated.”
Justin enjoyed working with numbers in math, conducting experiments and
learning about nature in science, and learning about the world and historical events in
social studies. But in high school, social studies and English became his least favorite
subjects because “it was mostly what I learned in elementary and talking about it over
[again],” and more specifically because social studies now included “politics.” He stated
emphatically, “I don’t really care for that, so that’s why I didn’t care for social studies.”
Such disdain for “politics” likely emanated from the highly publicized political debates
around numerous issues impacting Hopi life printed in the local newspaper, Tutuveni, and
heard in the Hopi tribal governmental offices located in Kiqötsmovi village, the political
center of the Hopi reservation.
In junior high school, Justin “started hanging around with friends, play[ing]
basketball, go[ing] to their houses to do homework, and watch[ing] movies [at each
other’s houses] if we had time.” In high school, academic tutoring and sports—football,
basketball, and baseball—kept him at school “until late.” His closest friends were two
boys from his home village. Following graduation from high school, both of these
friends joined the military; one joined the Army and the other was a Marine.
115
Aspirations
Justin had two aspirations: “I wanna be a massage therapist or a physical
therapist. Either one of those two,” he declared. One motivation stemmed from a keen
awareness of diseases and ailments befalling the Hopi people. “It really hurts to see our
people with all these diseases,” he said with sincerity. Justin’s interest in pursuing this
career may have been influenced by the recent death of his maternal grandmother. Prior
to her death, she was in relatively good health but a broken hip led her physical health to
deteriorate rapidly. According to his mother, Justin was greatly affected by his
grandmother’s death.
A second motivation stemmed from his desire to reciprocate in some manner for
the support and help he received throughout his life from his immediate and extended
families, as well as from other community members. Justin expressed this desire by
saying, “People help me and I want to give something back to ‘em. It would be great to
help ‘em fix it [their ailment] . . . . I just want to help the people.” Justin was driven by a
heartfelt desire to help others and give back to his community and people through the
healing profession. It was a way to demonstrate the appreciation he felt toward many.
Justin spent previous summers contributing to his village community through summer
youth programs. The youth program brought together male Hopi youth 16 years of age
and over to plan community service projects such as cleaning areas of the village,
repairing homes for the elderly, and organizing fundraiser activities for other youth
projects. At age 19, he had the option of working for the Hopi Tribe on projects
developed under the Work Investment Act. He would earn a better salary because the
116
projects were carried out throughout the year rather than being limited to the summer. At
the time of the interviews, Justin was still contemplating this option but was torn between
securing a full-time job and leaving his father to complete his construction projects alone,
as a strong bond had developed between them in their working relationship. This bond
began developing when Justin’s step-father married into his family; Justin was three
years old.
The Hopi Language
Justin described a Hopi language fluency of “about 75 percent.” Active in both
planting and kiva activities since early childhood, hearing and speaking the Hopi
language was central to these traditional activities: “I use it with my uncles and my dad
and them, and everybody when we’re out at the field, or in the house, or even at the
kivas. That’s where I mostly use it, in the kivas.” Justin participated in the kiva activities
at three villages and was regularly engaged in “singing and just talking [in Hopi].” He
understood “the songs, the language, what the people say,” but added, “I still wanna learn
more of what things mean and I’m still learning it as I’m getting older.”
Summary
The life histories of these Hopi youth demonstrate that Dorian, Jared, and Justin
like their mainstream counterparts, aspired to become professionals, to have careers in
specialized areas such as the performing arts, music and/or computer graphics, and the
117
healing profession. However, for the most part, going to school in the elementary and
middle school years was viewed by these youth as part of a mandatory “everyday
routine,” or as a place one goes “to be with friends . . . to get away from home [or] just to
do something,” until they reached high school, maturity, and young adulthood and
recognized the importance of education. Yet they were also challenged—financially and
emotionally—to successfully pursue and fulfill their career aspirations. Dorian was
unable to attend The American Musical and Dramatic Academy because of financial
issues despite being accepted into this prestigious institution; Jared made frequent visits
home to cope with culture shock and loneliness, while financial assistance issues created
a rocky course for his academic program; and Justin faced the reality that he was not
ready to leave home, family, and Hopi culture to pursue his career aspiration.
Nevertheless, the construction of the junior and senior high school on Hopi
enabled these three youth to actively participate in the cultural traditions and activities in
which their parents figured significantly. In turn, the manner in which these three youth
lived their lives, the perspectives they hold, and their career goals reflect a strong cultural
influence. Membership in a communal society, while often subjecting youth to excessive
pressures, also provided a sense of belonging, security, and avenue for reciprocity.
In the next chapter, I take a closer look at the cultural and linguistic experiences
of these youths to seek insight into the interface between culture and language—how the
social organization of the clan/kinship system and the myriad social institutions and
cultural practices work to inculcate a sense of membership and belonging in Hopi society.
118
CHAPTER 4
HOPI LANGUAGE IN CULTURE: CULTURAL MARKERS OF IDENTITY
The three youth in this study—Dorian, Jared, and Justin—were raised on the Hopi
reservation since birth, participated in cultural traditions and society from early
childhood, and as young adults expressed a strong affinity for their heritage culture. By
birthright, these youth had acquired “cultural markers of identity”—maternal clan
identity, maternal village affiliation, birth and ceremonial names—and the privileges of
participation in the Hopi culture and society. In this chapter I consider these privileges of
birthright and markers of cultural identity through their experiences in (1) the Hopi
cultural institutions of the clan system, (2) the network of kinship ties and
responsibilities, and (3) their initial journeys into the ceremonial realm of Hopi society in
order to set the context for investigating in what ways language shift may or may not
have impacted how fully these youth were able to participate in and thus, influenced or
affected by their participation and degree of involvement. For each section: (1) the Hopi
clan system—“Establishing ‘Roots,’” (2) kinship network—“A Complex Tangle of
Relationships,” “Courtship and Marriage,” and (3) initiation into the katsina society—
“Beginning Ceremonial Journeys,” I include information about each cultural practice as
background context for presenting the experiences of each youth.

119
Establishing “Roots”: Cultural Rites of Passage
Himuwungwa, Clan Identity; Kitsokinawi, Village Affiliation
A matrilineal society, Hopi traces and carries clan descent through the mother in
her totemically named clan. Upon birth, a Hopi child is “claimed” or “born into” and
becomes a clan member of her/his mother thereby establishing a clan identity—a mark of
membership, or heritage. (The Hopi Tribe’s Enrollment Office lists 35 existing clans.)
Traditional protocol in identifying and presenting oneself to other Hopi includes
stating one’s clan, himuwungwa; village affiliation, kitsoki; as well as one’s childhood,
tsakotungwni and/or initiation-ceremonial names, katsintungwni/Wuwtsimtungwni (male),
Marawtungwni (female) acquired through rites of passage and the kinship network of the
clan system.
Hopitungwni, Hopi Names
Tsakotungwni, birth/childhood name. The Hopi child is “born into” the mother’s
clan; however, she/he receives a childhood name, tsakotungwni, from the father’s
clanswomen during the baby naming ceremony, tipos’asna, occurring 20 days after the
child’s birth. As part of the ceremony, these clanswomen ceremonially wash the infant’s
head as they pass a “mother” corn, tsotsmingwu, over the baby and offer propitious
wishes on behalf of the infant for a long life free from sickness.12 Each of the father’s
clanswomen—paternal aunts and grandmothers—confers a name on their tiw’aya,

12
The propitious wishes may be expressed using the following words: Um yan maatsiwkyang
wuutiharkuvuwvani. “With this name, live a long life and go to sleep [die] in old age.” The tsotsmingwu is
a perfect ear of corn that has kernels all the way to its tip given to infants at birth and to initiates during
ceremonial rituals. This perfect ear of corn symbolically represents one’s “mother” –the source of
nourishment and sustenance.
120
niece/nephew. Consequently, the Hopi child receives several names that reflect the
father’s clan affiliation. Typically, only one of these names becomes the childhood name
used by the extended family and wider village community through the consistent and
social use of a particular name by the birth mother to identify and refer to the child, or by
natural elimination.
Katsintungwni, initiation name. At eight or 10 years of age, the Hopi child is
initiated into the katsina society, katsinvaki, by her/his ceremonial mother or father
(“godmother” or “godfather” not associated by clan to the child’s birth parents) chosen to
assist the child in this ceremonial journey.13 The katsina initiation process/rite of
passage, is essentially a “rebirth;” the initiate’s hair is washed, and a name[s] given
reflecting the ceremonial mother’s clan (for a female) or father’s clan (for a male). The
names received during these rebirths link one’s new relationship with those father and
mother figures, or sponsors, who guide the initiates in their ceremonial journeys. These
names also expand the Hopi child’s relationships beyond the immediate family,
connecting her/him to the wider community and are publicly and socially acknowledged
through formal practices. In turn, increasing involvement with the wider community
leads to a deeper understanding of one’s place and role in the total kinship network of the
communal society of Hopi. In essence, one’s names provide multiple marks of identity
entitling one with all the rights and privileges of having a role in the cultural institutions
such as baby namings, marriages, and initiations.
13
As a result of modern circumstances, initiates into the katsina society now include adolescents and adults.
121
Maraw-, wuwtsimtungwni, adult ceremonial name. One’s childhood name is used
until adulthood when one enters into the female (Maraw), or the male (Wuwtsim)
religious societies, thus gaining new ceremonial sponsors and names. In traditional
practice, initiation names including one’s katsintungwi were reserved for use only in
ceremonial activities. Today, many Hopi choose to identify themselves with both their
childhood and initiation names, or only by their initiation name. Naming rites of passage
continue to be practiced in contemporary Hopi society..
Hopi Youth
Himuwungwa, Clan Identity; Kitsokinawi, Village Affiliation. To the following
questions posed in English, “Do you know your clan? Your mother’s clan? Your
father’s clan? What village are your parents from?” Dorian confidently stated in
English, “I’m Squash [Clan] . . . . My mother is Pumpkin or Squash [Clan] and my father
[is] Corn Clan . . . My mom’s from here, Supawlavi [Village] and my dad’s from Hotvela
[Village].” 14 Both Jared and Justin answered accordingly and like Dorian, provided the
English translation (Dorian stated, ‘I’m Squash clan rather than the Hopi, Patkiwungwa)
to name their clan and give their Hopi names.
The practice of using the English translation of Hopi clans is common among the
younger generation of Hopi and is also applied to naming social dances—Butterfly Dance
rather than Poliitikive, katsina dances—Home Dance rather than Nimantikive, and to
identifying various kastinam such as Long-Haired Katsina rather than Angaktsina.
14
Permission to use the actual identity of Dorian and her family was granted.
122
Although place names such as the village names are translatable into English, the Hopi
version is used by all Hopi. State highway signs identifying each village are an attempted
spelling of the Hopi pronunciation using the English sounds of the Roman alphabet—
Shupaulovi for Supawlavi or Hotevilla for Hotvela. These spellings have not been
changed despite the Hopi Tribe’s adoption of the orthography in the 1998 publication of
the Hopi Dictionary.
Hopitungni, Hopi names. Responding to the question, “How about a Hopi name,”
Justin began, “I got,” then quickly asked, “Which one?” He went on to explain that he
mostly “went by” the name “my mom and them gave me [used to identify and call me].”
This confirms the mother’s “choice,” or “role” in selecting only one of the several names
bestowed upon the child at the naming ceremony. When questioned whether this name
was his birth name, Justin replied, “No, [it’s] my initiation name.” He provided an
appropriate English interpretation of both his birth and initiation names.
Jared responded to the question by stating his Hopi name with the clarification,
“the name I got when I got initiated [by] my godfather.” With further questioning
regarding his birth name or names, Jared said, “Yeah [I got birth/baby names], but I had
so many I can’t really remember. Everybody just called me [by my] different names,
mostly my grandmother and my aunts.”
In her response, Dorian explained at length, “Well [it] depends. Right now I’m
kind of iffy on which one I should go by, the ones that were given to me as a baby, or my
initiated name. So my baby name, the one I go by, is Samimana which means Corn Girl.
123
And then for my initiated name, I go by Soovenmana, Star Girl.”15 Dorian’s baby name
reflected her father’s clan affiliation, the Corn Clan. Her ceremonial name, Soovenmana,
indicated that her ceremonial mother is of the Sun Forehead Clan, soohu-“star” being one
of the emblems of the Sun/Eagle Clan phratry. 16 Asked to explain why she elected to
use these names, she replied, “Well, because my [paternal] grandma was the one that
gave me Samimana. And so that’s just what I set with . . . And then for my initiated
name, that’s the name my godmother gave me, so I just pretty much set with that one
too.” Dorian further explained that another paternal clanswoman, now deceased, also
gave her a name, “She was one of my so’os (grandmothers) too, and she used to call me
Angaqpaynöm.17 Asked to provide an interpretation or translation for the name, she
appropriately stated, “I think [it is] something that has to do with the corn husks.” This
name also reflected her father’s clan.
Hopi names then are metaphorical compositions allowing the name-giver to
depict and bestow upon the name-receiver promising attributes of the name-giver’s clan
totem, an emblem encompassing, representing, and expressing certain aspects of Hopi
ideals and values. Whiteley (1998) applied Basso’s description of Apache place names
as “tiny imagist poems” to Hopi names stating, “In non-literate [oral] societies, the name
is a poetic sign instantiating attributes of Hopi traditional knowledge—environment,
ritual practices, clan history—inseparable from the origin of the society” (p. 120).
Further, Whiteley described Hopi names as a form of literature that requires “learning the
15
Hopi names are compound words, i.e., Soovenmana is the combining form of soohu, star + peeni, mark =
sooven + maana = Soovenmana, meaning Star-marked maiden (one decorated/adorned with stars).
16
Star, sun, and moon are related totem emblems.
17
The spelling reflects Dorian’s pronunciation of the name, but the appropriate pronunciation and spelling
is probably Angap’haynöm. Angap- is the combining form of angvu [cornhusk: wrapper].
124
sense of the name” (p. 118).18 The purpose and significance of Hopi naming is in stark
contrast to the introduction of the Western practice of naming, subsequently incorporated
into Hopi society.
Pahantungni, Anglo/English names. The practice of giving Hopi children an
Anglo name, pahantungwni, began with the schooling of Hopi children in the late 1800s.
The assimilation policies of the federal school system required that all influences of
Indian culture be eradicated. The process included giving each Indian child an Anglo
name. In his autobiography, Albert Yava (1978) wrote,
The name that I was given when I was born was Nuvayoiyava, meaning
Big Falling Snow . . . . I received this name because my father belonged to
the Rain-Cloud, or Water Clan . . . . Nuvayoiyava was the only name I had
till I went to school. Because my teachers couldn’t pronounce it very well,
they shortened it to Yava. But that wasn’t enough for them. They didn’t
like it that the children had no family names. So they sort of turned our
individual names into family names and then gave us personal names like
John, Mary, Henry, Peter and so on. One teacher wanted to call me Oliver,
but another one who took a personal interest in me said, “No, I like the
name Albert, and that’s what we’re going to call him.” This explains why
I came to be Albert Yava. (p. 3)
Helen Sekaquaptewa (1985), in Me and Mine, described her experience. “Names
were given to each child by the school. Mine was ‘Helen.’ Each child had a name card
pinned on, for as many days as it took for the teacher to learn and remember the name she
had given us” (p. 12). In No Turning Back, Polingaysi (1964) wrote, “One day
Polingaysi came home with a cardboard hung around her neck on a string. Lettered on it
was her new name: Bessie” (p. 28). Hopi parents assumed this practice by giving their
18
See Whiteley’s chapter on Hopi names, Hopitungni, in Rethinking Hopi Ethnography for an expanded
description of “Hopi names as literature.”
125
children an Anglo name in addition to the Hopi names they received from their paternal
aunts and grandmothers. Essentially, Hopi parents, by assuming this practice of giving
their children English names accommodated their children’s involvement with the outside
world through schooling. Contemporary Hopi children receive Anglo/English names
from their parents in addition to Hopi names received from their paternal clanswomen at
infancy. Consequently, Hopi names were primarily used in ceremonial activities and
rituals. But this practice is changing as some Hopi parents no longer give their children
an Anglo name. In addition, the practice of using students’ Hopi names in the schools as
part of the Hopi language and culture classes was observed during site visitations. Hopi
adults are also observed to be following traditional protocol of identifying and presenting
oneself to other Hopis by stating their Hopi name, clan, and village affiliation at public
meetings and gatherings.
These youth’s responses in English to the questions posed demonstrated
familiarity, knowledge of, and personal experiences with key “marks” of Hopi identity:
clan identity, village affiliation, and Hopi names. These identity markers serve to “root”
each in Hopi society. As such, these three youth perceived themselves as Hopi. In the
following section, I describe the web of kinship ties—another marker of identity—that
envelops Hopi individuals into Hopi society. These ties clarify how these youth’s
relationships with their kin teach them their place and role—responsibilities and
obligations—within the Hopi social system.

126
Hopi Kinship: “A Complex Tangle of Relationships”
In his autobiography, Big Falling Snow, Albert Yava (1978) stated, “Our
traditional Hopi society is a complex tangle of relationships. When two people meet for
the first time they try to figure out what their [kin] relationship is because it’s important
to the way they act toward each other” (p. 2). Simmons (1971), in Sun Chief, elaborated
on the “complexity” of Hopi kin relationships:
The kinship system is fundamental to both the social organization of the Hopi and
the participation of the individual in his society. It regulates most of his
interpersonal relation . . . establishes his potential status and role, formulates an
elaborate network of relationships between himself and scores . . . of other
persons, provides standardized formulas of social interaction, and insures for him
numerous rights, privileges, and obligations which are in part reciprocal. (p. 17)
The kinship connections established through clans are defined through the use of
specific kinship terms:
• itàaso – our grandmother19
• itàakwa – our grandfather (also paternal aunt’s husband)
• itangu – our mother
• itana – our father
• taha – one’s maternal uncle
• kya’a – paternal aunt or any female in the natural or ceremonial father’s clan
or phratry
Use of these kinship terms “obligates” people to one another manifested in the
concepts of duty (conduct owed) and obligation (duty imposed socially). Importantly, the
19
The possessive prefix itàa, “our” reflects how these kinship terms expand the role of these kin beyond
the nuclear family unit.
127
underlying principle of reciprocity as defined by the use of these kinship terms reinforces
or supports the concept of “community” in the Hopi sense, especially as the immediate
family circle expands to include a wider family network through birth, marriage, or
initiation into religious societies. These relationships are acknowledged in the social way
one acts toward certain individuals (kin), and are formally reinforced through
participation in the myriad social dances, or ritualized performances. These kinship ties
also establish allegiance to the larger Hopi community further promoting the sense of
communalism.
In the following section, I present the relationships each of these youth
established with the primary caregivers in their immediate households—itaaso/itangu,
itana/itaakwa—and follow with the relationships developed with individuals outside the
immediate household, specifically one’s taha and kya’a. In describing these
relationships, I include anthropological descriptions in order to qualify and/or clarify
these relationships.
Traditional Family Household Relationships
In describing the traditional Hopi family household, anthropologist Alice Schlegel
(1999) stated,
In earlier times, young husbands generally moved in with their wives and her
parents, and the children were born in the house belonging to the mother’s
mother. Even those children whose parents had a house of their own were in
constant contact with this grandmother, for a daughter’s house, if separate, was
usually attached or adjacent to her mother’s house. The matrilocal sentiment is
still strong, even in this day of preferred nuclear-family residence, and mothers
and adult daughters move back and forth freely between their dwellings.
Because of this frequent and close association, grandmothers are an important part
128
of the social world of the Hopi child. (p. 144)
Traditionally, a maternal grandmother, especially when she lost her husband,
becomes a part of one of her daughter’s homes. In many cases, both maternal
grandmother and grandfather would become part of the daughter’s household. It was and
still is the adult daughter’s responsibility to care for her parents, her children’s
grandparents. Therefore, under these living conditions, both mother and maternal
grandmother are significant caretakers in the Hopi childrearing tradition. Later, as adults,
the grandchildren assist in caring for aging grandparents.
Although she did not live in the same household as her married son, the paternal
grandmother was also a significant figure in the lives of her son’s children. She played a
principal role in the birth of her son’s children at which time she came and took care of
her son’s wife. Because the paternal grandmother took care of the daughter-in-law and
infant at birth, the children were “obligated” to the paternal grandmother. In addition,
because the son generally had on-going duties in his mother’s house, he frequented his
mother’s home to tend to these duties and his children often accompanied him. By
accompanying their father to the home of the paternal grandmother, the children observed
and learned about their father’s duties in his mother’s home.
Contemporary Hopi Family Relationships
Dorian, Jared, and Justin each confirmed that both their mother and maternal
grandmother were the primary caretakers during their early childhood indicating that the
Hopi childrearing tradition remains intact. Each lives in close proximity within the
129
village to her or his maternal grandmother. Both Justin’s and Dorian’s family resided in
the home of their maternal grandmother for a period of time. Various circumstances led
to the absence of the biological fathers and maternal grandfathers from the immediate
household and family life for each of these students. Although Jared and Justin each had
a strong male figure (step-father) they refer to as “father” and Dorian’s biological father
is a prominent figure in her life, all were raised for a period of time in single-parent
homes with their mother and maternal grandmother as the stable figures in the family
household.
Only Dorian and Justin spoke of their relationship with their paternal
grandmothers. Dorian’s visits with her paternal grandmother are infrequent, likely due to
the absence of her biological father from the immediate household following a divorce
and because this grandmother lives in another village. Justin is active in the kiva
activities at his stepfather’s village and frequents his paternal grandmother’s home.
In the following narratives, I describe the grandmother-grandson/granddaughter
and mother-son/daughter relationships in response to interview questions about this kin
relationship asked of each youth in this study.
Itàaso, Our Grandmother
Jared. For Jared, the kin term itaaso reminded him of his maternal great
grandmother who was deceased. He described his relationship with her as one of mutual
concern. He stated, “Sometimes she would worry about me if I didn’t visit ’cuz I used to
go over there almost every day . . . just to be with her, talk to her, and I’d help her out too
130
. . . [with] just whatever needed to be done.” He later took a greater role as one of her
caretakers modeled and instilled by both his mother and grandmother through their
frequent visits to her home.
Jared held his great grandmother in high esteem: “I really admire my great
grandmother,” he stated, “She was a strong woman ’cuz she used to do everything on her
own. She used to fix her own house—replaster the walls, fix her own roof—and [she]
raised a lot of us . . . . She was a real strong person. That’s something I really admire—
her strength.” Her home also served as a place of “refuge” for Jared as he struggled to
steer clear of the self-destructive behaviors in which many of his friends and cousins
were engaged. He stated, “When she was alive, to get away from all this negativity from
my friends, that’s [great-grandmother’s home] where I would run to.” Because his three
older siblings were busy with their activities and friends and both his mother and
maternal grandmother were actively employed, he sought out her company. Their
relationship is a lasting memory. Although Jared did not indicate the language of
interaction between him and his great grandmother, Jared’s mother states that she spoke
predominantly Hopi.
Justin. Justin’s immediate response to the kin term, itaaso, was to give the
translation, “our grandma.” Asked to elaborate on this, he replied, “That’s our grandma
and she would be there to help us no matter if it’s through our clan-wise or through our
family-wise; they’ll always be there for us.” In a later interview session it became clear
that his maternal grandmother had in fact provided the cultural foundation for how he
131
lived his life today. He recalled his grandmother telling him, “Keep going to the [corn]
field, don’t let it go,” and described how she would work with the dried corn kernels:
“She always uses the tutsaya (sifter basket) to clean it [corn kernels] . . . . She used . . .
the screen that we made for her . . . [or] she put it on a sheet . . . and then she let it dry
and saved it for next year.” She also told him, “Always help people because . . . all their
[your] life, somebody will help you.” “And that’s just what I’m doing, helping my dad
and helping my mom’s side, my other tahas, and just helping ‘em as much as I can,” he
proclaimed. Hopi was the language of communication between Justin and his
grandmother. Justin’s grandmother passed away in spring 2004.
Dorian. The mother-daughter, granddaughter-grandmother relationship has been
described extensively in the anthropological literature (Eggan, 1950; Schlegal, 1999).
For example, Schlegel stated,
The fact that the Hopis are matrilineal and formerly matrilocal causes a very close
identification between mother and daughter throughout their lives . . . . The
closeness continues into the third generation when the daughter has her own
daughter; the grandmother-granddaughter relationship is but an extension of
the mother-daughter one. It is common for teenage girls to turn to their
grandmothers to teach them traditional skills such as pottery making or basket
weaving, especially when mothers are busy with their tasks, or today at paid jobs.
Present-day grandmothers are often more indulgent to their adolescent
grandchildren than are mothers, whose patience is often tried by their adolescent
daughters. (p. 150)
Dorian’s early childhood included both her maternal and paternal grandmothers,
but her experience with each of them was very different. Dorian’s immediate response to
the kin term itaaso was, “My dad’s mom,” quickly followed with, “I’m not as close to her
as I am with my mom’s mom” largely due to distance in physical location—“She lives on

132
the other side of the reservation.” Dorian described her paternal grandmother to be
“hesitant” or “wouldn’t get specific” in fielding Dorian’s questions about Hopi culture or
knowledge. Dorian’s grandmother likely interpreted such inquiries as specific to clan
knowledge and therefore giving such knowledge is not her role as a paternal
grandmother. Instead, she indirectly provided advice to her grandchildren by sharing her
personal experiences about being the youngest of her siblings to pursue higher education.
She pointed out that responsibility, hard work, and self-discipline helped her earn a
nursing degree. (See discussion of the role of the paternal grandmother earlier in this
section.)
In contrast, Dorian described her maternal grandmother as affectionate,
protective, and attentive. When Dorian and her immediate family came to visit, she
usually beckoned her grandchildren to her so that she could “grab us real quick, pull us
[close to her], hold us, rock us back and forth.” Dorian’s grandmother protected and
consoled her against her mother’s discipline: “I could go to her . . . hide behind her when
my mom was trying to spank me . . . kinda like a shield . . . and she would take up for me
too,” she stated. Dorian recounted how a typical verbal sparring between her mother and
grandmother over her disciplinary action would unfold:
[So’o would say] You don’t need to be spanking her like that. And then my mom
would be like, Well, you did that to us! And then [So’o] would say, Well, she’s
my grandkid! You were my daughter, so I got [had] to do that to you. [Mom
said], Well, she’s mine [daughter]! [So’o would say in return] Yeah, well she’s
my granddaughter so I’m protecting her.
133
If a spanking did occur without her grandmother’s intervention, Dorian said, “I
would start crying and I would always go back to her room, and she would hold me and
she would just sing me to sleep.”
She recalled her grandmother’s attentiveness with this specific memory:
I just picked some bushes that I thought were flowers [because they] had blooms
on them. I gave them to her, she said, ‘You know what this is? It’s a flower; it’s
tea, hohoysi [a wild plant used for making herb tea or a yellowish dye for basketry
or textiles] . . . . Go pick some more and then we’ll dry them . . . in a couple of
weeks, we’ll make it [tea].’ She would go out there with me [to pick wild tea]
too.
Dorian’s maternal grandmother taught her how to make a tutsaya—a sifter basket
made from yucca leaves, and kutuki—parched corn made from dried corn kernels. She
shared memories about her childhood—places they walked, about taking the mules down
to the field, or about playing in the plaza. She also provided important advice: “Don’t be
mean to anybody even if they’re mean to you; you never know if that person might help
you out. You might need that person’s help later on. Don’t hold a grudge against
anybody ’cause when you do that, you tend to hate someone for a really long time [and]
you get yourself sick.” Dorian found this to be true from her observations of others.
“[People who hold a grudge] isolate themselves and they make it harder for themselves to
trust people and actually just interact with people nicely. And that’s how you see them,
slowly just getting sick.”
As Dorian’s maternal grandmother aged and her health deteriorated, Dorian, like
her mother and older sisters, became one of her grandmother’s caretakers. In this task,
Dorian was willing and ready to assume this responsibility as a female member of the
household. She stated,

134
We have a worker for her but within the family, immediate, it’s actually first [my
aunt] ’cuz she actually lives with her; then it’s my mom, and then it’s my sister,
and then it’s me . . . . I know how to change her . . . . I know how to wash her. I
know how to cook for her . . . give her medicine and things . . . and she just wants
somebody to sit next to her. So I’m pretty good at that.
Dorian’s grandmother passed away in May 2003.
Itangu, Our Mother
Jared. When asked to reflect on the kin term itangu, hesitating some, Jared
replied, “Um, I don’t know. Like I said, I was usually by myself most of the day, so you
know we [my mother and I] couldn’t really communicate . . . . On the occasional
weekends, we’d do something [together].” Prominent in Jared’s recollection was the
sense of being “just by himself” because his mother and stepfather “were really tied up in
their work.” Despite this seeming void in his relationships with his immediate family,
Jared attributes considerable credit to his parents and more specifically to his mother for
“how I was raised.” According to Jared, his choice not to get involved in “bad things” is
because “my mom used to really discipline me if I got into trouble.” When asked what
kind of discipline was meted out, he replied, “not being able to go out and play with my
friends, or having my friends over, not playing video games, just certain privileges [were
taken away].” Thus, Jared was held accountable for his behaviors and this sense of
personal accountability had been instilled in him through consistent parental guidance
and discipline. He affirmed that being raised with early and consistent parental discipline
greatly influenced the choices he made in his personal life and he assigned great
importance to what his parents advised: He stated, “[It was the] discipline from my
mother and my dad . . . They don’t want me getting in trouble, getting involved with that
135
[unHopi behaviors] so, I stayed away from that.” Jared poignantly articulated why he
chose to steer clear of engaging in negative behaviors:
I just thought to myself, if I would do that [engage in negative behaviors and] I

had lots of opportunities to do that . . . I just thought about different people. [And
I asked myself,] How would they react to me [if I got into trouble]? How
would they react to my parents? I don’t want my parents having a bad name
because of me. That’s another thing that kept me out of trouble.
Justin. Justin responded, “Well, they’ll always be there”.20 It became apparent
that Justin was not familiar with the kin term itangu in reference to “our mother.” Justin
referred to “he” rather than “she” as he continued to elaborate, “I’ll say, he’s probably
your father, he’ll always be there to help no matter what. And it would be the same thing
as kwa’a [—our grandfather]. He [kwa’a] would be at the ceremonies to help you out
when you need help. So, it would be the same thing, I would say.” For Justin, itangu
referred to yet another individual who would support and assist in time of need.
Dorian. Dorian greatly admired her mother, a single parent, and without
prompting stated, “She’s the kind of person that I wanna be like, a strong woman.”
Dorian identified the qualities she most admired in her mother:
She’s got this mind of her own . . . if she wants to make it on her own, she will;
she gives people a chance; her life, she controls it, and she won’t take her
frustrations out on me and my brother and sister. And because she’s been through
so much, she’s been back east, she’s gone off to school, she has a lot [of real life
experiences] to share with us.
20
The kinship terms of address: itangu, our mother; itana, our father have been replaced by the use of the
English terms, “mom” and “dad.” The kinship terms of address: so’o, grandmother; kwa’a, grandfather;
taha, maternal uncles, and kya’a, paternal aunt remain in prevalent use in all village events and activities,
both traditional and contemporary.
136
Yet their relationship has weathered much testing. The conflict in their
relationship appears to be generational. Dorian stated, “Sometimes I kind of felt I wasn’t
doing good enough for her in school . . . because I was lazy and a typical teenager [of
today]; I don’t wanna do the full work sometimes.” Dorian felt that their life interests
also created distance and tension between them:
We just don’t have the same interests. Like with her, it was just mainly
academics she liked. Like she kept telling me, ‘I never went to a prom . . . . I
never went to dances.’ [But] I got asked to go to the prom my freshman year.
She didn’t want me to go because she didn’t think I had to.
Dorian implied that her mother was not only more reserved but perceived
nonacademic activities as frivolous. Thus, Dorian also felt she had to restrain her own
adventurous spirit and drive for independence so as not to “offend” her mother:
“Sometimes I think I’m scared to offend her ’cuz I want to do so much and so many
things she never even thought of doing or maybe even was scared to do, but I’m not
scared to do because I have that drive to go for it.”
Dorian also observed how her mother successfully juggled the demands of
contemporary Hopi life that included “earning” a living in addition to carrying out her
female Hopi cultural and ceremonial responsibilities: “She’s a single parent . . . the only
income earner in the household, and she’s a teacher [aide], so you know they don’t get
paid that much; and at the same time, we’re still trying to get things prepared, making
stuff for ceremonies, the kachina dances.” Dorian was particularly impressed by how her
mother financially managed to treat the family to occasional trips into town, dinners out,
137
and send her to summer camps and auditions. At times their extended family assisted
them during especially tough times.
It was also her mother who instilled in Dorian a deep sense of responsibility and
duty in attending to their cultural responsibilities: “The way my mother taught us, you
should be up there [at the village]; you have a responsibility . . . . There’s a reason why
those things [cultural activities] are going on, and you need to be up there to learn. So we
would go up, everyday routine.” So despite the tension between them, Dorian has much
admiration and respect for her mother, and an appreciation for the strong female role
model she provides.
Itàakwa, Our Grandfather
Jared. For Jared, the kin term, itaakwa, brought to mind his maternal great
grandfather. Unfortunately, he did not have the opportunity to establish a solid
relationship with either his maternal or paternal grandfather. He stated, “I never really
got to know my [maternal] great grandfather . . . . My other [paternal] grandfather . . . . I
didn’t go to visit them so that [one] I don’t know.”
Dorian. Dorian stated, “I didn’t know them. My dad’s was already gone
[deceased]; I didn’t get a chance to know him at all. But my mom’s father, I just
remember like snapshots.” Poignantly she stated, “I never really got that chance to
experience it [having a grandfather].”

138
Itana, Our Father
The principal role of a father to his children is to provide for them economically,
whereas he has more obligations to be a disciplinarian and counselor to his sister’s
children (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, May 25, 2004).
Jared. In response to the kin term, itana, Jared’s reply reaffirmed his perception
that he spent most of his childhood and adolescent years alone: “Like I say, I was just by
myself . . . Both of them [step-father and mother] were really tied up in their work . . . my
real father, he was out [absent from my life].”
Justin. Justin’s stepfather, whom he calls “father,” came into the household when
Justin was three years old and since has had a prominent role in his life. From an early
age, Justin accompanied his stepfather to the family’s fields and acquired the skills of
Hopi dry farming. He also participated in his father’s kiva activities. As a young adult,
Justin assists his father on construction projects learning masonry skills in an
apprenticeship role. At the time of this study, Justin was torn in making a decision to
seek employment with a tribal program or continue to work with his stepfather on his
construction projects: “I don’t know if I wanna actually work with them [tribal program],
but [at the] same time, I’m happier to work with my father ’cuz I work with him most of
the time.” As he voiced his dilemma, Justin also expressed how his decision would affect
his stepfather: “We gotta finish our house yet. He works for himself, by himself [is self-
employed]. We build houses . . . they [Hopi clients] mostly rely on him and not on other
139
builders . . . It’s full time if we do get a job.” It appeared that Justin and his stepfather
had established a highly credible reputation as dependable and professional homebuilders
who were in great demand. Justin’s dilemma also reflected the strong bond that had
developed between them.
Dorian. Anthropological accounts describe the Hopi father-daughter relationship
as “limited in scope. [The father] contributes to his daughter’s upbringing but has few
specific duties” (Eggan, 1950, p. 32). In Dorian’s case, although her parents were
divorced, Dorian’s father had maintained contact with his children which fostered a
strong, positive relationship. This was especially fortunate for Dorian as she pursued and
held the title of Miss Indian Arizona. She stated that she looked to her father for the
“traditional stuff [knowledge] mainly, or financial help if we need it.” Seeking cultural
knowledge was always a positive encounter. She stated, “When you ask him something .
. . he’ll go into depth and he’ll say [explain thoroughly] this is why.” She described
asking him to help her in preparing a talk on the Hopi perspective about the environment.
She asked him, “Just lecture me [about this topic].” Instead he quizzed her and led her to
realize that she already possessed a great deal of knowledge on the topic. This process
took “maybe a good two hours.” Dorian added, “And of course I only had to use maybe
like 10, 15, 20 minutes of that but it’s easy when you get taught about that kind of stuff, a
lot . . . on a regular basis.”
In an earlier interview session, Dorian pointed out that many Hopi parents seemed
unwilling to spend time in answering their children’s queries about Hopi culture. She
140
stated, “Sometimes those [children’s] questions don’t get answered because the adults
tend to make up excuses . . . . But I [my situation] was different. When I asked a
question, it was usually my mom or my dad, they would sit me down and they would try
to explain [it] to me you know, so I could understand.”
As these youth grew older, the kin relationships of these students expanded
beyond members of their immediate household to include extended family members of
other clans connected to them by birth, marriage, and initiation. I portray the extended
relationships for each with their taahamat(pl.)—maternal uncles and kyamat(pl.)—
paternal aunts below.
Taha—Maternal Uncle
Eggan (1950) stated, “The primary authority and punishing power is concentrated
in the hand’s of the mother’s brother . . . . Brother[s] and sister[s] . . . have . . .
complementary duties relating to the household and lineage” (p. 43).
Jared. For Jared, the kinship term taha brought to mind the brother of his
maternal grandmother. He said, “Him I really admired . . . . He was really, really, really
talented with his carvings, paintings.” Jared was most impressed by his uncle’s ability to
paint “really straight lines on his [katsina] dolls,” which he perceived as unequaled by
other kachina doll carvers. Unfortunately, the opportunity to learn from this uncle was
limited because his time was spent at work and then more tragically by his death. For
Jared, this was a significant loss. He stated, “I was still young when he passed away…so
141
sometimes I feel sad on some days, missing him, [and] just thinking [about] what he
would teach me right now since I’m older.” Other uncles had passed away during his
adolescence which left Jared believing that being born so much later than his siblings had
deprived him of establishing relationships with those who had the responsibility for
teaching him various skills and knowledge. He stated, “so that’s [their passing] kinda
just leaving me out you know.” Fortunately, Jared’s older cousins, who had the
opportunity to learn from these uncles, were willing to help him out if he asked. In a later
interview he reiterated this dilemma especially because he believed the assistance he
needed from his uncles would impact his desire to enter the Wuwtsim society—the male
religious society. He stated, “I don’t know who else to go to besides my grandmothers
[and] I don’t really know my uncles from my father’s side too. So, I don’t really know
who to go to on my father’s side.” 21
Justin. Justin’s maternal uncles figure prominently in his life. Although he did
not single out a specific individual or individuals, working alongside his father, uncles,
and grandfather, Justin was educated about the Hopi way of life, particularly “planting
and some ranching.” He views these kin as those “I would go to . . . if I needed help with
something, say in the language, or [if] I need to ask them something important to me . . . .
I’ve done that.” These male kin are exemplary models of the commitment and dedication
planting requires of the Hopi farmer. “Born and raised how to do it” instilled in Justin a
commitment he expressed by stating, “I don’t want to let it go.” It is his duty and
21
The initiate’s ceremonial father sponsors and guides the initiate into the Wuwtsim Society.
142
obligation to continue this tradition inculcated through inclusion and by expectation:
“They [father, uncles, and grandfather] don’t say, ‘Do you wanna stay [home],’ or ‘Do
you have other things to do,’ they don’t say that. They say, ‘Come on, let’s go,’ [and] I
already know where I’m going on the weekends,” he asserted.
Dorian. Dorian’s taahamat (maternal uncles) are key figures in her life. She
stated, “In Hopi, tahas are a symbol of discipline, and although not many do that
anymore, I think that my tahas make that effort.”22 As Dorian stated, the traditional role
of one’s taha as a disciplinarian to his sister’s children has declined as his role is
compromised and even challenged by the mothers/sisters themselves. But unlike many,
Dorian’s mother often turns to her brothers for disciplinary help with her children.
Dorian said, “[When my mom says] ‘I’m gonna get taha!’ That’s the time you get scared
’cuz when they come, and if they crack down [on us], my mom and them, they’re not
gonna do anything ’cuz we put ourselves in that situation.” Although in their disciplinary
role Dorian’s taahamat evoke fear, the initial emotional response described as fear of the
authoritative power of one’s maternal uncle eventually develops into one of respect for
his vested interest. Dorian stated, “At the same time, they’re always there when my
[biological] dad’s not there. They’ll be the ones to be my dad and just help me when I’m
dancing . . . . So we look to them as our second father.”23 Dorian’s taahamat provide her
with monetary support as well as praise and encouragement for her accomplishments. At
22
“Taha[s]” is an Anglicized pluralization of the singular term taha, meaning maternal uncle. Taahamat is
the Hopi pluralization for “her maternal uncles.” This applies to the singular kin term kya’a, meaning
maternal aunt, and kyamat, as referring to “her maternal aunts.”
23
In fact, one’s maternal uncle could not become a “father,” as one’s biological father is not of the same
clan as the maternal uncle.
143
times, they are rewarded in subtle ways for playing a role in the upbringing of their
sister’s children. As Miss Indian Arizona, Dorian had become a public figure. She
embraced the responsibility of this position wholeheartedly and made her uncles proud.
Dorian recalled one uncle saying to her, “Siwa (term of endearment), . . . . I hear a lot of
good comments about you. I’m really proud of you . . . . It makes me feel good when I’m
out in the audience . . . and you start talking and you kind of say what we told you . . . It
makes me feel good because I know that you actually listened . . . because you’re actually
allowing us, letting us teach you.” In other words, their responsibility to convey clan
knowledge to their sister’s children is confirmed.
Kya’a—Paternal Aunt24
Jared. The kinship term, kya’a, did not bring anyone significant to Jared’s mind.
He stated that he had not established close relationships with his paternal aunts. Jared’s
situation is understandable with the early absence of his biological father from the family
household.
Justin. When asked about his kyamat, Justin responded first with a chuckle and
then said, “My sweetheart,” and chuckled again. He described this relationship by
saying, “It’s [the relationship and social way one acts toward this individual, one’s
paternal aunt is] just the same thing as your so’o (paternal grandmother); they would be
24
In Hopi society, there is a strong distinction between the paternal and maternal aunts. A paternal aunt or
any female in the natural or ceremonial father’s clan or phratry is referred to as kya’a, “aunt,” whereas, all
of the women of the same generation as the biological mother, including her biological sisters, are
“mothers” to the children. In traditional practice, children call all these women itangu, “our mother.”
144
there for you to make you food . . . . They’re part of the [extended kin] family.” He
further explained, “And you know we tease each other, [my kya’as saying] ‘That’s my
sweetheart,’ [but] it’s nothing.” Justin appeared uncomfortable as he explained the
relationship of being a “sweetheart” to these kinswomen.25 Anthropologist Schlegel
(1999) described this relationship as follows:
As a woman of the father’s clan, the paternal grandmother [or aunt] fit[s] into a
category of people who have what anthropologists call a ‘joking relationship’
with a boy and a man. To these grandsons, the father’s clanswomen made
quite explicit, but joking, verbal sexual advances, publicly taunting their husbands
with being less desirable than their little sweethearts, their grandsons [nephew].
(p. 146)
Sekaquaptewa (personal communication, May 24, 2004) describes this
relationship between a paternal aunt/grandmother and her brother’s son/her grandson as
one of great fondness and affection. From this female perspective, the nephew is likened
to a sweetheart for whom no woman is “perfect” outside of his father’s clanswomen. In
this reciprocal relationship, like a boyfriend, the brother’s son/the grandson will do manly
things to please his “sweetheart.” In fact, the Hopi view this relationship between the
father’s son and his paternal aunts including the paternal grandmothers, as one of many
ways in which the close interrelationship between clans is expressed. As such, the
anthropological interpretation describing this relationship as primarily a “joking
relationship” as proposed by Schlegel (1999) and emphasizing the sexual aspect
misrepresents the true nature of the relationship.
25
Hopi teasing as an expression of humility is described in Chapter 9—Language as Cultural Practice.
145
Dorian. The relationship between a young girl and her kya’a is formalized
because the influence from this kinship connection is limited. This formal relationship
occurs and becomes evident at Powamuytikive—Bean Dance time26 during the month of
Powamuyaw27 (approximately the calendar month of February). The just-initiated young
girl receives a coiled or wicker plaque along with a kachina doll from the katsinas. The
plaque serves as a symbolic reminder telling the young girl “to make piiki, grind corn”
and bring it to her kya’a so that she’ll [her kya’a] know that you’re being a good
[industrious] Hopi girl.” (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, May 25, 2004).
Dorian was not close to those individuals who were her paternal aunts in the traditional
sense, yet she did spend time with one of her father’s sisters because “She’s a lot of fun”
and described their relationship as “girl time.” Although this close relationship between
Dorian and one of her paternal aunts provided the opportunity to reinforce the Hopi value
of “industriousness” for Dorian, this was not the focus of, nor made clear to her in their
relationship.
Rather, when responding to the kinship term, kya’a—paternal aunt, Dorian spoke
at length about one of her mother’s sisters as “the one I go to,” the first person she would
call if she had problems, or confide in, who is also, in the Hopi sense, her “mother.”
Dorian’s description of a close relationship with one of mother sister’s, according to
tradition, confirmed that a close relationship exists between a young girl and her mother’s
sister. In Hopi society, all of the women of the same generation as the biological mother
26
On the Powamuy ceremony day, early in the morning, the kachinas distribute bean sprouts to the houses
and along with it bring kachina dolls for young girls and bows and arrows for young boys.
27
Also the time when Kachina initiation occurs for young boys and girls.
146
including her biological sisters are “mothers” to the children. Children call all these
women “our mother,” itangu.
Kinship Relationships: Courtship and Marriage
The significance of the various kinship “ties” of youth to others by birth,
marriage, or initiation is realized as they enter the “courting” stage of their lives. Finding
“appropriate” courting or marriage partners is a challenging endeavor within a kinship
system that encompasses so many “related” kin. Dorian explained, “When you’re
growing up, that’s the first thing they teach you. If you’re gonna have a boyfriend, you
have to ask them what clan they are . . . ’cuz otherwise you’re gonna be going out with
your [clan] brother . . . . You’re gonna be kissing your [clan] brother . . . [or] your [clan]
uncle.” Jared confirmed this as well: “You find someone that you really wanna go out
with . . . [then] you find out that they’re related. They’re somehow related to you but you
never knew them before; you don’t know anything about them . . . . That’s the thing that
really bums you out,” he bemoaned. The complexity of kinship relations is better
understood in Dorian’s recounting of her mother’s advice to her in courtship matters:
Just as long as they’re not blood-related, or they’re not clan [related], or not
closely clan-related, like an intermediate clan. You’re Pumpkin [Clan], so you
can’t marry another Pumpkin Clan. Or you can’t [marry] Snake, or Sand Clan
’cuz they claim us, or Sparrow Hawk or Crane. Then, you have to also look at
your father[‘s clan] too. He’s Corn Clan; [so] you can’t marry any other one of
those ’cuz you’ll be marrying your own dad. And then, there’s your grandmother;
she’s Sun Forehead [Clan] . . . I think it would be best to stay away from those
ones, and everybody else you can.
To this, Dorian simply said, “Okay.” According to Dorian, many younger Hopis
are increasingly defying this tradition by marrying within their clan and related clans or
147
through intermarriage with non-Hopi as a response to the issue of finding appropriate
marriage partners. Jared confirmed this, “Even my own cousins . . . married clans
[members] that they were related to.” Dorian observed that many Hopis are
intermarrying with “Mexicans, Navajos, some Qömavkastiilas—Blacks, some
Pahaanas—Anglo, just different ethnic backgrounds.” She also alleged that many of her
generation are also choosing intermarriage as a way to avoid the lifetime obligations to
the expanding family that awaits one who marries another Hopi. She relayed a
conversation with male friends on this topic:
[They say] I’m not marrying a Hopi girl! [I say]‘Why not? [They say] They’re
too much work! And that’s true you know ’cuz for my family, you [as a male
married in-law] have to do the work; you have to be out there chopping wood;
you have to be the planter; you have to be the one to discipline the children; you
have to do all these things for the family, not for yourself. You’re practically the
family slave and that’s what you marry into.
Dorian further offered, “I think that’s one of the main reasons why you don’t see
any Hopis marry Hopis.” Although her perception seemed extreme, she also stated, “Me,
I’m full Hopi [by blood quantum] and that’s rare nowadays. Most people are just half
Hopis.”28 This expectation of male married in-laws is well known among potential
suitors of Hopi girls. That contemporary Hopi youth are making such observations
warrants further study.
The experiences of these three youth indicated that each has been “playing”
her/his social role without being fully aware of the specific language terms that describe
28
Hopi identity by blood quantum has become a political issue as a result of federal policy. Hopi, a
matrilineal society, traces and carries descent through the mother in her totemically named clan. Upon
birth, a Hopi child is “claimed” or “born into” and becomes a member of her/his mother thereby
establishing a clan identity. This remains true in contemporary Hopi society.
148
these relationships. Each has been encouraged and guided by significant kin—mother,
father, step-father, grandmother, great grandmother, maternal uncles—in conducting
themselves according to Hopi standards without necessarily having complete knowledge
of the specific meanings of the kinship terminology. These findings suggest that
“playing the part” of one’s kinship role in the described social arenas of the kinship
network is as important as the ability to use the language.
In the next section, I examine how the differences among the three youth in both
understanding and speaking Hopi impacted their experiences in their early participation
in ceremonial activities; this aspect is vital to understanding the role of language in the
religious realm. All three recollected that Hopi was the first language they heard and
were learning in their early childhood. Their differing confidence levels in the ability to
use the Hopi language—Dorian understood some Hopi, but could not speak Hopi; Jared
understood spoken Hopi, but was unable to carry a conversation in Hopi; and Justin
asserted a speaking fluency of “about 75 percent.” However, it is important to note that
understanding and/or speaking Hopi is not a prerequisite to participating in the cultural
traditions and practices of Hopi society.
Beginning Ceremonial Journeys
Katsinvaki, Initiation into the Katsina Society
Initiation into the katsina society or katsinvaki “is the first ceremony in which
Hopi children participate, being the initiatory step into a society [the esoteric realm]”
149
(Sekaquaptewa, 1985, p. 23) traditionally occurring at seven or eight years of age.
Eggan (1950) described the kachina initiation process as follows:
The initiation takes place during the Powamu ceremony in February, and, while
the ceremonial procedure varies somewhat from village to village, the novices are
ritually prepared by fasting and prayer offerings and then whipped with yucca by
two Katcinas while their ‘ceremonial parents’ stand by and support them. Their
heads are then washed by their ‘ceremonial aunts’ and they are given a Katcina
name, which is used ceremonially . . . . The Katcina initiations mark the
introduction of the child’s status in the tribe as a whole . . . The change in ritual
status is marked by a new name . . . and is accompanied by the acquisition of a
whole new set of relatives, the clan and phratry of the ‘ceremonial father’
[ceremonial mother] who will play an important role in the child’s expanding life.
(p. 50)
Initiation does occur during the Powamuya ceremony approximately coinciding
with the calendar month of February. Following the initiation ceremony, the initiate’s
hair is washed by the “ceremonial aunts” who are the female members of the ceremonial
mother’s clan for girls and the female members of the ceremonial father’s clan for the
boys. The katsina initiation names given follow tradition in that they refer to the clan
totem or emblem of the ceremonial mother or father. The katsina initiation, a rite of
passage, functions to mark a “rebirth”—a new life, in which the initiate gains a new ritual
status thereby gaining new privileges and access to esoteric knowledge (E.
Each youth gave her/his initiation name, indicating that they had gone through the
initiation ritual of the katsina society. Because katsina initiates are advised against
divulging information about their experience to non-initiates, no information about the
katsina initiation process was pursued, although Dorian offered some personal insight.
According to Dorian, today’s seven or eight year old has not attained the maturity that is
150
essential to “grasp the concepts of religion and what it really means.” Further, maturity
enables a katsina initiate to understand the importance of “secrecy” expected when one
attains this “privileged” status.
Fred Eggan (1950) included in his description of the initation process, the ritual
“whipping” of the young initiates which “impressed upon him [the Hopi child] the
importance of the secrets [that] has been learned and the necessity of keeping them from
the younger children [non-initiates]” (p. 50). While each of these youth had gained a new
ritual status, it was likely that for Dorian and Jared, their lack of facility with the Hopi
language limited and greatly restricted their access to the esoteric knowledge of the
initiation ritual itself in their new status.
I include here, the cultural practice of social dances, or ritualized public
performances—the means by which Hopi children learn their social kinship connections
in a formally acknowledged way as well the appropriate social and cultural behaviors.
Participating in social dances beginning at an early age, children are also exposed to and
begin to gain an awareness of the religious aspects of Hopi culture.
Ritualized Performances: Social Dances
As participants in social dances, each of these youth frequented the kiva
environment where the preparation for these ritualized public performances took place.
The Hopi language was in especially predominant use among the elder men who
conducted the preparations for social dances. Justin confirmed this: “That’s mostly
where I used it [Hopi language], in the kivas . . . singing and just talking to them [other
151
males and elders],” as did Dorian who stated, “When you’re in the kiva, the men, they
speak nothing but Hopi.”
Preparation involves learning Hopi songs that are composed and sung and the
accompanying dance steps and motions that are choreographed by the elder men.
Learning the songs and choreography requires nightly attendance and practice by all
participants over several weeks prior to the public performance in the village plaza. Hopi
songs for the social dances are composed with a combination of Hopi words, phrases, and
vocables. They tell of romances or “paint” beautiful images of the Hopi world set to a
rhythm and beat specific to social dancing (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication,
March 27, 2004). Learning the songs requires not only that one learn the rhythm, words,
and phrases, but understanding the meanings of the words and phrases allows one to
“hear” the stories, “see” the images, and fully appreciate and “connect” with the
experience.
Jared. Learning the songs for the dances requires a lot of time in the kiva, but
Jared stated that using a tape recorder offered a means to learn the songs outside the kiva.
The use of tape-recorders and writing as tools in both composing and learning Hopi
songs has become commonplace in the kiva. Jared stated, “I‘ve seen them [the singers],
they’d be all down at the drum [and] they have this big notebook. They’d be writing it;
they’d be crossing it out, writing another one, just like writing a regular song.”29 With
29
Although the Hopi language is written, the number of individuals literate in the currently adopted writing
system is minimal. The writing system referred to here is a highly individualized and personal writing
sound-symbol system known only to the composer.
152
the use of a tape-recorder, one only needed to record the song and then at home, “keep
rewinding it and listening to it over and over again.” Taken out of context, Jared
acknowledged that, “It kind of felt weird . . . listening to it [at home] instead of being
with other people in the kiva singing along with them.” He further stated, “I like learning
songs in the kiva ’cause just being around older [men] like your uncle, your grandfather,
your father, sometimes they give you a lesson about the song, you know tell the story
behind the song.”
When asked if he understood the words of the song, he replied, “Some of them,
yeah,” and explained, “We ask questions. ‘What are they singing about?’ They tell you.”
These requests for meaning were usually asked in English and the answers provided in
both English and Hopi. Jared confidently expressed that Hopi songs were, “everything
about nature, the clouds, the fields of corn, you know about everybody being happy.”
Participating as a singer was personally rewarding for Jared. He stated,
It [singing] kind of makes you a little bit more, you know, proud of who you
are . . . some other cultures, you know, they don’t have this [cultural traditions]
anymore. It kind of makes you a little more proud of who you are when you
know the language and you know the songs.
His participation as a singer, albeit affected by his limited facility with the Hopi
language, gave him a sense of being “privy,” as a member of this “kiva club,” and to the
cultural knowledge transmitted through song.
Jared’s experiences in kiva activities and as singer generated his present desire to
pursue initiation into the Wuwtsim society—one of the men’s priesthood societies.
Ceremonial fathers who belong to one of the four major priesthood societies—Wuwtsim,
Al, Kwan, Taw—sponsor their ceremonial sons through this ceremonial journey. Jared
153
now realized that a facility in the Hopi language was essential to understanding the
significance of the ritual process and esoteric knowledge, and attaining spiritual
fulfillment. He stated, “I need to know [how] to speak Hopi. I need to know [the Hopi
language] real good.” He realized that “knowing a few words” or “understanding some”
Hopi was not enough. Jared needed a high level of Hopi language proficiency. He
reiterated a deep sense of loss in his quest to find someone to assist him in this
ceremonial journey and stated, “Now that I want to [be an initiate], I wanna [be able to]
go to my uncles, but they’re all passing away . . . . I don’t know who else to go to.” Jared
felt he was weathering this dilemma alone. Apparently, Jared is unaware that his
ceremonial father or “godfather” (as he referred to the individual who gave him his
initiation name), not his maternal uncles, is the person entrusted with the responsibility of
sponsoring him through this ceremonial journey.
Dorian. Dorian’s participation as a dancer in numerous social dances took her
into the kiva environment where she also found that the Hopi language played a central
role in the activities. She stated, “When you’re in the kiva, the men, they speak nothing
but Hopi. And of course, me not being fluent, I didn’t know what they say.” She added,
“But still, you know, it’s like telepathy [a connection], you still have the same thought
[going] through everybody’s mind, and just knowing you’re not doing this just for
entertainment. You’re doing this for a reason; you’re doing it for rain, prayers, for life.”
In a later session, she reiterated, “You don’t know what they’re saying, but you still get
that same feeling, the feeling that you go by.” She further elaborated on this feeling by
154
saying, “When the drum goes, you don’t hear it, you feel it inside; it’s like pounding
against your heart . . . it gets your heart beating the same way [as the drum] . . . It’s neat,
that’s why I always like to take part, you know, I like that feeling.” Dorian’s experiences
in the kiva left a lasting impression about the importance of understanding and speaking
Hopi. She said, “[W]hen they’re telling stories in the kiva, or someone’s talking to you
in Hopi wanting to share something with you in Hopi, I can get an idea of what they’re
talking about, but I can’t get the specifics.”
Dorian participated in the Basket Dances of the women’s Lalkont Society. Her
desire to understand the “in-depth” meaning of the Hopi songs that accompany the
Basket Dances was foremost in her efforts to learn Hopi. Although family members
provided the meanings through English translations, it became clear to Dorian that the
English language could not fully relay the Hopi concepts contained in Hopi songs.
Cognizant of this, Dorian stated, “There’s some things in Hopi that can’t be explained in
English. I notice that because my mom . . . sometimes [in trying to provide an English
translation] . . . she’ll say, ‘I can’t explain it in English because there’s no really good
enough word for it.” Thus, Dorian’s perception of the Hopi world would remain
fragmented: “I understand some, but the rest is like a puzzle, and I don’t have the
missing pieces,” she acknowledged. Dorian’s persistence in accessing the meaning of
Hopi songs was a personal endeavor. She said, “Right now, I don’t know what the songs
mean, but I’m still at that stage of learning the words and the rhythm and how it’s put
together. Then once I learn the full song, I’ll ask my aunt; she’s in the Basket Dance,
‘What does it say?’ and she’ll tell me.” Dorian believed that her efforts speak loudly: “I
155
think what matters . . . is grasping the concepts and that I’m trying and making an effort
to learn the songs.” It was important for Dorian that her efforts were perceived as sincere
and respectful.
Dorian also explained that although she does not understand the kiva discourse,
an understanding of the purpose of the songs and dance was possible because she was
“taught” about their purpose and meanings as well as the “respect” these cultural
practices warranted. The significance of “taking part” had been transmitted to Dorian
through many of her kin—her mother, father, grandmother, uncles, in-laws. She asserted,
“I was taught what things meant; why we do this; why we do that, [therefore] I had more
respect . . . than other children [who] just went in ‘to take part.’” As Hopi youth prepared
to perform publicly before the community, they were inculcated with Hopi values and
tenets through song and dance and they in turn engaged and reminded the community of
the same through these ritualized performances.
Justin. In contrast to Jared and Dorian’s language experiences in the kiva
activities as non-speakers of Hopi, Justin offered a perspective of his experience as a
Hopi speaker. Justin confirmed that the Hopi language continues to be in prevalent use in
the kiva. He said, “That’s mostly where I used it [the Hopi language], in the kivas,
singing and just talking to them [other males and elders] ’cuz that’s what they wanna
hear.”
Jared’s and Dorian’s experiences in their ceremonial journeys reveal that the
importance and significance of the Hopi language became apparent to them in the
156
ceremonial realm. While the ability to use the Hopi language does not deny participation
in these ritualized performances or rites of passage, with the desire for increasing
involvement in these cultural activities, each acknowledged that the language was
essential. The language was critical to understanding the deeper meanings of the ritual
language, of providing the means to “see” the images transmitted through the songs, and
to fully experience all aspects of the ceremonial, or religious domain. Justin’s experience
revealed that the kiva environment is where instruction in the esoteric knowledge about
the Hopi way of life occurs and requires a strong foundation in the Hopi language. In
particular, Jared’s intuition about the importance of language to become an initiate into
the male Wuwtsim society is confirmed by the words of Albert Yava (1978):
They tell us that you can be born in a Hopi village of Hopi parents and speak the
language, but still you aren’t a complete Hopi unless you go through the
initiations and [for males] become a member of one of the four kiva groups.
(p. 2)
In 1978, when Yava spoke these words, it was one’s ceremonial initiation into a
kiva society that made one “complete”—fulfilled spiritually—or “fully” Hopi.
Courlander (as cited in Yava, 1978), in an annotation of Albert Yava’s life in Big Falling
Snow, wrote,
It was not his father’s membership in the Hopi tribe that made Yava a Hopi . . .
but initiation into the One Horn Society . . . . Hopi-born men were not considered
to be complete, qualified Hopis unless they belonged to one of the four major kiva
fraternities. It was in those kiva groups that a person learned the traditions of the
clans and the ceremonial cycles on which Hopi life was based. After initiation,
Yava was entitled to speak of himself as a Hopi. (p. viii)
Birth to Hopi parents and a facility in the Hopi language were the custom. Today,
becoming a “complete” Hopi, as described by Yava (1978), is severely challenged by the

157
circumstances of contemporary Hopi society that includes increasing numbers of Hopi
youth born of Hopi/non-Hopi unions and the fact that many more of today’s Hopi youth
do not understand and/or do not speak Hopi.
In the next chapter, I present the sites of personal struggle that plagued each of
these youth in their personal experiences in the journey to becoming “fully” Hopi.
Summary
This chapter that for each of these young adults, her/his basic sense of belonging
and identity has been assured through Hopi cultural “markers of identity”—
birth/ceremonial names, clan and village affiliation, kinship and kinship connections—
and involvement in cultural traditions as well as growing up in a community considered
“Hopi” by both the outsider and insider. All serve to reinforce their sense of “Hopiness.”
But Jared’s and Dorian’s experiences, particularly in the kiva environment and
ceremonial realm, reveal that without a strong Hopi linguistic foundation, they find
themselves on the periphery of the Hopi ceremonial world.
In attaining their new status of young adulthood, this reality extends to the
everyday lives of these youth and their confidence and security in their Hopi identity
frequently wavers. In the next chapter, I present the sites of personal struggles associated
with adult status as Dorian describes as “the missing piece, the tongue, the Hopi
language” and perhaps the turmoil that accompanies the quest for spiritual fulfillment
attained through the language. The next chapter also points out that the period of
adolescence and transition into young adulthood is significant to becoming fully Hopi.
158
This period of development is described by the Hopi phrase, “Puma hooyi.” “They have
“come of age,” reached adulthood, gained independence.”

159
CHAPTER 5
THE “MISSING PIECE”—USING THE HOPI LANGUAGE
In this chapter, I give attention to Jared, Dorian, and Justin who perceived their
sense of belonging and security in their Hopi identity subjected to seemingly unjust
testing in direct relation to their use and non-use of Hopi as young adults. For Hopi, late
adolescence and young adulthood signals a new perception of youth expressed in the
statement: “Puma hooyi.” “They have ‘come of age,’ reached adulthood, gained
independence.” But for Jared and Dorian, in particular, this period also signaled a rude
awakening to new expectations and personal struggles accentuated by their linguistic
shortcomings with the Hopi language. During their childhoods, there had been seemingly
little reason to attach concern and urgency to learning to speak Hopi; this was no longer
the case as these youth widened their social parameters in the community and pursued
greater involvement in religious activities for which Hopi linguistic competence is
essential.
I begin with the “rude awakenings” each of these youth experienced and
described as assaults on their personal and social identities as Hopi citizens most often
through the often public and negative remarks regarding their use or non-use of Hopi in
their social interactions with others. I next point out the conflicting messages these youth
coped with in their attempts to define their personal and social identities. I follow with
their experiences in the Hopi language classes which for Jared and Dorian accentuated
their fragile Hopi identities. Finally, I describe how a strong desire to attain a deeper
160
understanding of and spiritual fulfillment from continued participation in social dances
and increasing involvement in the religious ceremonies maintained their persistence and
resolve to learn to become users of the Hopi language.
Puma Hooyi. They Have “Come of Age”
Several Hopi terms are used to describe Hopi youth who have made/are making
the transition from late adolescence to young adulthood: hooyi, to have come of age,
become emancipated, independent; tukwsi, to become mature—a boy becomes a man, a
girl becomes a woman; and wuwni’yva, to have reached the age of understanding,
comprehension, reason and maturity—generally, knowing right from wrong. The terms
encompass the gaining of privileges, hooyi; a biological transition using the metaphorical
image of ripened corn, tukwsi; and cognitive development/maturity, wuwni’yva. In the
ensuing discussion, the experiences of the three youth center on the terms hooyi and
wuwni’yva. Hooyi describes the gaining of privileges including increased
responsibilities and obligations, while wuwni’yva speaks about a new consciousness,
attentiveness and awareness of such responsibilities and obligations.
Reaching the benchmarks of the developmental stage of adulthood through the
process of active participation and involvement has traditionally been unremarkable with
significant adults providing guidance, assistance, and knowledge by means of instruction,
advice and counsel. But, modern circumstances such as Western education, wage
economy, technology, mobility and media, have caused disruptions in the traditionally
routine process of enculturation. The disruption is manifest in the absence of significant

161
others as in Jared’s case, as well as a move away from traditionalism—adhering to the
Hopi way of life, growing of corn by hand—as a cultural norm. The disruption is also
manifest in the language shift from Hopi to predominantly English as the language of
usage in everyday life and cultural practices. As such, the transition to adulthood for
contemporary Hopi youth is literally a rude awakening to the new responsibilities which
will require them not only to seek guidance, assistance, and knowledge in order for them
to carry out their responsibilities accordingly, but also will likely subject them to an acute
awareness of their linguistic shortcomings in learning the essence of Hopi cultural
practices. Jared, Dorian, and Justin confirmed these challenges as realities meted out in
the form of harsh and incessant teasing which was pervasive and vivid in their
experiences and recollections.
Here I make brief reference to the Hopi form of teasing. A more detailed
description is provided in Chapter 9. Teasing is pervasive in Hopi society. Hopi teasing
is a verbal form of expressing humility while preserving and reinforcing kinship
connections in social interactions, thus, teasing is an expectation and duty particularly
between a male, as a mööyi, nephew or grandson of his paternal aunts/clanswomen,
kyamat. It requires a highly sophisticated use of the Hopi language and understanding of
one’s social and ritual standing in the clan, kin, and ceremonial associations and
connections established by birth, marriage, and initiations. However, there appears to be
a fundamental difference in the intent and use as well as interpretation of teasing as a
form of verbal interplay among kin in Hopi social interactions today. The experiences of
162
the three youth in this study afford insight into the impact of the “missing piece”—
competency in the use of Hopi.
Rude Awakenings
Jared. Jared’s parents and relatives had not previously seemed concerned about
his non-use of Hopi as a child, but now expected him to do so as an adult male. His stated
that his inability to carry on a conversation with others in Hopi became highly apparent
and he now found himself the recipient of incessant and pointed remarks made by family
and other adults about his use of Hopi: “I was taking a lot of teasing from my uncles, my
friends. . . . They make fun of you . . . [They press you to] talk Hopi. They get mad at
you [saying], ‘You better learn this [Hopi language].”
In the kiva environment, the “teasing” was especially distressing and humiliating
for Jared because “they [elders] expect that [the ability to use Hopi] from you.” The
feeling of humiliation was heightened for Jared when younger Hopi youth were better
able to use Hopi. “You get a lot of teasing . . . if someone younger than you understands
it,” Jared recollected. He further recalled, “They’ll [speakers] tell you, Ngaspi- how
fortunate! He [the younger speaker] knows how to speak Hopi real good. And they’ll
look at me, I can’t even you know say something in Hopi.” This comment was
interpreted by Jared as a criticism/judgment about his inability to speak Hopi. Taken as
criticism, Jared felt marginalized: “You feel left out,” he stated. As a non-speaker Jared
found himself on the periphery of his Hopi world, a participant observer.

163
Such Hopi linguistic experiences extended to Jared’s daily social interactions and
exchanges with peers and community members beyond the immediate family. Jared
desired to hold “real conversation[s]” with others in the community and greet the elders
in Hopi, but could not: “I can mostly understand it [Hopi], but . . . if someone asks me a
question . . . I wouldn’t know how to respond back in Hopi,” he stated.
Jared’s experiences with using Hopi brought about a new awareness of the
importance of the Hopi language in the ceremonial and social domains of his personal
life. As well, Jared also recognized the repercussions of his childhood complacency
about learning to use Hopi. “You just feel mad at yourself for not taking the time to learn
to speak it,” he announced.
Dorian. Dorian’s experiences confirmed similar rude awakenings as well,
particularly as she vied for the title of Miss Hopi and during her reign as Miss Indian
Arizona. While not a prerequisite, a facility in the tribal language was certainly
advantageous if not an expectation if one was to represent the Hopi people: “Yeah, they
were looking for one [contestant] that could speak the language,” Dorian stated. Despite
her limited use of Hopi, Dorian won the title, evidence of differing pageant criteria and
status accorded to her ability to represent the Hopi people—experience with traditional
practices—from that of Euro-American pageant standards, an observation she made
herself: “I think that’s the only reason why I won the pageant. I knew more about my
traditions than anybody else, any other girl [pageant contestant] down there,” she stated.
164
However, as ambassador for tribal nations as well as Hopi, Dorian encountered many
who asked if she spoke the Hopi language. Such encounters heightened her awareness of
her linguistic shortcomings with the Hopi language as well as confirming a strong link
between language and cultural identity held by both community members and others
outside of Hopi.
Justin. Justin, a Hopi language user, experienced rude awakenings as well. First,
he had observed first-hand the language shift among the Hopi people. Second, Justin had
also observed that language shift was manifest in behaviors—impatience and
inattentiveness in the teaching-learning environment of the kiva, an insincere attitude in
participation, not going to the fields, being lazy—he described as demonstrating
disrespect toward other Hopis especially elders, mentors, parents as well as cultural
traditions. Third, Justin recognized the pervasive presence of and suppressive power of
English in responding to the question, “Do you use Hopi to speak to your younger
sister?” He replied, “[I use] Some, yeah. But now, see that’s [English] taking over my
Hopi words you know. I need to keep talking to her in [Hopi].” The English language
continues to emit a powerful influence on and challenge to users of Hopi.
Finally, he was highly cognizant that Hopi cultural and linguistic vitality rested on
his generation of youth. While the outlook for Hopi cultural and linguistic continuity
appeared daunting, Justin expressed his personal commitment to maintaining the vitality
of Hopi: “I just want to keep this [Hopi way of life] alive . . . I didn’t learn and work all
of this [Hopi traditions and language] for nothing.” Essentially, there was recognition on
165
his part of the obligation to use Hopi regularly and toward ensuring continuity. Justin
also expressed optimisim because “most [Hopi] people . . . don’t want it to be gone.” He
noticed that many among his generation of Hopi youth—young adults—appeared to be
swayed in this direction as well: “I guess their grandma or parent said something to them
that finally got to their mind . . . so they’re trying to learn [the language and culture]
now,” he said. The truth of Justin’s perception and observations is evidenced in Jared
and Dorian’s efforts to address their fragile identities amid conflicting ideologies.
Fragile Identities
Conflicting Ideologies: “Being” Hopi or “Speaking” Hopi
Jared. Growing up immersed and active in Hopi culture did not prepare Jared for
responding to the assaults on his Hopi identity he was regularly subjected to based on his
ability to use Hopi as a young adult. One inherent message emphasized appropriate
cultural behavior or providing “proof” of one’s cultural identity through one’s actions or
behavior heard in the following statement: “Just because your mom’s Hopi, you can’t
really say you’re Hopi unless you really prove it; you have to at least do something.” For
Jared, “proving” a Hopi identity meant conducting himself in the Hopi way—
participating in traditions and fulfilling one’s cultural obligations. However, a second
more directed message emphasized a Hopi linguistic competency: Jared heard this
message relayed in encounters with others: “Everywhere we go, some people will say,
‘Are you Hopi? Can you say that?’ [I say] ‘No.’ [They respond] ‘Well, how are you
166
Hopi if you can’t speak it [the Hopi language]? So, that’s just another reason to want to
learn how to speak Hopi.”
But his attempts to use or learn Hopi did not spare him from the humiliation at the
hands of peers and adults alike. “It’s hard for younger kids [to learn to use Hopi] now
’cuz it’s just teasing, them [kin] laughing at you when you’re trying to learn . . . . It’s not
just kids, but adults will make [fun] of their [own] or other kids too.30 If you want them
to learn, you can’t really do that,” he advised. Asked why teasing of language learners
seemed so prevalent, Jared offered this perspective: “Probably because they [speakers]
expected them [children or non-speakers] to learn that a long time ago. And then that
kind of puts it back to their parents, ‘Doesn’t your mom and them teach you?’” As he
reflected on his response, he added, “That’s something that . . . sometimes backfire[s]
back at them [adults who mete out teasing].” An interpretation of this perspective
suggests that often those who are passing judgment on others do not look at themselves
first. If they do, they realize that they, as parents or grandparents, must also share in the
responsibility for the shift from Hopi to English among the younger generation. As
previously stated, teasing is prevalent in Hopi society. However, “kids” who mete out
teasing to their peers may be “practicing” this verbal form of interaction without a full
understanding of its cultural purpose and function.
In turn, Jared now challenged those who judged him. He explained, “[When they
say] ‘How come you don’t know Hopi,’ [I say] ‘Teach me [to say] something then.’
Then that’s what kind of makes them shut up.” He added, “They kinda get into little
30
See reference to Hopi teasing earlier in this chapter and further description in Chapter 9.
167
arguments like that in the kiva too . . . . That’s what makes them think . . . . That’s what
stops teasing . . . and they don’t know how to [respond].” Essentially, redirecting the
challenge toward these adults forced them to reflect on their own shortcomings in their
obligation to their own children and to the younger generation of Hopi.
Despite such seemingly unjust assaults on his sense of identity, Jared took
personal responsibility for his status as a non-speaker of Hopi: “I just didn’t take the time
to learn it, I’d say until I got to high school, and I finally realized, I had to…learn this,”
he stated. As a young adult, the importance of the Hopi language in his personal life,
particularly in the kiva environment, became evident. Now, Jared, like many Hopi youth,
was confronted with the challenge to “learn” Hopi. He stated, “[Although] I would
mostly say it’s supposed to be learned at home . . . you can’t learn it from home . . . . I
ask them [mother and grandmother] sometimes, but again I wasn’t motivated enough to
really go up to them and say, ‘Teach me Hopi.’” He reiterated a personal responsibility
in addressing his linguistic dilemma: “At least [you should] try to find someone who will
teach you a little bit.” The Hopi language class at the high school seemed to provide the
means to address this linguistic situation.
Dorian. Like Jared, because she did not use Hopi in her social life, Dorian’s
confidence in her Hopi identity had wavered on many occasions. In response to the
question, “Have you ever been asked, ‘Do you speak Hopi?’” her reply was accompanied
with an uncomfortable laugh, “[I say] Yes, some.” When asked how this question from
others made her feel, she answered with some difficulty, “I don’t know. It makes (she
168
paused and then restarted) . . . ’cuz you know, most [tribal] people say if you don’t speak
the language, then you’re not of that tribe. So, I don’t know. It kinda makes me feel
unsure about whether I should really call myself Hopi or not.” Almost instantly
following this reply, she asserted, “But I just remember all the things my mom and them
tell me,” and recounted her mother’s words:
Yeah it’s important to speak, but that’s not all that counts. Because a Pahaana
(Anglo) can learn how to speak it, speak the language, but they don’t know the
meaning behind it, or the actual culture, the in- depth stuff; [so] then they’re not
Hopi. They don’t practice our religious ceremony[ies] and they don’t live Hopi;
[so] then they’re not Hopi.
For Dorian, being a Hopi meant “living” Hopi—practicing the Hopi religion,
customs, and traditions—and enhancing a deeper understanding of their purpose and
meaning in relation to the Hopi way of life. So while she “lived Hopi,” Dorian
acknowledged, “I just don’t speak.” This outlook served to reaffirm her sense of identity
and on which Dorian continued to build especially while she was the reigning Miss
Indian Arizona. Even so, she was mindful that the “missing piece”—speaking the Hopi
language—was important because, “In Hopi, everything [knowledge, ceremonies, song,
traditions] is passed down orally,” so language “plays a big key . . . in the learning
process [of Hopi culture].”
Dorian described her inability to “get the specifics” of the Hopi cultural
knowledge embodied in the language as frustrating: “I get frustrated and at the same
time, I kind of get upset at myself because (long pause) . . . I think I’m halfway
responsible, or at least more responsible than anybody else because I never really took
the initiative to actually sit down and make my mom speak to me and ask her ‘What does
169
this mean,’ and make a really strong effort to learn [Hopi].” Like Jared, Dorian firmly
believed that learning Hopi was a personal responsibility and acknowledged that her
status as a non-speaker of Hopi was the result of not taking this responsibility seriously.
She reflected,
I just said [to myself], Well, I’ll just pick up things as I go, but then when I pick
up those things, [and] I don’t practice it, [then] you kind of make up excuses for
yourself, [saying] ‘I don’t have time for that, I gotta go to school, I got my term
paper to do’. . . . When you’re trying to learn your language, it’s more a self-
responsibility than anybody else’s, and I just don’t think I was assertive enough to
learn in the beginning early on.
The complexity of learning one’s language becomes oversimplified especially
because “consciously learning” the language is unprecedented among Hopi people.
Dorian pointed out that learning one’s language demanded acute attention and self-
discipline. Additionally, asking for assistance meant enduring the criticism and teasing
experienced by the language learner. Dorian’s experiences revealed how language
learners are highly sensitive to criticism and teasing and how their sensitivity to these
anticipated responses to their efforts profoundly impacts on their desire and efforts to
learn. She stated, “People might make fun of me. Even though they say they don’t, they
still kind of do. They still kind of laugh at you a little bit, kind of giggle, and that kind of
makes you feel uncomfortable.” Essentially, the strong desire and the little bit of
confidence mustered to attempt learning were negated immensely by this teasing,
especially from family members. Again, Dorian’s reaction and response to “teasing” is
evidence of the missing piece of language—understanding the meaning behind this
verbal form of social interaction.

170
However, Dorian believed that it is possible to learn the core values of Hopi
through English, but maintained that understanding the language was crucial to a deeper
understanding of being Hopi. She stated, “That’s [the Hopi language] who I am [a Hopi]
and it ties in with where I come from . . . the more I learn [of the Hopi culture], the better
grasp I have on it. That’s what I use to stay rooted.” Dorian’s reign as Miss Indian
Arizona provided her the opportunity to articulate the role of Hopi language in the lives
of contemporary Hopi youth. When asked what she might say to her audiences regarding
the Hopi language, she stated,
I would introduce myself in Hopi . . . [then I would say] the reason why I said it
[introduction] in Hopi first was because I believe that as young people, [we] have
the obligation to keep our languages going . . . Yeah, the times are changing and
the culture is changing, and a lot of our elders and our parents depend on us to
learn English, but they are also counting on us to keep the traditions going, that
heritage, that culture. I don’t think it’s fully complete without language, the
tongue, the speaking . . . . So learn the language even if it’s just little bits at a
time, and you get made fun of; Hopis tease one another, but ultimately, they help
you too . . . If you know it [Hopi], speak it, use it . . . You don’t learn it for
nothing; they didn’t teach us how to introduce ourselves in Hopi for nothing.
Dorian’s words convey the inherited responsibility of Hopi youth for cultural and
linguistic continuity, as well as the personal responsibility to become a speaker of Hopi:
“I’ll still be trying to learn . . . ’cuz I really am still set on it [becoming a speaker],” she
avowed.
Justin. Even as a speaker of Hopi, Justin experienced the same teasing and fears
as Jared and Dorian: “We were scared about people making fun of us,” he stated. Yet,
he also provided the following explanation of embarrassing teasing:
Yeah, [I get teased] lots of times in the village by my friends or other people . . .
171
but I wouldn’t say they were making fun of me. I would say that they’re just you
know laughing ’cuz a little kid as I was, [was] talking Hopi and they [others,
parents] thought that was the way to do it. They wish they could teach their kids
like that. [So] I wouldn’t say it was teasing or nothing, it was just encouragement
to do, learn more.
Justin believed that, as a speaker of Hopi, he was viewed with admiration and/or
envy by parents whose own children did not speak Hopi. While Dorian and Jared and
other non-speakers seemed to view remarks or laughter regarding their attempts to speak
the Hopi language negatively, Justin viewed such “teasing” and “criticism” as remarks of
“encouragement to learn more,” and admonishments, or reminders that as Hopi youth,
they should speak Hopi. Here, while Justin appears to have an intuitive sense of the
purpose of this cultural form of interaction, he has not yet acquired a full understanding
of this interactive verbal play. Despite having some understanding, Justin acknowledged
that even with his Hopi language proficiency, he harbored uncomfortable thoughts about
being teased.
Justin acknowledged that some Hopi youth did want to learn to speak Hopi. He
maintained that Hopi youth are beginning to seriously think about the vitality of the Hopi
language and culture. Yet, when asked how he perceived friends and others of his
generation who did not speak the language but identified as Hopi, Justin replied,
They may say, ‘I’m Hopi,’, but you’re not Hopi until you do things as a Hopi.
[Like] there’s a lot that ladies do that some of the girls probably are not even
doing. And for the guys, going to the field or taking part and whatnot . . . You
know you can say it [I’m Hopi], but they [Hopi people] won’t believe you
until they see you doing it [actively involved in cultural practices].
Justin believed that one cannot just claim to be Hopi; one must demonstrate what
being and behaving as a Hopi is in everyday life. He further explained, “You know,
172
you’re born . . . [and] getting your Hopi name and going through all this stuff
[initiations/rites of passage] . . . [But if] from the start you didn’t live it so, I mean you
could call yourself I guess half, but you’re not full [Hopi].”
Justin held both family and youth responsible for the current language dilemma
among the Hopi youth. He surmised,
It could be their fault and [it] can also not be their fault. It’s not their fault
because maybe their parents or their grandfathers didn’t teach ‘em and they didn’t
force [expect] them to. And it’s their [Hopi youth] fault because they’re
lazy or they don’t want to do it. They don’t want to get off their seat and go to the
field, plant or at least do something. Most of the teenagers now…they don’t like
go through the Hopi way as they used to long time ago. Like for instance, I still
go to the fields and whatnot, but some of these teenagers, they don’t hardly go to
the field or into the Hopi religion . . . . There’s just a few.
Unlike his Hopi friends who, “just sit at home or they go to Flag[staff] or
somewhere, ’cuz they don’t worry about that [Hopi culture],” he is fully committed to the
Hopi way of life. He made sacrifices to do what his grandmother implored, “don’t let it
go.” The “benefit” is security and confidence in “behaving” as a Hopi: “I’m a
hardworking person you know ’cuz that’s the way I was brought up all this time . . . . I’m
still doing that,” he asserted.
These negative experiences directly related to their use of the Hopi language
heightened their personal insecurities and possibly was a significant factor for each youth
to enroll in Hopi language classes at the high school.

173
Hopi Language Classes
Dorian, Jared, and Justin took Hopi language classes for two years in high school,
but were not classmates. Each had a personal motivation for taking the class and gained
knowledge and skills that they deemed beneficial to them in personal ways. In this
section, I present their experiences in these classes, which includes their new insights into
and perspectives about the Hopi language.
Jared
Jared looked to the Hopi language class for some resolution to his personal
dilemma: “I took Hopi language to learn more Hopi because you can only take so much
. . . criticism from different people [who ask], ‘How come you don’t speak Hopi
anymore?” The relentless teasing from friends and family telling him, “You better learn
this,” compelled Jared to register for the class. He emphatically stated, “That’s what
really got me motivated to start learning it again, start learning it from someone . . . . I
couldn’t really motivate myself to learn it until I got to high school.” He took Hopi
language class during his freshman and senior years of high school.
The course title implied that students would learn to speak the Hopi language and
Jared achieved a rudimentary conversational ability, enough to “have fun with [Hopi]”—
initiating “friendly” conversations with various individuals. Jared stated, “We wanted to
learn [to speak Hopi] . . . get it out [speak it]. While he perceived speaking the Hopi
language to be an expectation of him by his family and others in the community, there
was also a strong desire to interact with other speakers, particularly elders in the
174
community. “You know sometimes when you get into a real conversation and you don’t
know what that person is saying and you want to talk Hopi to them. And then if you’re
meeting like the elders around here and you really want to meet them and greet them, you
want to talk Hopi to them you know; you don’t want to talk English. So that’s why I
wanted to take it [the Hopi class] to learn more,” he stated.
Jared described his expectation of the Hopi class as follows: “I was totally
shocked ’cuz I thought we would just be learning the language, but . . . we learned lots of
different things.” According to Jared, in Hopi language I and II, the emphasis was on
literacy development, but in Hopi language III and IV, cultural knowledge was the focus.
This complementary but different focus between the two classes was due to a change in
instructors. He stated, “We learned men’s and women’s roles, learning [cultural topics]
like the weather, the plants and hunting season as well as the language.” They also
learned to read petroglyphs, about what happens at Hopi weddings, and how clans are
related. These cultural topics were beneficial for Jared as he used this knowledge when
he attended several Hopi weddings, took a community college anthropology course, and
confirmed information he already knew.
Using Hopi to speak to the teacher and to classmates was a component of the
class routine. The students, including some who were non-speakers of Hopi, were
willing to comply with this expectation. “When I was taking that language class, yeah,
we[‘d] speak to each other in Hopi . . . ’cuz you know, they wanted to learn, you know,
get it out,” he stated. With practice, confidence was developed and Jared stated, “Once
you really got that going, once you got out of class, you know, you go out into the
175
hallways and talk to your friends in Hopi. They’d be teasing you again, but it’s like you
don’t care . . . . Then from then on, you kind of get into a playful conversation with Hopi,
but at least you’re speaking to them.” Jared described developing a confidence level high
enough that he took the language outside the classroom and engaged in friendly
conversations with various people such as the bus driver, the janitors, the cooks, and
students who understood Hopi. The response to his attempts from these individuals
appeared to have been very positive especially from the bus driver so that he made sure to
be first on the school bus in order to hold brief conversations with him. The
conversational exchange included responding to questions like, “Are you going to the
kiva tonight? Are you going to help out this weekend?”
Jared also extended his use of the Hopi language to other members of the village,
his grandmother, great-grandmother, cousins, older sister and brothers. He found himself
initiating a conversation in Hopi with unfamiliar individuals to determine whether they
were speakers or not! Watching television offered ample opportunities to “play” with the
language, making silly commentary in Hopi about what was seen. As a result, Jared
became a source of Hopi cultural knowledge and language for his immediate family,
particularly his brother who called him frequently asking him how to say words in Hopi.
Jared’s experience in Hopi language classes suggested that (1) Hopi youth possess a Hopi
linguistic ability that they want to “learn to get out;” (2) the traditional means of
acquiring language—language as cultural practice—can be revitalized and developed as a
curricular approach to teaching language referred to in education as using language as a
medium of instruction; the focus is placed on learning course content; and (3) that despite
176
the harsh methods—incessant and harsh teasing/criticism—employed by kin to “learn the
language,” the outcome has been to respond with an urgency to do so.
Dorian
Dorian stated, “What I got out of it was learning to read and write [the Hopi
language].” She took the Hopi language classes during her freshman and sophomore
years in high school. The motivation for taking the class came about as she considered
courses as a “college bound” student. She stated, “We had to take two years of foreign
language and I chose to get that [requirement] out of the way first.” Hopi, Navajo,
Spanish, and French were the foreign language options. When asked why she selected
Hopi, somewhat incredulously she answered, “Because! It’s who I am. I’m not Navajo;
I’m not Spanish; I’m not French. Yeah, I could get to learn other languages but I felt that
if I can’t speak my own language first, then, what business do I have for learning another,
[or] somebody else’s language.” Ironically, and in fact, she did learn somebody else’s
language—English—first. Like Jared and Justin, the decision to take the class was
personal, “I never even told my mom,” she said.
Dorian’s expectation of the class was that she would become a speaker. “That’s
what I thought it was gonna be, just learning how to speak it, actual learning the
language. But it was more culture . . . than it was actual learning the language,” she
stated. As such, for Dorian, the Hopi language class further accentuated her inability to
speak Hopi. She felt “left out” from conversations and interchanges between speakers in
Hopi language class: “[In the Hopi language class], the ones that could speak and
177
understand [Hopi] were the main ones that kept [speaking with each other] back and
forth. But because the rest of us didn’t understand or couldn’t speak back, we kind of felt
left out.” She described many of her classmates as Hopi speakers who took the class out
of curiosity or with an expectation to learn to read and write Hopi. “That was my
impression of it, but it being more of activities than the actual learning how to read and
write,” she stated.
During her freshman year, students were presented with basic Hopi vocabulary.
In her sophomore year, a Hopi speaker was hired to assist the teacher and utilized more
hands-on activities and projects focusing on Hopi culture. Such activities included
composing Hopi songs, weaving a pitkuna—a Hopi kilt—and a poster board project of a
Hopi woman’s life cycle. The poster project left a vivid impression on Dorian who
gained a deep appreciation for the significance of women in Hopi culture. Subsequently,
she incorporated this into creating a strong image of herself as a Hopi woman and
presented herself thusly during her reign as Miss Indian Arizona.
Dorian described her classmates as full-blood Hopi, “except for a few,” and one
student who was “maybe just a sliver of Hopi.” She was especially impressed with the
initiative of this particular student to “at least try, make an effort to learn when most of us
here [full Hopi, born and raised on Hopi], we don’t wanna learn that [Hopi language].”
She explained, “Part of it is . . . they’re already soo far into modern society that it’s kinda
hard for them to switch over. They find this way [the modern Western lifestyle] easier
than the other way [the traditional Hopi lifestyle].” In other words, Hopi youth have
succumbed to the “easy” life that came with the conveniences and luxuries of the outside
178
world—vehicles, electricity, grocery stores, entertainment—brought into the Hopi
environment. Consequently, Hopis have become “lazy” in maintaining the essence of
Hopi culture that requires commitment—allegiance and loyalty to a way of life that
required a strong work ethic and self-discipline in adhering to the tenets of the Hopi way
of life. She added, “And plus, some parents don’t . . . I don’t know if they’re scared to
teach [their children] or if they’re really busy and forget about it, but sometimes I hear
when a child wants to learn something, [and they ask], ‘Mom, tell me this or tell me that,’
[the parents respond] ‘Ahh, you don’t need to know that. You’re too young,’ or ‘I don’t
have the time.” In other words, Hopi parents have not provided, by example or
responses, such adherence.
Dorian described the dynamics of the Hopi class that included both speakers and
non-speakers of Hopi as one in which the speakers generally interacted in Hopi with each
other. She pointed out that while it was not their intention to marginalize non-speakers,
nevertheless, she as a non-speaker felt “left out” and assumed that other non-speakers
likely felt the same. On a positive note, she added, “When you get your assignments, you
ask those people [speakers of Hopi for help].” She acknowledged that they were
accommodating and helpful, “[but] you still felt uncomfortable, like you should already
know it.”
Overall, Dorian expressed that the class was highly beneficial in that “it reminded
me of just the simple stuff . . . but what I got out of it was learning to read and write it.”
It was logical she thought, that, “Since we learned English, you know by reading and
writing . . . why can’t it be so for Hopi?” Her thoughts were confirmed and she asserted,
179
“It’s simple! I mean compared to English. It’s a whole lot simpler, and with the actual
words, you just say it as it’s spelled.” For Dorian, it seemed that practicing Hopi reading
and writing would eventually lead to Hopi speaking. Unfortunately the effort required
committing time, and creating space for Hopi language use and practice in daily life; this
did not happen. Instead, Dorian stated, “Even if I did learn some new words, when we
finished that class . . . I just went straight back to English because I never had that time,
or the opportunity, that 45 to 50 minutes to speak or to have somebody speaking back to
me in Hopi.”
Regarding the classroom instructors, she stated,
With the first part [first class], [the teacher assistant] was kinda in and out ’cuz
she had another position in the school. And [the teacher] you know, she was just
a certified teacher; she didn’t know how to speak Hopi. But with [the teacher
assistant] that second year, he was actually there every day. And when Emory
would come, he [the teacher assistant] would sit down with us and take notes and
learn with us . . . . And then when he would speak to us, all he would speak was
Hopi.
Speaking Hopi and being consistent were important to being a “qualified” and
“appropriate” Hopi language teacher.
The literacy skills, particularly writing, that Dorian began to develop in Hopi
language class are ones she has applied in her personal life, especially during her reign as
Miss Indian Arizona. She stated, “When I record somebody, I try and write it down.
That way I can actually see it too. And I’ve learned the alphabet . . . and the pattern of a
[Hopi] sentence and so I just basically write it out and [then] I ask my mom, ‘What are
they saying,’ and underneath I’ll put the English translation.” She has recorded and
180
translated invocations and songs prepared for her by others during her reign as Miss
Indian Arizona and affirmed that she will continue to apply this skill in her personal life.
Dorian’s experiences in Hopi language classes highlighted the challenges of Hopi
language teaching and learning—co-opting schools to assume this responsibility and the
role of literacy: (1) creating “space” for the Hopi language and culture under the
umbrella of “foreign languages;” (2) teaching culture as separate from language; (3)
utilizing community language and culture “experts” in the public school setting which
often requires “certification;” (4) limited exposure, use, and practice of language; (5)
bridging home and school; and (6) developing a functional use for literacy in the
contemporary Hopi world.
Justin
Justin stated, “I can read [written Hopi], but I can’t write [the Hopi language].”
He took the Hopi language during his sophomore and junior years of high
school to “learn about what’s in the Hopi language . . . not to forget it.” This was a
personal decision; he did not solicit advice regarding the classes from anyone. His
expectation of the class was generally to learn “what’s out there [about Hopi] that I didn’t
know.” In summary he stated,
We mostly talked Hopi and learned how to weave and learn about plants. I also
learned that each village had a different accent which I didn’t know at the time
but I know now. And then just about the history of Hopis which I thought was
really interesting . . . like places where us Hopis came from, the ruins . . . where
we are, where we used to live until now. I think that was the best part.
181
Students were expected to talk Hopi in the class. Justin explained, “For awhile
he [Hopi teaching assistant] made us talk Hopi for about half an hour before class started
. . . . Whenever we want to ask the teacher [something], or we had to talk to our
classmates, we had to say it in Hopi which I thought was fun ’cuz you get to learn how to
talk it, understand it. Instead of being shy, you had to do that [speak Hopi] in the class.”
According to Justin, most of his classmates “could understand and speak it . . . [and]
probably . . . just wanted to refresh their minds and learn more.” When asked how he and
his classmates felt about being expected to talk, he replied, “I guess we were all shy
[about] how we said it. I guess we were scared about people . . . saying, ‘That’s not how
to say it.’ But I think we got over that feeling ’cuz we were in there for the whole year.
We got used to each other so it was more fun.”
Although the classroom became a nurturing and safe environment for the students
to overcome their shyness while practicing Hopi, Justin admitted that he “wouldn’t go out
and speak to my friends because I was shy to speak to them in Hopi. I thought they
would make fun of me. Here, Justin pointed out a subtle difference between peers
“making fun of” his speaking ability and “teasing” by family and kin as described by
Jared. In Justin’s case, peers who make fun of his speaking Hopi are displaying a
behavior that may reflect insecurities about their own inability to speak Hopi as well as a
discomfort in the use of Hopi in their interactions; they behave defensively.
Instead, Justin brought what he learned to the attention of his family: “I would
come home and show what I learned to my parents and they would say, ‘You know I
never knew that, or yeah, I knew that,’ and they would tell me more about it.” The
182
teaching assistant created a safe and nurturing environment for speaking Hopi: “In the
beginning of the year when we first started he would tell us, ‘Just don’t worry about what
people say. This is your language and your tradition. We just want you to speak it,’ and
so we [students] thought about it and we said, ‘Yeah, we need to talk it,’ so we did.”
Justin’s perspective on the importance of a Hopi-speaking teacher was expressed
in his observation of those who were in this position. “[The teacher assistant], he was our
teacher, a Hopi teacher and then Emory Sekaquaptewa would come and help us learn
more Hopi,” he stated. Although a certified teacher was the “instructor of record,” Justin
viewed the teacher assistant, a Hopi speaker, as the instructor of the Hopi class.
Emory Sekaquaptewa, a research anthropologist at the University of Arizona who
has spent much of his professional career documenting the Hopi language in its written
form also made monthly visits of three days each to the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School and
other Hopi community schools as a guest instructor of the Hopi language. He introduced
the syntactical and grammatical structure of the language to the students. In this
particular academic year, the teacher assistant, a Second Mesa speaker, and Emory, a
Third Mesa speaker, also afforded an opportunity for the students to learn about the
distinct dialectal differences between speakers from these two mesas. More importantly,
Justin as well as others were able to understand, “That’s [dialect] what makes it different,
but it’s still the same meaning; they’re the same.” These two teachers showed the class
that the Hopi language is mutually intelligible across the three mesas. The distinct
dialects are attributable to pronunciation that did not affect the mutually shared meaning.
183
Hopi literacy was also a large component of the Hopi language class. Justin
stated, “I can’t write Hopi, but I can read Hopi.” He continues to practice this skill on
and off since completing the class by reading a published book with both English and
Hopi text. He explained, “One [book] has one side English and the other side Hopi. I
read the Hopi part and if there’s words that I don’t know, then I would follow to the
English and see what it means. Then I’ll go back to the Hopi and I’ll read that part.”
This has become a personal and private activity.
Justin’s experience indicated that the Hopi language classes provide Hopi youth
with benefits: the opportunity to gain a metalinguistic awareness of their language which
further instills a sense of appreciation and integrity for the language; a “safe”
environment to use and practice using the language conducive to developing confidence
and competence; identify Hopi youth as potential catalysts for bringing the language back
into the home; merging the efforts of school and community by bringing community
members into the school as validated “teachers” of Hopi; and offers Hopi literacy as an
avenue for Hopi youth who are motivated in pursuing an interest and curiosity about the
language to act on their personal agency at an individual level.
Seeking Personal Fulfillment: “Wanting in Tradition”
The cultural experiences of each of these students and especially their
participation in Hopi ceremonies revealed that not being able speak or fully understand
the Hopi language did not exclude them from their continued involvement in these
activities. In fact, their involvement spurred a newfound motivation and urgency to

184
“learn” the Hopi language in order to gain a deeper understanding of and spiritual
fulfillment from their continued participation in social dances and increasing involvement
in the religious ceremonies. “To understand the songs, the language, and what people say
[Hopi teachings],” requires the ability to understand the Hopi language because Hopi
traditions that communicate the totality of the Hopi way of life are conveyed orally.
Jared reflection conveyed this realization: “It kind of makes you think again, you need to
learn this if you want to progress and they [elders, ceremonial fathers] want to teach you
more. They want you to understand it [the language] first.”
Each of these students attached particular importance to Hopi songs as part of the
“ritualized performances” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004), or social dances they
participated in and the katsina dances they attended throughout their lives. Katsina songs
are central in the ceremonial rituals as well as the religious societies into which each
generation of youth, both male and female, is inducted. Dorian, as a participant in the
women’s Basket Dance, described her conscientious efforts to understand the Hopi songs
which accompanied this female ritual performance: “Right now, I don’t know what the
songs mean, but I’m still at that stage of learning the words and the rhythm and how it’s
put together. Then once I learn a full song, I’ll ask . . . my aunt, she’s in the Basket
Dance, ‘What does it [the song] say?’ And she’ll tell me,” she explained. Although she
recognized isolated words, Dorian stated, “The rest, it’s like a puzzle, and I don’t have
the missing pieces.” The “missing pieces” that eluded both Jared and Dorian as
participants in these male and female religious societies are the meanings embedded in
the Hopi language.

185
Even without a strong linguistic foundation in Hopi, Jared and Dorian
demonstrated a remarkable and intuitive understanding of Hopi songs and ritualized
performances to be both powerful and significant in purpose. Each had participated in
these ritualized performances since childhood when their participation was only to “go
out and have fun.” As adolescents and young adults, each had participated in part to
fulfill their familial and community responsibility. Now they also felt a strong “pull” to
participate more from a desire to “feel” good, important, and “connected” to something
significant to the Hopi people—they sought personal and spiritual fulfillment. Dorian
best described the “pull” to participate in the social dances beyond adolescence:
For awhile, I kinda stepped away from it [dancing] . . . [and then I said], ‘Mom, I
need to dance.’ (She was able to “step away” for only two dances before taking
part again.) When that drum goes, you don’t hear it, you feel it . . . . You don’t
know what they’re [men] saying, but you still get that feeling [of connection and
common purpose] that you go by . . . . It’s like telepathy; you still have that same
[common] thought running through everybody’s mind.
Songs and dances provided a powerful medium for Dorian not only to sense that
songs and dancing communicate much about the Hopi view of life, but also to “connect”
with the ideas and values expressed through them. She added, “It’s neat, that’s why I
always like to take part. I like that feeling.” More importantly, Dorian confirmed being
consumed—physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually—by the purposeful “awe-
inspiring drama and intensity of feeling projected in these performances,” that are
imparted through the whole “complex of performance features—[song], ritual, dance,
clothing, and associated objects and images,” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 462).
Additionally, participation provided a sense of contributing to something of great
importance to the Hopi people: “You’re not doing this just for entertainment, you’re
186
doing it for a reason: for rain, for prayers, for life,” Dorian stated. Essentially, while
these youth did not fully understand nor speak the Hopi language, through their
participation in ritualized performances, accompanied by songs, they were in fact being
socialized into Hopi society through the Hopi language in its most “spiritually powerful
forms . . . [and] through which [the Hopi] people come in touch with the preordained
world of Hopi” (Sekaquaptewa, 1997, p. 1).
As a speaker of Hopi, Justin was privy to the Hopi world described and
communicated through katsina songs. He emphasized the importance of “know[ing] the
[words] to each kachina song.” Sekaquaptewa confirmed this, “In many songs, katsinas
sing positive reminders of the practices that will lead to a fulfillment in life, [and]
sometimes the katsinam [pl.] voice their observations in the form of more direct
admonitions that express their disappointment with current Hopi behavior,”
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, pp. 468-469). Because Justin understood the
messages expressed through songs, katsina songs also offered a means for “talking about
what’s happening now,” pointing out the consequences—cultural and linguistic loss—of
the apathy and complacency of the Hopi people in adhering to Hopi traditions, while
imploring individual and collective action: “I think that’s what needs to get into
people’s head; what’s really happening now and how it’s gonna be later on,” he stated.
Katsina songs have served to remind and guide each generation of Hopi people in the
principles of Hopi life, a way of life “based in corn agriculture,” (Sekaquaptewa &
Washburn, 2004, p. 458). This study revealed that songs still emit a powerful influence
on the Hopi people as a part of ritualized performances. For Justin, the ultimate cost of
187
language shift would become evident when the Hopi people would no longer “know the
songs [be reminded of the practices that will lead to a fulfillment in life].”
The Hopi principles of life are embodied in the “metaphorical words and phrases”
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 458) in katsina songs that are “perfectly clear” (p.
460) to Hopi who understood the language intimately. Many of today’s katsina songs
contain the “same conceptual metaphors that are found in Hopi songs [in the] historic and
prehistoric past” (p. 460). Still, Dorian and Jared, while unable to gain an “intimate”
understanding of Hopi songs, had acquired an extraordinary sense of this linguistic
connection to the remote and ancient Hopi past. They referred to the messages the songs
communicated as something “you should already know” or should have learned “long
time ago.” Indeed, the messages conveyed through Hopi songs, particularly katsina
songs, serve to “prompt the Hopi conscience” because the Hopi people “are supposed to
know these things” (p. 465). Dorian had become keenly aware of this in seeking the
meanings of songs through English translations: She stated, “There’s some things in
Hopi that can’t be explained in English. I notice that because my mom, sometimes she’ll
just have to speak in Hopi.” So, for Dorian, there is “that little piece missing”—the
meaning and the associated understandings that are not accessible without an intimate
knowledge of the language. “Getting the specifics” of Hopi song and culture will
continue to elude her and other Hopi who do not pursue a linguistic competence in Hopi.
188
Summary
This chapter demonstrates that although Dorian and Jared, in particular, had each
attained varying degrees of competence in the social and the religious domains of their
Hopi world, their new adult status now highlighted and heightened their awareness of
their linguistic shortcomings. Perceived as adults, their inability to use the language
positioned them on the periphery of the Hopi social and religious domains. Jared, in
particular, was subjected to relentless and often harsh “criticism” and Dorian experienced
feelings of alienation. Both expressed frustration for having taken Hopi for granted while
growing up. On the other hand, Justin, who describes himself as a speaker of Hopi, is
disconcerted by the diminishing reverence for Hopi traditions held by many youth, yet he
had also observed a positive change in attitude among some.
Although the motivations that led each of these students to take Hopi language
classes in high school differed—Justin “to find out what’s out there” about the Hopi
language, Jared to address the relentless teasing and criticism of family and others, and
Dorian as a college-bound student—each strengthened the cultural knowledge they had
acquired informally as well as developing a degree of basic Hopi literacy.31 However,
neither Dorian nor Jared achieved a proficiency in speaking the Hopi language and Justin
did not overcome his reluctance to converse in Hopi with his peers and is challenged in
using Hopi to speak to his younger sister. This goal of creating speakers of Hopi
31
Hopi Language classes: Short-range goals—(1) building a speaking vocabulary, (2) sentence formation
based in real-life situational activities, (3) comprehension of spoken Hopi, and (4) introducing Hopi
language literacy. Long-range goals—(1) for students to gain an awareness of their Hopi identity through
the language, (2) provide students with a basic knowledge of the language that will provide the motivation
for some to pursue making the Hopi language a speaking language, (3) motivate students to promote the
use of the Hopi language in the home among parents and grandparents, and (4) encourage interdependence
among students (Nicholas, 2000).
189
requires extensive use, practice, support and encouragement beyond the walls of the
classroom.
Nevertheless, each of these youth was compelled to become more involved in
these domains giving particular attention to Hopi songs as a means to access and gain
deeper spiritual understanding. Each also espoused a strong belief that the ritualized
performances, accompanied by song, will continue to be practiced because as Jared
stated, “People are gonna always have . . . social dances . . . . That’s gonna involve Hopi
[language], singing Hopi songs. That’s just how it’s [culture and language vitality]
gonna keep going.” According to these youth, the vitality of the Hopi language in the
form of songs, and through the venue of ritualized performances is assured for
succeeding generations of Hopi. Becoming “fully” Hopi, which includes a Hopi
linguistic competence, is a goal they will pursue.
The influence of Hopi culture and personal strength cultivated in their
participation in the traditional activities bound each of these youth with a sense of duty to
perpetuate Hopi culture and language as members of the next parent generation. Yet, like
their parents, their own efforts to “balance Hopi and English” has been challenging; the
result of a shift they perceive in the behavior and attitude among the Hopi people from a
collective maintenance of language as cultural practice to the individual maintenance of
language and cultural practice through a choice of personal use.
In the next chapter, I address the research question of how contemporary Hopi
youth internalize the essential principles and values of becoming distinctly Hopi. This
study revealsed that through active participation and involvement in Hopi culture, each of
190
these youth gained varying degrees of competency in socially defined Hopi contexts
which is the Hopi identity formation process. The Hopi describe this process with the
words: “Hopiqatsit ang nùutim hintsakme’ Hopisinoniwtingwu.” “Participating along
with others in the Hopi way of life, one becomes Hopi.”

191
CHAPTER 6
THE HOPI IDENTITY FORMATION PROCESS: ACTIVE PARTICIPATION AND

INVOLVEMENT
This chapter addresses the research question, “When Hopi youth are no longer
socialized in their heritage language, are they still learning the cultural and social
knowledge, or acquiring the important principles and values of Hopi citizenship?” The
study findings revealed (1) that each youth, by her/his participation in the socio-cultural
interactions, routines, and environments of Hopi traditions and practices, gained varying
degrees of competency in these socially defined contexts (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986) and
(2) that their collective experiences made explicit the principles and ethics essential to
developing a distinctly Hopi identity. The principles and ethics that underlie the Hopi
way of life are inherent in the life experiences of these Hopi youth and are discussed in
the remainder of this chapter. I use the metaphors of “Hopi farmer,” “Miss Indian
Arizona,” and “Hopi musician,” to introduce and discuss the experiences of each youth.
I begin with Justin, whom I refer to as “Hopi farmer.” His case underscored the
notion of “language as cultural practice” indicating that “words have a home in the
context of culture—in the course of daily activities, in social institutions . . . they have
meaning within these contexts” (Sekaquaptewa as cited in Nicholas, 2004, p. 31). I
follow with Jared’s life history which revealed the “push and pull” of negotiating a
bicultural lifestyle that was often in conflict with the influences from the outside world.
The tensions manifested in substance abuse and their associated behaviors and touched
his extended family as well becoming a social ill which plagues contemporary Hopi
192
society. However, Jared was compelled by a sense of conduct owed to his immediate and
extended family and found refuge in music, hence the metaphor of “Hopi musician.”
Next, I draw on Dorian’s unique experience as Miss Indian Arizona to point out that
often it is encounters with the world outside Hopi which highlight how much one has
internalized the principles and ethics of one’s heritage culture. Moreover, the cases of
these youth exemplify the Hopi understanding that active participation and involvement
in the cultural practices and rituals of Hopi affects and influences the individual. Hence,
in spite of the fact that, as Dorian stated, “Most of the time when you’re growing up, it’s
English [that is used],” each internalized the “expected ways of thinking, feeling, and
acting” that defined them as Hopi individuals.
I conclude with their reflections and predictions regarding contemporary Hopi
society and the future vitality of the Hopi language informed by their life experiences and
expressed from their new status as young adults who will assume the responsibility for
Hopi linguistic and cultural continuity.
Hopiqatsit Ang Nuutum Hintsakme’ Hopisinoniwtini.

Participating Along with Others in the Hopi Way of Life, One Becomes a Hopi
Justin: Hopi Farmer
Justin spent considerable time in his family’s corn fields. For Justin, working in
the fields with his father and male relatives was more than just the act or process of
planting, more than just engaging in a traditional activity; planting corn by hand was a
personal duty and obligation to continue this Hopi tradition. Justin firmly believed that
193
he was “born and raised” to become a Hopi farmer, and this belief figured significantly in
his plans following graduation from high school. He stated, “For me, leaving this place
and my farming, the culture, that just got to me; that’s [schooling] way down [far away]
there, so I just left that [educational plan] just to be out here.” Justin chose to remain on
the reservation, look after the family’s fields, and carry on the Hopi tradition of farming.
Participating in planting corn by hand since early childhood, Justin learned that
tending to the corn is fundamental to the Hopi way of life: “Way back then, we [Hopis],
that’s how we survived, [by] planting the corn. We ate from what we planted,” he
asserted. Corn and planting remain at the core of Hopi existence and survival—more so
in the emotional and spiritual sense in contemporary times. The cultural significance of
planting corn and of being a Hopi farmer was frequently expressed to him by his late
grandmother and modeled by his male kin.
Accompanying his father and other male relatives to the fields beginning in early
childhood, Justin acquired the specialized skills and knowledge of Hopi dry farming. He
stated, “Because we’ve [as young men] been doing that [planting] most of our lives, we
knew how to do it [plant], what the process was, and what the procedures were.” He
learned that planting was foremost a personal endeavor using a single, hand-held
planting stick “on your own instead of having somebody else do it for you.” The
significance of the “act” of planting corn by hand is described in Chapter 1. Individually,
and from personal conviction, each Hopi man contributes to this tradition.
According to Justin, the method of digging is specific to “what you’re planting”—
corn, watermelon, squash, pumpkin, or gourds—as is the size of hole, the number of
194
seeds per hole, and whether the seeds should touch. As the corn emerges, it is necessary
to assist the strongest plants. “And when the corn comes up, you have to thin ‘em so the
stronger ones will get more water,” Justin said. In addition, the very “survival” of the
corn in a harsh environment is a tremendous challenge: “We just hope the crows, the
rodents, and the worms don’t eat all our plants ’cuz those are the ones that hurt us by
eating our crops,” he said. Concern for the well-being of plants is incessant. He likened
sustaining one’s plants to that of providing for and nourishing one’s children physically,
emotionally, and spiritually; like children who assure the continuity of the Hopi people,
their growth is nurtured through words of encouragement: “You can talk to the plants;
they’re just like your children. [You tell them] ‘Just be strong as you’re growing up.
Don’t let anything bother you.’ And they’ll hear you,” he explained. Justin clearly
understood that tending to the corn, like tending to one’s children requires a long-term
commitment. The economic responsibility a Hopi male has to his family is learned and
instilled through the act of planting corn by hand as is the manner of “nurturing” the
growth of one’s children.
Maintaining this long-held tradition required stringent attention and personal
sacrifice; this attention to one’s “corn children” is severely tested by modern distractions
in contemporary times. According to Justin, every day and every weekend was devoted
to the corn. There was seldom time for friends and boyhood pursuits. “I really want to
do stuff with my friends, like go to town with them . . . [but] I kinda got used to it,
skipping the other stuff [fun times],” Justin stated.

195
The self-discipline, responsibility and commitment to corn Justin relayed was
inherent in the personal characteristics her developed from inclusion and expectation in
the activities surrounding caring for the corn commencing at an early age. “Do you
wanna stay [at home]?” Or “Do you have other things to do?” were unnecessary
questions and unheard by Justin. Instead, “Come on, let’s go,” was the rousing call he
heard from his father to head out to the fields. This staunch commitment to the planting
tradition was also modeled explicitly by his father and male relatives. It is the way of life
for a Hopi farmer, a difficult life that requires one to work hard and thereby acquire a
strong work ethic. Justin perceived himself as having acquired this work ethic: “I’m a
hard working person, ’cuz that’s the way I was brought up . . . . I’m still doing that
[working hard],” he stated with pride.
At home, Justin observed a reciprocal commitment from the women folk as they
attended to the corn brought from the cornfields: He recalled, “They’ll [grandmother and
mothers] clean [it] and then they’ll take it off the corn cob; we’ll save it or we’ll boil it.”
His maternal grandmother used her tutsaya—yucca sifter, to clean the corn, then placed
the corn kernels on a screen or bedsheet to dry, and finally, stored them for the next
year’s planting. Justin’s “mothers,” his biological mother and her sisters, continue this
tradition. Each member of his immediate and extended family contributed
wholeheartedly to tending to the corn. The family’s commitment to carry on the tradition
of planting was an established routine in Justin’s life. Justin learned that interdependence
and reciprocity were essential in Hopi society. This extended to other cultural activities
in which he participated such as social dancing.

196
During social dances Justin observed: “As a dancer, my dad and my uncles, both
sides [maternal and paternal], always helped me out when I was small . . . . Everybody’s
there to help you. The men help you through the ceremonies and the ladies and grandmas
will help you too; they’ll make food for you.” In turn, Justin reciprocated through his
involvement in kiva activities: He said, “If there’s dances down here [in my home
village], I help. I go to help my dad at his village. I also go to my kwa’a’s [paternal
grandfather’s kiva at his village]. So I go to all three of ‘em [village kivas].” In the kiva,
Justin recognized that his active involvement demonstrated a personal commitment to
maintaining this Hopi tradition and assured the elders of Hopi continuity: “I guess it
feels good to them ’cuz we’re learning and we’re the future for them . . . . For boys it’s
planting, and for girls it’s preparing food,” he asserted.
Despite the rigorous work and sacrifice required of a Hopi farmer, especially in
contemporary times when, as a young Hopi, Justin was only one of a few young Hopis
active in Hopi farming, Justin also acknowledged a deep sense of fulfillment and
enjoyment in his role as Hopi farmer: “When I go out there [to the field], I always have
fun, especially with my uncles; I always have fun out there,” he admitted. And unlike
many of his cousins and friends who were not “brought up” to carry out this male duty,
Justin was self-assured that he had met his obligations as a Hopi and could rightfully
claim, “I’m Hopi.” He avowed, “You know you can say it [I’m Hopi], but they [Hopi
people] won’t believe you until they see you do it [carry out one’s duties].” More
importantly, Justin also recognized that his parents and family had carried out their
responsibility to ensure his role and place in Hopi society. For many of his friends and
197
cousins, this was not the case because “they weren’t taught how to do this [planting]” by
their male kin. Justin’s experience demonstrates that his socialization into Hopi society
and culture through the Hopi language remained largely unaffected by the language shift
from Hopi to English that he experienced in school. The Hopi values imbued in Hopi
traditions became an intrinsic part of his Hopi identity: “Since you’re Hopi you’re
brought up that way. You can’t let it go; it’s just gonna be too hard [to forget this
upbringing],” he proclaimed.
This strong sense of interdependence and communal reciprocity was reflected in
his career aspiration of becoming a massage therapist: “People help me and I want to
give something back to ’em,” he stated. According to Hopi belief, Justin’s orientation
toward this profession is that he has been “gifted” with the skill for healing. This belief is
expressed in the Hopi words, “Hopi pan aw tuwat tuptsiwni’yta; hakiy maamayaniqe,
pam put makiwa’yta.” “The Hopi people have the belief, that to “diagnose” the nature of
a problem or physical ailment “by touch” is a gift, or inheritance of the skill.” Although
Justin chose to remain on the reservation for now, he remained adamant about pursuing a
career in the health field at some time in his future.
Justin’s cultural and linguistic experiences give a positive outlook to the future of
Hopi culture suggesting that while time and contact with the outside world have brought
many changes, there continue to be Hopi people, like Justin’s family, who are committed
to “traditionalism;” that corn, as a way of life, will continue to give purpose and guide the
Hopi people toward their intended destiny.

198
Jared: Hopi Musician
For Jared, going to the family’s fields was a cultural routine during his early
childhood as well. He recalled memorable images of fun times as the whole family
accompanied his maternal grandfather to the field. As Jared grew older, his male role in
this family responsibility and in maintaining the traditional practice of Hopi planting
became more apparent to him: “When you’re down there in the field, that’s the man’s
role you know,” he asserted. Jared was adamant that he would carry on the tradition of
planting, “especially if [I] get married”—a married man’s symbolic demonstration of his
economic responsibility and commitment to his family.
However, Jared expressed a significant void in continuing this tradition due to the
absence of his biological father early in his life as well as the premature deaths of his
maternal uncles, the male kin whom Jared would accompany to the fields. Instead, Jared
accompanied his mother and grandmother in the routine care of his great grandmother
helping out with “whatever needed to be done.” Spending time with his great
grandmother provided a refuge from his loneliness as the youngest child whose older
siblings were with friends and parents who were at work.
Participating in this responsibility instilled in Jared a sense of duty, conduct owed
to family that strongly influenced how he later responded in steering clear of “bad
things—smoking, drinking, starting fights, going to parties; just getting into trouble.” He
had witnessed the impact of “getting into trouble” on the families of his peers, cousins,
and friends who engaged in these destructive behaviors. Jared also knew that his
involvement in these activities would inevitably affect his immediate and extended
199
family. His interest in music and learning to play the guitar further provided Jared with
an avenue to avoid such qa hopi activities. Although the “opportunities” to get involved
abounded, Jared “thought about different people, and asked himself, ‘How would they
react to me? How would they react to my parents?’” It was clear to Jared that his
behaviors could have far-reaching repercussions for his family and important that he not
become a source of trouble and shame for his family, or establish a “bad rep[utation]” for
them as a result of poor choices or qa Hopi behaviors. As such, Jared displayed a
remarkable maturity in the manner with which he responded to these pressures expressed
in the Hopi words: “Pam wuwni’y hinti.” “He made a smart choice.”
As Jared reached adolescence, he was also routinely made aware of his male
responsibilities in ceremonial activities by his grandmother, mother, and maternal uncle
who always told him to “Help out.” He explained, “[They told me] if you don’t want to
take part in the actual dancing, at least come by and help sing or something [gathering
appropriate clothing, other paraphernalia].” Such participation would prepare him for
his later ceremonial obligations in his village. Inclusion in ceremonial activities was
extended in the form of gentle invitation/reminder from significant others in the
ceremonial society. Jared stated, “Your uncles and different [men] from your kiva [say]
‘Come down and sing.’ It’s kinda up to you if you want to; nobody forces you, [but] you
feel good if you want to.” The implication is that sense of duty compels one to
participate, leaving one with a personal sense of fulfillment having met this obligation.
In the kiva, Jared observed that the village men, “like your uncle, your maternal
grandfather, your father” are charged with the duty of passing on knowledge about the
200
Hopi world to youth that is often expressed through song: “They give you a lesson about
the song, the story behind the song . . . mostly [describing] nature—the clouds, the fields
of corn, everybody being happy.” Sekaquaptewa (personal communication, May 25,
2004) confirmed this, “The words [of social dance songs] paint images of a beautiful
world, prosperity, with the rains bringing all of that so that the people can feel good about
seeing this image as something they all would want.” Through kiva instruction, Jared
learned that Hopi songs relay salient aspects of the Hopi world. His participation was
also preparation for assuming his later role as “uncle” to his sister’s children and others
through clan and ceremonial relationships. Also impressed upon Jared was the idea that
one should participate in ceremonial activities with strong personal conviction. This
often weighed heavily on Jared because he often heard the elders state, ‘That [ceremony]
didn’t go good ’cuz something happened [something or someone brought disharmony].”
Undoubtedly, Jared was intensely affected by the personal sense of commitment required
in order that the ceremony will be beneficial for all the people.
Jared was also reminded about certain ceremonial responsibilities and obligations
that encompassed a wider circle of relationships extending beyond his immediate family
to his clan family. Consciousness about these obligations appeared to exert a significant
amount of pressure on Jared: “We’re all related, [by] clans, [and it involves] certain
responsibilities that our clans have to do [ceremonially or for each other] . . . . We have to
come out here . . . . When I don’t come take part [in the ceremonial activities], I feel
guilty and then I feel sorry about it later.” The sense of guilt is indicative of the deep
sense of duty and obligation instilled throughout Jared’s life.

201
Like Justin, the influences of Hopi culture particularly “helping out” or
reciprocity was reflected in Jared’s career interest to pursue his passion for music and
later “to bring it back out here;” this was how he could give back to his community. The
principles and values—reciprocity in conduct owed to “kin” and ceremonial
obligations—which guided Jared as he made life decisions confirms the strong influence
of Hopi culture.
Dorian: Miss Indian Arizona
Dorian’s sense of being Hopi was made more clear to her through her ventures
away from the reservation—visitations to other tribal communities as Miss Indian
Arizona. The outside world perceives Hopi society as unique in its continued adherence
to cultural traditions amidst contemporary struggles. This cultural strength is admired by
other tribal cultures and mainstream society. Dorian’s experiences left her especially
stunned about the extent of cultural loss suffered by some tribal communities that she
visited: She stated, “You look at these other tribes and . . . compared to us, they don’t
have [traditional] dances . . . . They don’t even go through traditional puberty or
traditional weddings. I mean they don’t have a year-round [ceremonial] calendar like
us.” She expressed renewed pride in her Hopi identity, a deeper appreciation for Hopi
culture, and she was personally empowered by her biculturalism.
In addition, Dorian found that her knowledge of Hopi culture and society far
surpassed that of every other pageant contestant. Somewhat insecure at first, and initially
intimidated by the knowledge of contemporary tribal issues exhibited by the other

202
contestants, Dorian now stated, “Yeah, it’s good to know [the] modern [world] and the
education, but . . . to represent a Native tribe, they [pageant contestants] have to have that
[cultural] knowledge . . . what the roots [of their people] are; not just [state] ‘We’re the
Piipash people; we do the Bird Dance.” In fact, Dorian was certain that her knowledge of
her people and culture was the determining factor in winning the title of Miss Indian
Arizona. Previous challenges to her Hopi identity were no longer as threatening.
Instead, Dorian seemed to realize that every Hopi individual is vested with a personal
responsibility and obligation to maintain the substance of Hopi culture by adhering to the
traditions in a personal way and from a personal sense of duty (Spicer, 1975).
During her reign as Miss Indian Arizona, Dorian introduced herself to diverse
audiences using the Hopi language: She stated, “I always put my Hopi name before my
Pahaana, English name, and then where I’m from, and I don’t start like [with] Arizona
[or] Second Mesa. I go from the village on up . . . . I’m from the village of Supawlavi,
and tell ‘em my clan, then, just what Hopi is about.” Dorian explained that using the
Hopi language to introduce herself “kinda tells ‘em that you have a grasp of the
language.” Undoubtedly, Dorian’s efforts in using the Hopi language albeit in this
limited way, was important to presenting a strong public image of herself as a young
Hopi woman. From a personal sense of duty she was making a strong effort to use Hopi
in order to convey her sense of cultural identity. This indicated that the Hopi language
continued to be viewed as an important aspect of cultural identity. “If you know it [the
Hopi language], speak it; use it,” she proclaimed. Further, she alluded to a deeper sense
203
of the importance of the Hopi language: “You don’t learn it for nothing . . . they
[parents] didn’t teach us how to introduce ourselves in Hopi for nothing.”
Dorian also stated: “If I were off the reservation, I would still have those
[culturally influenced] thoughts, but . . . it wouldn’t be the same because I don’t have that
interaction with the actual doings anymore.” Her words confirmed that without a strong
origin in language, the cultural strength of today’s Hopi youth will likely be tested,
particularly if they should leave the cultural influence of the reservation for any length of
time.
The underlying concepts of duty, obligation, commitment, and responsibility
permeate and resonate throughout the cultural life experiences of the three youth in this
study. In the Hopi sense, for every right there is a duty, an obligation. Moreover,
claiming that right equals owing a duty to acknowledge that right, or loyalty—
encompassing the principles of mutual love and caring, help and assistance embedded in
Hopi teachings—owed to all members of a communal society and demonstrated through
one’s conduct. As a result, a social conscious—imposed as a duty on one’s conscious—
develops regarding one’s conduct owed to one’s own immediate and extended family
recognizable by the use of kinship terms; so these kin are owed extra consideration. Hopi
is always conscious of clan identity manifest in many different customs and practices so
that one cannot forget her/his membership and special obligations (E. Sekaquaptewa,
personal communication, May 16, 2007). Hence, although language is a community
birthright, whether the birthright is used or not as well as the degree to which it is used is
a matter of personal choice.

204
In their new status as young adults, Jared, Dorian, and Justin express her/his
thoughts from a new attentiveness and understanding of their sense of loyalty and the
evolving role and responsibilities associated with it. In the following section, I present
the thoughts of each youth regarding (1) contemporary Hopi society; and (2) the Hopi
language.
Contemporary Hopi Society
Jared
For Jared, the significant generational changes in contemporary Hopi society were
manifest in the negative attitudes and self-destructive, unHopi conduct of today’s Hopi
youth. He was sure that domestic violence and crimes against others did not plague the
Hopi people during his grandparents’ time and before. Jared posited, “You know, people
would blame the TV and the music, but out here, I’d say [it’s] probably just the way
they’re [children are] raised.” In Jared’s view, the change was reciprocal in nature—
parents do not set behavioral expectations or mete out appropriate discipline; therefore,
young people don’t care and are disrespectful to their parents and others. Such attitudes
and conduct have escalated into more inwardly and outwardly destructive behaviors
among Hopi youth such as domestic violence, substance abuse, and involvement in gang
activities.
205
Dorian
Most disconcerting for Dorian was the lack of respect for Hopi traditions and
practices as well as a commitment to the Hopi way of life among the Hopi people. As a
participant in social dancing, Dorian had observed that many of her peers only “took
part” in social dancing in anticipation of the material rewards—food, shawls, headdress,
etc.—they would receive from their partner’s extended family. Dorian believed that the
younger generation has been lured away from the Hopi way of life described as a
“struggle” for physical and spiritual survival that requires commitment, self-discipline,
and a strong work ethic by the “easy” life of Western society that offers a lifestyle of
conveniences, comfort, and leisure—vehicles, electricity, grocery stores, and
entertainment. The principles embodied in the Hopi way of life are taught and learned at
home. According to Dorian, many Hopi parents were negligent in their duty to their
children to provide them with the guidelines for developing these principles, values and
ethics.
Justin
As a member of this youth generation faced with ominous cultural and linguistic
“losses,” Justin revealed a deep concern for the state of Hopi society today. As he
reflected on this, he bemoaned,
Nobody hardly speaks the language now. It’s just nothing but English [that’s
used], and all this other stuff [Hopi cultural practices] they just forget about.
They just leave it [do not attend to it], and now . . . it’s the Pahaana [white man’s
lifestyle] first and the Hopi’s [lifestyle] next. It wasn’t like that back then. We’re
always first . . . but now, it’s just switched.
206
According to Justin, in the process of striving to learn the Pahaana way of life, the
Hopi people neglected to maintain adherence to what had previously been at the forefront
for Hopi people, the Hopi way of life—the corn fields, ceremonies, cultural practices, and
the Hopi language. He further reflected,
You know, we [Hopi people] are changing . . . . Most of the teenagers now don’t
go through the Hopi way as they used to long time ago. Like for instance, I still
go to the fields . . . but some of these teenagers, they don’t hardly go to the field,
or into the Hopi religion. That’s changed a lot.
The changes Justin described included a lack of parental expectation for Hopi
children to be industrious and helpful. Many, including several of his friends, did very
little to assist their families in household economic and cultural responsibilities. “They
just sit at home, or they go to Flag[staff], or somewhere ’cuz they don’t worry about that
[helping],” he complained. He offered his perspective:
I don’t think they [parents] even tell ‘em to go out to the field, or . . . force ‘em
[expect them to]. Their parents don’t teach ‘em . . . . They just let ‘em do
whatever because they[parents] (emphasis his) don’t do it [tend to the fields or
attend to the cultural practices], or they probably haven’t done it when they were
young or they weren’t taught to do this [either].
Justin was certain that during his grandparent’s time, Hopi youth were expected to
be industrious and helpful. “[They were] probably at the field every day, especially for
the guys . . . . Their dad probably told ‘em to be at the field all day doing this [farming] . .
. . They were constantly working every day, so were the ladies, cleaning and cooking, so
it’s a lot different.”
Technology, he believed was a major distraction: “Now we have all these high
tech stuff . . . [and] we don’t concentrate on the field. [Instead] they [Hopi males] want
to be inside, not do anything outside,” he declared. Overall, it was the parents that Justin
207
faulted, but was unable to pinpoint the source of their irresponsibility: “It’s either they
didn’t want to, or they didn’t have the time, or maybe they don’t even understand it. I
don’t know, but it’s what they wanted to do I guess.” Yet Justin observed a hopeful trend
among his generation of youth. Some are now “trying to learn.” He believed the source
of this newfound concern stems from a conscious awareness of the reality of cultural and
linguistic “loss” especially evident among their generation of Hopi.
The Hopi Language
Jared
Jared expects he will have children of his own one day and assumed that his own
children will be active participants in the Hopi traditions and practices. As a parent, he
will have the responsibility for providing guidance and support for their involvement
which will include teaching them the Hopi language. He will likely find himself fielding
questions from his own children regarding the images and messages Hopi songs relay. He
stated, “If little kids get picked for butterfly dances, they’re gonna have to learn the songs
. . . . It’s gonna kinda feel weird to dance to something you don’t know the words to.”
Jared further predicted, “If you don’t know, then, it’s kind of a sorry thing. That’s another
thing that comes back to you [as a parent].”
Contemplating the future of Hopi language use among the Hopi people in 10
years, Jared replied, “I have no clue . . . . It’ll probably be the same [maintained] if more
people are willing to understand Hopi and speak it; it’ll keep going. But to me, I think
it’ll grow, but real slowly.” Jared believed that Hopi literacy and the use of technology as
208
a means to promote literacy will be advantageous: “The advantage . . . [of] reading and
writing . . . is you can write it out . . . practice off of that, put it aside, and say it in Hopi.”
In addition, the Hopi radio station, KUYI, has been realized, and it is bringing Hopi
language into the homes: “They talk Hopi on that you know. They teach lessons on that
too,” he stated.
Jared was optimistic about the continued vitality of the Hopi language 25 to 50
years from now: “I don’t think it will be gone . . . People are gonna always wanna have
butterfly dances and kachina dances . . . that’s gonna involve Hopi [language], singing
Hopi songs. That’s just how it’s gonna keep going.”
Dorian.
Holding the title of Miss Indian Arizona provided Dorian numerous opportunities
to utilize and develop her rudimentary knowledge of Hopi language in its oral and written
forms. She was invited to give opening prayers, speeches and public presentations on
various topics. With help from her immediate and extended family, she learned to give
invocations, introduce herself in Hopi, as well as interject Hopi into her speeches.
Learning to read and write the Hopi language was instrumental in providing Dorian with
the skills for transcribing the prayers and songs that were composed for her. Her parents
used the Hopi language more frequently in their interactions with Dorian while she held
this title. As a result, according to Dorian, family members, particularly her mother and
sister were able to “draw out” the Hopi she had learned informally and retained in the
209
deep recesses of her memory. Holding the title of Miss Indian Arizona served to bring
Hopi culture and language to the forefront of Dorian’s life.
Dorian also provided an insightful perspective regarding the changes in Hopi
language use that eventually led to the language shift among her generation of Hopi.
According to Dorian, economic survival in a wage economy was central to the shift in
language use among parents and grandparents with their children. Hopi youth were
strongly encouraged to learn English so they could partake of the benefits that the
“new—Anglo lifestyle” offered. She stated,
They were taught early on and spoken to like that [in Hopi]. But when it came for
ours [youth generation], they were saying [to us], ‘You have to learn English,’
otherwise you were not gonna survive. And so, we’re taught that [English]
first. It seems like English is more of our first language than Hopi is because they
want us to know how to communicate with the Pahaana.
Hopi women elders in the community sewing club confirmed for Dorian that the
grandparent generation was essentially silenced in the schools because they were unable
to speak English: “They said that they were more reliant on Hopi but they were still
trying to pick up simple basic words of English. If they didn’t do that, then they would
have to just be quiet.” Therefore, according to Dorian, “balancing” two lifestyles and
two languages began in earnest during the generation of her parents: “They [parents]
were kinda in the middle to where they still had enough [Hopi language] to communicate,
and keep that Hopi language going. At the same time, they [were] still trying to work out
that balance between Hopi and English.”
The “balance” was not achieved so that Dorian’s generation of Hopi youth now
only heard “some phrases of Hopi here and there, but most of the time, growing up, it’s
210
English [that is used].” While Dorian was unwilling or yet unable to express any
predictions regarding the vitality of the Hopi language, she maintained that reading and
writing of Hopi would continue “because they still have it at the schools.” In addition,
the Hopi radio station was providing ample exposure to the sounds of Hopi, “You hear it
in the morning [and] in the afternoon. The announcers come on and they’re talking in
Hopi, the ones that know how,” she stated.
As Dorian reflected on her observations, she emphatically stated, “The language
is supposed to be on the parents’ efforts. If they leave it up to the school . . . then they’re
not being, I’m sorry to say, too good of a parent. Because you know, as a parent, that’s
what we’re here for and this is how it’s always been passed on, from parent to child, for
forever!” Dorian’s projected future includes a daughter of her own who will learn Hopi
as a first language at home and learn English as a second language at school; she had
made the choice to raise her own children bilingually.
Justin
For Justin, the Hopi language remains an integral part of his daily life in the
context of planting, kiva activities, and his relationship with his father and male relatives.
It was the language he, his stepfather and his uncles used as they tended to the corn
plants. Hopi was the language he and his father used in their interactions; and it was the
language used in kiva activities. Justin’s father played a significant role in maintaining
Hopi language use in their home. During one interview session when Justin’s father
211
returned home from the day’s work, it was Hopi that he used upon entering the home.
Justin’s mother understood Hopi but was not a fluent user of Hopi.
Justin’s grandmother was also instrumental in pointing out a course of life he
would follow—not to let the language and the Hopi agricultural way of life fall from
disuse and neglect. Justin was determined to raise his own children as he was raised: “If
I do have kids, I just wanna keep telling ‘em to do this just the way my . . . so’o told me.
I just want to put it on them and have ’em learn it too; just keep it going and just don’t let
it go.” For Justin, it was clear that this was a responsibility and duty that his mother,
grandmother, father and uncles carried out in helping him become “fully” Hopi. It was
now his duty to fulfill his own responsibility and do the same for his own children.
Although he had made a personal pledge to carry on Hopi language and culture,
Justin pointed out that this cannot be done by a few individuals. “It [responsibility] won’t
just fall on me. I think it’s gonna have to be everybody, the . . . Hopi people. They’re
gonna have to keep learning it and speaking it if they don’t want to let it go,” he stated.
The single word “if” became indicative of the reality of the challenge as Justin
contemplated the future of Hopi language use among the Hopi people. “It’s [Hopi
language loss] already starting,” he began. “In five years, I think people will still try [to
learn].” Projecting his thoughts into the future 10 years from the time of this interview,
Justin would be 29 years old; he predicted that, “People will have kivas…but they won’t
know the songs [words] to each kachina song or buffalo song; they won’t know it all.
With the language loss, how are you gonna sing?”

212
In 50 years Justin predicted, “If nobody continues to do [speak] it . . . if nobody
wants to talk the language, it will be gone.” But Justin was also optimistic: “I think
everybody wants to keep it alive; I think eventually some people will get together and
they’ll say, ‘Let’s keep our language alive,’ and hopefully, people will do something
about it.” Justin believed that Hopi literacy will be important to keeping the language
“alive.” If one is reading and writing Hopi, “you’re thinking about it [Hopi language].”
If one is “thinking” about the language, essentially, one is “using” the language.
Reflecting on his own bilingualism, Justin said, “I only know English and Hopi .
. . [but I] always have a second language to go to . . . . As long as I have two languages
[that] I can keep and learn from, then it w[ill] be more effective for me.” In other words,
speaking two languages allows Justin to fully participate in and partake of the benefits the
two worlds he lives in offer him.
Hopi people such as Justin who have been raised experiencing the Hopi way of
life are faced with making conscious and deliberate decisions about fulfilling their duty
and responsibility to pass on this knowledge of Hopi culture and language to the coming
generations of Hopi. For many, the responsibility has become a personal choice rather
than a normalized cultural practice.
Summary
This chapter addressed the question of whether youth who are no longer
socialized in the heritage language still learn the principles, values, and ethics essential to
“being” Hopi. Sekaquaptewa (personal communication, March 24, 2004) stated, “There
213
are many ways that one can experience culture, language only being one of them.” In
Hopi society, through inclusion, active participation, involvement, and interrelations with
others in the myriad cultural practices, Hopi youth acquire the implicit messages about
cultural standards of behavior and cultural knowledge embedded in these practices. They
acquire a “sense of the culture.”
By examining the social interactions and socio-cultural environments and
activities of three Hopi youth during their childhood, adolescent, and young adult years, I
have shown that Justin, Jared, and Dorian in fact, acquired “certain cultural stock
knowledge—rules, preferences for how to act appropriately” (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986,
p. 1) that contributed to their strong Hopi identity. In a previous chapter, I showed that
through clan identity, Hopi names, and the extended kin and clan relations acquired by
birth, initiations, and marriage of siblings, Dorian, Jared, and Justin developed a personal
sense of security in belonging to the Hopi community. Sekaquaptewa (personal
communication, March 27, 2004) describes this sense of belonging as “the first
awareness of their Hopi identity.”
However, the predictions these youth make about the continuing vitality of the
Hopi language suggest that Hopi youth do not yet fully contemplate the tremendous
challenges in store for them regarding their responsibility for Hopi linguistic and cultural
continuity. Their perspectives convey a vague sense of urgency about the consequences
of language erosion evident in Dorian’s statement about how long it may take her to
become a speaker of Hopi: She predicted, “[In 40 years] I’ll still be trying to learn
[Hopi].” And Jared’s statement, “I’m gonna have to learn it [the Hopi language]
214
someway,” pointed out that the youth generation of Hopi represented by these students
are ill-prepared to address the language shift as parents of the next generation of Hopis.
Nevertheless, these youth possess an awareness of their responsibility to the future
generations of Hopi people expressed by Dorian, “A lot of our elders and our parents . . .
are counting on us to keep the traditions going, and that heritage, that culture. [But] I
don’t think it’s fully complete without that missing piece of language, the tongue, the
speaking.”
While this presents an ominous future for the vitality of the Hopi language and
Hopi cultural practices and religion, these Hopi youth also expressed optimism and hope.
They do so secure in their Hopi identity and confident that the cultural institutions
through which they acquired their cultural identity and strength will continue to be
practiced. Each is adamant in securing the same for their own children by upholding the
cultural traditions they had been taught and learned
In the next chapter I draw from the personal life histories of the parents of the
youth in this study and from individuals who represent the grandparent generation of
these youth to (1) illuminate the impact of Western education as a key factor in initiating
the shift in language use and practices from Hopi to English in Hopi households, (2)
recognize their personal struggles in accommodating a societal-level change (King, 2000,
Smith, 1999), and (3) contribute to an official accounting of a collective and generational
experience. Their adherence to the Hopi way of life attests to the influence of culture. It
is important to note that their perspectives about language shift among the Hopi people
involve their own children and grandchildren.

215
CHAPTER 7
HOPI LANGUAGE SHIFT
Itaatim qa Hopìituqayyungwa; hin i’hiniwti? “We no longer know how to speak our
Hopi language; how did this happen?”
This chapter establishes a picture of Hopi language shift that is generational in
nature and occurring at a societal-level. I draw from the personal life histories of
members of the grandparent and parent generations of the youth in this study and focus
on the impact of compulsory Anglo-American education programs and policies on the
Hopi language ideologies and subsequently on Hopi language practices and use in the
home and community.
I begin with a brief overview of Part I which points to Western education and the
schooling process as contributing significantly to language shift in Hopi homes and
community manifesting in the trend toward English monolingualism by all generations of
Hopi (Fishman, 1991; McCarty, 2002, Spolsky, 2001; Watahomigie & McCarty, 1996).
Next, I trace the process of language shift from Hopi to English through the life history
accounts of the grandparents expressed through the Hopi language and whose
experiences I view as first-hand accounts of language shifting as well as those which
touch the roots of societal-level change (King 2005). My narration and translation-
interpretation of their accounts follow the question-answer format utilized in the
interview session. I follow with the parent life histories which further shed light on the
pattern and nature of the language shifting process but also bring this linguistic situation
216
to the present. The parent life histories were expressed predominantly in English
interjected with varying amounts of Hopi for which the English translation are included.
Schools and Schooling: Catalysts for Hopi Language Shift
The life experiences of contemporary Hopi youth, in regard to their knowledge of
the Hopi language documented in Part I highlighted how Western education, the wage
economy, and the schooling process profoundly impacted the Hopi people. The
schooling process, or the manner in which educational policies were implemented in
particular had an inordinate influence on the attitudes of the successive generations of
Hopi youth toward both Hopi and English—the catalyst for language shift from Hopi to
English in the home. This study revealed that Hopi parents, grandparents, and the youth
themselves played a key role in facilitating this shift in the home and community. In
response to the assimilation agenda and policies and the economic benefits promised by
Western education, the language practices of several generations of Hopi were drastically
changed. At the time of the study, the trend toward English monolingualism, especially
among Hopi youth (ages 2-19, HLAP, 1997, p. ) was observed to prevail—English is the
primary language of interaction—in the homes and villages. It is important to make a
distinction here, between the verbal interchanges carried on by parents and their children
from those among adult speakers. English was the predominant language of the verbal
interchanges between adults and children while Hopi was the language of interchange
among adult and more so among the older generations.

217
The three youth case studies indicated that for the current young adult generation
(19 years of age), Hopi was still the language of the home during their early childhood.
Hopi was the first language each of these Hopi youth heard in the home—the primary
language of relatives and other caregivers and therefore the first language each youth
began to acquire as children. Dorian stated, “They [caregivers] speak to you in Hopi and
you’re able to speak back, at least to some point, ’cuz you’re still learning words . . . . I
understood what they [family members] were saying.” Dorian’s case also pointed out
that babysitters played a role in Hopi language maintenance. Rather than being placed in
preschool, Dorian was left in the care of a babysitter who spoke to her exclusively in
Hopi. Jared recalled that his maternal and paternal family and other relatives spoke Hopi
to him throughout his childhood.
Each recalled an abrupt change upon entering school. Dorian said, “Before you
go to school, that’s how they [family members] speak to you, in Hopi . . . but when you
go to school, it’s like it [Hopi] just stops ’cuz you’re expected to learn English.” Justin
recalled, “I would mostly speak it [Hopi] until I go[t] into school [Head Start] . . . . [and]
in kindergarten [we] just dropped . . . the Hopi language.” These statements speak
volumes about how the agenda of schools—to teach Hopi youth to live like the white
man and to prepare them to venture into the white man’s world—was readily accepted by
the Hopi people. This view of Western education can be traced back to the 1890s when
generations of Hopi were subjected to compulsory Anglo-American education programs
to teach the white man’s way of life. This educational legacy is recounted in the voices
of the grandparent and parent generations of Hopi.

218
Grandparent Voices: Life Histories
Marie (estimated age 65), Clara (age 82), and Vivian (estimated age 72) are the
grandparent participants of the study.32 Vivian is Dorian’s paternal grandmother while
Marie and Clara are alternate study participants. Both Dorian’s and Justin’s maternal
grandmothers passed away during the data collecting period and before an interview
session was scheduled. Marie, then, represented the grandparent generation from Justin’s
maternal village, and Clara is an elder from Jared’s maternal home village.
Marie
Marie was born on Hopi, the second female and eighth of nine children raised for
most of her childhood and adolescent years on Hopi. Western education was highly
valued by her family limiting her participation in cultural activities during her childhood
years. Marie recalled being “home-schooled” –learning to read and do math—with her
mother as her first teacher (“home-schooling” quite innovative on the part of her mother)
before entering school for first grade. Prior to sixth grade, her older siblings, already
experienced in the mainstream world through the pursuit of a Western education, looked
out for Marie’s educational welfare as well. An older brother had secured the assistance
of two families willing to board Marie while she attended school first in Phoenix,
Arizona for junior high school, and later in Provo, Utah for eighth grade! Although these
experiences far from home and family were difficult, particularly the loneliness
compounded by a limited proficiency in English, and surrounded by non-Hopis, Marie
32
Marie, Clara, and Vivian are pseudonyms.
219
recalled feeling empowered having survived the experience as well as achieving the
educational objectives—learning English, academic success—in the temporary sacrifice
of family and home. Later, Marie’s mother, no longer able to be separated from her
child, established a temporary home in Phoenix so that Marie could complete high school
with family. This time, the sacrifice required leaving husband and father at Hopi.
College was short-lived for financial reasons, and Marie turned to securing employment
in California. She married and returned to Hopi to deliver her first child and remained at
Hopi thereafter. On her return to Hopi, Marie’s cultural competence was questioned by
community members as a result of her extensive absence away from family and culture.
But she had not forgotten the Hopi language, and she had paid close attention to the
advice given by her mother and in-laws regarding her new duties as a married-in-law to
her husbands immediate and clan family.
Marie has five adult children—four sons and one daughter. Three of her
grandchildren live with her. At the time of the study, Marie was assisting the Hopi Tribe
in recording and documenting the oral histories of elders in both Hopi and English,
working with the Hopi courts in documentation and translations of the Hopi language,
and sharing her knowledge as a guest speaker.
Clara
Clara, also born on Hopi, was an only child. With the absence of her mother early
in her childhood, Clara recalled a lonely childhood at the hands of a stern, but
hardworking father. Hopi life was a struggle, but Clara also recalled memories of time
220
spent with the village girls, albeit hard at work grinding corn, or practicing for social
dances; the memories recorded in the Hopi language. Clara attended the village day
school where her primary memories were of the difficulties associated with learning
English—being made to stand in the corner for speaking Hopi. At seventh grade, along
with many others, she was sent to Phoenix Indian School to continue her education; the
curriculum content she received included becoming proficient in English as well as
canning, sewing, tap dancing, and swimming! Although there were a large number of
Hopi students attending Phoenix Indian School, they did not use the Hopi language in
their interactions. Foremost in her memories of this schooling experience included being
put to work (students were responsible for the majority of the upkeep of the facilities as
well as their own board—laundry, cafeteria work, etc.), the loneliness (Clara did not
return home for four years), “outings,” summer placement in the homes of local residents
to do housework, and the understanding that although difficult, her stay in school also
alleviated much of her father’s caretaking burden as a single parent. Clara reached the
junior year of her high school education, but did not graduate. She had returned home
during her junior year for a visit but did not return. Instead, she found employment in
off-reservation locations commencing with her visit home and throughout her adult life
until making a permanent return to Hopi upon retirement at which time resumed
involvement in the cultural traditions.
Clara has one adult child, a daughter. Aged 82 at the time of the study, Clara was
active in the elderly program activities, her woman’s society, Maraw obligations, and
weaving coiled plaques.

221
Vivian
Vivian was born and raised in her maternal village. She attended the local
community schools with the primary objectives being to learn English and the white
man’s way of work. Learning these skills, according to her parents, would ensure self-
sufficiency and therefore she was advised not to be lazy in pursuing this education. This
attitude toward education, Vivian placed a self-imposed restriction on participating in
Hopi traditions during her adolescence. Following graduation from the tenth grade,
Vivian pursued a high school education in various off-reservations schools through her
senior year, but like Clara, she made a visit home and did not return to school and so did
not graduate. Instead, she held various off-reservation jobs and saved her money with
which she entered a nurse-training program motivated by a desire “to become
something.” Another motivation was as to ease her mother’s daily struggles with the
purchase of modern conveniences. Vivian married and attended to cultural
responsibilities as a married-in-law with her mother providing the teachings. Later,
Vivian’s responsibilities as a single mother conflicted with a nursing schedule so much so
that she left the profession and secured a Bureau of Indian (BIA) position and rose to the
level of kitchen foreman; she gave 32 years of service to the BIA.
Vivian has four adult children, two sons and two daughters who live and are
raising their children away from the reservation; they return for ceremonies. Vivian is
retired and is the primary caretaker of a sibling and spends much of her time tending to
her field and gardens. She states that she participates, but is not highly active in Hopi
traditional activities.
222
As children, this grandparent generation understood clearly that the advent of a
new way of life—subsistence in a wage economy—brought to Hopi by the white man
engulfed them. Vivian recalled, “My parents told us that when we go to school and learn
the English language and the Pahaana’s way of work, then when we reach adulthood, we
will be able to provide for ourselves.” Each came to understand that in order for the Hopi
people, collectively and individually, to partake in the benefits offered by this new way of
life required “getting schooled” in the white man’s way. Learning the English language
was the first step in moving toward this goal and going to school was the means to
accomplish it. Vivian emphatically stated, “I know that I was sent to school to learn
English.”
Pahanvaqya—Tutuqaywisa: “Initiation” into the White Man’s World—Going to School
For these grandparents, prior to starting school, Hopi was the primary language of
home and community. “Itam sutsev Hopiyu’a’atangwu; Pahaanat qa pas tuwi’yungwa.”
“We were always speaking Hopi [but] English [we] did not know very well,” stated
Clara. Interestingly, as a young child, Marie stated that both Hopi and English were used
in her home, but she added, “Nikyang put puma mòopeq tavi’yta.” “But they [our
parents] kept that [the Hopi language] in a position of prominence.” In addition, Marie
was home-schooled prior to entering first grade: She stated, “Itangu mòoti itamuy
tutuqayna . . . tungwantutuqayna, pu’ it math.” “First, our mother was teaching us,
reading and this math.” The pursuit of learning English, first in the local village schools
223
and later in schools away from Hopi left differing but memories of indelible experiences
for each of these grandmothers.
Clara confirmed that for her generation, a rudimentary command of English had
punitive consequences in school: “Naanavhin okiw hakim Pahanyu’a’atotangwu school
apiq’a.” “We [school children], poor things, were speaking English incorrectly at the
school,” stated Clara. Their efforts were harshly corrected: “Itam Pahanlavayit
tutuqayyaqe oovi itam pantsatskyaq pu’ hak Hopi yu’a’aykuq pu’ hakiy punishtingwu.
Itamuy ayan punishtotangwu, hakiy cornermiq wunuvtsinayangwu.” “We were learning
the English language at school so while we were doing that, if one [slipped into] speaking
Hopi, one would be punished. We were made to stand in the corner as punishment,”
recalled Clara. In contrast, Vivian described the English learning process as a subtle
competition among the students: “It was difficult for us to learn English. You have to
practice English all the time while in school. Everybody was trying . . . maybe it’s not
like a competition, but you wanted to be up with the rest of them you know.” This
internal group/peer pressure possibly offered a means to learn English more quickly and
avoid humiliating punishments at the hands of their teachers. The essentiality of English
became more evident away from Hopi.
Marie, who was sent to Utah, found herself immersed and bewildered in an all
white environment:
Nu’ qa hakiy aw Hopiyu’a’ata, ispi qa hak put tuuqayta pep Pahankive. Qa hisat
nu’ puma hakimuy aw piw yorikkyangw pumuy nawis amumum (Mormon family).
Niikyangw pas pi oovi nùutseleway pu’ piw [hi]nur alöngöy . . . nu’ kyaanavota
oovi. Pu’ nu’ piw sölmoki. Sumataqw qa pas pan ayan suyan hàalayyungwa, ispi
itana inumi Hopiyu’a’atangwu.
224
I was not speaking Hopi to anyone because no one knew Hopi there at that place
of white people. And I had never before seen that [Mormon family] but I had to
go with them. Therefore it was very scary and very different . . . . Because of
this I had a hard time. And then I became homesick. [When our father came to
visit] it looked like [the Mormon family] was not very happy [with us] because
our father was speaking to me with Hopi.
At Phoenix Indian School, Clara recalled, “Pay nu’ pev put tuuqayi. Pay itam as
peetum Hopityakyang pay itam qa pan naanami yu’a’totangwu. Nu’ qa hisat ah’ nima.
Pas nu’ after juniornikyang ah’ nima. Itam sölmokya.” “Well, I learned that [English]
there [at school] . . . [and] although some of us were Hopi [students, there at the school]
we just did not speak to each other like that [with Hopi]. I did not once come home.
Only after I became a junior did I come home (probably at age 18-19). We became
homesick.” The alienating and lonely process of learning English was an individual yet
collective experience for the Hopi people, and one that imprinted the association of
learning English with schooling. Despite such sacrifices, Western education and
schooling would be incorporated into the Hopi way of life for the benefits it offered;
education and schooling were perceived as a way to enhance Hopi lives, and the means
to co-exist with the Euro-American—adapting to modern circumstances.
Itangum, Itanam Itamungem Kyaananawakna: Our Mothers, Our Fathers Wanted Better
Lives for Us
This grandparent generation endured the difficulties associated with long
absences from family and familiar surroundings, particularly the homesickness, with
strong conviction about the necessity for “getting educated.” The importance of the
225
white man’s education was instilled by their own parents in adapting to inevitable and
permanent changes coming to Hopi. Marie recounted her parents’ prediction of a new
way of life that was coming to the Hopi people:
Itam hapi kur yep lööpwat yesni. Son kur Pahaana itamuy paysoq hisat
maatapni. Itam pumuy amutsviy yep enang yesniqw. ‘Uma sú’amun hìita
tuuqayye pàasat pu’ uma pay sú’amun hìita aw maatsi’yme uma qa
okiwhintotini.’
For certain we [the Hopi people] would be living two ways of life. It is unlikely
that the white man will ever simply leave us alone. On account of this, we will be
living here [co-existing] with them. [To their children they stated,] ‘You will
come to know things like them and then you will come to understand things like
them so that you do not find yourselves in an unfortunate situation.’
Reflecting on their words, Marie stated:
I think they meant that if we learned what the Pahaana was all about, we would
be better able to survive the kind of life that was coming. Because they knew that
we had to live in two worlds. And the better trained at knowing what was coming
then we would be able to make better lives for ourselves. And I’ve always felt
that. I’ve always felt that I had greater strength because I learned and I didn’t
forget what I already [had]; what was already there.
Not only did this great-grandparent generation appear to have keen foresight of
the dramatic changes to come, they had experienced first-hand the struggles it would take
to merge these two worlds. Marie recounted,
Puma put angw kyaananapta. Okiw puma kur okiwhintoti;kyaanapta. Ispi pumuy
tusoq’tsama. Qa ngasew amumi,yumuyyatuy aw hin tuuvingtotat pay pas pumuy
nu’an tsamyakyang haqami pumuy o’ya. Noqw puma okiw qa hìita
Pahantuqayyungwa . . . naamahin as puma pangqe okiwhintikyang pay puma
hìita nukwanghìitaqat hìita piw tuuqayva, tuwi’yva niiqe oovi pay puma put…akw
hinur mongvasti.
They suffered through their [schooling] experiences. Pitifully, they surely were in
an unfortunate situation; [they] suffered because they were taken [from their
home and family] without regard to their wishes. They [the agents of the school]
226
did not ask their parents; instead, they just took them and placed them
somewhere. And they [Hopi children] did not understand English. Despite their
suffering, they studied and learned some useful things and therefore benefited
greatly from this [Western education].
Despite their hardships, they acknowledged the benefits gained from their
experiences and used what they learned to enhance their lives. English and education
were perceived to be essential to the continued survival of the Hopi as a sovereign
people. Marie stated,
It [education and their schooling experiences] made them better people. They
didn’t forget all the hardships that they suffered but they also really made use of
what they were able to learn in the white man’s way. And they used it in their
lives, and they used it to promote a more, maybe a different kind of lifestyle but
one that fitted better into the coming new world, or new way of life….But the
more important thing is they never, when they came back…they never forgot their
language either, or the customs and practices and the values of Hopi life. They
never forgot. My mother always said it strengthened what she already had,
putting them together.
Thus Marie’s parents, representing the great-grandparent generation of the Hopi
youth of this study, “prepared” their children for this “training”; whereas when they
themselves had been utterly unprepared for this experience. They advised their children
to study, learn, and understand the white man’s way well so as to partake of the benefits
and more importantly to enhance the Hopi way of life. “Hakimuy aw yu’a’atangwu.”
“They [our parents] would talk to us [positing],”
Pay yaw itam songqa tutuqayye hìita tuwi’vaye pu’ aw tuwat maamatsye pu’
yepeqw piw itàaHopiqatsiy aw piw songawnen hìita aqw enangtoti[ni]. Sonyaw
itàaqe Pahanlavayit paas tuuqayvayaniqat pay puma sutsep yan tuwat itamumi
yu’a’ta.
With certainty, if we study and learn things and then in turn, understand these
things, then in effect, here [at Hopi] we will add to our Hopi way of life. We
must learn the English language proficiently. This is what they [parents] in turn
would be speaking to us about.
227
They advised us, “Um hapi pay sùnengam it as [akw] mongvasniqe oovi.”
“You must with certainty benefit from this [schooling/education] for yourself.” Marie
fully recognized the sacrifice her parents made in sending a beloved child far away in
order to ensure that she receive the best “training” in preparation for the merging of two
ways of life. She tearfully recalled, “Itamungem kyaanawaknaqe oovi hakiy ura pan hur
mavoktat aw pangqawngwu, Pay um son naat qa pay ahoy pituni.” “They wanted more
for us; therefore they would hold me tightly to them and say, ‘It will not be long until you
return.’”
Vivian confirmed this perspective of the essentiality of schooling and stated,
My parents told us that when we go to school and learn the English language and
the Pahaana’s way of work, then when we reach adulthood, we will be able to
provide for ourselves. Therefore, we should not be lazy as we go to school. They
wanted so much for us . . . . They want[ed] us to be better in our lifetime because
they had difficulties in their own growing up years . . . . They know what a hard
life is.
Schooling significantly interrupted their adolescent participation in cultural
activities, particularly social dancing through which Hopi youth formally acknowledged
and learned about their expanding social ties to the community. Marie stated, “Nu’
putwat pay qa hìita ang hinma. Pay nu’ it tsetselhimut panis qe suus or lööshaqam pay
yepeq wunimat, pu’ Phoenix epeqw suus ikwatsmuy amumum panti.” “That [social
dancing] I did not participate in at all. I may have danced once or twice in social dances
and then once in Phoenix, I danced with my friends.” Vivian acknowledged that she did
not participate in cultural activities, “not until I finished with my schooling.” Clara
remembered how the village girls gathered to grind corn: “Weekends, hakim naanami
228
öke, pu’ hakim pay ngumantotangwu . . . pu’ nu’ anave wunimangwu.” “Weekends, we
[girls] came together, and then we would be grinding corn . . . and I danced a lot.” She
recalled an especially memorable incident, “One time itam ev mimuy poovoltuy tiivaq ev
hapi itam naat tiivaq pay yaw itam schooltawisni. Bus, itaabus pituq, iis pavan itam yang
itaayellowoy ngöma’kyaakyang mit red aq.” “One time we were dancing the Butterfly
Dance; at that time we were still dancing and right then [while we were dancing] we were
[called] to return to school. [The] bus, our bus arrived, and even worse, we left [hastily]
still adorned with our red and yellow markings.” Nevertheless, despite their long
absences from family and Hopi culture, their Hopi language endured.
“Pay Nu’ Qa Suutokngwu.” “I Would Not Forget [the Hopi Language]
Marie returned to Hopi for the summer months. She stated, “Pay nu’ qa hìita
sùutoki. Pu’ pay hak ayan tala’at tutqaynönganqw hak pi pay ahoy angqw
nimangwunìiqe oovi talaw hak yapeq itanguy pumuy amumum yante’ pay ahoy . . . paas
put yu’a’atikyangw amumi pitungwu.” “I did not forget anything [of the language]. In
the summer when school was out, one would return home to their mothers; therefore, in
the summer, when one did this, one would return to them speaking very well.” Clara
stated the same, “Pay nu’ qa suutokngwu. Pay hak piw awiy pite pay piw amun
yu’a’atangwu.” “I would not forget [the language]. When one returns, one just begins
speaking like them [the family].”
Yet the imminent change about which this grandparent generation was
forewarned was manifest in the introduction of a wage economy and the necessity to
229
pursue personal economic security to benefit from this way of life (Fishman, 2001;
Spolsky, 2002). Unlike their parents, who returned to Hopi bringing new ideas and
innovations to enhance their lives following their schooling experiences, this generation
of Hopi, now “trained” in the ways of the white man and accustomed to participating in a
cash economy, either returned to or extended their stay in the wider society (Fishman,
2001). Opportunities for wage work were almost non-existent back home. Hence, all
three members of this grandparent generation remained in the mainstream society and
away from Hopi for some time of their adult life. Clara, after a period of time on Hopi,
returned to mainstream society, found employment and like Vivian returned to Hopi upon
retirement. All eventually made a permanent return to Hopi. Marie returned to Hopi for
the birth of her first child and thereafter remained on Hopi; Clara and Vivian, for the
most part, would raise their children away from Hopi.
Yumat’ti; Somat’ti—Becoming Mothers; Becoming Grandmothers
Marie stated, “Itam pay pumuy amumi . . . Hopiyu’a’atangwu. Niikyangw pay
antsa inun piw puma pay lööpwat tuuqayvaya. Niikyangw pay as oovi sòosoyom itim
Hopiyu’a’atotangwu niikyangw peep pas, pay hìita peehut qa ang pas su’anyakyangw
niikyangw Hopìituqayyungwu.” “We spoke to them [our children] with Hopi. And, in
fact, like me they learned two languages [Hopi and English]. Although my [four]
children all speak Hopi, [they speak] not proficiently. They say some things not quite
correctly, but they speak Hopi.” Marie raised her children at Hopi. Interestingly, Marie
also recalled overhearing her children’s paternal grandfather advising his grandchildren
230
to speak English. In turn, Marie assured him that they would learn English and preferred
that Hopi be spoken to them as the language of the home and family.
For Vivian and Clara, raising their children physically removed from the Hopi
environment and culture would inevitably change the cultural and linguistic practices of
this generation as parents. Making frequent but limited returns to Hopi (such as
weekends or children spending summers at Hopi, usually with the maternal grandparents)
likely would not sustain their adherence to Hopi traditions nor maintenance of the Hopi
language in this situation. Vivian’s children were raised primarily in the border town of
Tuba City, Arizona, but spent weekends and summers with their maternal grandparents at
Hopi. She said, “My kids . . . learned [Hopi] from my mother because I [was a] working
mother, a single mother. In the summer time, they’re over here [in the village], helping
[out] here. So I can’t say that I taught them how to speak Hopi, but it’s the grandparents
[who taught them Hopi].” Clara’s only daughter spent her early childhood at Hopi, but
for the most part was raised in the border town of Winslow, away from Hopi. She
described the language shift in her only child’s Hopi speaking ability: “Pam piw oovi as
paas Hopi. Pam as nu’an paas Hopi.” “She was also [like me], a proficient Hopi
speaker [as a child]. She was simply a fully speaking Hopi [child].”
The language shift had seemingly been unremarkable but the consequences were
astounding. Their children—the parent generation of the youth in this study—no longer
used the Hopi language as the main language in their lives and did not use Hopi to speak
to their children. Marie stated, “Puma pay itim pu’ pay pas Pahanyu’a’atota sutsep
timuy aw’i. Pep kya oovi itàa kye wilöknayani.” “They, my children, now are just
231
always speaking English to their children.” Vivian’s children [three of four] are raising
their families away from Hopi and therefore were not teaching their children Hopi. She
supposed, “I think it’s because they’re town people and everybody [in town] speaks
English.” Clara recalled advising her daughter, “Um tus, pay um pu’ nawis tus
Pahanyua’ate tuuqayvani,” nu’ umi kita.” “You must, if you start speaking English
[only] you will learn [English proficiently],” in response to a humiliating incident
suffered by her daughter at school regarding her English speaking ability. In retrospect
she stated, “But I should have said, ‘Pay um uuHopilavayiy enangni.’ Along with your
Hopi language [use the English language].” English was now prevalent among this soon-
to-be parent generation.
Summary
While this grandparent generation had followed in the footsteps of their parents—
leaving Hopi to pursue education in order to better their lives and enhance the Hopi way
of life—the expectation was that they would do so upon a return to Hopi. However, in
actuality a shift had occurred—ensuring personal economic security and prosperity in the
wider society became central in their views of schooling and the English language. More
significantly, this changing view resulted in a move away from Hopi—the Hopi way of
life, the cultural practices, and the language. In fact, the quest to “merge” the two worlds
would severely test the “balancing” of maintaining Hopi cultural practices and traditions
while pursuing economic security in the mainstream world.

232
I turn now to the cultural and linguistic experiences of the parent generation, the
parents of the youth in this study, in order to follow the pattern of language shift that
appeared to parallel the changing ideology of schooling and the English language—
personal economic security—among the grandparent generation of Hopi. Importantly,
with increased participation in a cash economy, the family and communal dynamics of
Hopi society began to change as well. The life histories of the parent generation attest to
these changes and the shifting process of language.
Parent Voices: Life Histories
The parents interviewed are parents of the Hopi youth in this study. They
included Dorian’s parents, Anna and Doran,33 Justin’s parents, Lillian and Marshall
(pseudonyms) and Jared’s mother, Charlene (a pseudonym), a single parent. All were
residing and employed on the reservation at the time of the study. Dorian’s mother,
Anna, works as a teacher aide in one local school. She was residing with two of her
children in a mobile home located at the base of Second Mesa and near her place of
employment. At the time of this study, Anna was taking courses toward a teaching
degree at the local branch of Northern Pioneer College (NPC). Dorian’s father, Doran, is
the founder of Native Sun Solar Works located near the village of Kiqötsmovi and resides
nearby his business. Justin’s mother is a tribal employee; his father is a Hopi farmer and
33
Both Dorian and her father, Doran approved the use of their actual names and identities. Dorian’s
mother, Anna, initially requesting anonymity, but consented when told of her daughter’s and husband’s
consent.
233
mason. Justin’s family—parents, and two younger siblings—were residing in his
mother’s home village. Jared’s mother was residing in her home village.
In this section, I provide a brief life history of each parent that includes their
childhood cultural and linguistic experiences with a focus on the acquisition of both the
Hopi and English languages in their upbringing and schooling experiences. I then present
how these experiences impacted their parenting practices including the maintenance of
Hopi cultural traditions and language among family members in the household.
Dorian’s Parents: Anna and Doran
Childhood
Anna. Anna, was born at Hopi and grew up in her mother’s home village of
Supawlavi. She recalled that her father’s role was to provide for the family and he “did
his duty—farming, going to work, bringing in some money—in the background,”
whereas her mother “did all the raising of the kids, teaching us everything” both
customary roles in the Hopi tradition of childrearing.
Doran. Doran, the second oldest of four children, was born in Winslow and grew
up in Tuba City, Arizona. Tuba City, located on the northern boundary of Hopi, was
home to Doran from age three to graduation from high school although weekends and
summers were spent with his maternal grandparents and maternal uncle’s family. His
mother’s job as a cook foreman for the Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) placed the family
in this primarily Navajo community: Doran stated, “I didn’t know that there was a
234
difference between Navajos and Hopis. Everyone spoke English—nobody spoke Navajo;
nobody spoke Hopi. We all lived in the same kind of houses. ” The difference between
Hopis and Navajos “surfaced” following a childhood brawl in which he battled his fellow
Hopis on the side of his Navajo friend. Doran recalled that because his mother “was
moving up the [job] ladder real fast,” often her workday began at 5:00 a.m. and ended
late, 8:00 or 9:00 p.m. As such, babysitters were significant caretakers in his early
childhood and later he and his siblings were expected to take a greater responsibility in
caring for themselves. He stated, “It was [about] having to share your mother [with the
many other youth who were students she prepared food for as her job].”
Hopi Language
Anna. Hopi was the first language Anna acquired and spoke as a child “probably
’til I started school.” She supposed that her older siblings were prohibited from speaking
Hopi in school but in her experience she stated, “They [teachers] never really said, ‘Don’t
speak Hopi,’ or ‘You can’t speak Hopi’ . . . . [So] we talked Hopi, [but] I don’t think they
really liked it [that we spoke Hopi in school] in the elementary level.” The subtle
messages devaluing the Hopi language had their intended impact of conveying the
importance of English. Anna recalled, “When you went home [from school], it’s just the
way you talk too [in English]. Even your mom and dad started [talking in English]. I
think it just made it easier for them because that’s all we talked in school, so they thought
[to themselves], ‘Probably it’s better just to talk to them in English.’”

235
Doran. In stark contrast to Anna, Doran stated,
I never really learned Hopi. When I was growing up . . . it was never really
encouraged for me to learn Hopi. I would hear it and I would understand a few
words but when a conversation really actually started, I never understood what
was going on . . . My mom always talked English; she never talked Hopi to us.
She would go home and she would talk Hopi to her brothers and her parents and
to the older people but when she talked us, she would turn to us and she would
talk English . . . . My uncles, both of them, talked English to us. One [uncle]
more or less talked broken English, but he spoke English to us.
Participation in Traditional Activities
Anna. Anna, grew up immersed in Hopi cultural traditions experiencing both the
female and male activities of Hopi culture. She participated in the winter and summer
social dances from age 11 to 14, and thereafter only in the summer social dances when
she returned to the reservation for summer breaks from school. Helping in the
preparation of food was the female duty to and for the male family members—father,
brothers and extended male clan members—as well as the means for learning her female
role and responsibilities: “We [as mother’s daughters] watched [our mother] in whatever
she was doing . . . and [then] we took over [the female responsibility]. . . . [But] she was
always there to give us advice.” As the youngest of eleven children, Anna found herself
enlisted to help her father and maternal uncle in the fields: “The boys [her brothers] were
all gone [from the home and reservation] and some of my brothers were already married
[and tending to their wives’ fields] . . . so we [women] got into doing the fields [planting
and harvesting] with them too.” Anna acquired much cultural knowledge accompanying
and assisting both her mother and father in their activities. She stated, “My mom and dad
. . . every time you do something [engaged in a cultural activity], they would tell you
236
what it is was for and why you have to do it . . . . There was always a purpose for it [the
activity].” This was the process of qatsitwi, learning about life, cultural practices, the
know-how about making a living in the Hopi way.
Doran. Tuba City being in close proximity to his maternal village, Doran and his
siblings spent weekends and summers with their maternal grandparents and uncle.
Therefore, he played an active and supportive role in Hopi cultural activities. Doran’s
maternal uncle provided guidance in his traditional role as disciplinarian and cultural
teacher, but was also a surrogate father. Doran recalled an early initiation into the katsina
society at the age of 8-9. He later sought an early initiation into the Wuwtsim-male
society as well, but his maternal grandfather’s stern counsel, “You don’t just play with
that [it requires an attitude of strong conviction and commitment],” warned against this.
He delayed his initiation into this male society until adulthood and a permanent return to
Hopi.
Schooling
Anna. Anna attended the local village schools until eighth grade when she
transferred to and completed her secondary education in public and private schools first
in Winslow, Arizona, and then through summer school at Dartmouth College in New
Hampshire, and finally a private high school in New York City. These schooling
experiences were unexpected opportunities that she took advantage of: She stated, “I
never even asked them [her parents] about it. ‘I’m gonna go,’ I said. ‘I got this chance
237
and I’m gonna go.’”34 Her returns to Hopi were infrequent; in the summer months she
participated in nursing internship programs or attended summer school. Her public and
private school education proved to be academically challenging, necessitating self-
discipline. She also encountered overt racism in the private school but learned to “stand
up” for herself in response. Anna pursued higher education at each of Arizona’s major
universities, but returned to Hopi to give birth to her first child. She remained thereafter
at Hopi.
Doran. Doran attended Tuba City Public schools, graduating from Tuba City
High School. He stated, “I think all of us [siblings] had been real good in school and got
along well; we understood the system. We knew how to manipulate the system to our
benefit.” Following graduation he pursued a double major in pre-medicine and
engineering attending universities in Arizona and Massachusetts. He made a permanent
return to Hopi before completing his academic program because of “burn out,” and sorely
needed rest and rejuvenation.
Adulthood/Parenting
Anna. Anna provided a vivid description of her role in the language shift from
Hopi to English upon becoming a parent. Schooling served as the mechanism for the
shift:
34
As a student at the University of Arizona, during the late 1960s, I recall a strong recruitment effort in
search of Native American students to East coast institutions of higher education. I was approached to
attend Dartmouth College. In a later informal conversation with Anna, she confirmed that while she was
attending high school in Winslow, Arizona, recruiters approached her with this educational opportunity.
238
I spoke it [Hopi] pretty fluently ’til probably I started having my own kids. The
older one, she started like that [hearing and speaking Hopi] ’cause she had
babysitters and I was still talking in Hopi. But after she started school, that’s
when it [Hopi] really switched over [to English]. . . . [When they were babies], we
talked to them . . . [with Hopi] baby talk . . . sing ’em all the songs. But then
eventually, it’s just everything’s in English now. I know I don’t speak [Hopi] to
my kids now . . . . I’ll throw in a Hopi word now and then . . . but it’s hard to do
that [speak to my children in Hopi].
This language shift in the home facilitated by both Anna and her mother set a new
precedent for establishing English as the dominant language of the home. Under such
circumstances, English monolingualism for her children was inevitable:
My mom started talking to them in English. And sometimes we would get mad at
her [and we’d say], ‘Talk to them in Hopi!’ But she wouldn’t do that; she’d only
talk to them in English all the time. She [Anna’s mother, Dorian’s grandmother]
knew that they couldn’t, probably wouldn’t understand her [Hopi]. [And] I
guess it was easier for me to speak in English [to them too] since that’s how they
spoke.
With the help of her mother, Anna had positioned her children on the periphery of
the intimate aspects of their family life. She stated, “When I go to my mom and sister,
I’ll speak Hopi with ’em. But with these two, Dorian and her younger brother, I really
haven’t.” Recognizing that using Hopi with her siblings and mother “without even
giving it a thought,” why she is unable to do the same with her children is perplexing:
“When I’m with the kids, it [my speaking language] just switches back to English,” she
stated, and added, “I wish my kids were able to talk [Hopi].” Like her children’s father,
Anna must use English to provide them with cultural information and instruction, which
is difficult when English translations cannot adequately explain Hopi concepts: She
stated, “When I wanna point something across to them, I’ll say it in Hopi because there’s
no other way to explain it to them [and] I’ll try to give the English translation.” In
239
addition, limiting her own use of Hopi in this way had affected the maintenance of her
own Hopi speaking fluency, noticeable in her inability to recall or pronounce words,
particularly those associated with “old” Hopi.
Doran. On his return to Hopi, Doran’ first job was as a family counselor. In his
work with Hopi families, Doran found that primarily it was the grandparents were raising
their grandchildren and they were most comfortable discussing their issues in Hopi.
Accordingly, he worked to accommodate their needs and became an adult second
language learner of Hopi. Doran credits a colleague, a Second Mesa man, with helping
him learn the language. In the process of learning Hopi from this colleague, he also
“picked up” the Second Mesa dialect, which subjected him to criticism from family
members. (The issue of criticism, or teasing, is addressed in Chapter 9.)
Doran’s return to Hopi also prompted his involvement in the kiva activities and an
interest in the tribal political arena. Thus, the necessity to function within the ceremonial
realm and his run for political office were also key motivators for acquiring Hopi as an
adult.
In the ceremonial realm, Doran observed that, “the more that people participate
within the cultural systems, they’re the ones who start learning to speak Hopi because
they have to be around that [immersed in the language].” Hence, knowing the Hopi
language was essential to “function within the ceremonies.” In addition, pursuing a tribal
political office required Hopi language fluency. Interestingly, during the “Hopi language
interview,” Doran found himself to be the only person speaking Hopi; the interviewers
240
conducted the interview in English! As a political candidate, Doran participated in public
forums in which he addressed Hopi audiences using the Hopi language. He stated,
“People were amazed, [and they said to me], ‘We didn’t know you could speak Hopi like
that!’’ They now asked him, “Where’d you learn?” Doran replied, “It was just from
listening to you.”
Doran estimated that it took him five years to develop a basic fluency in Hopi. In
the beginning, he learned enough Hopi to understand what was being said but had not yet
developed the ability to speak, “so I would just talk English.” Now, after approximately
16 years of self-learning, he described himself as a speaker of Hopi. Despite this
accomplishment, Doran acknowledged that he remained limited in expressing the deeper
levels of Hopi thought to a Hopi audience or of accessing the same in the religious realm:
He expressed his dilemma,
For myself, when it comes to that level, I can’t really say I understand all the
hard words. I don’t understand enough [so] that if I were to even to go in [to
political] negotiations for something and the negotiations were done in Hopi, I
would question myself as to whether or not I really understood everything that’s
being said . . . the harder words. [Or] I’ll go down to the kiva and down there
we’ll talk about everyday things and it’s easy to talk about that but when you
actually get down and start talking about the religious things . . . I don’t
understand [fully] what’s going on. I can hear the words and I can say them, but
what those words mean, I just don’t know. Even the descriptions of items or
references to different places, I don’t know.
Consequently, Doran’s cumulative life history experiences posed some challenges
to passing on to his children Hopi cultural knowledge and language. He stated,
[My kids], they’re really into Hopi. They like it and they’re always participating
[in cultural activities], doing something . . . . What’s making it hard for me is that
now I have to integrate for my children, the Hopi stuff . . . . Along with that
comes the responsibility of teaching them [the cultural knowledge], so I’ve had to
go and learn [it].
241
Jared’s Mother: Charlene
Childhood
As a child, Jared’s mother, Charlene (a pseudonym) stated she was “basically
raised” by her maternal grandmother and maternal aunt because her adoptive mother was
employed and also devoted much of her personal time to conducting 4-H activities in
their home for the village women. Charlene was not allowed to participate in these
activities, which prompted her to say, “I was always alone, even after school in the
village.”
Hopi Language
Hopi was the first language Charlene acquired, recalling a past fluency: “I used to
be really good when I was small. I spoke fluently. I didn’t know any English. [I learned
Hopi] from my grandmother and my grandfather ‘cause all they did was speak Hopi to
me. So’o always talked Hopi to me ’cuz she didn’t know English well. She knew just a
few words.” In addition, always at her grandfather’s side, she was privy to many of his
Hopi stories and his multilingual ability. She stated: “[From] my kwa’a, herding sheep
with him; he always told me stories in Hopi. He never spoke English to me. He also
spoke Navajo and he also spoke Spanish.”
Participating in Traditional Activities
Charlene did actively participate in Hopi cultural activities prior to going to
school. She recalled her initiation into the katsina society (at age 12) as especially
242
memorable: “That helped me because that [experience] showed me that I’m not by
myself [in the world].” She further explained, “The Hopi people believe that we’re never
alone no matter where we go . . . . You’re always with somebody [a guardian spirit] that’s
protecting you. You get to believe in those things and learn to respect what’s out there.”
Schooling
Charlene’s first “schooling experience” was unconventional to say the least.
When she was four or fiver years old, prior to Head Start programs, she began
accompanying her adoptive mother to work at the village day school. As a result, she
was permitted to sit in the classroom of older Hopi youth while they were being schooled.
Consequently, Charlene was exposed to English instruction very early. She recalled
“picking up” English quickly, especially when visuals were used aiding her
comprehension. Eventually, she was no longer invited because her enthusiasm for
learning became a distraction and she was outperforming the Hopi children who were
there as students! Thus, her English language instruction as well as furthering her
acquisition of English were abruptly halted. When she reached the age to be a student
herself, Charlene’s memories of schooling reflected the same humiliating experiences
suffered by other Hopis because of her use of her first language—Hopi:
They were still . . . trying to keep us speaking English. If we did [use Hopi], they
would put soap in our mouth . . . . They would cut them in half and put them on
our tongue and we had to sit like that for a whole hour . . . . .Either that or we get
swatted on our hands or behind our knees . . . so I really had a hard time . . . . I’d
say until fourth grade they were doing that to us. Some parents just didn’t let
their kids go to school anymore ’cuz we would all get sick; we’d be throwing up
’cuz that soap melts in your mouth. That’s what they would do to us.
243
Later, leaving Hopi for the first time to further her schooling was a hardship; the
loneliness remained entrenched in Charlene’s mind. Sometimes, a telephone call home
alleviated the loneliness somewhat. Charlene recalled, “I [would] cry on the phone, I
mean I would just hang on the phone just so I could hear my mom’s voice or the family’s
voice.” Charlene also became a member of the school band, but she had an alternative
motive; “they said we were gonna come home and play up here [Hopi].” Not only were
visits to family and familiar surroundings infrequent, but the loneliness was traumatic.
She stated, “It was really tough that first year and then once I got to know or make
friends then it got easier.” The educational program of the boarding school Charlene
attended required that students contribute to the upkeep of the institutional facilities
which included physical labor. Despite the hard work, “like mopping the hallways and
then buffing the hallways, polishing . . . or cafeteria duties, and on weekends do
outings.”35 Charlene eventually adapted to the routines of boarding school that included
friendships and she looked forward to coming back to school.
Today she credits schooling as helping her develop essential skills so that she
could “cope with life.” “Coping with life,” likely referred to her education and schooling
as preparing her to learn important skills that would secure employment off the
reservation. In her youth, Charlene was haunted by thoughts “that I wasn’t going to
make it in life,” the result of losing her biological mother at a very early age and the
instability of her adoptive home. Charlene stated that she struggled with low self-esteem
35
Charlene described an “outing” as a time when retired people or families from the surrounding valley
areas (Valley of the Sun) would come and “check out” girls to do housework, or different chores in their
homes. They were paid a small salary that was deposited in their school accounts.
244
believing she would never “become anything.” Fortunately, she was quite successful in
her professional and personal life. On the other hand, for Charlene, the long absences
from home and “adapting” to mainstream life disrupted her opportunities to maintain her
Hopi speaking ability. She stated, “When we went off to high school, we all kind of lost
out on that [the Hopi language]. It just seemed like it just kind of drifted off [out of
use].” Charlene returned to Hopi for the birth of her first child before completing her
high school education and remained thereafter. The impact of schooling on her success
on the one hand and her inability to maintain her Hopi speaking fluency on the other were
expressed through her experiences as an adult and parent.
Adulthood/Parenting
As a parent of three children, Charlene’s life experiences significantly influenced
how she parented her children. Foremost in her role as a single parent, Charlene
endeavored to develop and maintain a strong bond of unconditional love and support for
her children. For Charlene, love and support were given in the form of firm parental
guidance and discipline: “If they do something wrong, I sit them down and tell them why
I’m upset with them. I don’t just come right out and yell at them, make fun of them, or
belittle them.” Her children’s accomplishments were testimony to her successful
parenting: each was a high school graduate, Jared’s older sister is a college graduate, his
older brother was working in Scottsdale at the time of this study, and Jared was attending
Mesa Community College. Parental guidance and discipline extended to transmitting
important Hopi cultural values—“to respect others and try not to be something that
245
they’re not . . . . [That they should] not to try to think they’re better than somebody else . .
. [but to] be humble . . . [and that] what makes you Hopi is [that] you work hard for what
you get out of life [because] nothing comes easy.” This philosophy is greatly tested in
contemporary times and against the powerful influences from outside of Hopi—the desire
for material things and the desire on the part of parents to provide these for their children
as a means of “fitting in.” “I wanted them to be able to have the things that they needed
[material things] to fit in today’s world [including higher education]. Being the only
parent that was working, that was hard,” she stated. Economic security and prosperity
were essential to accomplishing this.
Moreover, active participation with a strong personal commitment to the cultural
traditions—if one is to live at Hopi one must behave as a Hopi—is an expectation of the
community and must be visibly demonstrated. Charlene consistently conveyed this to her
children: “‘Um put aw su’taqni. Kur um nuutumne.” “You have to be willing to do this
[make a commitment] if you are going to participate. Don’t just go one night and don’t
go the rest of the time, [or] go the last two nights before the dance. You have to be there
every night.” She made clear one’s obligation to the community:
It’s like . . . a requirement of you to do something. So there’s really no way you

can just live out here and [not] participate in those things [cultural activities]. To
be a Hopi, you have to do a lot of hard work. And to be recognized for your status
in society out here, you have to present yourself to the public to earn that respect.
You have to work for it.
Speaking about her current Hopi language proficiency, Charlene stated, “I speak
it but I can’t really express myself in Hopi anymore and I really feel bad about that too
because it reflected on my kids.” Charlene’s situation also pointed out that the boarding
246
schools introduced another change in Hopi family life which was a significant factor in
the shift from Hopi to English in the home—intertribal relationships and marriages.
Youth from many tribes came together in the boarding school situation; Charlene’s three
closest friends were Tewa, Shoshoni, and Nez Perce, making English the common
language of interaction among them. Charlene’s first husband was of a different tribe as
well. She stated, “[Marriage to] a person that’s not a Hopi, I had to speak English to my
kids so that he [my husband] could understand too.” When this marriage dissolved,
although her next relationship was with a “full [blood] Hopi,” he was raised in the city
and therefore was not a user of Hopi. This situation is a prevalent factor in the shift from
Hopi to English in the home as well. Charlene made persistent efforts to use Hopi with
Jared and her partner, but surprisingly her efforts were undermined by her mother: She
stated, “Then mom just started in, talking English to them and that didn’t help.” English
became the dominant language in her home.
Nevertheless, Charlene’s current use of the Hopi language also identified the
functional realms of Hopi in her life. Hopi is the language she used with her colleagues:
“We have fun [speaking Hopi] ’cuz everybody has different dia[lect]. We just kind of
make fun of each other, but . . . it makes work more enjoyable.” Charlene also used Hopi
to intervene on behalf of elderly community members on complex and perplexing legal
issues; “They appreciate that,” she asserted. She also “tries” to talk Hopi to her son,
Jared, initiating simple interactive exchanges. For example she would say to Jared,
247
“Your cousin, um yaw ahwiy calltani.”36 “Your cousin, you are to call him back, return
his call.” Or “Um [i]numum qaavo town awni?” “Will you be going into town with me
tomorrow?” Jared usually responded in English interjected with Hopi expressions, “Ar,37
I don’t know.” Her efforts to do the same when Jared brought friends to their home were
usually met with discomfort: “They just laugh and sit there smiling at each other,” she
said. Charlene was certain that Jared understood Hopi and added, “[But] he’s just like
everybody else; they’re afraid to speak it because you try to talk Hopi to somebody who
really knows Hopi and they just laugh at you because you might have said a word
wrong.” This was especially frustrating for Charlene when her mother, Jared’s
grandmother, was a constant source of this kind of “criticism.”
Justin’s Parents: Lillian and Marshall
Childhood
Lillian. Justin’s mother stated, “I’ve never been out here [lived at Hopi] . . . . We
[the family] came back [to Hopi] when my dad died . . . [but] then me and my younger
brother went to school at Munqapi. We stayed at the dorm so we were never really out
here.” Prior to this move, Justin’s mother, Lillian (a pseudonym), was raised in the
border town of Flagstaff, Arizona. Following high school graduation, she pursued higher
36
The examples illustrate code-switching, interjecting English into Hopi sentences as well as “Hopi-izing”
English words, “calltani” by adding a Hopi suffix/ending to an English word.
37
“Ar” pronounced, “ahsh”, is a contemporary “slang” form of expression for as—“I would rather not, or I
would rather that,” used to introduce a response to asking something of someone. This linguistic change
was precipitated by and therefore in wider use among Hopi youth. Stated with feeling, the expression
insinuates the negative.
248
education away from Hopi but returned to assist her mother with the care of her ailing
grandparents and has remained at Hopi.
Marshall. Marshall’s recounting of his childhood commenced with the vivid
memory of leaving home and family “just when I finished second grade” to attend
boarding school in Utah. Hence, being only about 7 or 8 years of age, his childhood
memories were primarily of his overwhelming sense of loneliness compounded by his
limited English proficiency
Hopi Language
Lillian. Lillian did not offer a definitive description of her Hopi language
proficiency; it appeared that she was not a speaker of Hopi but had some receptive
ability. I sensed that she wanted to avoid a discussion about her Hopi speaking ability
and therefore I did not pursue the issue. Lillian’s participation in the interview session
was marginal and she did not accept the invitation to join her husband, Marshall, and me
at the kitchen table.
Marshall. Marshall’s recounting of his childhood memories indicated that Hopi
was his primary language until the age of 7 or 8 when he was immersed in an English
speaking environment of boarding school. There, he became “accustomed to speaking
English.”
249
Schooling
Marshall. Justin’s stepfather, Marshall (a pseudonym), like many Hopis of the
great-grandparent generation was thrust into the white man’s world when he was sent to
Utah with two older siblings to attend school. He stated, “I had just finished second
grade. I didn’t know I was going until I got on that bus with them [sisters], and at the top
of the hill, I turned and [saw] my village go [disappear behind the hill]. That’s when it
hit me that I’m going away and so I cried all the way up to Utah.” Finding himself in a
bewildering situation did not end with the realization of leaving home, but in fact was just
the beginning of a more confusing experience called “schooling.” He stated, “Nu’ itsa
tuuqayta, Hopituqaytaq, pu’ nu’ paapeq nawis nu’ Pahantuqayva . . . pansa
yu’a’a’totaq.” “I only spoke this language, the Hopi language and at that place [school],
I had to learn the English language; that’s all they spoke.” To cope with this experience,
he recalled, “Naalanen pu’ nu’ naami yu’a’atangwu, Hopiyu’a’atangwu naami.”
“When I was alone, I would speak out loud to myself; I would speak to myself in Hopi.”
There was no mention of time spent with his sisters to adjust to his situation. Apparently,
he was quick to understand the subtle messages regarding the use of the Hopi language as
unacceptable, and remarkably at the age of 6 or 7, he just as quickly adapted to the
situation.
I had to make that change where I had to shut my Hopi tongue off completely and
then pay pas Pahan’yu’a’ta [just be speaking English]. . . . This was when I was
young. I wasn’t exactly told but then just by the actions [facial expressions, body
language, I knew] I wasn’t to speak any Hopi. I couldn’t anyway because I didn’t
have anyone to talk to. So then I just got accustomed to speaking English.
250
Participation in Traditional Activities
Marshall. Getting accustomed to speaking English had its repercussions back
home: “I slowly pick[ed] up on my Hopi in the three months that I’m here in the
summertime. [At first] they [Hopis] would be talking Hopi to me and I wouldn’t respond
. . . . They would make fun of me, ‘Aah, you’re just a Pahaana.’” Marshall departed for
Utah every fall until completing his freshman year in high school, at which time his
return to Hopi was permanent: “I chose to be the Hopi again . . . . I started to learn
[about] my initiations . . . . Once I got it [cultural experiences] down; all my name
calling, all that [negative repercussions associated with his absence from Hopi] stuff just
slowly faded away.” With his high school education completed (he graduated from
Ganado High School located on the Navajo Reservation and nearer to Hopi.), he began to
position his ceremonial activities at the forefront of his life: “I was destined to do this
[my Hopi religious duties]. My uncles had already told me beforehand what their plans
were for me.” Marshall’s uncles played a pivotal role in his preparation for his religious
duties. Vivid in his memories were the directives, “‘Go to your uncle. You go tell your
uncle what you did.’” Or, “‘Let your uncle know.’ He’s the one that discipline[s], and
he’s the one that told you to do this, don’t do that.” One’s uncle also pointed out the
benefits of adhering to the Hopi way of life: “I’ yooyang lolmatnini, wupaqatsit; tuwat
qa hiita ak hinyungniqat, puuvut pam lalvaylaw[ngwu]. Pu’ itam itaa uyiy aw
yorikyan[i] yooyok’o . . . . I’ soosoy himu . . . itamumi, itaataham as yu’a’atotangwu.”
“We will have good rains, long life; not be plagued with bad things; these are what he
251
[one’s uncle] teaches. And for our cultivated plants to see rain . . . . All of these things,
our uncles spoke to us about [in our youth].”
These teachings began with “what your clan is and what your purpose is here as
that clan member” and then your social ties to the wider community becomes understood
because “you’re always related to somebody.” Central to these teachings and the Hopi
way of life is having kyaptsi—respect.
That [respect] has a key role in educating [youth]; one should have respect for
your mothers, your teachings, others, for Mother Earth, for everything that is
alive. And then one should not be wanting more [be greedy] . . . qa
kyaanawaknaqa[ningwu]. Just takes what comes to you . . . as long as you get
energy from it. It doesn’t have to be money . . . . Be thankful . . . . The more you
do [for others], the more [rewards, satisfaction from helping others] you get back.
But you don’t do it [with the intent for receiving these rewards] for that reason; [it
is to be selfless]. . . . [K]yaptsit hak akningwu. One [goes through life] with [a
disposition of] respect.
Clearly, for Justin’s father, “choosing to be Hopi again” was strongly influenced
by his belief that he was destined to make a significant contribution on behalf of the Hopi
people in the ceremonial realm of Hopi life; the teachings relayed to him through his
uncles contributed to this sense of personal and collective destiny. In fact, his childhood
struggles were part of the preparation; they were a constant reminder that “struggles”
were an inherent part of the way of life chosen by the Hopi people at the time of
Emergence. He stated without bitterness, “I just got accustomed to talking English and
when I came home, [yes,] I got hit with Hopi and I was lost [veered from the Hopi path
temporarily]. Then when I came home [permanently], I just went ahead and got my Hopi
back . . . . [And] I just stayed on this [cultural] path and went beyond . . . and I’m right
where I need to be.” “Choosing to be Hopi” with his return to Hopi (“sacrificing” further
252
educational opportunities) and reclaiming his Hopi speaking ability were testimony to his
acceptance of his destined responsibilities as an adult. Justin’s step-father instilled this
foundation of respect and strong conviction in Hopi culture in the home and within his
children; he modeled this commitment by his behavior and attitude in his daily and
ceremonial life.
Adulthood/Parenting
Marshall. Justin’s stepfather applied a strong conviction to adhering to cultural
traditions and maintaining the Hopi language in his home. While he acknowledged that
every household was different in this pursuit, Marshall was adamant that parents “need to
be involved in the cultural doings”—learning the culture is “practiced (emphasis mine) in
the household.” “That’s a big factor right there,” he declared. Learning the culture is
“taught down from the grandfather to the father and to the sons and nephews . . . .
They’re the ones that should be instilling the respect for . . . the meaning of things . . . .
[A]nd so it’s always [like] a ladder that you’re climbing up . . . [and] you need to be
taught in those stages as you [grow],” he explained. This is one’s parental duty (conduct
owed) and obligation (socially imposed responsibility) to one’s children. Marshall
acknowledged that this parental duty and obligation was greatly tested by modern
circumstances in which parents competed for their children’s time and interest against
school activities, the dangers associated with substance abuse and gangs, and their own
distractions and interests. Despite this, Justin’s stepfather’s adherence to Hopi traditions
was guided by his strong belief that these traditions are carrying the Hopi people toward
253
their intended destiny: “I’pi—itaahimuningwu, Hopihiita, taawi; i’uyiy—itamuy
tsaami’mani.” “All these things—our [cultural] possessions, Hopi things [like] songs;
my corn—will lead us along [toward our destiny].” Assured that he had upheld his
parental duty to his children, he stated, “It’s [the sense of duty and obligation] in us from
our fathers and grandfathers, and then now we’re teaching our nephews and sons [and so]
we don’t have to struggle with our boys [in their duty to these male members of the
family].”
Regarding his use of Hopi in the home and with his children, Marshall asserted,
“I talk to them in Hopi. I try to name things . . . and ask them, ‘I’ himu? ‘What is this?’
‘Um haqami?’ ‘Where are you going?’ I [direct them] do this, do that. They respond;
they know what I’m talking about. Now and then they’ll get Hopi [appear to understand
and use Hopi to respond]. Then I’ll repeat [what I said].” In addition, Marshall and
Lillian called their children by their Hopi names. Marshall recalled that as children, they
responded immediately when they were summoned by their Hopi name. In contrast, he
observed that calling his children with their English names found him “calling them
forever.” The use of kin terms—kya’a, kwa’a, taha—by his children was well-
established; “I don’t think they call ’em [their relatives] by their [English] names.”
Marshall often observed his daughter wearing her headset listening to and singing along
with Hopi songs recorded on CDs. Although he acknowledged that she might not
understand the meanings of the words, “it’s going in somewhere.” Marshall also stated
that his wife and daughter who are learning Hopi as a second language learners of Hopi
will “blurt something out [in Hopi] and it’s wrong [is incorrect], but we know what it is
254
[they are attempting to express or communicate]. And we wanna laugh, but we know it’s
the effort [that we should support] and we give them that [encouragement].” In
particular, he took great pride in stating that Justin uses Hopi in their kiva activities. “It
goes right here [pointing to his heart] and [I realize that] I’m doing something at least,”
he asserted. Nevertheless, he also maintained, “I couldn’t have gone to school for it [to
learn to speak Hopi]; I couldn’t do that . . . . It should always be in the home, to me.
That’s where I stand and so we’re [family] going to try and keep it going [in that way].”
Summary
The childhood experiences of this parent generation is evidence that the
essentiality of English and schooling were internalized in differing degrees by their
parents manifested in differing home environments and parenting practices across the
households. Lillian and Doran, raised as “town people,” were limited in their
opportunities for acquiring the Hopi language as well as cultural knowledge. Charlene
and Anna’s early childhoods were spent immersed in the Hopi culture and language, yet
for Anna, a rapid shift occurred upon starting school: “When you went home [from
school], it’s just the way you talk too [in English]. Even your mom and dad started
[talking in English].” Charlene described a “drifting” away of her Hopi while at Phoenix
Indian School as English became the common language among friends from other tribes,
a marriage to a member of a different tribe, and later to an urban-raised, non-speaking
Hopi. Marshall’s story is a poignant and profound experience of a traumatic shift for a
young child: “I had to make that change where I had to shut my Hopi tongue off
255
completely . . . . I wasn’t to speak any Hopi. I couldn’t anyway because I didn’t have
anyone to talk to. So then I just got accustomed to speaking English.” The schooling
process was a predominant factor in initiating the change from the use of Hopi to English
among individual Hopis and extended into the home among family members.
The next chapter engages these Hopi grandparents and parents in an introspective
process—allows them to look into their own hearts, feelings, minds, and reactions—in
order to establish a comprehensive picture of the current status and vitality of Hopi
language and culture. This will have important implications for how the Hopi people
will proceed in ensuring Hopi cultural and linguistic survival.

256
CHAPTER 8
INTROSPECTION: LOOKING INTO OUR HEARTS AND MINDS
This chapter presents the voices of the grandparent and parent generations who
are faced with the reality of language shift gripping their own grandchildren and children.
Given the opportunity for introspection, their voices offer a Hopi perspective on (1) the
declining use of the Hopi language, and in turn, the increasing use of English among the
Hopi people, (2) the perceived negative impact of language shift evident in behaviors that
are described as qa hopi—not Hopi, and violating Hopi principles, (3) the traditional role
of the Hopi language in the construction of a Hopi identity manifesting in a culturally
appropriate and moral lifestyle that will lead to reaching the intended destiny of the Hopi
people—spiritual eternity, as well as (4) specifying those traditions which continue to be
practiced and therefore provide the means for maintaining and revitalizing the ideals and
moral ethics of the Hopi way of life.
For the grandparent generation, the interview sessions were conducted entirely in
Hopi. Therefore, in order to capture the essence of introspection expressed and conveyed
by each grandparent through the Hopi language, I present (1) the question posed in Hopi,
(2) their Hopi response, and (3) the English translation of their response. In addition I
make liberal use of brackets to provide an interpretation of references to cultural
knowledge embodied in the language. For the parent generation, I utilize a narrative
presentation of each parent’s perspectives. Although each parent participant was offered
the opportunity to use the Hopi language in their responses, the interview questions were
257
posed in English, likely resulting in the interview sessions conducted predominantly in
English. Interjections of Hopi are translated into English.
The Grandparent Perspective: “We Became Proud.”
“What will there be for Hopi people who don’t speak like us [older generation of Hopi]?”
Hopi elder
“Itàalavayi Sulaw’iwma. Our Language is Diminishing.”
Marie’s immediate response to the question, “Noqw hin pas Hopilavayi alöngti?”
“How has the Hopi language changed,” was accompanied with laughter but also with an
undertone of seriousness. “Itàalavayiy namiqwriwni’yyungwa. Pahanlavayit enang
hakim pu’yangwu. Ita[m] pu’ oovi pu’ pas alöngot yu’a’atota. Pu’ piw itam qa
natuwi’yungwa sùupan pan Hopiyu’a’atotaniqe. Put pas haamanyaqe . . . Itam son as
qa panyungwe’ put ngu’yungni.” “Our languages [of use, Hopi and English] are mixed
together. We are now interjecting English into our Hopi. Therefore, we are speaking a
truly different language. And then we are no longer accustomed, it seems, to speaking
the Hopi language. It appears as though we are shy, bashful [to speak Hopi]. . . . If we
were not like that; we would be holding on to it.” Clara confirmed this as well. “Anave
alöngti. Pahankwasa yu’a’atot[a].” “It [Hopi, as the predominant language] has really
changed. They [the Hopi people] are always speaking English.” More specifically she
targeted younger Hopi women who were “educated”—those with advanced schooling—
as modeling this “English only” behavior. Clara perceived this language behavior of
“educated” younger Hopi women as indication that they placed the English language
258
rather than Hopi in a position of prominence: “That’s all they wanna talk, momoyam,
educateiwyungqam, puma pas . . . Pahanlavayitsa pas moomiq tavi’yungwa.”
Marie further elucidated Clara’s observation when she stated, “Pay pi pan amumi
màataqti sonqa. Ispi puma pansa natuwi’yungwa. Pi itam pay amunyungqe oovi hakiy
aw puma Pahanyu’a’atotaqw pay hak amun piw ahoy pan yu’a’aykungwu.” “To them,
it’s already gone probably, because they are accustomed to speaking like that [in
English]. And then, we [speakers of Hopi, grandparents] are no different. Those of us,
when spoken to in English, respond to them in the same way [in English].” Clara
candidly admitted, “Ispi pay itam qa amumi Hopiyu’a’atotaq oovi. It’s all
grandmothers’, mothers’ fault . . . . Pu’ puma they don’t wanna make up their mind that
they should talk Hopi to them. Pu’ ima pay tsaatsayom, momoyhooyam pi pay it pu’
Englissa tuuqayyungqe.” “Because we don’t talk to them [youth] in Hopi, that’s why
[we are confronted by the shift to English]. It’s the grandmothers’, mothers’ fault. And
then they don’t want to make up their mind [or realize, recognize] that they should talk
Hopi to them. Now, these children, and young women, therefore, have learned only
English.”
It appeared that Marie and Clara, given the opportunity for reflection, were now
realizing the far-reaching consequences of the shift from Hopi to English as the
predominant language in Hopi society. Clara summed up the reality of the situation:
“Qa hak pas Hopiyu’a’ataq’ö, son oovi ima momoyhooyam, tootim put tuuqayyungni.
Panis Pahanyu’a’atota. Puma so’on oovi put soosok hiita tuwi’yungni.” “No one much
259
speaks Hopi; therefore, these young women, boys will not learn it [Hopi].38 They are
always speaking English. Therefore, they will not learn all the [essential] Hopi things
[knowledge].” For Clara, it became clear that speaking English has become the norm
among all speakers of Hopi, even among the older speakers and will undoubtedly result
in the complete loss of Hopi cultural and esoteric knowledge transmitted through the
language.
Vivian pointed out the likelihood of potential changes in the linguistic structure as
well as a diminishing knowledge of the lexical repository of Hopi: “Like now, we
[grandmothers] don’t speak ‘good’ [grammatically correct] Hopi. We don’t all have a
good grasp of the proper Hopi language. Even I don’t know everything
[vocabulary/grammar] but I understand when they’re [the great grandparent generation]
talking.” Wuklavayi, language used by the older generation to express the philosophy of
the Hopi way of life and a specialized domain of the Hopi language, is diminishing with
disuse; no one is learning to use this language. More tragic is that wuklavayi will be lost
completely as the elder speakers of Hopi die.
Moreover, these grandparents indicated that language shift has severed the
intimacy between children and their parents, and children and their grandparents
(Hermes, 2005) shared through the Hopi language premised on a common philosophy
and orientation toward life. The consequence was manifest in a dichotomous relationship
between the generations reflecting this tension. Often, older Hopi admonished and/or
implored the younger Hopi to speak to them using Hopi. Clara recalled the words of a
38
The reference to “it” refers to both the Hopi language and the Hopi culture including teachings,
knowledge, and practices. Language is not separate from culture.
260
member of an elder audience addressing a young speaker: “Tus uma pay so’onqa
Hopiituqayyungwa. Itam umuy qa maatsi’wisa, uma oovi Hopiyu’a’atotani. Uma
Hopiitu. Noq oovi uma aw wuuwaye’ uma qa pan yu’a’atotani itamumi.” “Please, there
are those of you who must know [speak] Hopi. We [elders] are not understanding you
[your discourse]; therefore, you need to speak Hopi [to us]. You are Hopi. Therefore, we
implore you to think on this and then begin to speak in that way [speaking Hopi] to us.”
The tension between parents and youth, between speakers and non-speakers of
Hopi, and between the older and younger generations were also reflected in the incessant
criticism and hurtful teasing they directed at each other. Marie offered this insight,
“Ita[m] sun wuwni’yyungqw oovi pay pi naap himuwa hakiy aw pay qa yan unangwa’yte
hakiy aw naap hingqawngwuniqw.” “We don’t all think alike, therefore, some person,
who has pent up negative emotions toward another, will deliberately make a discouraging
remark about or to them.” One grandmother confirmed this behavior with her own
grandchildren: She stated, “My grandkids speak only English and I say to them, ‘I don’t
speak very good English like you kids; you kids know a lot, but yet you don’t speak
Hopi.’” On the part of both the older and younger generations of Hopi, defensive tones
and stances are taken. The older Hopis speak to their grandchildren or non-speakers of
Hopi as though they were immature children. The younger Hopis respond to this
humiliation defensively which in turn is perceived as immature and childish by the older
Hopis. Clara’s example provided further insight into the nature of this incessant tension
between the older and younger generations fueled by miscommunication about how one
demonstrates respect—self-respect and respect for others: “Pay pi naat so’onqa oovi
261
mömuy amumiyani, ‘Um himu?’ ‘Um pay himu tasavu?’ ‘Um hintoq oovi qa
Hopiituqayta?’ Pu’ pay sonqa amumi yanhaqam hingqaqwaq pu’ senpi pay ayon
kyavtsi[totini], if they wanna be Hopis they’re gonna have to start talking Hopi, Hopi
words, nuy noq.” “Certainly, at some time, to their grandchildren, the elders will say,
‘What are you [a stranger]?’ ‘Are you some Navajo?’ ‘Why haven’t you learned to
speak Hopi?’ These are probably the remarks they will make, and then maybe they [the
grandchildren] will show respect. If they want to be Hopis, they’re going to have to start
[speaking] Hopi, [start] with Hopi words; this is what I think.” In other words, only a
stranger, one not a member of Hopi society, would be expected to not speak the Hopi
language.
While generational differences are often the source of tensions in many cultures,
for Hopi, this behavior is viewed as disrespect, a violation of the conduct owed to family
and kin, as well as the moral image the Hopi people maintain of themselves. Moreover,
the “teasing” described reveals a change in how teasing iss used as a specialized form of
social interaction between kin, a form of expressing the ideals of Hopi life to one that
represents teasing as a means to point out one’s shortcomings. Marie’s response to such
interchanges was addressed in the form of advice directed toward Hopi youth. She
advised, “Pay hak qa tsako’unangtit . . . put qa aw hin wuuwankyang pay ang naat piw
pan yu’a’atamantani.” “One should not respond in a childish or with an immature
manner to this . . . instead, dismiss it and decide in favor of speaking Hopi.”
More frankly, Marie observed, “Paypi haqawat piw puma pay sen kwikwiviyaw…
pay puma put sùutokyaqe. Noqw nuy noqw son put sùutokni. Sutsep nu’ angqe’
262
hinnumkyang hak hìita hin qatsi’yte . . . put qa sùutokngwu.” “And then there are some
who have become proud . . . . and have forgotten that [the Hopi language]. To me, [I ask]
how can one forget? Always, no matter where I was going along in my life or where I
lived . . . I didn’t forget it [Hopi language and culture].” For Marie, rather than a change
in the language, there has been a change in attitude, at a personal level, toward the Hopi
language and culture. Clara posed the idea that perhaps some Hopis are uncertain about
their Hopi language proficiency or reluctant to self-identify as non-users of the language.
She surmised, “Pay sen puma pay naav piw qa Hopiituqayyungwa. Hinpi pas hinta.”
“Maybe, they [some Hopi people], themselves have not learned or cannot speak Hopi. I
don’t truly know the state of this [language] situation.”
“Itam Kwiivitoti.” “We Became Proud.”
The question, “Noq hintoq oovi itam naat qa pan hintsatskya?” “So, why are we
[as a Hopi people] not practicing the Hopi the way of life [including speaking the Hopi
language],” elicited the following response from Marie: “Ita[m] haqawat antsa put qa
kyaptsi’yyungwa pu’. Nu’ pay pumuy angqw put tuwi’yvaqe nu’; pay kur yanoqw put
puma hìita’yyungwa. Nu’ naat pay put oovi hìihita u’ni’yta. Pu’ nu’ pay as piw pi oovi
pan qatuniqe’ naawakna. Niikyang tsangawpi nu’ piw it Pahanhìita enang paas
tuwi’vaqe pay puma sonqa nàama yankyang hak kur qatungwu kur’a.” “There are some
of us who in fact seem to have lost respect for and diminished within ourselves the value
and integrity of the Hopi culture and language in favor of another way of life. [But for
me,] from them [my parents] I learned the Hopi way of life and therefore I value and
263
respect it. I, therefore, remember all those things. And, I want to live that life [the Hopi
way of life]. But gratefully, I also learned the white man’s way of life and they [the Hopi
and Pahaana way of life] can come together; and it has become apparent to me that one’s
life benefits from both.”
For this grandparent generation of Hopi, the loss of respect and valuing of Hopi
tradition was increasingly becoming apparent in the manner in which the younger
generation adheres to carrying out the practices and customs. Hopi tradition dictates one
to work with conviction and sacrifice toward a given goal—achieving the goal or
completing a task with the prescribed attitude and effort wherein lay the “value” of and
“respect” for the customs and traditions. Instead, the younger generation of Hopi is
increasingly observed as taking “shortcuts” in completing ceremonies to save time and
expend minimal effort. According to the older Hopis, not only has carrying out the
ceremonies been undertaken and completed through shortcut measures, but the rewards
(spiritual, as well as the intended benefit to the people) are no longer “earned” or as a
result of such changes.
This attitude toward and for Hopi traditions and practices was viewed as
deterioration in understanding of the purpose of the endeavor/sacrifice expended—
“carrying out a religious duty,” “acting in faith”—as well as the principles of humility,
hard-work, faith, re-actualized through ritual, hence, the importance of carrying out the
rituals and practices as tradition dictates. Accordingly, this attitude was especially
apparent in the diminishing attention some husbands, fathers and sons have given to the
corn fields. The practice of growing corn by hand not only symbolizes the Hopi man’s
264
economic responsibility to his family but constitutes an act of faith, and is therefore a
religious duty. Essentially, some Hopi men are neglecting both, and the consequences
are becoming evident. Clara was privy to one woman’s lamenting, “Nu koongya’taq
pam pay it paasat qa aw hin wuuwa. Nu’ okiw qa hisat qaa’öt hiita himu’ta. Nu’ nawis
tu’e’, pu’ put nösngwu. Pu’ ima lööqmuy tiyotvituy as ti’ta. Puma oovi pay put anta.
Puma qa pang hinnuma.” “I have a husband but he does not think about the cornfield.
Poor me, I have not for a long time had any corn [as a result]. I must buy it before I can
taste of it. And then, I have two sons. They are like him [their father]. They do not go
along in [tending or visiting] their fields.” Marie confirmed this behavior: “Me’, hìisa
generations angqw pu’ qa ngas’ew suus pasmiyangwu. Put hìita qa tuwi’yungwa.”
“Look, how many generations are there now [of young Hopis] who have not once gone to
their fields. They have no knowledge of these things.” For the older generation this
behavior contributed to the erosion of Hopi family and communal values manifest in a
lack of commitment and responsibility to family that plagued contemporary Hopi society.
Marie cited schools as a major source of this generational change: “The elders are
all frustrated because there’s no communication about these important values and ways of
doing things for our people,” Marie stated as she recalled a village elder who voiced his
frustration with the schools.
Hotvelngaqw taaqa . . . pam yaw tuwat put hiihiita athletics, games and all that,
pas yaw qa hàalayi.” “A man from Hotvela . . . he, in turn is unhappy with all
those athletic activities. And he qualified that, he said, ‘It’s no use trying to get
things done in our practices, the way we do things in the kiva. All those
following the ceremonial cycle,’ he said. ‘It’s frustrating because we can’t get
them [male youth, men] to the kiva. They have a basketball game to go to so they
leave and they don’t come down to the kiva with us. Or there’s a tournament
265
somewhere. They’re out late at night even during Kyaamuya.39 Me’ ephaqam pi
hakim as qa angqe mihiqw hintsaknumyangwunoqw; they’re always going.’ You
see, at that time we are not to go about being engaged in [such] activities. Pam
yaw tuwat qa hàalayi. So, he is unhappy with all these sporting events. And I felt
like, God I want to document that [observation and perspective] and bring that to
the high school board. There has to be some way to work this thing out. He
wants to continue something [culture] that is so important but he can’t get the
young men to go with him because they’re out doing all these other things. And
he has a lot of knowledge and things to pass on. And yet he can’t the young men
to go with him.
Vivian confirmed that the indolent attitude and irresponsible, disrespectful
behavior among the younger generation of Hopi is directly related to a disconnect
between parents and their children:
And I would never, never understand your [younger generation’s] lifestyle . . . .

But that’s the time changes. You [younger generation] don’t know about my
lifestyle when I was growing up . . . . We grew up in need of basic material
things, but [whereas] I’m experiencing what kind of lifestyle you kids are living
. . . . We were never neglected; [our parents] were always here for us; we had lots
of love. Today’s parents, [the] men abuse alcohol and are not good providers; the
women have to work and they’re not there for their young, especially for the girls.
When one has children, one is to take care of them.
Marie recalled observing a young mother trying to attend to her child in an effort
to point out that the younger generation seems overly anxious to reach adulthood with
little preparation for the responsibilities of adulthood, specifically parenting. She stated,
“It’s [parenting] a big responsibility and we don’t teach those values to our kids.”
For Vivian, there was a strong link between the lifestyle of contemporary Hopi
youth and language loss that emanates from a change in the home environment. She
cited interracial marriages and the urban lifestyle in which many Hopi youth have been
39
Kyaamuya, the month of the solstice falling in December and January when Mother Earth is said to be at
rest, replenishing herself and should not be disturbed in this process. It is a time when no one is to be
engaged in outside activities—walking about at night, not building fires outside, no drumming, no singing
nor whistling, no grinding of corn into flour, no digging in the earth. This is the time when all remain
inside and storytelling is occurring in the homes as well as weaving in the kivas.
266
raised as challenging the Hopi way of life and creating divisiveness. She alleged, “Those
of you who were raised in town and/or married non-Hopis, you will not learn the Hopi
way because the practice of communal living is lost to these families.” Vivian recalled
that traditionally, one’s father came to live with his daughter and thereby spent time
advising his grandchildren; his words left a lasting impression. This practice is lost to
most Hopi youth today. “I’m only a grandma,” Vivian now stated, “but what I can do is
just to encourage [and advise her grandchildren against unHopi behaviors]—be proud of
yourself; don’t make a fool of yourself; don’t be acting crazy or be too loud; have respect
for yourself.” But how involved a paternal grandmother becomes in the lives of her
grandchildren today is largely dependent on “how the mother will accept my discipline.”
Vivian also pointed out that this state of affairs extended beyond the impact of
Western education and learning English. She perceived the incorporation of a governing
system—the BIA—as conflicting with the traditional system of autonomous village
governance. She avowed, “I’ hìihimu government itamuy nukurhintsana . . . . Itam
sòosoyam pu’ government aw hìita akw piw pö’iwyungwa.” “All these governmental
things [bureaucracy] are worsening things for us. We all find ourselves owing the
government.” Vivian felt that modern times and circumstances had placed the Hopi
people in a perplexing situation; one that was filled with conflict and tension.
The grandparent generation turned to Hopi navoti—teachings, traditions,
knowledge, cultural beliefs—for understanding: Vivian stated, “Hisathaqam I’ yan
yukilti. Itaa yantotini, kwiikwivite’, pu’ itam itaalavayiy pa qahimutotini.” “At some
time [an indefinite time] these events were already determined; [that] we would become
267
like this [caught in a perplexing state of affairs]. We would become proud and no longer
see the value of our language.”
Vivian also recalled her father’s predictions. He told her, “The younger
generation is proud [behaving arrogantly] and you want to conduct our affairs utilizing
the “foreign” government system, but it will come to pass that it is not right for us
because that is not our way. We try to imitate them [the white people], but . . . this
[Western] system has made us turn against each other with its policies against nepotism;
this is contrary to the Hopi way.” This grandparent generation now described the
younger generation as overly self-confident in their new knowledge of the white man’s
ways; it has made them arrogant in their attitude and behavior and consequently they lack
humbleness, self- respect, and respect for traditions. Vivian summed up this Hopi state
of affairs:
Somewhere in the middle of life we wanted the best and started speaking English.
We’re so proud of ourselves that we can speak English (an accomplishment) and
are pushing away Hopi because we wanna let the people know that we can speak
English. And even as grandparents, without a high degree of proficiency in
English, [we] still speak to them [our grandchildren] in English. We are proud
[pretentious] and therefore speak English. But this is prophecy40; along the way,
we were to speak one language, so I guess that language is English.
“Hak Lavayit Akw Màatsiwtangwu. By Means of the Language, One Has an Identity.”
In response to the question posed about the language and identity link, each
grandparent participant turned to her personal knowledge and understanding of Hopi

40
The use of the word prophecy to explain events or things that might happen to the Hopi as a people are
not “prophecies,” but rather “predictions” grounded in how the Hopi people respond to them. For example,
that the Hopi language is threatened as a result of language shift is not a prophecy; rather, its demise will be
determined by our actions or inactions as a people in response to the threat. Hopi language loss is
inevitable if the Hopi people take no action.
268
teachings. The question, “Noq naamahin hak Hopilavayit qa tuuqayyungkyang, pay naat
piw Hopiningwu?” “So, even if one has not learned the Hopi language, is one still a
Hopi?” Marie’s responded,
Kurpi itàanavotinoqw itam naat yangq it qatsit angqw haqami hoyta. Itam yep
mongvastote naat haqamiyani. Naat ita[m] pangsowatyaqw, pep hak itamuy
himu’ytaqe pam naat itamumi hin hepni yawi. ‘Um lavayit, Hopilavayit tuuqayte’
pu’ um pan hu’wani.’ ‘Owi, nu’ Hopi.’ I’ naap nàaqay’ytanini. Pay kur um
Hopi, um yukwatni.
According to our beliefs, it is said that we are still going along this life path
moving toward some place [the spirit world]. When we have completed our
earthly task here, we will continue on to another place. When we reach that place
[the gateway], there someone or something [a greater power/guardian] will ask
each of us to identify ourselves [test us], it is said. If you have learned the Hopi
language, then you will be able to answer, ‘Yes, I am a Hopi.’ [This gatekeeper]
will be wearing a strand of turquoise as earrings [as a mark of identity]. ‘It must
be that you are Hopi, [this guardian will answer]; you will go here [in this
direction prepared for the Hopi people].
Kur hak son nawus qa lavayiy tuuqayte’ pu’ ayowat nàasasa’ykyang pitungwu.
Pu’ oovi hak Hopinen put hìihiita paas aw màatsi’me’ pan qate’, pu’ hak pay qa
hiniwqatnoqw ayowat naksungwu hisat hakiy ayawa’at aqw pituqw. Yep
itàaHopi tuwi; Hopilavayi, Hopinawanpit pam kur hin qa hisat sòotini, pam qa
sòotingwu. Pay naat itaa ayowat ökye pay naat itaa piw putyani. Niqw oovi pam
qa sonqa enang ita[m] put paas navoti’ykyàakyang pangsoq haqami
ita[m]hoytatotaqey put enangyani. Kur pas antsa pantaniqw, kur puma
haqamiyani, ispi qa tùuqayyungqe.
Apparently, one must have learned their language in order to go/get to that place
and arrive there prepared [to identify oneself as a Hopi]. Therefore, if one is a
Hopi and goes along with an understanding of all these things [knowledge of the
language and the tenets of the Hopi way of life], has lived according to these, and
has stayed on the moral path, then one will depart to that place when one’s time
[mortal death] arrives. That [spiritual life] does not come to an end. Here [in this
earthly life], our Hopi practical knowledge, our Hopi language, our Hopi desires
[for happiness, long life without sickness, bounty] should not end; does not come
to an end. We will, when we reach that place, we will go through that one [the
same kind of life again]. That is why we must go along with that belief, knowing
it well, and move along toward that place. It seems that if it is certain to [happen]
that way; then they [those who are not prepared to identify themselves as Hopi]
will go somewhere else because they have not learned the language.
269
The Hopi terms tiingavi and pötskwani are significant terms in describing what is
referred to as “Hopi destiny.” Tiingavi refers to a preordination or plan which
incorporates the belief that some greater power foreordained the destiny of Hopi in the
beginning or long ago according to the Hopi Emergence story. At that time, Màasaw, a
spirit being, lord of the Fourth world, made known to the Hopi people the path,
pötskwani, of life they were to follow. The Hopi life plan, Hopivötskwani, encompassed
the knowledge and rules for the proper understanding and maintenance of the Hopi way
and would lead the Hopi people toward their intended destiny—spiritual eternity.
Vivian’s response reflected the predictions that foretold the ominous
consequences the Hopi people would face by not adhering to the Hopi plan of life. She
stated,
Hisathaqam, I’yan yukilti. Ita[m] yantotini, kwiikwivit; pu’ itam itaalavayiy pay
qahimutotini. Pep pu’ ason itam qa Hopìituqayyungwe’, pu’ hapi yaw naamahin
itam pangqaqwani, ‘Nu’ Hopi, hak kitamantani,’ niikyang hak lavayiy qa
tuuqayte’ pay hak qa pamningwu, qaHopiningwu. Pu’ itam put itaalavayiy
suutokyani, pam pay kur hiitani paapu’. Itam kur hiita aw yankyaakyang pu’
itam pangqaqwmantani, because itam qa tuuqayyungwa.
At some time [in the past] this has been determined. This is how we were to
become, proud [conceited]; and our language will become unimportant,
insignificant [to us]. At that time, if we are not being Hopi [in behavior and
attitude], they say, even if one states [to this greater power], ‘I am Hopi,’ if one
has not learned his language, one is not that—one is not Hopi. And then if we [as
a people] forget our language then it will mean nothing anymore. We will not
have the means to go forth because we have not learned our language.
Vivian continued, “Pu’ hak Hopìituqayte’ . . . hak amumi himuningwu; pu’ hak
qa tuuqaytaqa kur himuni paasat. Pu’ yaw hisat himu tuuqayta itamumi pite haqangq
itamuy yep itam yep yanhaqam qa nukwang qatsi’yyungq pu’ itam hapi yaw put aq ayo’
nöngaqni itàahopilavayiy akw’a.” “So, if one has learned Hopi . . . one has an identity,
270
one is of significance, precious, but if one has not learned Hopi, one is of an unknown
origin [a stranger] then. And then it is said, something/someone [of greater power] who
is all knowing will come before us and see how we are living. [He will see us living] like
this an unfavorable situation. Then it is our language that will see us through this
ordeal.”
For Clara, moving toward this destiny as an individual member of the Hopi
collective involved one’s belief and acceptance of the commitment to this communal
doctrine. She stated,
Kur antsa Hopitninit pam pay hakiy evningwu. Pan naawakne’, aw unangtave’
pas qa atsat Hopit kur aw tuvtsiwe’ naawaknamantaq, pev pam piw himu tuwat
hakiy piw pa’angwangwu. Qa paysoq itam yeese. Itam qa nanalt yev yeese, um
himu hakiy wiknumngwu. I piw enang tutavo.
If one truly wants to be Hopi, that [desire] exists within the person. If one desires
that [identity] and attends to it from the heart, truly believes in the Hopi way and
seeks strength and assistance through prayer, then someone/something [our
guardian] will help you [achieve this]. We are not just merely living [we have a
purpose]; we are not living here alone; something [of greater power] is carrying
us along [toward our intended destiny as a people]. This is also our teachings.
Clara adamantly believed that one cannot become completely severed from
his/her cultural identity even as a non-speaker of Hopi. Instead the challenge of pursuing
being and “feeling” fully Hopi lies with and within the individual. She stated, “You are a
Hopi [by birth]. That’s why you can’t say you’re not a Hopi . . . [just] because you don’t
talk Hopi.” She continued by alluding to the notion that more than a speaking ability
makes one “fully” Hopi. “Pu’ um qa atsate’ um aw unangtave’ kur hinqa ahwiy,
naawakn[e]. Pay aspi puma Hopiitu. Putsa kyapi qa tuuqayyungwa, Hopilavayit.” “If
one is being truthful to oneself and attends to this [desire to learn Hopi, he/she] will
271
surely receive [assistance] praying for this [assistance from a greater source]. They
[those who do not speak Hopi] are Hopis. It is only that they cannot speak the Hopi
language.”
“Pam Pay Hakiy Evningwu. The Desire [to Live the Hopi Way of Life] Comes from
Within.”
The question, “Noq hin itam put aw antsasnayani? “So, how can we go about
correcting this [linguistic] situation,” elicited the philosophy that the desire to live the
Hopi way of life comes from within. Despite the urgency to address the Hopi linguistic
situation, Marie matter-of-factly stated that short of establishing and enforcing policies
that decree the use of Hopi in the homes, the means to address this crisis remains elusive.
“Hìinpi pam aw aniwtini.” “I don’t know how this will come about [be reversed].” Yet,
Marie also asserted that Hopi cultural traditions continue to be practiced and carried out
by many Hopis including her own family which provide hope:
Pay pi as son pas hintani pi ita[m] pay naat hìihiita Hopihìita hintsatskya: . . .
mö’onghimut, mö’witiqe; pam piw pas paas yukiwta; hin hak pumuy pep
tumala’ymaningwuqw; kakatsin. Pu’ pàasat, oovi ima tàataqt, itim piw
panyungwa, unangtavi’yta amumum put hiihiita ang hinma. Put pay nu’ oovi aw
maamatsi’ytaqe put as aw pas unangtavi’yta ispi pam kur pas hìita piw itamuy
tutuqaynaqw oovi; pu’ it tipos-, tìiqatsi. Puuvut pay oovi nu’ hìita’yta . . . . Nu’ pi
pay nùutum hìita ang hinmaqe nu’ it imuy tribal council pu’ pay village ep piw
hìihiita nu’ nùutum pi pakiwta.
Well, it [maintenance of Hopi traditions] shouldn’t be so difficult because we are

still doing all these Hopi things [practices]: weddings . . . marrying into a
family/clan; these are [formally] planned out [established practices] . . . how one
is to care for and treat them [in-laws] there [at the groom’s house]. And then
there are the cornfields, there are Hopi men, and my boys too, help them and with
them attend to those things. Therefore with a good understanding of [these
traditions and of] their importance I offer my support and assistance as well
because this [planting] practice provides us with much to know and learn; [and]
272
the infants, their first twenty days as the time of purification from birth to the
child’s naming day. All of these [practices] I respect and have reverence for . . . .
I participate actively in these [cultural] things, [in addition] I am involved in tribal
council and village activities.
Clara concurred, “Songoopave pi puma naato it hiita wiimit hintsatskyaqe, puma
nawis put, qa antsa put hiita yungnit puma nawis Hopilavayit tuuqayyungni . . . . That’s
why you have to know Hopi.” “At the village of Songoopavi, the religious/esoteric rites
and practices [open to only potential initiates] are still being done, therefore, if they
[potential initiates] sincerely desire to enter into these [religious societies], they must
understand [be listening or hearing] the Hopi language. That’s why you have to know
Hopi.”
Clara also matter-of-factly declared that the grandmothers and mothers still bear
the responsibility of teaching such values—cultural and familiar responsibilities—
through modeling and instruction. Marie added, “Pu’ hak yan hìita aw màatsi’yt’e, hìita
tuwi’yte nuy noqw hak put piw qa kyàakyawnangwu. Qa pas pas pam ihimusa.” “And
when one has a good understanding of something, has learned something, it is my belief
that one should not be stingy with their knowledge. It is not learned solely for oneself.”
Nevertheless, the life choices that one makes, rests with each individual. “Pam
pay hakiy evningwu, Clara stated and continued,
Paypi puma hin tuwat neengam wuuwantota. Sen peetum pay piw qa aw
tuv[tsiwye], that’s just up to you. Hak hin qatuniqey naawakne’ panwat
unangway tavingwu. Pas qa atsat hiita ak mongvasniqe pev pu’ hak neengam
tunatyaltingwu. Pay I soosok yanta. Pay as sen hisnentiq naawaknaqa ahoy
tuuqayni. Paypi pam pumuy epe . . . tsaatsakmuy epe. Piw qa tuuqayniqey
naawakne . . . Nikyang paypi tsay hìita piw qa naawakne’ kye pay son piw pas.
That [choices] comes from within. It is up to them [each individual] how they are
thinking for themselves. Maybe some will not believe [in the Hopi way], that’s
273
just up to you what kind of life you want and then to put your heart into it [in
order to realize that choice]. If you truly desire to benefit from something, this is
when you begin to look out for yourself. This is how it all is. Maybe if one truly
wants this [cultural knowledge/identity], he/she will learn it again. That is within
them . . . within the youth. If one does not want this knowledge . . . often a child
who does not desire something will likely not [pursue it].
Clara also pointed out the need to be cognizant of the challenges that could be
encountered. She stated, “Nuy aw wuuwaniq, puma Pahanlavayitsa pu’ tutuqayyaqe
öönatotingwu . . . . Paypi so’on hak hiita pas aapiy tuwi’vangwu.” “When I think on
this, they [youth] are learning only in English and probably get weary [to learn something
else—Hopi culture/language] . . . . One cannot learn things on the first attempt. It takes
time. It takes time to learn something.”
Marie recalled the significance of children in Hopi society: She said,
Tsaak hakim aw hàalayyangwu. I’ pi pas lavayi. Pu’ tsay pas himuningwu. Ii’it
itam sùutokiwwisa . . . . Pam itahimu. Itam yumat, somat, namat naap itàakiy ang
as ita[m] put makiwayungwe’ itam as oovi put aw unangtatve’ put naap pumuy
tutuqaynayanikyang. Pàasat pi hak tsaakhoyat wikkyang it itaayantsakni; it hak
yàntingwu; I yan màatsiwa. Pam pi pay as qa hinta. Noqw tuwat itam pumuy
ii’ingyalyangwu; ayohaqami pumuy ayantsatskyangwu.
Children bring happiness into our hearts, raise our spirits. This is what is said
[about children]. And a child is sacred and precious in his/her innocence. This is
want we are forgetting . . . . That [teaching them Hopi values] is our
responsibility. We as their mothers, grandmothers, and fathers inherited that duty
and should ourselves, in our homes teach them. That is when one takes the
children along as they go about their activities instructing, ‘This is what you do;
this is what it is called.’ This is simple. But instead we tire of them, not want
them around, [and] send them away.
Reclaiming this duty required that parents and grandparents develop a good
understanding of contemporary Hopi youth who have been profoundly influenced by the
Western world through schooling, media, and technology. Marie stated, “Aasakis pan
yumuy tuuvinglawngwu hìita.” “Often they [Hopi youth] ask their parents about things,”
274
unlike their parents and grandparents who learned by listening and observation;
questioning was unHopi behavior. In turn, Hopi youth must exhibit strong personal
motivation and a respectful attitude as language learners to effectively begin addressing
the language crisis and the generation “gap” among the Hopi people.
Marie observed that her grandchildren responded well to learning to sing the Hopi
songs which seemed to be learned without much difficulty particularly as they
participated in the kiva activities with their father. As such she has encouraged and
advised her grandchildren who are not yet proficient Hopi speakers, “Um hìita taawit
tuwi’ve’ um sutsep put tawlawmantani. Pu’ hìita lalvayqw um paas enang piw tuwi’vani.
Naamahin as um qa pas sen aw maatsi’ytamantanikyang um taawi’ve’ um put so’on
sù’tokni. Pu’ ason pi pay itam hin lalvayqw son put ung qa put aa’awnani.” “Whatever
songs you’ve learned, always be singing them. And what it [the songs] speaks of you
should learn as well. Despite possibly not having a full understanding of the words, you
will never forget it (the songs). But what the songs describe or speak of, I will tell you.’”
Addressing the incessant criticism meted by Hopi speakers she advised,

Niikyang ita[m] pay kye sòosovikw panta himuwa okiw as tuwanlawe’, pay
Hopihingqawqw haqawat sinomat tuwat soq aw tsutsuyngwu. Pàasat pi pay tsay
son put oovi ayan pay hamante’ pam pay son put ö’qalni pàasat. Ita[m] as oovi
put naamewayani. Itaa qa panyungni as’a. Um haqaq Hopi? Hakiy aw naap,
hìituwat naap hingqaqwangwu. Pay kye pi itamuy sen, itamuy qa pas
hìitay’yungqe, itamuy qa pas kyaptsi’yyungqe.
But then, probably everywhere it is like that—when someone is attempting to

speak Hopi, one of his own family members will begin laughing at him/her. And
then the youth will surely become shy and will not be responsive to further
encouragement at all. That is why we should abstain from that [behavior]. We
should not be like that [intimidating non-speakers with questions like,] ‘What
kind of Hopi are you?’ Some individuals say inappropriate things. I guess
because they don’t value us; don’t respect us.
275
Reclaiming the responsibility, the duty of parents and grandparents to enculturate
children into Hopi society will first require introspection and self-discipline at an
individual level: Nawis naami sonqa tuyqawve’ pu’ hak paapu nu’ qa Pahanyu’a’atani.
It hak nawis sonqa yanwat öqalte’ pu’ su’an as antsanni.” “We must [individually] take
control of ourselves—to remind oneself from hereon to not solely speak English. One
must strengthen oneself in this way and then begin to correct this [situation],” Marie
pondered aloud. Personal efforts can be channeled to a collective level at which a
revitalization movement can be realized. She continued,
Pu’ as ita[m] sen u’ni’yungwe’ naamahin as antsa hakiy aw Pahankwa

hingqawqw pay hak ahoy Hopìikwa piw yu’a’aykuqw pu’ pam pay ngas’ew put
aw nanvotlaw[ni], tuuqaytamantani nen pu’ kya. Tsay pi pay as hìita
sùutuwi’vangwu tis yaasay, two year old pam pàasat pu’ naat yu’a’aykuniqe pep
pi pàasat pi oovi as aw pas pas tumaltaqw pam as pay as sonqa put enang
tuuqaymani.
And then if we all remember [this personal pledge], no matter if someone speaks
English to us and we respond in Hopi, then at least that will help him/her begin
comprehending; they will start listening possibly. It is known that a child learns
quickly, especially at this age—at two years old they are just beginning to speak.
Therefore it is at this age one should work at teaching them Hopi [along with
English] and they will surely learn Hopi as well.
Clara articulated a similar vision. She stated, “Pas soosoyom yev sinom naanami
unangtavye naanami Hopiyu’a’ay[totani].” “If everyone, all the people here encouraged
one another, they would be speaking Hopi to one another.”
Although historically schools contributed significantly to this linguistic crisis,
Marie believed that schools must now be co-opted to play an important role in halting
this crisis. Schools must be considered because Hopi youth spend a vast amount of time
within this environment (for academic and extracurricular activities), and because Hopi
276
parents appear to be turning the responsibility of teaching Hopi language to the schools.
Marie explained this perplexing state of affairs “Pu’ pàasat pi pay nawus itam qa
hingqaqwani yangw tutuqaykit angw put tutuqaynayaqw. Hikis itam awye, pumuy
pa’angwayani ispi itam naap pumuy qa tutuqaynayaqe. Itam nawus pumuy öqalayani,
pumuy amumi unangtatveni . . . mömuy amungem put naawakne.” “And then [if we do
not reclaim this responsibility in the home], we cannot speak against the teaching of Hopi
in the schools. As a matter of fact, we [as parents and grandparents] should go there and
offer our support and assistance because we are not teaching the children ourselves. We
must encourage them and offer our support . . . if we desire this for our grandchildren.”
Marie had observed the potential of schools, particularly at the high school level which
her grandson now attended, in teaching the Hopi language through songs. She offered,
“Kur puma pepeq high school epeq put pas paas tutuqaynayaqw pam pay sonqa
tuwi’vani.” “It seems that there at the high school [for example] if they take great care in
teaching that [Hopi songs], he will surely learn it.”
Vivian called to mind the challenge in realizing this vision. One challenge was
the time it would require: She stated, “If they [my grandchildren] were around me day
after day, night after night, that [Hopi language] would probably come in, [but when they
come to visit] we’re so busy with other things and the kids are busy doing their things. I
don’t have the time.” The perception was that youth must be “taught” which implied a
“formal” teaching/learning situation rather than “acquiring” the language through a
natural setting and context for language. Citing another challenge Vivian asserted,
“Naamahin ima haqawat yang pay as ayan qa pas itam Pahaanat qatsiyat
277
naanawaknakyang pay itam piw nuutum Pahanyu’a’atota.” “Even though some of us
don’t want the white man’s way of life totally, we are going along speaking the language
of the white man.” Speaking English has become the norm.
Summary
This grandparent generation made explicit the underlying tensions—disruption of
and distractions from the Hopi the Hopi way of life—as a result of change; changes they
themselves had not only experienced but contributed to as well. Nevertheless, they
offered hope and optimism about the vitality of the Hopi culture and language—hope and
optimism in the fact that Hopi culture continues to be practiced and traditions adhered to
by many Hopis. The challenge lies in accommodating, balancing and sustaining two
languages and two lifestyles—being bilingual and bicultural—so as ensure the economic
and cultural survival of contemporary Hopi people.
Clara suggested, “Somat, yumat, amumi pan yu’a’atotaq pu’ puma put
tuuqayyani.” “The grandmothers, mothers, if they would only speak to them [with
Hopi], then they would learn [the language].” Important to shifting views toward
bilingualism, biculturalism is that collective change begins at the individual level.
“Hinpi ima wungwiwisqam tuwat wuuwantota. “I don’t know how these young people,
in turn are thinking,” stated Clara, while Vivian offered, “Puma nawis naap yep qatsiy
ang hin ayo’neengam wuuwantote’, put namortotani . . . nukur qatsit . . . sen lolmat.”
“They [Hopi youth] will have to make conscious decisions about their lives and make the
choice between . . . having a bad or disordered life . . . or a good life.” She concluded,
278
“So there are two different ways that are open to us.” Clara noted that there are
individuals who are initiating a change at a personal level: “Pu’ pay uma pi pu’
helplalwa peetum; schools ang uma pannumyaqe. Pu’ pay pumuy teachers kye pu’ pay
amumi sen pan yu’a’atota. Sen pay panye’ pu’ aw sen maamatsyani.” And then, you
[those who are involved with language teaching], some of you are helping; those of you
who are working with the schools. And then those [Hopi] teachers, I assume that they are
also speaking to them [with/in Hopi]. With this [collective] effort, then they will likely
begin to learn the language.”
Marie reflected on the challenge; it will be difficult and will take time, but it is
important that each person initiates action. “Pay oovi qatuvostini. Pas ason pu’ kye
ita[m] aw sunte’ hisat pay nuy qa yepnoqw sen aw antini. Nu’ kye itàalavayiy hihin
hoyokna; itim pay ngas’ew hihin tuuqayvayaqw. Noqw pu oovi as imöm pasyaqw pàasat
pu’ pam as hoytani naat aqwhaqami. Noqw pay nu’ oovi naami ayan pay pan yori, nu’
peep aw antsana.” “It will not be easy. Eventually, maybe we [the Hopi people] will be
of the same opinion, at some indefinite time. Maybe when I am no longer here, it will be
corrected. [But] I believe I have moved our language along a little; my children at least
have learned some. Now, if my grandchildren plant corn, then that [tradition] will also be
carried into the future. Therefore, when I look at myself from this point of view, I have
almost set it right.
More significant to this study was that discussion toward a resolution includes the
philosophy and teachings inherent in the Hopi way of life. This orientation toward life
has guided the Hopi people for centuries; that the Hopi people remain a distinct people
279
attests to the strength of culture in confronting the challenges throughout their history. I
next turn attention to the parent generation and their perspective of addressing language
shift.
The Parent Perspective: “We’re Living the Life of a Pahaana Now.”
“We [the Hopi people] were destined to go this way and that’s where we’re at now.”
Practicing a New Way of Life; Becoming “Accustomed” to Speaking English
Anna described the reality of the language shift from Hopi to English as the result
of a change in lifestyle that required a new language. This “new” lifestyle mirrored the
urban style and pace of mainstream society revolving around time—hours and minutes,
calendar days and months.
[We’re] living the life of a Pahaana [white person] now. We go from one thing
[activity] to another and even at night I have my classes and I don’t have enough
time. The weekends, a lot of the time, I’m spending going back to the school to
do my studies and the little boy [my son] is left here on his own sometimes. Or
sometimes I call the dad to come and stay with him because we’re [his older sister
and I] both out just as it [life] is in the city. We’ve got[ten] so accustomed to
speaking the English language and it’s hard reverting back to talking in only
Hopi.
This “city” way of life, reflective of Western society had seemingly become
superimposed on the Hopi way of life. The younger generations of Hopi who left the
reservation to get educated about the Pahaana way of life had in turn brought home new
knowledge, new ways of doing things and put into practice a new way of life and
language. As such, Western education initiated a linguistic and an economic shift away
from Hopi culture and tradition. The process of becoming “accustomed to speaking
280
English”—first in school where the process was often traumatic, carried out by harsh
means and second, in the home, where parents and grandparents willingly accommodated
this shift—was consistent among the parents in this study.
According to this parent generation, the school as an established institution within
Hopi continues to stand for a way of life different and separate from the Hopi way of life
and requires a different and separate language. It also continues to initiate a move away
from the Hopi language and culture. Anna spoke of a young boy who started school as a
monolingual speaker of Hopi, and who “as soon as he hit the school, he started speaking
English.” The shift was swift and profound. “Now you can’t get him [to speak Hopi] . . .
He just won’t talk it, even to us . . . . I think even at [his] home, he’s already into that
[speaking English] . . . . But he continues to sing a lot. He’s always singing Hopi songs.”
Language and Identity: Hopi Youth, “Strangers in Our Midst”
Parents described the consequences of embracing the Western lifestyle that has
transformed Hopi youth into strangers, strangers to their own families, extended kin, and
their village communities.
One consequence was that discipline traditionally meted out by one’s maternal
uncles, not parents, has declined. Maternal uncles were described as no longer living up
to their duty and obligation to their sister’s children. As a result they had lost the
respect—integrity of their authority—of Hopi youth. Anna observed, “We used to be
scared of our tahas, maternal uncles, but that’s not the way it is anymore; they’re [tahas]
scared of the kids.” Charlene stated, “Kids are their own bosses these days . . . .
281
Nowadays, parents . . . run away from their kids and let them do whatever they want.
Parents don’t have no control over them.” According to these parents, the source of fear
and intimation at the hands of today’s Hopi youth stemmed from increasing substance
abuse and gang involvement, activities which violated Hopi cultural ethics.
Marshall expounded, “We got young girls running around picking up boys . . .
and we say, it’s not right, it’s not right . . . . Now our kids . . . they’ll stand their ground . .
. have a tendency to just bark back . . . It’s not right. We knew better . . . You didn’t talk
to your parents like that and even now, we [as adults] wouldn’t talk to our parents like
that.” This presented a disturbing dilemma for this parent generation whose cultural
upbringing did not prepare them for such defiant, abrasive, and confrontational
encounters with Hopi youth. Marshall explained, “It comes to you as a parent when you
least expect [it] and how do you react to something like that? Because if you hadn’t done
that [experienced such encounters where] . . . everybody raises their voices, that’s not
right.” Understandably fathers and maternal uncles felt intimated by their own sons and
nephews.
In addition, Hopi youth were perceived to be selfish in their behaviors and
attitudes—lack of self-discipline in terms of their responsibilities in contributing to the
maintenance of the family home life; demanding and overrating their sense of
independence. Anna expressed a sense of frustration with her own children,
I keep telling them, you should on your own be thinking, ‘What do I need to do
today to help mom or help the family. Remember your brother, your sister. Try to
think about people around you; don’t be unangwaw, stingy, and thinking only
about yourself. They’re people around you that want the same thing. If you have
something, share it with everybody else. Nowadays, they’re totally different [from
us, the parent generation when we were young]. They are.
282
Parents were now also in competition with the television, school, and sports for
their children’s time, attention, and interest when instructing about cultural knowledge.
Marshall stated,
You see that they stop asking. You see that they start to stray and don’t pay any
attention but they wanna play their videos and go out and play basketball. And
it’s hard for itam yumat [us parents] to pull them back. There’s not a right way to
keep ‘em here and say, ‘Uma pay qa haqamini. [You cannot go anywhere].’
Whereas we were brought up that way [to develop self-discipline and respect]; we
couldn’t go out and you couldn’t be walking around at night. I think a lot of it too
is out of respect [for the authority of one’s parents]; they’re not being nurtured in
that way . . . . Every household has their own [way of nurturing self-discipline and
respect].
For Marshall, it was important for Hopi youth to see each member of the family
involved in their “cultural doings,” practicing these in the household because “they’re the
ones that should be instilling the respect” for culture. “You gotta teach them and as they
get into it [become involved], then they’re better educated and they get to actually know
what’s going on,” he pointed out. He likened the cultural “education (enculturation)”
process to “feeding/nourishing” one’s children. “They won’t take it all in [at once], but
those are just the learning blocks they’re just absorbing yet; just little crumbs you’re
feeding them. And as they think on that, as the years go by, then they’ll be asking for
more and then you just keep feeding them,” he offered. In addition, respect for others
and appreciation for the support one received developed from observing the sacrifices
that one’s family made for their children. For Marshall and this parent generation, this
remained in their memories: “You never forget those things [the daily struggles of one’s
parents], and you try to do your part to help ‘em out. It’s what you appreciate [their
sacrifice],” he declared. One’s outlook on being Hopi originated from the respect one has
283
for every aspect of the culture, all the Hopi things, “I’pi itamuy tsaami’mani. Kyaptsit
hak akningwu.” “ Because these [values] will carry us forward. One goes forward by
means of respect.”
Language and Identity: “Choosing” to Be Hopi
The life histories of this parent generation reflected the impact and consequences
of change in Hopi society and more so, the differing responses at the household level.
Anna, Charlene, and Marshall, like the previous generations of Hopi, first immersed in
the Hopi language and culture, left Hopi temporarily to experience Pahaana life, and
returned to Hopi. hence they were raising their families in the context of Hopi life. With
the 1985 construction of the Hopi Jr./Sr. High School, their children now also pursued
Western education without leaving family and culture. For the most part, this parent
generation returned to Hopi sooner than the previous generation but they faced
immensely challenging experiences in recapturing their own Hopi social identity in
addition to nurturing the same for their children.
Marshall poignantly recalled the memory of his permanent return to Hopi,
I got accustomed to talking English [in school] and when I came home I got hit
with Hopi; then I was lost . . . . They [family and community members] would be
talking Hopi to me and I wouldn’t respond. And they would make fun of me
[taunting me], ‘Ah, you’re just a Pahaana.’ They wouldn’t let me play at their
games with them because I had [gone] to a school in Utah and talking English;
that had its effect. If you’re away from home for so long but not being nurtured
by your mom too…there’s those voids in there [one’s life that can’t be recovered]
. . . . But I chose to be Hopi again. Once I got it [cultural knowledge] down, all
my name calling [at the hands of community youth] and all that stuff just slowly
faded away.
284
“Being a Hopi” was central in the decision of this parent generation to return to
Hopi. Each was drawn back by a sense of responsibility and/or obligation to fulfill as a
member of their society. Marshall stated, “I was destined to do this [follow the cultural
and religious path]. My uncles had already told me these things beforehand; what their
plans were for me . . . . [So,] I just stayed on this path and went beyond . . . . [So] where I
stand in the kiva is I’m respected and they look forward to seeing me there.”
Anna stated,
I just always felt that I needed to be back home. I was telling the kids . . . it’s
good that I went away for awhile but I always felt that longing to be back here
‘cause there’s no place like home . . . . I’ve always been involved in everything
with my family and I think that’s what keeps me tied down here . . . .That’s how I
grew up and that’s what I’m gonna do . . . for my family and my brothers and my
sisters. And my mom always said, ‘You’re never gonna be anything else. No
matter where you go you’re always going to be a Hopi.
Charlene’s dream of pursuing a higher education was cut short by early
motherhood and a strong sense of responsibility in this role, unlike many of today’s
young Hopi parents. “I was 18 when I had my first child, and because of my
responsibility in raising them [subsequently three children], I put them first so I didn’t
finish my education . . . . That’s what Hopi is; [parenting] through life,” she stated.
Parenting included modeling active participation and involvement in cultural activities:
“There’s really no way you can just live out here and [not] participate in those things. To
be a Hopi you have to do a lot of hard work. And to be recognized for your status in
society out here, you have to present yourself to the public to earn that respect. You have
to work for it.” Marshall voiced the same, “You’ve got a purpose here and if you choose
not to live the Hopi life but still reside on the Hopi, you’ll be known as that. You don’t
285
want to be looked at as I pay Hopi niikyang qa Hopi. “This person is Hopi [by birthright]
but unHopi in behavior.”
Doran, a new father and suffering “burn out” from his pre-medicine/electrical
engineering academic program, initially returned to Hopi for a much needed rest. As his
return to Hopi became more permanent and his children got “really into Hopi [cultural
activities],” Doran now found himself to encourage, support, and provide cultural
knowledge and understanding; it was his duty as a parent.
The nurturing of a Hopi identity for their children was made more daunting
against an unprecedented generation gap and the continuing lure of detrimental
influences from outside Hopi now firmly entrenched within. In addition, the ominous
consequences “prophesized”41 if traditions were not adhered to—embracing what is not
Hopi, interracial marriage, and becoming too proud to speak the Hopi language were
constantly close in mind. Two prophecies were especially prominent in the minds of this
parent generation.
One prophecy forewarned that the Hopi themselves would initiate the end of Hopi
culture. Marshall cited, “Angwu ima pas Hopit timat, puma pay put, it soosok naat
suutokyani. I’ pay lavayi; I’ pay paas oyi.” “Contrary to expectation, it is the children
of the Hopi people; it is they who will forget all of this [Hopi cultural knowledge and
traditions]. This has been spoken. And we’re seeing that now.” Doran provided the
following interpretation of this prophecy:
We’re all going to become white people anyway [as a result of intermarriage]; . . .
where we function as Pahaana . . . and start to discard our Hopi way of doing
41
See Footnote 3 of this chapter.
286
things. These mixed-bloods will become the majority and therefore in control of
major changes from within [Hopi society]. Or, that Hopi culture is embracing
“the mentality of Anglos” evident in the tribal government, tribal court systems
that are contrary to the traditional cultural and religious systems.
A second prophecy signaled the end of Hopi culture if the katsinam no longer sing
the songs. Marshall cited, “Qa himu amungaq nöngaq aw pay pam yukiltini. “If no
songs emanate from them, then that will signal the end of that tradition [katsina
ceremonies]. That’s the last thing to go, I’ katsina, the kastina ceremony. Aw I’ sulawtiq
pu’ pay I’ soosoy yukiltini.” “When that [katsina ceremony] is gone; everything [of
Hopi] will end.” Doran interpretation saw the katsina ceremony as continuing to be
conducted but without cultural meaning. He stated,
When it gets to that point, there’s really gonna be no meaning behind that
ceremony . . . . It’s just gonna be a ceremony that’s out there for show. What
we’ll probably end up doing to boost our economy is start charging people to
come out . . . start selling seats in the plaza.
This parent generation had observed the changes that seemed to bear out the truth
of such “prophecies” even within their own family. Yet, they resolved to “deal with” the
consequences “with what we have and maybe improve it a little too,” and spurred on by a
sense of duty to their children to pull them along toward the Hopi’s intended destiny.
Even upon reaching this destination, a final challenge would be revealed. Anna called to
mind the prophecy that foretold of how one would continue on into the Hopi afterlife.
She stated, “You’re gonna have to know this [the Hopi language] . . . . Down there, when
[the gatekeeper] asks you if you are truly Hopi; then you must speak to them in Hopi, and
you’re gonna go the right way. If you don’t know, you’re gonna get put on the other side
[an undefined place].”

287
“Every Household is Different.”
The family dynamics of contemporary Hopi households reflected the myriad of
life experiences of each member of the parent generation. More importantly, their early
Hopi cultural and linguistic enculturation experiences laid an enduring foundation which
brought them back to Hopi in order to lay the same for their children. The parenting style
of this parent generation was drawn from their early childhood experiences and ideas
about parenting modeled by their parents, but also mirrored the communication mode of
the boarding school teacher and youth as well as the supervisors of the boarding facilities
and youth.
With Hopi youth attending school in boarding schools far away from family and
home during most of their adolescence, the exposure to the Hopi cultural model of
parenting and language socialization was significantly interrupted. Doran pointed out
this influence,
The ones [parent generation] that are becoming the older generations, we’re
becoming more and more up front and more blunt about things. And it’s just
because it’s a carry over from being educated within the boarding school
system. That [communication/interaction style] has been ingrained in us and
we’ve only known that system in terms of parent[ing] and grandparent[ing].’ As
we start to get older, some of that [influence] is kind of fading away because
we’ve learned, once we came back [that] . . . that this [style] probably was not the
way we should be. So some of us have picked up other qualities [more culturally
appropriate] as well, but it’s not the quality at the level that our grandparents
were. It’s a diluted quality.
For Charlene, “parenting” was both a learning and a teaching experience. She
said, “[As a parent] you’re teaching yourself how to care for a [child] . . . showing that
[child] how much you love that child and trying to connect with that child so you can
have an understanding with your child in their troubles . . . . And you’re also teaching
288
that [child] ways to behave . . . bonding.” It was important that her children learn to
“respect others and not to be . . . hiita naakwivi’iwtangwu, be boastful about oneself . . .
because Hopi is a simple person . . . humble . . . . What makes you Hopi is you work hard
for what you get out of life,” she avowed. She has also encouraged her children to
participate in cultural activities with sincerity and commitment: “Um put aw su’taqni.
Kur um nuutumni[ne].” “You have to make a commitment to that activity. If you are
going to participate . . . you have to be there every night.” Overall, she has worked to
model for her children what being a Hopi is: “You have to be involved in your religious
practices and present yourself as somebody that knows a lot about Hopi and being Hopi.
You have to maintain that status by taking part [in cultural activities].” She felt that, for
her children, remaining on the reservation as well as having her children pursuing their
education at Hopi “was the good part for them because they’re able to participate in their
culture and receive a quality education.”
Marshall stated, “Imuy, itam hintaqat ep imuy maatapyani. Panoq oovi itam it
yuwsinayaqe; at least itam panwat itam, we’re covered ispi no matter what happens here,
pay itam ayowat haqamiwat piw qatsihepye pu’ pay itam suupyani ispi . . . I’oovay ak
itamuy tsaami’mani, soosokmuy.” “For our children, [I think about] what kind of
situation we will leave for them [to correct]. That’s why we dress them [encourage them
to take part in cultural activities]; at least that way we’re covered because no matter what
happens here [in this Fourth world], we will go over there to that place [the spiritual
world] and live there, come there as one [family/collective].” Active in both the cultural
and ceremonial domains, Marshall has been rewarded for his efforts demonstrated by the
289
respect he has earned from his children, their interest in carrying on Hopi traditions and
in their behavior and attitude as bicultural individuals. He is especially touched when he
hears Justin use Hopi during the kiva activities. He asserted,
Panoq oovi qa öö’öna ima [That’s why they [my children] are not lazy] for me
when I’m doing things especially kivapanoq [in the kiva]. Paypi panta. [That is
how it is.] If you teach ‘em from when they’re young. Pangq tsayngaq paasat
pam pay amuupa pakiwmangwu [From childhood these things values are entering
them] gradually. So that way it sinks in so they know the meaning of it. And
then, for us, it was just normal for us to come out and speak [Hopi as we engaged
in these activities].
Anna spent time encouraging and reminding her daughters to participate in
“whatever I’m doing” culturally, naapa’angwantotangu, helping each other—preparing
food for the dances, weddings, baby namings—and being physically and visibly present
in these activities. This included reminders about their female responsibility to their male
siblings, in particular their younger brother “if he doesn’t have a wife [yet].” She did for
her own brothers and continues to do so even though they have wives because, “It’s just
in me to do that; that’s how I was raised.” For Anna, her children will acquire the Hopi
values embedded in these activities “as long as they’re participating and carrying on what
they learned like making bread, making piiki, blue-corn wafer bread, poota, coiled
plaque, and like [my son] learning about farming.”
Doran stated, “The thing that makes us Hopi is our core value system; that’s what
needs to stay intact—the teaching of respect for one another, the teaching of helping one
another, the teaching of doing things together as [a] people. That is what need[s] to
continue to happen—more so than language . . . . [So] I talk to them about different
things about Hopi; I’ve only done it in English at this point.” He also pointed out that
290
nurturing a cultural identity requires a parent to spend time with one’s children, do things
with them, to be patient with them so that they “start to figure you out,”—your level of
commitment to and respect for them.
Hopi Language Ideologies
Hopi language as cultural identity. This parent generation described the Hopi
language as the heart of cultural identity, religious practice, and cultural practice.
Charlene asserted, “That identifies you as who you are [as a member of a cultural group].
Without that, we’re nothing. We don’t have an [cultural] identity if we’re not able to
speak our language.” “Lavayi pi himu hakiy tis a’wi.” “Language is something
designated for the purpose of identification. That’s what you are,” avowed Marshall.
Expanding on this, he offered, “Put hak ak tuuqayte; put hak ak aw Hopiningwu.”
“When one learns by means of the Hopi language, then one becomes and is Hopi by
means of it. That’s the whole basis of being a Hopi.” In other words, by actively
participating in Hopi traditions carried out through language the means of the language—
the total communicative framework—symbolism, song, ritual performances, ceremonies,
cultural institutions—one becomes influenced or affected in heart, thought, and behavior
by the cultural values embedded in these.
However, many Hopis, both non-speakers of Hopi as well as those known to be
speakers, were described by Charlene as “lost,” not knowing where they belong in
society, or to have become “people not believing in who they are anymore.” Further,
“some” were described by Anna as, “people [who] don’t care if they ever speak the
291
language; if they ever participate in anything.” She had observed some Hopis who
“come out and maybe see dances and that’s about it. They just come to observe, just like
a Pahaana. But I don’t think there’s any meaning for them in it . . . . They’re already lost
[to Hopi]. They consider themselves Pahaana I guess,” she alleged. Ironically, her own
children were non-speakers of Hopi, “but they know the culture and they know the values
of being Hopi; who they are and where they come from but not as a speaker,” she
asserted. Her children were active participants in Hopi culture.
Hopi language as religious practice. “The Hopi language has a lot to do with our
religious practices,” Charlene stated and further asserted, “And if we’re not able to show
what we practice, our religion, we’re nothing [devoid of spirituality].” Understanding
Hopi is essential to the practice of religion—to understand why we do certain things in
the kiva, to understand the meaning of men’s and women’s ceremonial activities because
“that [religion] has a lot to do with healing.” Practicing the Hopi ceremonies is
beneficial to everything. “You’re not only doing that for yourself but for your family and
every living thing on this earth. You’re performing on [a] spiritual [level] for all
mankind,” she stated.
Hopi language as cultural practice. The Hopi language is also essential to the
practice of culture because it is through Hopi cultural practices and the accompanying
language that the younger generation is instructed to “know what to do and how to
prepare for different things,” qatsitwi, or knowledge of life and making a living—cultural
292
practices. For Anna, anytime children participated in the practices of Hopi culture—
making bread, making piiki-blue-corn wafer bread, weaving a poota-coiled plaque, social
dancing, or learning about Hopi farming—they were “acquiring” the essential Hopi
values and concepts even without a strong competence with Hopi. She stated, “I think
they can still fully understand Hopi [about the culture and teachings provided in English]
but it’s just that language barrier; they just won’t have a full grasp of it.” Almost
immediately she followed with, “But . . . I think we don’t really have a full, even we as
speakers . . . grasp of what some of those things [estoteric knowledge, cultural meanings]
are too. I mean from way back.”
Doran’s experience as a second language learner of Hopi offered support to this
linguistic change.
Language is key to what Hopi is. Language is key to help maintain the value
system. But it is the value system that is at the core from which our religion
evolved as well as the language to express it also evolved. Consequently, the
value system can be taught without the language and one can establish a Hopi
identity without the language. [But] the language serves as a reminder of both our
religion and value system.
Marshall’s perspective placed a significant emphasis on one’s attitude and
behavior as a participant in the religious or cultural customs. He stated, “I’ hakiy
unangwa’at, pu’ naamahin qa tuuqaykyang,” “It is having one’s heart in it, even though
one does not know the language;] this is central to our [religious, spiritual] being. And
even though one does not speak Hopi, if you go to the kivas and bring in your offerings
[thoughts and prayers], be humble and, pay taawi’ve [learn the songs] . . . it’s [about] you
and your thoughts paasat [then].” The implication was that one is influenced and
therefore affected in heart, thought, and behavior by both the religious and secular rituals.
293
Songs, especially, continue to be perceived as the most powerful spiritual form of
language and are a significant part of ceremonial rituals.
Doran poignantly voices the challenge of “being Hopi” without the language,
It’ll [not knowing the language] make it a lot harder and it’ll be a lot less
comfortable. It’ll be a lot less comfortable because to be Hopi means to do what
Hopis are suppose to do . . . in behavior and being involved in the ceremonies in
the kiva. If you understand but don’t speak Hopi, you have a hard time, but it’s
worse if you don’t understand and don’t speak Hopi. You are just more less
going through the motions [of the cultural practices; not being affected,
influenced in heart and mind].
Many Hopi youth who do not speak Hopi are frequently described as merely
“going through the motions,” or in pursuit of material gifts and gain when “taking part”
in cultural activities and ceremonies. They do not know why or for what purpose they
are participating nor understand the significance of the activity or ceremony. Doran also
pointed out that many Hopi words regarding the culture and the religion have no
equivalent words in English; therefore the meaning of these words will remain
inaccessible to non-speakers. These consequence of language shift were central to the
concerns of this parent generation regarding the future vitality of Hopi culture especially
because they, themselves, have contributed to this dilemma. More pointedly, Marshall
expressed a deep sorrow and concern about leaving the younger generation ill-prepared to
address this cultural and linguistic dilemma,
Those people who are now becoming adults, they’re the ones who are going to
have to [address the threat to Hopi culture]. It’ll be in their lifetime that this is
gonna die out. And if they don’t uphold it and learn it then they have to in turn
know that because of us [parents], this [Hopi way of life] ended.
For Marshall, the perceived threat to the Hopi way of life is real and vividly clear
in his answer to his own question, “What’s gonna happen if you don’t speak Hopi?”
294
If . . . Hopi doesn’t turn around and pumuy tsaatsakmuy ahoy tutuqaynayaq pay
itam so’on haqami wuuyavo ökini. Tis put ak’a ispi pam pi nuutungktato, katsina.
itaalenginoq aapiy pam pi pay kur hin tawmani, katsina. Ispi pam putsa ak’a.
Pu’ puma tsootsongye hiita puma hiita ak naaqalantotani. Pu’ it paahot pay qa
hak tuwi’tani piw. Pu’ hoomat pi payso ispi hak Hopiituqayte hin hak
naawaknamanta[ni]. How are you going to say your prayers? See, puuvut I
soosoy ak wiwta. And again it pam ak pam wiwta, lavayit ak’a. Pay pas panta.”
Ispi I yooyang lolmatnini, wupaqatsit, tuuwat, qa hiita ak hinyungniqat
puuvut pam lalvaylaw[ngwu]. Pu’ itam hin itaa’uyiy aw yorikyan[iqyat]
yooyok’ö. Saktalnini, siitalawni pam soosoy pang enang but ima pi put qa, pam
himu amumi? Himu siitala? Himu sakwatala? Himu wupaqatsi. Himu
lomaqatsi? Ima puuvut qa, pam pay kur himu amumi. Pi put qa
educateyuwyungwa itangnoq. I soosoy himu that’s the way pam pay itamumi,
itaataham as yu’a’atotangwu.
If . . . Hopi doesn’t turn around and again teach their children, we as a people will
not move very far toward our intended destiny. Especially without that [the
language carried through song], because that, the katsina tradition will be the last
to end. With our tongue [language] gone, the katsina will no longer be able to
sing because it carries its reminders [about the Hopi way of life; the Hopi world]
by means of the songs. And when they are smoking [in the kiva], with what
words will they strengthen themselves. And then these prayer feathers, no one
will know how to make them. And the ceremonial cornmeal . . . . When one
speaks the language, one goes along praying. How are you going to say your
prayers? See, all of this is connected. And again, it is with the language that
everything is connected. That is truly how it is. Because the rains will bring
beauty, long life, that no one suffers, that is the message sent forth. And then,
how we will envision our cornfields if it rains. [They will] become lush green and
become bright with flowers. But for the younger generation, this [image, vision]
is unknown to them; has no meaning. [We will find them] asking [of themselves],
‘What is bright with flowers?’ ‘What is lush green?’ ‘What is long life?’ ‘What
is a good life?’ All of these images and concepts have no meaning for them
because they are not “educated” about all of these things from our knowledge.
All of these things, that’s what our uncles would be speaking to us about all
along.
Anna best described reaching this significant juncture of cultural meaning with
her mother’s words: “My mom used to say, ‘Haq wuwnive’ pu’,’ [reached the age of
understanding] then you know what’s what in Hopi ‘cuz that’s when you start thinking
about all these Hopi things; you lose sleep over it. ‘Paasatnoq pu’ haq wuwnive’ and
295
you’ve grown up.” “At that time that you have reached the age of understanding], you’ve
grown up.” The responsibility rested with this generation of parents to determine how to
convey these images and instill in their children the desire to follow the Hopi way of life
amidst inevitable and seemingly unsurmountable changes. Marshall’s words, “We have
to make a difference . . . and it has to come from within,” convey that the challenge has
been undertaken.
Birthright: Why Not Be the Hopi That You’re Suppose to Be?
Being a Hopi is a communal birthright but becoming and being fully Hopi is a
lifelong endeavor; a privilege and social status earned, maintained, and strengthened
through adherence to the traditions and ritual practices. Becoming “fully” Hopi then
emanates from a personal desire, motivation, and effort; it is a personal choice to develop
the degree of “Hopiness” one chooses to attain. “It’s gonna be up to the individual. If
it’s important to them, they’re gonna try to do something about it,” stated Charlene.
Anna offered a similar sentiment:
It’ll . . . depend on the youth. If they really wanna learn it, then it’s gonna
be up to them . . . to seek it [cultural knowledge and language] out . . . instead of
us trying to push it on them. If they want it for themselves, then they’re gonna
have to come and seek it from whoever they want to learn it from. So a lot
depends on them too, their willingness to keep the language.
Unfortunately, these parents recognized that the youth generation behaves as not
yet having reached “the age of understanding, comprehension, and maturity,” nor fully
realized the repercussions of the language and cultural loss perceived by the parent
generation. Anna stated, “My brother uses Hopi to speak to his kids [but] they’re not
talking Hopi. I know for a fact that he does [use Hopi to speak to his son]; that’s the only
296
way he talks to his kids . . . [and] that’s daily in his own home. But still his kids, I
wonder why they’re not picking it up? They understand but they’re not participating in
the conversations.”
While this linguistic situation was perplexing, each parent was steadfastly
appealing to the moral conscious of their children in their own households. Anna stated,
A lot of the younger generation they’re making it more of a personal choice,

[saying] ‘I don’t have to go do that. I don’t want to.’ I’ve heard that from [my
son], and that’s when I go in and say, ‘This is why you’re doing this; this is why
you do that.’ And that gets them to thinking again—That’s what I should do;
that’s my responsibility . . . [or] I say, ‘Down there [in the Hopi afterlife], when
they ask you if you are truly Hopi, then you must speak to them in Hopi, and
you’re gonna go the right way. If you don’t know, you’re gonna get put on
the other side.
In turn, some youth responded with an “inquisitiveness” that has led these parents
to believe “that Hopi is real important to them.” Anna stated, “My kids want to do
everything. They want to be involved in whatever goes on up at the village….I think a
lot of it has been their personal choice and because of how they are spoken to about these
things.” She continued, “They still on their own, question, so that’s how they’re getting
to learn it [the language] too. They’re not satisfied with just the English version
[translations] . . . . They always say, ‘How ‘bout in the Hopi way, how is it [said]?’ They
make me think that Hopi [language] is real important to them.” Encouraged by this
attitude, Anna and Doran have responded in kind—spending lots of time accommodating
their children’s inquiries about the Hopi culture undeterred by the possibility that “they’re
probably not really gonna experience the same thing as we did.” Instead, they
accommodated their children with an understanding that introspection occurs with
maturity: “Hopis know this . . . you can be told a lot of things while you’re young, but
297
you really don’t realize the significance of things you’re being told until you get to a
certain stage in your individual life,” stated Doran. Such inquisitiveness had provided
parents with “teachable moments.” In addition, Doran who pursued learning Hopi as an
adult, had observed signs and “sites” of hope for Hopi linguistic and cultural survival
among the Hopi people.
What I’ve noticed is the more that people participate within the cultural systems,
they’re the ones who start learning to speak Hopi because they’re having to be
around that . . . . I wanted to learn, but it was also out of necessity to function
within the ceremonies . . . . [But] the people, even the young ones, that I would
say are committed to the culture, they start to learn Hopi at a younger age . . . and
they’ll go ahead when they go to the kiva, they just start conversing in Hopi. So,
as long as we have people that are born who are committed to that [the culture and
language], then it [cultural and linguistic loss] won’t happen.
Doran, like his daughter, had also observed in the kiva that those individuals
whose fathers are of mixed heritage are most eager “to learn Hopi [culture], to participate
in the activities . . . to learn how to speak Hopi.” All, it appeared, were “trying to fulfill
whatever they need to about being Hopi.”
Interestingly, Doran also expressed, “We’ll end up finding ways in the future to
still be Hopi without having the language, but then that’s when in the kivas the talk is
gonna be English. There is a strong possibility to see this happen.” In turn, how the
future generations would accommodate this consequence, specifically, how Hopis would
self-identify upon reaching the entrance to the Hopi afterlife was unknown. Anna
posited,
When you go down [reach the Hopi afterlife] and you have to make that choice
[to learn Hopi or not, in order to self-identify as a Hopi] . . . maybe later on these
kids will have a different view [and say] ‘Well, as long as I participated [in
cultural activities] and did what needed to be done and helped out, I’m fine.’
298
Maybe that’s how it’s gonna be for them. But for now, for us [the parent
generation], that’s [the language] what’s important for us [as we move toward our
intended destiny, spiritual eternity].
Doran aptly summed up the challenge this parent generation faced: “The only
thing that is going to be constant is change . . . . It’s a matter of figuring out . . . how do
we go about changing, taking in, and accepting of the modern society those things that
are good, and using it along with Hopi stuff.” This was the same sentiment expressed by
each generation of Hopi as they sought a “balanced co-existence” with the outside world
and the changes it brought to them.
Summary
Although this parent generation, like older generations of Hopi, have struggled and
suffered in their “training—schooling,” they acquired the skills that would allow them to
benefit from white man’s way of life; but it also necessitated that they become
“accustomed to speaking English.” Nevertheless, there was a fundamental difference in
how this parent generation applied their knowledge of the white man’s way of life from
that of the grandparent generation. The accounts of the parent generation revealed that
the incorporation of Western education and the wage economy into Hopi society had
taken root. Therefore, the employment prospects at Hopi—largely in the educational and
governmental systems, or entrepreneurial pursuits (both Doran and Marshall are engaged
in private enterprise)—allowed them economic security as well as the opportunity to
participate in the cultural traditions with their return to Hopi.

299
Of greater significance was that, unlike the grandparent generation, each parent
“chose” to return to Hopi earlier in their adult lives compelled by familial, cultural and
religious obligations. This “sense” of responsibility and obligation was evidence that
each parent had been strongly influenced by their Hopi experiences during her/his
childhood and adolescent years. In turn, they were raising their own children to be active
participants in Hopi traditions. Nevertheless, their schooling experiences and the English
language combined has had and continues to have an inordinate influence on the
importance they place on Western education and the English language and subsequently
convey to their children in their parenting role.
Essentially, the parenting practices of this parent generation has emphasized
“living” Hopi culture—cultivating a Hopi identity by experiencing culture, participating
in cultural activities and in religious ceremonies, the traditional enculturation process—
more so than acquisition of the Hopi language. Although these families were actively
involved in Hopi culture, for the most part, the members of these households were
“accustomed” to speaking English.
In addition, the mainstream lifestyle continues to distract from and disrupt family
and culture time. The consequences of this language shift and changes in lifestyle were
most evident to them in their perceptions of the younger generation as defiant, abrasive,
and confrontational; they are taken aback by such behavior of their children and
grandchildren.
In turn, many parents and grandparents appear to have succumbed to such
behaviors with intimidation and fear at the hands of Hopi youth who have become
300
“strangers in their midst.” According to the parent and grandparent generation, there has
been a significant deviation from the cultural plan for which a comprehensive and speedy
resolution remains elusive. Each parent and each household was responding to this
deviation at an individual and personal level, independent from the village and the wider
tribal community. Their accounts indicated that one resolution to this Hopi linguistic and
cultural demise lies in the Hopi life plan, Hopivötskwani, which had been obscured by the
myriad changes of modernity. Each parent and household was looking to and in their
own way striving to adhere to and uphold the integrity of the Hopivötskwani, from a
sincere belief that it is the cultural map by which the Hopi people will reach their
intended destiny—spiritual eternity. This was made evident in the life histories of their
children, the three youth participants of this study who have developed and internalized
the cultural standards of behavior and ideals of the moral image the Hopi strive to
maintain of themselves. This has been attained through their active participation and
involvement in the Hopi traditions, “experiencing the culture by living it.”
In the next chapter, I discuss further the Hopi life plan which guides and provides
the transmission mechanisms that continue to convey the Hopi ideals that define the Hopi
as a distinct people. The discussion also further probes the concepts embedded in the
metaphor of “language as cultural practice,” asserting the stance that culture provides the
context for language, and in turn, language finds its strength in the practices of culture.
301
CHAPTER 9
LANGUAGE AS CULTURAL PRACTICE
“I live Hopi; I just don’t speak it [the Hopi language].”
In the previous chapters, the life histories and perspectives of the study
participants indicated that the resolution to the Hopi linguistic and cultural demise lies in
the Hopi life plan, Hopivötskwani. The youth participants also alluded to this in their
intuitive understanding about the Hopi way of life. Each participant and household
revealed their own efforts to adhere to and uphold the integrity of the Hopivötskwani
from a sincere belief that it is the cultural map by which the Hopi people will reach their
intended destiny—spiritual eternity.
In this chapter, I focus on further clarifying the Hopi life plan using the notion of
“language as cultural practice,” to describe “the linguistically and socioculturally
structured environment” (Ochs, 1988, p. 21)—unique to Hopi. Hall (1976) describes this
process as “transcending one’s own culture” (Hall, 1976, p. 433) necessitated by a
“deviation from the plan” (language shift). In the process, the rules by which a cultural
system, Hopi, operates are made explicit and the interface of culture, language and
identity becomes more lucid. Also illuminated are the ways the social organization of
Hopi, a communal society, has determined what adults do with the language and how
children access, participate in, and benefit from learning and developing a particular
orientation toward life, producing specific behaviors, attitudes, and language forms to
302
identify the principles of conventionality as well as the saliency of these conventions
(Brice-Heath as cited in Ochs, 1988).
(1) I describe the Hopi oral tradition which constitutes the “literature” of Hopi,
defining for them “how to be a people—in heart, thought, behavior, and conduct” as they
pursue life’s fulfillment. (2) Next, I focus on the specific aspects—ritual practices and
social institutions—of the Hopi oral tradition which define and sustain an oral and
communal society such as Hopi. (3) I follow with a discussion of the linguistic forms of
kinship terms as well as song words and phrases which persist and work to reinforce the
principle of reciprocity underlying both the social and religious practices of Hopi
(Schieffelin, 1990). (4) I include discussion about the verbal behavior of teasing as an
important aspect of how kinship connections are acknowledged and linguistically
expressed in the context of social interactions with certain individuals (kin). (5) I next
draw on Dorian’s expression in which she describes the Hopi language as “the missing
piece” piece of the puzzle essential to deciphering the Hopi cultural map; without the
language, the life path leading the Hopi people toward their collective destiny—spiritual
eternity—is obscured for Hopi youth. (6) I conclude with an exploration of the
development of affect—an emotional commitment to the ideals of the Hopi way of life—
among the youth of this study. I perceive these affective bonds as holding the promise
for Hopi cultural and linguistic vitality and survival.

303
The Hopi Oral Tradition
The Hopi oral tradition is comprised of the historical accounts and teachings about
the Hopi way of life, a chosen way of life to undertake the life-sustaining practices
associated with the growing of qaa’ö, corn, by hand in a desolate but destined land. This
chosen way of life would be a constant struggle for survival requiring a deep abiding
faith, humility, self-discipline, cohesion, and an unwavering adherence and commitment
to the fulfillment of a covenant of reciprocity accepted at the time of Emergence.42 How
the Hopi people determined to uphold this covenant constitutes their “identity, religious
beliefs, ritual practices, and their daily engagements and concerns” (Whiteley, 1998, p.
191). Thus, the Hopi oral tradition comprehends “all of the practices of life by a people
that marks time, places, and events that have significance to their way of living and keep
alive the collective memories about their past” (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal
communication, September 29, 2004).
The Hopi oral tradition also encompasses the “total communicative framework”
(Hall, 1976)—manifest in ritual practices, religious ceremonies, and cultural institutions,
symbolism, song words and phrases, prayer, and teachings—and is the “transmission
mechanism” (Fishman, 1996) through which the Hopi people continue to be enculturated
with the cultural knowledge, history, ethics, and values of their communal society. The
Hopi language is maintained in these traditional conventions—the customary way things
are done and expressed. They serve to remind, reinforce and keep the concepts of the
42
The origin, or Emergence story, is described in Chapter 1.
304
Hopi way of life and messages from the past indelible in the minds of the Hopi people
while maintaining the course that will carry the people toward their intended destiny.
Hopi oral tradition embodies (1) the principle of reciprocity; (2) natwani, the
concepts of corn as a way of life; and (3) the destiny of the Hopi people. This is best
understood in the Hopi expression that invokes a return to the Hopi past: Itaatuptsiwuy
akw pay hak itamuy ookwatuwni; itamumi paalay tsölöqnani. “By means of our faith,
someone will take pity on us; will drop moisture on us [on our corn, and ensure our
physical survival and spiritual fulfillment as a people].” In effect, the practice of growing
corn by hand as a way of life, and practicing reciprocity teach people how to live in
harmony with others and share in the pursuit of life’s fulfillment. Both contribute to
maintaining the cohesiveness of a communal society. It becomes understood, that in a
community where individuals are intimately involved in the pursuit of life requires that
all must work in cooperation and with mutual caring toward each other in order to keep
the community vital at least in principle and according to the teachings of the past. Also
understood is that keeping the community at the forefront of consideration in everyday
life reflects a moral existence and is in keeping with the moral image that a people
maintains of itself (Spicer, 1976).
In the broader sense, these communicative behaviors reflect the principle of
humanness and of sharing this humanity with others; the words, nami’nangwa,
sumi’nangwa, to live with mutual love toward one another, and in this mood, united in a
common purpose, proceed in the manner of togetherness encapsulate the notion of
humanity (Nicholas, 2000). Therefore, the Hopi oral tradition continues to have a
305
powerful influence on the individual, providing the psychological and emotional security
in being a part of the collective. As such, the oral tradition provides a direct connection
between language and the cultural communal ethic. This is expressed by Dorian
regarding the support available to a single parent like her mother who is fulfilling both
financial and cultural responsibilities:
She’s a single parent . . . the only income earner in the household . . . at the same
time, we’re still trying to get things prepared, making stuff for ceremonies, the
kachina dances. . . . I think it makes it a lot easier because, you know at Hopi,
even though you’re a single parent you still have that family [nuclear, extended
and clan] support.
The communal ethic is learned through active participation, observations of
significant others as well as through words of advice and counsel. For Justin, although
his maternal grandmother passed away, he had internalized her words of advice: “Keep
going to the field; don’t let it go . . . . Always help people because . . . all [your] life,
somebody will help you.”
These principles and ethics are embedded in the social system of clans, and are
reinforced in the ritualized practices carried out in the social institutions; Hopi naming
rituals being one. Through birth into one’s clan and subsequent participation in the social
institutions, each individual comes to understand how she/he “fits” into the culture
system according to one’s clan and kinship relations. Yava (1978), in Big Falling Snow,
referred to the social organization of the Hopi clan-kinship system as a “complex tangle
of relationships” (p. 2). The complexity of the system is made apparent in Dorian’s
mother’s reminder to her in the event she will capture the attention of a potential suitor:
You’re Pumpkin [Clan], so you can’t marry another Pumpkin Clan. Or, you can’t
[marry] Snake, or Sand Clan ’cuz they claim us, or Sparrow Hawk or Crane.
306
Then you have to also look at your father[’s clan] too. He’s Corn Clan, you can’t
marry any one of those ’cuz you’ll be marrying your own dad. And then, there’s
your grandmother; she’s Sunforehead [Clan].I think it would be best to stay away
from those ones.
Ritualized Practices
Abbott Sekaquaptewa in a 1983 issue of Science stated, “Hopi is not a written
language. We ‘write’ in the form of ritual performances, in symbolic things like altars”
(as cited in Page, 1983, p. 83). Ritual and ceremony are at the heart of how the Hopi
people have devised these as the transmission mechanisms for a traditionally unwritten
language. They are inherent in much of the complex Hopi religious system and its
“calendar of elaborate ritual performances and more esoteric practices by higher-order
religious sodalities which concentrate in some measure on ensuring beneficial
environmental conditions” (Whiteley, 1998, p. 191). Access to the historical accounts
and esoteric knowledge requires going through initiations, ritualized rites of passage.
Ritual and religion are also inseparable from the complex social fabric of Hopi
life (Page, 1983). Thus, ritual is an essential aspect in both the religious and secular
activities of the Hopi people. Whiteley (1998) stated, “Hopis regard ritual, if performed
properly—the cardinal values are pure intentions, and good hearts in harmony with each
other—as instrumentally efficacious” (p. 191) in preserving, communicating, and
transporting the philosophical principles that continue to give purpose and meaning to the
lives of the Hopi people as well as maintaining the “collective.” I give particular
attention to the ritualized practices of Hopi naming, planting corn by hand, and social
dancing.
307
Hopi Naming Rituals
Hak tungniy akw sòosok hìita ep makiwa’yvangwu. By means of one’s name,

[one] establishes connection and secures a role in all [Hopi] practices.
Through Hopi naming rituals, the Hopi people have created the means for
sustaining the reciprocal relationships “between individuals and groups in the human
world” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 467).43 Literally, at the moment of birth, a
Hopi child attains a Hopi identity through his/her mother’s totemically named clan, Hopi
being a matrilineal society and tracing descent through the mother. From birth, the Hopi
child secures a place and role within the social structure of Hopi—the clan-kinship
system: the female infant is ascribed the role of kya’a, maternal aunt, to the children of
the male members of her clan; the male infant na’amtingwu, “becomes a father” to all
children whose father’s are members of his clan.
The Hopi child’s birthright and clan membership allows for a variety of clan
privileges, e.g., for a female, selection of your biological and clan brother’s male children
as dance partners in public performances. Similar clan privileges are further extended by
one’s name establishing a kinship connection to other people in their respective
clan/phratries allowing the child to have a role in many traditional activities—ritual
performances, rites of passage, and religious associations. In addition, a Hopi receives
numerous names as a participant in initiation naming rituals, or rites of passage
throughout life. The ritual is a formal acknowledgement of the Hopi female as a child of
the ceremonial mother’s brothers and maternal uncles. With a male infant, the formal
43
The Hopi naming ritual/ceremony is described in Chapter 4. Here, the Hopi naming ritual is described as
the means by which kinship relations are established and extended to the wider community.
308
acknowledgement is like that of a child’s natural father’s connections. By means of
these clan and kinship associations, members of the community “acknowledge” one
another, nàatuwa’yungwa, and demonstrate [teach one another] mutual respect toward
one another, naakyaptsit tuutuwna. The socialization system of clan and kinship defines
the individual’s role in the community in terms of obligations, responsibilities to those
one encounters and thus one’s social and ritual standing in this extensive and complex
network of associations. Jared’s words demonstrated not only an understanding of his
role—duty and obligation—in the Hopi community that extends beyond his nuclear
family but that he has internalized this communal ethic which compels one to carry out
his or her responsibilities:
We’re all related, [by] clans, and it involves certain responsibilities that our clans
have to do [culturally and ceremonially for each other] . . . . We have to come out
here. When I don’t come . . . feel guilty and then feel sorry about it later.
Kinship terms. Kinship connections are defined through the use of specific kinship
terms—itangu (our mother), itana (our father), itàapava (our brother), itàaqöqa (our
sister), taha (maternal uncle), kya’a (paternal aunt), itàaso (our grandmother), itàakwa
(our grandfather)— all which apply in the nuclear unit and is extended out to the wider
community through marriage and initiations. The kinship connections are marked in the
use of the plural possessive pronoun itàa, “our,” signifying that one’s role as mother,
father, brother, or sister is not limited to the nuclear family, but extends to many others in
terms of clan relations and further extended through naming, initiations, and marriage.
309
The kinship relations one attains include the responsibilities and obligations that
encompass the secular as well as ceremonial Hopi life.
For example, Dorian’s Hopi name, Samimana, establishes the connection to her
father’s clan family. Her role and obligations to this clan family are twofold: (1) as a
child of her father and therefore the male members of his clan, , ti’am, her female
responsibility to these males is that of a female child to her father(s)—preparing food for
them in various contexts e.g., home, ritual performances, religious ceremonies and (2) to
her father’s sisters and female clan members, who are her kya’mat, paternal
aunts/grandmothers, and to whom she must demonstrate the Hopi attribute of
industriousness by grinding corn.
Thus, the social institutions—naming, marriage, and initiations—through which
one attains social and ritual standing also “speak” about a cultural sense of groupness,
oneness, or “identity.” “No one person can actually make it . . . alone.” Dorian asserted.
She further explained,
That’s what the Hopi has been about, help[ing] other people. You have to learn
how to help others first, just like with weddings. Everybody comes together;
everybody brings food . . . everybody helps out; everybody comes. That way,
when it’s their turn, we know that we’ll have that support as well.
Here, “identity building” has more to do with developing the attitudes and
behaviors of allegiance, loyalty, and commitment leading toward a social direction
understood to be the destiny of a particular group—cultural conformity. Through the
social institutions, Hopi community maintains cohesiveness—it is the principle of
reciprocity at play and described as a “good neighbor policy, or the moral conscious at
work invoked by the kinship and clanship system” (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal
310
communication, September 29, 2004) thus also holding in check human fallibility. We all
fall short of our responsibilities to our kin for whatever reasons, but being aware and
having knowledge of the moral imperatives is the duty (conduct owed) and obligation
(socially imposed duty) of each member of the community. This is succinctly expressed
by Dorian regarding the Hopi language:
The language, the traditional [everyday use] part of it, that comes from the home;
that’s suppose[d] to be on the parent’s efforts…because as parents, that’s what
we’re here for [to pass on and convey cultural knowledge]. This is how its always
been passed on from parent to child for forever!
Jared’s comment points out the repercussions to be suffered by Hopi children
whose parents fall short in their duty and responsibility in teaching them the language:
If little kids [males] get picked [to dance] for the butterfly dances, they’re gonna
have to learn the songs [song words]. It’s gonna feel weird [for them] to dance
something [they] don’t know the words to . . . . If you don’t know, it’s kind of a
sorry thing . . . and that puts it [the irresponsibility] back to their parents.
In essence, by their shortcomings, whatever the reason, Hopi parents are not only
neglecting their parental duty to their children, but are positioning them as strangers in
their own society. One could say, only a stranger is not owed respect and duty in the
Hopi sense, but in keeping with the moral image it maintains of itself, kyaptsi, respect, is
accorded to any person including one’s knowledge, opinion, or judgment. Humility,
linguistically expressed through the verbal behavior of teasing, becomes an important
element in the social interactions between kin. Here, I interject a description of the Hopi
cultural form of teasing.

311
Teasing as “Expressing Humility.” Teasing is pervasive in Hopi society.
However, there is a fundamental difference in the intent and use of teasing as a form of
verbal interplay among kin in Hopi social interactions today.44 In this section I describe
Hopi teasing as a verbal form of expressing humility while preserving and reinforcing
kinship connections in social interactions.
Cross-cultural research confirms that teasing as a “cross-cultural behavior”
(Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986, p. 9) is prevalent in many societies. Schieffelin and Ochs also
pointed out that “The amount of overt socialization devoted to teasing reflects the
importance of teasing” (p. 10) in these societies. Accordingly, attending to the “context
and frequency” of teasing in a given society not only distinguishes the cross-cultural
differences, but offers insight into the importance of teasing as a component of a child’s
developing communicative competence in their society. Eisenberg’s (1986) study of
teasing sequences in two immigrant Mexicano families found that teasing, used as a form
of verbal contact and interaction between parents and children, was important to
developing interpersonal relationships. Secondly, teasing was also used as form social
control directed largely toward misbehavior. Based on her findings, Eisenberg described
teasing as a linguistic skill demonstrating a sophisticated use of language among adults,
therefore, it is a skill that children must acquire and learn to manipulate. Among the
Kaluli of Papua, New Guinea (Schieffelin, 1986), teasing is pervasive in everyday adult-
adult, and adult-child social interactions, so that by age 30 months, Kaluli children have
learned to use a range of teasing expressions to persuade or manipulate others “to achieve
44
I discuss this difference later in this chapter in the Section—Language, the “Missing Piece”
312
a variety of ends” (p. 165). Through constant engagement in teasing and shaming
routines, Kaluli children become competent in the use of rhetorical questions, third-party
threats, formulaic expression, and sarcastic statements. Viewed as “systematically part of
interactions with children,” Schieffelin (1986) described teasing and shaming as the
means to “teach children how to be a part of Kaluli society” (p.179).
For Hopi, to tease is to be “expressing a form of humility.”45 Defined as the
“vernacular of social interaction” between kin (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal
communication, January 12, 2007), it is premised in and involves a highly sophisticated
understanding of one’s social and ritual standing in the clan, kin, and ceremonial
associations and connections established by birth, marriage, and initiations. The Hopi
form of teasing embodies these cultural relationships. As such, to tease is to also
acknowledge one’s special relationship and connection to particular individuals in this
kinship network so that when individuals meet, they know how to act toward as well as
interact with each other (Yava, 1971). Therefore, the verbal interplay of teasing occurs in
the context of the reciprocal relationships between individuals and involves the use of
compliments and criticism as the forms of interaction and expression.
Compliment and criticism are used to bring attention to the attributes and
behaviors—industry, reciprocity, cooperation, self-discipline, self-sufficiency, ethical
conduct, moral living—that are valued for how they benefit the Hopi way of life. In
addition, teasing as a form of expressing humility, most often occurs in the presence of
others, or a “multiparticipant context” (Eisenberg, 1986, p. 188). A unique feature of
45
Many of the ideas articulated in describing the Hopi perspective and use of “teasing” was the result of
discussions with Emory Sekaquaptewa.
313
Hopi teasing is the use of “criticism to compliment” in expressing humility, so that while
what is stated may sound like a criticism, or at the extreme, a “put down” or insult, is
actually extolling the attribute or behavior of a related individual. For example, one may
make the following general comment about one’s sister [biological, clan or ceremonial
kin] to another in the presence of the sister, “Pam qa navotngwu, qa qenitangwu.” “She
doesn’t listen [heed her awareness of her responsibility], [so she] doesn’t clean up.” But,
in fact, the comment speaks to the opposite about the sister’s attention to her
responsibilities as a sister in the household.
Another example may involve a female's comments about her natural or clan
brother, “Sonpi hak put naawaknani.” “For sure, there is no one who would want him
[desire his affections because of his shortcomings in demonstrating Hopi ideals].”
Whereas, the intent of the comment is that her brother, in fact, exemplifies the Hopi
ideals. The approach of using criticism to compliment also acknowledges human
fallibility; that everyone falls short in their responsibilities but the intent of the comment
is not to criticize or insult, but to acknowledge and bring notice to the humility of the
sister and therefore the family; teasing, then, is expressing the “family pride in humility.”
In the context of clan and kinship relations, it is literally one’s duty to tease as a
way to publicly acknowledge, or present to others that her/his family is an exemplary
model of the valued Hopi ideals in a humble manner. This indirect approach not only
offers the means to express this humbleness publicly, but to do so without placing one’s
kin on a pedestal, or giving the impression that one’s family is above, or better than
others—boasting, showing off, or bragging. The indirect approach is also evident in the
314
use of the third person pronouns, hak, “one,” or the rhetorical usage of pam, “he,” “she,”
“that one,” rather than directly referencing a specific individual. The cultural protocol,
that is, “how to tease”—by means of compliment or criticism, and “who to tease,” or
when one becomes the “teaser,” is based in gender and relationship (biological and
extended).
I use the kinship connection of a father’s sister (including the paternal
grandmother and extended—clanswomen) to his biological son, or in the Hopi sense, the
relationship between a kya’a and her mööyi to describe a specific “teasing” situation. If
the opportunity arises for a kya’a and her mööyi to engage in the verbal interplay of
teasing, particularly in the presence of the husband, the mööyi is full of compliments
about his kya’a on her abilities—skills and expertise—in Hopi things. But her husband
indirectly [although the comments are not made directed to the husband] becomes the
recipient of compliment by criticism—negative comments about his character or
behavior—by his wife’s mööyi because the husband is considered a rival for the
affections of his kya’a. The paternal aunt “reciprocates” in like manner, extolling
admiration, praise, and affection toward her mööyi, but also intended for her husband to
hear.46 In essence, this verbal interplay, or teasing, acknowledges the special relationship
of a son, through his father, to the father’s paternal clanswomen, a kinship that extends
outward through subsequent initiations into the various religious societies for both men
and women. Justin, when asked about his kyamat, paternal aunts, responded first with a
chuckle and then said, “My sweetheart,” and chuckled again. He followed by saying,
46
The kya’a – mööyi relationship is also described in Chapter 4.
315
[Y]ou know we tease each other, [my kya’a saying] ‘That’s my sweetheart,’ [but] it’s
nothing.”
One also is full of compliments for a maternal uncle, taha. As one’s authority
figure, negative comments, or criticism are never directed toward him. Rather, one’s taha
is attributed much credit for contributing to one’s cultural identity in terms of cultural
knowledge; his role is to teach his sister’s children (biological and clan extended) clan
knowledge and history, and for this, he attains much respect.
Thus, teasing, as the “vernacular” of Hopi social interaction emphasizes humility,
a necessary ingredient to maintaining cohesiveness at the family, clan, and community
level; a “collective” attitude is essential to carry Hopi society toward its destiny. These
cultural and linguistic practices keep alive the collective memories of people’s past,
“lessons of the past hav[ing] been found to be reasonably secure construction for
proceeding against an unknown future” (Eiseley as cited in Hall, 1976, p. 93). For Hopi,
the lessons of the past constitute a return to the time of Emergence and the way of life,
natwani, planting of corn by hand, chosen by the ancestors of today’s Hopi. This
connection and “return” to the Hopi past is also realized through the ritual practice of
farming.
The Planting of Corn by Hand as Ritualized Practice
Cultivating the short blue ear of corn in an inhospitable environment as a
customary and consistent practice has essentially made the blue corn “Hopi law”
(Sekaquaptewa as cited in Loftin, 1991, p. 5). Hopi life embodies the law of the short
316
blue corn which dictates a life of hardship, qatuvos’qatsi, because its cultivation would
require more work [physical toil], humility, the will to survive, and faith; the reward
would manifest in rain, and an enduring strain of corn and people. This is expressed
often in everyday Hopi life, “[Itàaqatsiy] qa tatamtote, it akw mongvastotini.” “[Our
Hopi way of life], if we do not abandon it, we will benefit by it [attain spiritual eternity].”
In Hopi thinking, a move away from tradition weakens one’s physical and spiritual
resolve. Don Talayesva (with Simmons, 1971) in Sun Chief, described the truth of this
teaching from his personal life,
With marriage I began a life of toil and discovered that [Western] education had
spoiled me for making a living in the desert. I was not hardened to heavy work in
the heat and dust and I did not know how to get rain, control winds, or even
predict good and bad weather. I could not grow young plants in dry, wind-beaten,
and worm-infested sand drifts . . . I might even lead my family into starvation and
be known as the poorest man in Oraibi—able bodied but unable to support a wife.
I turned to my uncles and fathers and asked them how to make a living. In
substance they said, ‘Talasyesva, you must stay home and work hard like the rest
of us . . . . Corn is our mother—the main support of our lives—and only the Cloud
People can send rain to make it grow. Put your trust in them. (p. 224)
The Hopi distinguish two kinds of “practices” associated with the planting of corn
by hand: natwani (noun), the practices of making a living—farming, and natwanta,
(verb), the practicing of faith through ritual, a self-testing. Essentially, the practice of
planting corn by hand is both a secular and religious ritual practice, hence the
expressions, “Planting is a religious duty,” or “Planting is an act of faith.”
Applied to the secular activity of planting, the underlying concepts of Hopi life
embedded in this ritualized practice and expressed metaphorically and symbolically–
corn as the “staff of life” (Sekaquaptewa quoted in Udall, 1985, p. 38), emphasizes
learning the skill of farming as developing: self-sufficiency at the personal and collective
317
level; planting corn by hand as work and self-discipline; and the use of the planting stick,
sooya, as humility.
Thus, work, or tumala, especially work done by hand, emerges as perhaps the most
important of Hopi concepts. “For the Hopi, all practices of life for Hopi well-being are
work” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 481)—hoeing in the field, performing
rituals, personal sacrifice, and self-discipline.” This concept is expressed often in daily
discourse in these Hopi words: “Hak tumalay akw mongvastingwu, maqsonatangwu.”
“One, by means of his/her work benefits from it, experiences the hardship.” The
reminder is that one gains spiritual growth and fulfillment through hard work and faith.
Loftin (1991) wrote, “Hard work embodies the spiritual essence of the Hopi way, chosen
in the primordium by their ancestors. Through work, the Hopi people share a sense of
identity with their mythic forefathers” (p. 5). Natwani becomes the metaphor for the
work ethic and the drive to work expressing the ideology of “attaining the ‘know-how’
for making a living, qatsitwi.” Justin stated that he was born and raised to be a Hopi
farmer. This upbringing now allowed him to describe himself as follows:
I’m a hard-working person ’cuz that’s the way I was brought up . . . . I’m still
doing that. Like my mom said, I don’t get a chance to go to town or do what I
want ’cuz I’m always out at the field . . . . I dedicate myself to go out there . . . to
whatever I’m willing to do. I’ll set my mind to that, and I’ll do that.
The planting stick, sooya, symbolizes a life of humility, and becomes the
instrument by which the Hopi farmer tests his faith to the utmost—to ensure life by one’s
own hands supported by faith. Further, as a personal endeavor, to use the sooya allows
one: to participate in the ways of the Hopi ancestors, hisatsinom;, to work the earth with
a reverence emanating from a perception of earth as itangu, our mother, commanding

318
proper thoughts and feelings toward a “relative” (Loftin, 1991, p. 9); and essentially
experiencing a return to and a “re-actualizing” the time at emergence—a reminder to the
Hopi people of their petition and subsequent acceptance of the life plan set out for them
by Màasaw. This is reiterated in Justin’s words,
[Hopi farming is about] how to plant with a [planting] stick, on your own [a
personal endeavor] instead of having somebody else doing it for you . . . . Way
back then, that’s how we survived—[by] planting the corn. We ate from what we
planted and that’s what kept us alive.
The ritual practice of planting is also applied to the developing sense of
commitment to and preparation for the economic responsibility—self-sufficiency at an
individual level—to one’s family as a husband and father. Justin states, “You can talk to
the plants; they’re just like your children. So, [you tell them] ‘Just be strong as you’re
growing up. Don’t let anything bother you.’ And they’ll hear you.” Although Jared is
not active in the planting tradition, planting corn as a symbol of a Hopi man’s economic
responsibility remains indelible in his mind: “That’s the man’s role you know,” he stated
assured that he will resume this responsibility “especially if I get married.” Whiteley’s
(1998) described natwani as embodying the notion of self-practice, “a worldly reflection
on one’s self-practice and conduct” in reference to the successful growth of “crops,
children, or other fruits of personal effort; if they turn out well they accrue to the
individual’s virtue” in ethical terms (p. 41).
Black (1984), in Maidens and Mothers: An Analysis of Hopi Corn Metaphors,
articulated a concise description of the relationship a Hopi farmer has to his corn
children, and extending to human children:
A symbiotic and complementary relationship is seen to pertain to corn and

319
humans. Young plants are cared for as children by people; if they are properly
cared for, encouraged and prayed for, they are able to mature . . . . Their lines of
life are carried on in the ears of corn, some which become poshumi [seeds] for the
next germination cycle. The rest become “mother” to the humans who cared for
them—in the literal sense of actual nourishment . . . . The nourishment and energy
received from corn in turn allow the humans to continue to care for the young
plants . . . thus the life cycle of corn and humans complement one another and
repeat through the ages. (p. 286)
Here, the Hopi language as spoken words plays an integral role in the “proper care”
of one’s children includes counsel, advice, support, and encouragement expressed
through “nurturing” words: “Uma hapi ö’qalyani. Uma qa tsaakwiwyungni. Uma
kyaktaytotini; su’qawyani.” “You [my corn children] desire to be strong. You are not to
wither. You have a speedy growth; be confident.” Justin stated that he uses these words
of encouragement in tending to the corn in his family’s field. Song words also convey
these messages. An elder Hopi woman recalled this practice vivid in memories of her
childhood:
Hisat taataqt pasve taatawtinumyangwu, ispi uuyiy songawnen tiitavtotangwu.

Haalaykyaakyang amumi unangtavi’yungngwu.
At that time, the men at their fields, would go along singing, because, in effect,
they were taking care of their plants [as if they were children]. With much
happiness, they were tending to them [the corn children].
In turn, one’s female kin, give reciprocal attention to the corn, harvesting and
storing the corn. Justin observed the same commitment to corn exhibited by the
womenfolk at his home: “They’ll [grandmother, mother, aunts] clean [it], and then
they’ll take it off the cob, [and then] we’ll save it or we’ll boil it.” This attention is
extended to the woman’s role in the preparation of traditional food made from corn—
nöqkwivi, hominy, piiki, blue corn wafer bread, somiviki, sweet, blue corn tamale, kutuki,
320
parched corn, and other corn dishes served during ritual performances and ceremonies.
An elder Hopi woman explained,
Nöösiwqa pas hiikya’ta. Taaqa hiita aniwnaq, put ak itam itaaqatsiy

ö’qalyangwu. Hak sinot qa iingyalngwu, pante, hak songawnen naa’ingyalngwu.
Itam sunan sinom.
Food is of great value. When a man grows his foodstuff, with that, we strengthen
our lives. Therefore, one should not exclude or reject the company of [guests at
mealtime], if one does so, one essentially, rejects oneself. We are all one people.
Inherent in this statement is a reference to the time of Emergence of the people, or
all humankind, into the Fourth World, hence, the protocol of extending an invitation to
partake of the food prepared to all those who come to participate as audience members in
the ritual performances and ceremonies; all are to partake of the bounty. This
comprehension extends to the spirit world and resonates in Helen Sekaquaptewa’s (as
cited in Udall, 1986) memories of sweet corn fresh from the steaming pit, ready for
consumption. She said,
The harvesting and all aspects of life had religious significance. [When the
morning star reached the right position in the sky,] it was time to open the pit.
While the steam poured out, [the elder] called loudly to the gods and their spirits
to come and partake of this food, repeating the invitation four times—from the
east, the south, the west, and the north. Being spirits, the gods eat of the vapor
from the corn. (p. 206)
The preparation of food by the women is also likened to that of Mother Earth who
provides substance, soona, to all; we nurse from our mother, she is the provider of life, a
mother to all. In turn, like Mother Earth, Hopi women are revered for their life-giving
abilities.
Natwani also refers to the practice of ceremonies, practices that symbolically
stand for “practicing life”: “Itam natwantotangwu.” “We, by custom, are ‘practicing’,
321
or ‘rehearsing’ life.” The Bean Dance (held during the calendar month of February) is a
symbolic act that portends the real growing season through ceremony, during which the
bean seedlings are nurtured into sprouts as if though it were the actual growing season.
Because ceremonies also serve to remind and prompt the Hopi conscious, “participation”
involves a strong conviction that there is a spiritual return to the remote past that is lived
again. If one is able project her/himself into this realm, a solid connection to and a
profound understanding of the past as significant and relevant today as well as for the
future is attained. This religious task, conducted in faith and humbleness constitutes the
religious ethic. Therefore, the myriad of cultural practices, including ceremony, is
referred to as natwani because the Hopi people continue to “practice” what has been done
in actuality in our history. In effect, the “medium”—planting corn by hand—becomes
the message.
Thus, language accompanying ritual practices conveys the “concepts of a
socioculturally structured universe” (Ochs, 1988, p. 14) through the myriad ritual
practices and cultural forms that make up Hopi oral tradition. In particular, song and
dance, emit a powerful influence on the individual, both “drawing in” and “sustaining”
one’s attention—children and adults alike.
Social Dancing as Ritualized Performances
The songs that accompany social dancing have a specific rhythm and beat, while
the song words tell of romances or “paint” beautiful images of the Hopi world and are
performed to remind the Hopi people of the benefits in adhering to the Hopi way of life.
322
Social dances are ritualized public performances through which Hopi children learn and
acknowledge their social kinship connections in a formalized way; this includes the
appropriate social and cultural behaviors. Children are encouraged to participate at an
early age where learning the “complex tangle of relationships” (Yava, 1978, p. 2) leaves
an indelible imprint through enjoyable experiences: Jared described social dancing as a
time when “you just go out and have fun.” But social dancing is also the means by which
children are exposed to and begin to also gain an awareness of the religious aspects of
Hopi culture embedded in these ritualized public performances. As Hopi youth prepare
to perform publicly before the community, immersed in the “whole complex of
performance vehicles”—rhythm, beat, song words, dance motions, and associated
activities and paraphernalia, they are inculcated with important Hopi values and ideals.
In turn, their performance before the community remind and engage the people in
conjuring up images “of a beautiful world, prosperity; with the rains bringing all of that
[beauty] so that people can feel good about seeing this image as something that they all
would want” (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, May 25, 2004). The extended
meaning of social dances is the promise of a good life that one can attain through living
the Hopi way of life. Song and dance provide a powerful medium for communicating
much about the Hopi perspective of life, the principles of the Hopi way of life as well as
the means for “experiencing” this way of life.
The ritualized practices of Hopi naming, planting corn by hand, and social dancing,
are illuminated as important components of the Hopi oral tradition, and how they operate
as such. Importantly, these cultural conventions operate through the use of particular
323
words and usage of these words to express and reinforce the concept of “community.”
Thus, the Hopi language serves as a “mark” of identity; an “identity” developed in the
context of culture and community. The Hopi oral tradition, concerned with moral living
and ethical conduct essential to surviving in a communal society, becomes the primary
tool for expressing these principles of living in the earthly world of Hopi. In the spiritual
world of Hopi, katsinam (pl.) are a central feature of the Hopi identity.47 Through their
songs, the katsinam metaphorically remind, inform, advise, admonish, and inspire the
Hopi people about adhering to their chosen way of life.
Katsina Songs: “Prompting the Hopi Conscious”
The katsinam come to the Hopi villages, the “earthly world” of the Hopi, in
response to the prayers of the people; a reciprocal exchange between the katsinam and the
Hopi people. If the people have prepared their prayers with and from an attitude of
sincerity, and have been living a good life in the “Hopi way”—a moral existence and by
ethical conduct—then, the people have demonstrated that they are “deserving” of their
coming. The image visualized is that of the katsinam, spirit beings, who come in the
form of rain, to provide the essential moisture for the corn—the means of survival for a
way of life and a people. They come with the promise of all things—bountiful harvest,
harmony, life—to be realized: “Katsinam qatsit ayawa’yta.” “The katsinam ‘stand for’
[represent] life.”
47
In Hopi belief, katsina (sg.) is a spirit being and “for their part, have control over the rains” (Hopi
Dictionary, 1998, p. 134.)
324
The katsinam first “come” at the end of winter marked by the time of Powamuya,
the Bean Dance Ceremony.48 In effect, this ritual ceremony symbolically portends the
immediate future of growth as the actual planting season approaches. The katsinam
prepare to leave the earthly world of the Hopi to return to the spirit world, at the Home
Dance, Nimantikive, having assisted the Hopi people in “affirming” their faith.
During their stay, the “katsinas sing positive reminders of the practices that will
lead to a fulfillment in life. Sometimes the katsinas voice their observations in the form
of more direct admonitions that express disappointment with current Hopi behavior”
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, pp. 468-469). Hence, katsina songs are especially
efficacious in having preserved the oral tradition of Hopi culture through time and space,
in particular, due to the proficient use of metaphor—a key linguistic feature in the Hopi
oral tradition of song.
In order to illuminate this affective quality of katsina songs described as “[the
Hopi language in its most] spiritually powerful form . . . [and] through which [the Hopi
people] come in touch with the preordained world of Hopi” (Sekaquaptewa, 1997, p. 1), I
first look to Lakoff and Johnson (1980) to provide perspective on the use and nature of
metaphor in everyday life encompassing the mundane to the extraordinary in language,
thought and action. According to Lakoff and Johnson, “Our ordinary conceptual system,
in terms of which we both think and act, is fundamentally metaphorical in nature” (p. 3).
It governs not just matters of intellect but our everyday functioning, structuring what we
perceive, our movement, our relationships, thus defining our everyday realities. As such,
48
The ritual ceremony, a symbolic act, portends the real growing season during which bean seedlings are
nurtured to sprouts as it though it were the actual season.
325
metaphor, understanding and experiencing one kind of thing in terms of another, is
pervasive in everyday life, not just in language but in thought and action. Metaphor,
then, is a thought process linguistically expressed according to some form of systematic
discourse. Further, Lakoff and Johnson contend that metaphor is a matter of imaginative
reality—a conceptual, coherent structure—and thus, involves all the natural dimensions
of our experience, including aspects of our sense experiences: color, shape, texture,
sound, shaping not only mundane but aesthetic experiences as well. Metaphor also needs
context. Applied to cultural and personal usage, metaphor is partially preserved and
propagated through ritual—repeated structured practices, some consciously designed,
some more consciously performed than others, some emerging spontaneously.
Succinctly expressed, “The most fundamental values in a culture will be coherent with
the metaphorical structure of the most fundamental concepts of the culture” (p. 22).
The works of Black (1984), Washburn (1999) and Sekaquaptewa & Washburn
(2004) offered more specific insight on the use of metaphor as linguistic and visual
vehicles to communicate and describe “the principles by which the Hopi have organized
themselves in order to successfully pursue a life based on corn agriculture”
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 458).
Black (1984) demonstrates the underlying coherence of two of the most prevalent
Hopi metaphors pertaining to corn—“people are corn” and “corn plants are females” and
how they relate to various aspects of Hopi and to other dominant symbols. By examining
the dominant cultural symbol of corn, Black, is able to make distinct, the predominant
themes of rain, fertility and sustenance in Hopi life as emanating from corn. These
326
themes permeate ritual life as well usage as a figure of speech in the everyday world of
Hopi. Moreover, corn, when viewed as a metaphor of personification, Black stated,
“help[s] us to understand ‘otherness’ by encouraging comparison with that about which
we know or feel the most, ourselves” (p. 280). Thus, the meaning of “the equation of two
object classes—people and plants—” through a comparison of their similarities becomes
accessible (p. 279). Examples Black provided for the “people as corn” metaphor:
• Developmental cycles of corn plants and humans—Emergence/birth: “As humans
are believed to have emerged from below to gain access to this world, so do corn
sprouts emerge from their point of origin in the ground. Everything in this world
is said to have grown up from below, originating as seed in itangu, our mother, or
our mother the earth” (p. 280).
• Structural attributes, or parts of the body common to humans and corn—
qatungwu, the form of the body; that which without soona, the substance of the
body; that which makes life viable, and hikwsi, the breath, spirit, or soul, [the
body] is lifeless.
• Appropriate behaviors and attitudes toward others—“Appropriate human
behavior toward growing corn plants parallels the behavior expected of adults
toward children; gently exhorting them to do their best and encouraging their
growth” (p. 282).
The patterned relations established between object classes, such as corn and
humans, in effect, serves a mnemonic function—the creative aspect of metaphor. Black
likened the mnemonic function, best communicated through ritual, to an invitation

327
extended to the listener/audience to resolve the semantic contradiction, in essence, the
acquisition and internalization of the conceptualization. The use of ritual as an effective
transmission vehicle for culture in oral societies such as Hopi finds support.
Washburn’s (1999) and Sekaquaptewa & Washburn’s (2004) ongoing and
extensive work on song metaphor in Hopi katsina songs and “visually reiterated in mural
image and ceramic design” further illuminate why metaphor is “particularly appropriate”
as a transmission mechanism of the cosmological knowledge and principles of Hopi life.
Importantly, Sekaquaptewa’s & Washburn’s (2004) work, reveal that a constancy and
consistency of the same key metaphors about Hopi life—the practices and ways of living,
and the same messages—reminders to live a life of humbleness, hard work, and prayer
based on cultivation of corn by hand—persist essentially unchanged. Further, these
constancies in metaphor support the social institutions and ritual practices permeating
every cultural activity, thus, are expected to be found in “all modes” of transmission—
verbal, visual, other related performance means, media. Among the Hopi, the
pervasiveness of metaphor is highly evident “because it is actively and consciously used
to embody and transmit cultural ideas that fill every domain of their lives” (p. 467).
In the following, I draw from Sekaquaptewa’s & Washburn’s (2004) descriptions
and examples of the use and function of metaphor as a mnemonic device in translations
of Hopi ritual song. Here, it is important to begin with Sekaquaptewa’s & Washburn’s
“caveat” regarding the role of Hopi song in the creation of Hopi oral traditions:
In Hopi belief, katsina songs are made by katsinas; no mortal being is the
composer. Because everyone who dies becomes a katsina, everyone has the
328
opportunity and obligation to compose songs. (p. 462)49
Several translated katsina songs cited by Sekaquaptewa and Washburn (2004)
provided insight into the messages carried to the Hopi people by the katsinam. An
Angakstina, Long Hair Katsina song urging the Hopi “to reflect back to the time when the
gentle rains drizzled all night long along their fields and the earth and all its creatures
blossomed with the beauty of life” (p. 468) does so with flower and water animal
metaphors. In a 1950s song, the katsinas expressed their disappointment in observing
that the Moencopi village youth were not learning the practices of life—the grinding and
parching of corn by Hopi females, running at dawn by Hopi youth, abandoning the
practice of wearing the traditional hairstyles. In this song, the metaphorical references
are to hard work, self-discipline in physical conditioning, and the hairstyle as a symbol of
fertility. Katsinas also sing reminders of those practices that will lead to a fulfillment in
life—living simply and selflessly. This is expressed in the Qa’ötotim, Corn Boy Song
which emphasizes the moral quality of humility: “Corn Boy, appearing as an ordinary
person, is a metaphor for not only Hopi corn [short ear of corn] but the Hopi value of
humility” (p. 472).
In essence, the songs are “calls for action” relating to their survival, thus are
created and performed “with great seriousness” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p.
467) “within a whole complex of performance vehicles—song, dance, and all the
associated activities and paraphernalia in public performances function as integrated
complex to communicate Hopi values and ideas (pp. 461-462). Sekaquaptewa &
49
In Hopi belief, katsina is a spirit being and “for their part have control over the rains” (Hopi
Dictionary/Hopìikwa Lavàytutuveni: A Hopi-English dictionary of the Third Mesa dialect, 1998, p. 134).
329
Washburn aptly described the affective influence of metaphor and dramatization which
serve to internalize the Hopi conceptualization of their universe and how they position
themselves within it:
The ritual forms that accompany songs in public performances the primary ways
in which the Hopi people experience the power and importance of the beliefs and
reciprocal behaviors that are shared and practiced by all as they carry out their
communal and ceremonial obligations. Indeed, the awe-inspiring drama and
intensity of feeling projected in these performances instill such respect that the
words of the katsinas ring in the minds of the Hopi well beyond the day of the
performance as they sing the songs out loud while carrying out activiti in their
daily lives. In this way, over time, the constant character of these metaphorical
song words and phrases reinforces both the ceremonial and communal spheres
and insures this belief system will not be easily forgotten. (p. 462)
Song word and phrases carry the wisdom of the culture that benefits the Hopi way
of life in connection with, or in the context of symbolism. Further, while song words and
phrases describing the reciprocal relationships that support the broader notion of
humanity are not necessarily culturally unique, in terms of the philosophical principles
evolving from their historical experiences, song words are specific to Hopi. Katsina
ritual songs serve to “prompt the Hopi conscience,” because the Hopi people already “are
supposed to know these things” (Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 465). This lends
support to the notion of language as cultural practice.
Language, the “Missing Piece”
Dorian: We have to learn the language ’cuz my mom tells me there are some
things you can’t learn in English because it’s just hard to explain it in English . . .
If you don’t know it [the Hopi language], you don’t really understand [the Hopi
culture].
Justin: People will have kivas . . . but they won’t know the songs [meaning of the
song words and phrases] to each kachina song or buffalo song . . . they won’t
330
know it all. With the language loss, how are you gonna sing [take the messages
into one’s personal life as well as carry themon]?
Dorian’s and Justin’s statements identify the Hopi language as the essence of Hopi
cultural vitality and continuity, and more so, spiritual vitality and continuity. For Hopi,
language, as the medium of the practices in both the secular and religious domains of life,
extends beyond the daily communicative behaviors of speech activities or speech events
(Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986) to instill a belief of and commitment to a collective
movement toward a common destiny—spiritual existence. “To a Hopi, the spirit world
is omnipresent” (Page, 1983, p. 83). Emory Sekaquaptewa (personal communication,
September 9, 2004) stated,
Language, while being only one way of becoming Hopi, is probably the most
important of all cultural attributes because it allows you to describe the Hopi
world, not only the physical in the sense of touch, sight and hearing, but also
mentally, and intellectually because the words conjure up these images that are
not necessarily borne out by reality.
Language, then, provides the connection to the spiritual realm, to the past and to
the future, as well as to the moral image of Hopi. Thus, language shift takes away the
quality of life that allows the Hopi to live as a distinct community of people—according
to the doctrines which reside in the words of songs and other ritual practices. Here, the
loss, is best understood by attending to the frequent references made by Dorian, Jared,
and Justin to the disrespectful attitudes and behaviors—particularly the pervasiveness and
emotional impact of teasing, or criticism—by young and old alike. Describing behaviors
and attitudes that display respect and disrespect requires a return to the concept of
reciprocity as the fundamental principle underlying the social and religious life of the
331
Hopi people conveyed and experienced through the Hopi clan- kinship system, ritualized
practices, and social institutions.
Respect, Disrespect
The Hopi Dictionary (1998) defines “respect” as a noun, verb, and an adverb. The
noun forms encompass: kyaptsi (sg.) respect [that which is earned and therefore valued];
kyaptsiwa (sg.) universal respect, reverence [within a given population]; and
kyaptsitìwqa, that which is revered, sacred. The verb and adverb forms consider the
behaviors: kyaptsi’yma, go along respecting, abiding by; kyaptsi’yta, have or show
respect for; kyaptsitiwa, be respected, given respect; and kyaptsiwvewat (adv.) in a
respectful manner. The noun forms, particularly, kyaptsiwa and kyaptsitìwqa refer to
customs and traditions long-established that they have assumed the force and validity of
law so that a community of people is obligated to follow these particular ways of doing
things. The verb and adverb forms, then, refer to the manner with which one should
abide by, or comply with Hopi customs and traditions.
For Hopi, the emphasis is on displaying the proper behavior and attitude—
humility and sincerity—premised in a substantial understanding of the duty (conduct
owed) and obligation (socially imposed duty) one has toward the customs and others as a
member of a community of kin that will ensure the “survival of the group;” the kinship
network assuming more significance than the immediate family, and each individual a
responsible agent of his/her actions. For Whiteley (1998), such “structurings of [Hopi]
thought and action” are manifest in the truism that “Hopi society is made up of people
332
who consciously think about—as well as unconsciously reproduce their practices, culture,
history, politics, intercultural relations—and act on the basis of that thought” (pp. 46-48).
The Hopi interpretation of this truism involves an element of “fear”; a “fear of the
unknown” which recognizes the potential negative consequences or dangers that can
affect the individual as well as the community as a result of one’s actions and behaviors;
thus, fear, is also a form of respect.
“Disrespect,” then, is a lack of appreciation for the significance of one’s duty and
obligation to others and in acceding to the customs of a people manifest in a lack of
consideration for the welfare of others—selfishness—and a disregard, essentially, no fear
of the potentially far-reaching consequences of one’s behavior that will either diminish
the integrity and/or the cohesiveness of the community. Dorian’s observations of her
peers, whom she described as “taking part” in social dancing only for the material
rewards, of young adults turning to interracial marriage as a way to avoid the life-long
marital obligations of Hopi unions; Jared’s observations of young adults marrying same
or related clan members, or engaging in unhopi behaviors—joining gangs, domestic
violence, and substance abuse; and Justin’s observations of Hopi youth who do not
engage in traditional activities, or follow proper protocol in kiva activities are essentially
visible expressions of “non-acceptance” of the mutual responsibility of one’s membership
in and allegiance to the Hopi communal ethic. Such disrespectful behaviors and attitudes
are evidence of the diminishing conscious and unconscious thought about sense of
connection and the ability to reproduce the practices, history and intercultural relations
that have meaning and relevancy to one’s life maintained through the language; language
333
is “the clearest representation of that way of thought” (Henry as cited in Hermes, 2005, p.
51). In essence, to “keep the thought” means to “keep the language” (p. 51). Further,
there is the realization that the English and Hopi languages represent two distinct ways of
thought which represent and express differing interpretations of the world; there is no
shared meaning or understanding. This is made clear by Dorian who stated,
Like me, I’m learning the basic things we do in English . . . [but] there are some
things you can’t learn in English because it’s just hard to explain it in English . . .
If you don’t know it [the Hopi language], you don’t really understand
[the Hopi culture].
The meaning and understanding of cultural knowledge “become pretty shallow”
(Henry as cited in Hermes, 2005, p. 51) when taught and learned through the English
language or in an English context such as the classroom. The “disconnect” from Hopi
thinking and shared understanding among the Hopi people, particularly speakers and non-
speakers of, younger and older generations, is manifest in the incessant verbal behavior
of “teasing” that Dorian, Jared, and Justin, were subjected to resulting from their lack of
Hopi language proficiency. Earlier in this chapter, I described Hopi “teasing” as a form
of expressing humility. Here, I describe how this specialized form of Hopi cultural social
interaction between kin has been impacted as a result of language shift and loss.
Teasing as Criticism
The earlier discussion of teasing as a linguistic form of expressing humility
immediately points to a deep-seated misunderstanding and misinterpretation of the
purpose of “teasing” as the “vernacular of social interaction” among kin in Hopi social
networks. The Hopi form of teasing requires a sophisticated knowledge and command of
334
the Hopi language as expressing the basis and ideals of Hopi life, including a quick mind,
a broad repository of words, the nature of the reciprocal kin relationships, and skillful as
well as appropriate use of the cultural subtleties—compliment by criticism, humor,
metaphor—designed to maintain a constant awareness of the reciprocities inherent in the
clan- kinship system. Clearly, Dorian and Jared, as non-speakers of Hopi and limited in
their understanding spoken Hopi, were not “privy” to this specialized usage of the Hopi
language. Whereas, Justin’s description of his relationship as a mööyi, nephew, to his
kya’a, paternal aunt or clanswoman, indicated a familiarity with the Hopi form of teasing
and the social way to act toward one’s paternal aunt, grandmother, and clanswomen;
“it’s nothing [disrespectful].”
Rather, Dorian and Jared, as non-speakers of Hopi, describe a form of teasing, the
intent of which is to reveal the weakness or shortcomings of others in a hurtful way—to
taunt, laugh at, rag, torment, goad, etc. This is not the Hopi form of teasing, yet both
provided specific examples from their personal experiences: Jared was confronted with,
“How are you Hopi if you can’t speak it?” Or, “How come you don’t know Hopi?”
Dorian’s lack of trust in others was apparent in her statement, “People might make fun of
me. Even though they say they don’t [aren’t laughing at], they still kind of laugh at you a
little bit, giggle.” Such expressions made by a speaker of Hopi to a non-speaker of Hopi
emanate from a lack of understanding of an individual’s circumstances, an ignorance of
the customs, the influence of certain social practices outside Hopi, or as an admonition,
or a scolding—a form of Hopi instruction about how one should behave.

335
Admonitions are given using the third person [impersonal] pronoun, hak, one, to
“prompt the conscious” of the individual about what is right or wrong in his behavior.
For example, to admonish a young Hopi girl for her laziness in Hopi, the admonition is as
follows, “Hak maananen matava qa öönangwu.” “When one is a girl, one should not be
lazy about grinding corn.” Thus, the English expressions of admonishments made to
Jared would be more appropriate by using the following Hopi words of admonishment:
“Hak Hopinen hak Hopìikwat akwningwu.” “If one is a Hopi, one should speak using the
Hopi language.” In addition, maintaining “a sense of peace and harmony” is fundamental
to the survival of the group, thus, using the third person pronoun to admonish another is a
form of avoiding confrontation, a learned Hopi behavior. Although, the recipient of the
admonishment may not respond immediately or even positively, the words, once uttered,
will remain in the individual’s consciousness, to resurface at a later time when the words
take on their intended meaning. Without a firm command of the Hopi language,
understanding these cultural nuances is lost to those Hopi youth who are non-speakers; it
becomes difficult and confusing to distinguish between what is a social cultural practice
and what is not. Therefore, these youth are not in a position to positively interpret,
benefit from, or carry on the intent of the various linguistic forms used to maintain a
communal society.
Male, Female Religious Societies
The essentiality of language becomes especially apparent as these youth desire
membership in the male and female higher-order religious societies. The initial step into
336
the Hopi religious domain through initiation into the katsina society strengthens the
individual in a movement toward achieving personal spiritual fulfillment. Emory
Sekaquaptewa (1976) described this achievement of the Hopi man in the katsina
ceremonies,
The spiritual fulfillment of a man depends on how he is able to project himself

into the spiritual world as he performs. He really doesn’t perform for the third
parties who form the audience. Rather the audience becomes his personal self.
He tries to express to himself his own conceptions about the spiritual ideals that
he sees in the kachina. He is able to do so behind the mask because he has lost his
personal identity . . . . The essence of the kachina ceremony . . . has to do with the
ability to project oneself into the make-believe world, the world of ideas and
images which sustain that particular representation. (p. 39)
Jared’s statement conveys the role and essentiality of language in order to achieve
personal spiritual fulfillment: “I need to speak Hopi. I need to know real good.” While
Hopi youth such as Dorian, Jared, and Justin may not use Hopi as a daily communicative
language, they aspired to become users of the Hopi language compelled by: the influence
of their childhood and continuing participation and involvement in the traditions of Hopi,
their desire to participate in the higher-order religious sodalities, their desire to socialize
with community members in their “adult” status, and possibly the realization of their
responsibility to the children they may have, carrying on Hopi traditions as well as being
grounded in their cultural identity. Dorian asserted, “[The Hopi language], that’s who I
am and it ties in with where I come from. And I just like to keep a hold of that [identity]
as much as I can . . . . The more I learn, the better grasp I have on it [my cultural
identity]. That’s what I use to stay rooted.” Clearly, “living Hopi”—practicing the
customs, traditions and the religion has anchored each in their Hopi identity, but it is an
337
identity that, in Dorian’s words is not “fully complete without the language, the tongue,
the speaking.”
The Hopi Identity Formation Process—Affective Enculturation
Dorian, age 19, a non-speaker of Hopi:
We’re doing it [participating in the social dances] for a reason . . . for rain prayers,
for life . . . . You’re not just doing this for entertainment . . . . When that drum
goes . . . you feel it inside; it gets your heart beating the same way as everyone
else.
Jared, age 19, a non-speaker of Hopi:
I like learning [katsina] songs in the kiva . . . [and] just being around older [Hopi
males] like your uncle, your grandfather, your ceremonial father . . . . [The songs
are] mostly [about] everything in nature, the clouds, fields of corn . . . everybody
being happy.
Justin, age 19, a speaker of Hopi:
You can talk to the plants; they’re just like your children. [You tell them] ‘Just be
strong as you’re growing up. Don’t let anything bother you.’ And they’ll hear
you.
In the statements above, Dorian, Jared, and Justin express a personal sense of
connection to, as well as an understanding of their Hopi world. Their statements provide
evidence that they have been “affected,” or highly influenced by their lifelong
experiences in Hopi culture, thus they have a strong orientation toward the philosophy of
the Hopi way of life described in the introduction to the dissertation.
The development of affect, a feeling—an emotional commitment to the ideals of a
communal society—acquired through active participation and involvement in Hopi ritual

338
practices and social institutions is an essential aspect of the Hopi identity formation
process.50 Affect enables Hopi youth to “connect to” an ancestral past rooted
symbolically in ritual practices that pre-date modern Hopi life; thereby, they come to feel
Hopi; they identify with, become a part of and contribute to the collective. The
development of affect, or the process of affective enculturation, is one through which an
enduring sense of security in and unwavering adherence to the Hopi way of life among
youth is cultivated. Further, because “language has a home in the context of culture,”
language is determined to be inherent in the myriad social, economic and religious
practices of Hopi life. Therefore, Hopi youth also “connect with” the language—the
customary manner of using a given language in speaking and how words and phrases are
used to express particular ideas—that has transported these practices across time to the
present in spite of the fact that a proficiency in Hopi is not a prerequisite.
The use of metaphor and dramatization are key to this link between culture and
language, fostering not only the acquisition and internalization of implicit concepts and
principles of the Hopi way of life (Basso as cited in Black, 1984), but affect the
development of a sense of aesthetics, or appreciation of the beauty, the promises of, and
therefore the desire to live the Hopi lifestyle. Thus, the Hopi oral tradition—the “total
communicative framework” (Hall, 1976, p. 42)—manifest in song words and phrases,
prayer, teachings, ritual performances, religious ceremonies, and cultural institutions,
constitutes the “transmission mechanism” (Fishman, 1996, p. 86) through which Hopi
50
The “expert use” of affect, or “exercise in emotion” among the Hopi was a focus of the earlier work of
anthropologist, Dorothy Eggan (1956, p. 313). In her interpretation, Eggan described the use of affect as
one of emotional “conditioning,” and “reconditioning.”
339
youth are enculturated with the cultural knowledge, history, ethics, and values to become
competent and contributing members of their community. Moreover, Hopi oral tradition
provides the context and the environment for language socialization as well as access to
the language forms (Brice-Heath cited in Ochs, 1988) of Hopi. In the remainder of this
section, I use various expressions made by Dorian, Jared and Justin that I believe
exemplify the identity building process of affective enculturation.
Hopi Names: “Marks” of Identity
“They didn’t teach us to introduce ourselves in Hopi for nothing.” Dorian
I open this section with an experience my daughter, age 12 at the time, shared with
me. Identified as a Native American in her school files, she was invited to join other
Native American students to engage in activities and discussion that would acknowledge
and contribute to their sense of pride in their Native American heritage. The promise of
an Eegee drink lured my daughter to attend the first lunch gathering of students. She
learned something very interesting about herself and astonishing about other Indian youth
that day; she was the only student who could state her tribal affiliation, clan identity, and
“Indian” name. The other students, she said, could only respond with, “I don’t know.” I
believe this experience served to bring a new awareness of and meaning to her Hopi
identity previously of little concern to her. She did, however, ask how the other youth
could not know “who they were” in terms of being a member of a tribal people.
340
In response to questions asking them to provide the same information about
themselves, Dorian, Jared, and Justin each did so, confident in their identity premised in
their cultural knowledge. Dorian, in particular, asserted,
I’m Squash [Clan] . . . My mother is Pumpkin or Squash [Clan], and my father

[is] Corn Clan . . . my mom’s from here, Supawlavi [Village]; my dad’s from
Hotvela [Village].
In addition, the same tenor of confidence was reflected in their responses to inquiry
about their Hopi names.
Justin: Which one?” When further questioned about this being his baby name:
“No, it’s my initiation name.” He provided the appropriate English translation of
both his baby and initiation name.
Jared provided his name and added, for clarification, ‘the name I got when I got
initiated [by] my godfather.’ Further questioning elicited the following, ‘Yeah, [I got
baby names], but I had so many I can’t really remember [them all]. Everybody just
called me [by my] different names, mostly my grandmother and my aunts.’
The references to a “baby name,” and an “initiation name” in their responses
assumed a sense of “being privy” to cultural knowledge that is attained through
experience.51 Having “experienced” the naming rituals at birth and in their initiation into
the katsina society, they realized the “multiplicity of selves” (Kroskrity, 1993, p. 46) their
collection of names provided. Their responses demonstrate how they were able to draw
from and construct “discrete identities” from this multiplicity of selves through a process
of “garner[ing] and discard[ing]” names throughout the life cycle (p. 46). This was
especially evident in Dorian’s response.
51
The Hopi naming ritual is described in Chapter 5.
341
Well, [it] depends. Right now, I’m kind of iffy on which one I should go by; the
ones that were given to me as a baby, or my initiated name. So, my baby name,
the one I go by is, Samimana which means Corn Girl. And then for my initiated
name, I go by Soovenmana, Star Girl.
At focus here is what Whiteley (1998) terms “name senses.” First, Hopi names
deriving from the clan system serve to “culturally enframe” (p. 120) the social
relationship of a Hopi child and her/his biological father’s clanspeople, or for an initiate,
the godparent clanspeople. As a “composition”—a metaphoric combination of word
parts—a Hopi name expresses particular attributes of one’s clan totem, naatoyla, as well
as the Hopi ideals embedded in the broad “range of social, cultural, and cognitive
contexts in which names have their meanings constituted” (p. 120). For example,
Dorian’s Hopi name, Soovenmana, is the combining form of soohu, star + peeni, mark;
when combined become sooven + maana, or Soovenmana, Star-marked maiden (one
decorated/adorned with stars). Secondly, as Whiteley further described, “the great degree
of authorial latitude and creativity within totemic spheres, and…the intentional
uniqueness of each name . . . add strongly individuating elements simultaneously for
namer and named” (p. 121). Thus, reduplication of Hopi names is rare; the expressive
composition of names, like Hopi song words “reflect the fact that everyone has his or her
own ways of conceptualizing how these basic principles might be expressed”
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004, p. 462) for which the meaning or sense of Hopi
names may remain known only to the name-giver and receiver. As such, the name-giver
confers a unique individual identity on the name-receiver, and a “special” kinship
connection is established as the name-giver utters her propitious wishes: “Um yan
maatsiwkyang wuutiharkuvuwvani.” “With this name, live a long life and go to sleep
342
[die] in old age.” One’s Hopi name, then, not only renders a unique identity on the
individual, but is subsequently nurtured and cultivated by members of the wider
community from birth and beyond. This sense of belonging, identity, and connection was
evident in the responses of each of these youth as they provided the information about
their identity.
Further, Hopi names, as described earlier in this chapter, derive from the clan
system which ascribes roles and their respective responsibilities and obligations to one’s
kin with the use of kinship terms. Use of these kinship terms “obligates” people to one
another manifested in the concepts of duty (conduct owed) and obligation (duty imposed
socially). This sense of moral obligation in conduct was inherent in the following
expressions made by Dorian and Jared (Rushforth & Chisolm, 1991). Dorian’s statement
is telling of her sense of responsibility to the members of her immediate family, while
Jared demonstrates an especially keen awareness and potential of the negative
repercussions of his behavior on his immediate family:
Dorian: It’s the protocol to take care of her [our maternal grandmother daily.
We have a worker for her, but within the immediate family, it’s actually first [my
aunt] . . . hen it’s my mom, and then it’s my sister, and then it’s me . . . . I know
how to wash her. I know how to cook for her . . . give her medicine and things.
Jared: I just thought to myself. If I would do that [engage in negative behaviors

and] I had lots of opportunity to do that . . . I just thought about different people.
[And I asked myself,] ‘How would they react to me [if] I got into trouble]? How
would they react to my parents? I don’t want my parents having a bad name
because of me. That’s just another thing that kept me out of trouble.
Importantly, the underlying principle of reciprocity in the use of these kinship
terms reinforces the concept of community in the Hopi sense, especially as the immediate
family circle expands to include a wider family network through marriage and initiation
343
into religious societies. This was learned through the words of wisdom expressed
frequently by Justin’s and Dorian’s grandmothers. Although both grandmothers have
passed on, their words have left a lasting impression and influence.
Justin: My so’o said to me] always help people because . . . all their [one’s] life,
somebody will help you. And that’s just what I’m doing, helping, helping my
mom’s side, my other tahas, and just helping ’em as much as I can.
Denise: Don’t be mean to anybody . . . [because] you never know if that person
might help you out. [Or] you might need that person’s help later on.
In particular, Justin’s frequent references to his maternal grandmother’s advice are
evidence of the significance of her influence in his life:
If I do have kids, I just wanna keep telling ’em to do the [Hopi traditions] just the
way my so’o [grandmother] told me. I just want to put it [the personal sense of
duty for being a Hopi] on them and have ’em learn it too.
These kinship ties also establish allegiance to the larger Hopi community, and
therefore, serve to develop and promote the sense of communalism that these youth have
come to internalize as expressed by Jared,
We’re all related, [by] clans, [and it involves] certain responsibilities that our
clans have to do [ceremonially for each other] . . . . We have to come out here [to
Hopi to attend to our responsibilities] . . . [Because] when I don’t come, I feel
guilty and then feel sorry about it later.
In turn, the Hopi child attains a “sense of belonging,” an important aspect in the
development of affect, and sense of aesthetics for the Hopi way of life.
Natwani, The Practice of Planting Corn by Hand
Justin: The language and that [planting], that was the most [of what] I learned
when I was growing up . . . how to plant with a stick [sooya], on your own instead
344
of having somebody else doing it for you . . . Way back then, that’s how we
survived—[by] planting the corn. We ate from what we planted and that’s what
kept us alive.
Jared: When you’re down there in the field, that’s the man’s role you know,
especially if [I] get married. Our family is taking care of it . . . and all of our
[planting] is still done [with a planting stick].
Justin’s and Jared’s statements confirm that planting corn by hand remains basic to
the contemporary Hopi way of life. Some Hopi males, like Justin, have accompanied
their male kin to the fields since early childhood; therefore, he espoused, “because we’ve
[young Hopi males] been doing that most of our lives, we knew how to do it; what the
process was, and what the procedures [are].” For Justin, who firmly believed he was
“born and raised” to become a Hopi farmer, corn and the practice of planting remain at
the core of Hopi existence and survival. This belief figured significantly in his plans
following graduation from high school. He stated, “For me, leaving this place and my
farming, the cultural [activities]; that just got to me. [I thought], that’s way down there,
so I just left that just to [stay] out here.” Justin’s case is strong testimony to the affective
nature of involvement in the ritual activity of planting corn by hand and the subsequent
development of a sense of aesthetics for the Hopi way of life; planting corn by hand
becomes the medium for the message.
Justin’s case also attests to the personal sacrifice and hard work that contributes to
the development of the Hopi work ethic. The hard work was eased with the help of his
immediate and extended family male kin “my dad and uncles from my mom’s side and
from my dad’s side,” but any available time—weekends, breaks during the school year,
345
and summer—was dedicated to the corn. Justin took great pride in expressing having
attained a strong work ethic.
I’m Hopi. I’m a hardworking person, ’cuz that’s the way I was brought up . . .
[and] I’m still doing that [working hard]. Like my mom said, I don’t get to go to
town or do what I want ’cuz I’m always out at the field . . . . I dedicate myself to
go out there . . . [and] do whatever I’m willing to do. I’ll set my mind to that and
I’ll do that. I’ll be a hard-working person.
Song: The Most Spiritual Form of Language
Dorian: For awhile, I kinda stepped away from it [dancing] . . . [and

then I said], ‘Mom, I need to dance….When that drum goes, you don’t hear it,
you feel it . . . . You don’t what they’re [men singers] saying, but you still get that
feeling [of connection and common purpose] that you go by. . . . It’s like
telepathy; you still have that same thought running through everybody’s mind,
and just knowing [that] you’re not doing this just for entertainment. You’re doing
this for a reason; you’re doing it for rain, [as] prayer, for life.
Jared: I like learning songs in the kiva [be]cause just being around theolder [men]
like your uncle, your grandfather, your father sometimes they give you a lesson
about the song, tell the story behind the song . . . [The songs are] about everything
in nature, the clouds, the fields of corn, about everybody being happy. It [singing]
makes you a little bit more. . . . proud of who you are . . . [because] some other
cultures, you know, they don’t have this [cultural traditions] anymore. It makes
you . . . a little more proud of who you are when you know the language, and you
know the songs.
These youth had participated in these ritualized performances since childhood
when the primary motivation was to “go out and have fun.” As adolescents and young
adults, each participated in part to fulfill their clan responsibilities. Now they felt a
strong “pull” to participate more from a desire to “feel” good, special, and “connected” to
something of significance to the Hopi people—they sought personal spiritual fulfillment.
Songs and dances provided a powerful medium for communicating much about the Hopi
perspective of life, as well as a means for “experiencing” the ideas and values. For
346
Dorian, it was a “good feeling” to be consumed—physically, emotionally, mentally, and
spiritually—by the purposeful “awe-inspiring drama and intensity of feeling projected in
these performances,” imparted through the whole “complex of performance features—
[song] words, ritual, dance, clothing, and associated objects and images” (Sekaquaptewa
& Washburn, 2004, p. 462). While these youth did not fully understand or speak the
Hopi language, through their participation in ritualized performances, accompanied by
song, they were in fact being socialized into Hopi society through the Hopi language in
its most “spiritually powerful forms . . . [and] through which [the Hopi people] come in
touch with the preordained world of Hopi” (E. Sekaquaptewa, 1997).
Justin was privy to the Hopi world described and “heard” the reminders of how the
Hopi people would realize this world communicated through katsina songs. With this
understanding, he expressed a belief that katsina songs offered the means for “talking
about what’s happening now,” pointing to the consequences—language shift, the move
away from tradition—of apathy and complacency of the Hopi people while imploring
individual and collective action. He posited,
Through the songs . . . I think that’s what needs to get into younger people’s
heads [relaying through song] what’s happening now [language shift] and how
it’s gonna be later on [English monolingualism].
Sekaquaptewa & Washburn (2004) confirmed that many katsina songs are positive
reminders as well as direct admonitions that express disappointment with current Hopi
behavior.
Thus, the combined experiences and expressions of “living” Hopi voiced by these
youth, confirm that the traditional identity formation process continues to influence the
347
younger generations of Hopi as intended. Although the most visible evidence of change
in the traditional way of doing things is evident in the natural acquisition of the Hopi
language in the home and community, there is promise for continuity in the attention the
younger Hopi are directing toward language as cultural practice. The promise is inherent
in their expressions,
Jared: People are gonna always [want to] have butterfly dances and kachina
dances, and just other social dances . . . . That’s gonna involve Hopi [language],
singing Hopi songs. That’s just how it’s [Hopi language and cultural practices]
gonna keep going . . . not only with dances, but with other things too.
Justin: I guess their grandma or parent said something to them that finally got
into their mind [so they are saying to themselves] ‘Why didn’t I do this [learn the
Hopi language] before,’ or they don’t want nothing to happen [culture and
language loss] so I guess they’re trying to learn now.
Dorian: A lot of our elders and our parents . . . are counting on us to keep the
traditions going and that heritage, that culture . . . [but] I don’t think it’s [one’s
cultural identity] fully complete without that missing piece of language, the
tongue, the speaking.
Justin’s words, “Since you’re Hopi, you’re brought up that way; you can’t let it go.
It’s just gonna be too hard,” suggest that the younger generation of Hopi, particularly
those raised in the Hopi culture and environment, will hold tightly to the Hopi way of
life; they are bound to this life by habit, intellect, and choice. Thus, they also express a
heartfelt desire and need for assistance from “everybody, the . . . Hopi people,” in
applying the relevance of the words of the older Hopi, wuklavayi, Hopi teachings, tutavo,
and cultural knowledge, navoti, about the path of life laid out for the Hopi people, Hopit
pötskwani’at, to the circumstances of today’s and tomorrow’s Hopi society.
In the next and final chapter, I present the prospects and processes for restoring
the Hopi language among Hopi youth premised on the continued faith in the ideals
348
inherent in corn as a way of life. I also outline specific recommendations to the Hopi
people emanating from the voices of the participants of this study.

349
CHAPTER 10
YAN PASIWTINI, THIS IS HOW IT WILL COME TO BE:
PROSPECTS AND PROCESSES; IMPLICATIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS
Dorian: They [parents] were . . . still trying to work out that balance between
Hopi and English.
Jared: If little kids get picked [as dance partners] for butterfly dances. . . [they
will subsequently ask a parent] ‘What are they singing about? If you [as a
parent] don’t know, then it’s kind of a sorry thing.
Justin: It [Hopi linguistic and cultural continuity] won’t just fall on me . . . .

They’re [the Hopi people] gonna have to keep learning it and speaking it if they
don’t want to let it [the Hopi language] go.
I open this chapter with the words of Dorian, Justin, and Jared, the three Hopi
youth at the heart of this study. These youth are on the cusp of becoming the next parent
generation. Their words confirm rapid and profound socioeconomic and social changes
in the traditional Hopi way of life. The changes have wrought lasting consequences and
challenges to the ability of younger Hopi to sustain and convey an orientation and
commitment to the Hopi way of life for succeeding generations of Hopi. Their words
also point out the specific conclusions of this study: (1) Dorian’s words imply that a vital
and healthy balance between Hopi and English—balanced diglossia (Fishman, 1991)—
has yet to be achieved; (2) Jared’s words convey that today’s young non-users of Hopi
who will become parents face a serious challenge in weathering the consequences of
language shift; Jared himself must ask others what Hopi songs convey; and (3) Justin, a
speaker of Hopi, expresses an overwhelming sense of expectation for maintaining Hopi
cultural and linguistic continuity; assuming this responsibility should not be his alone.
350
These findings point out that: (1) revitalization and reinvigoration of the collective Hopi
ideological commitment to the Hopi way of life as well as to survival of the group, and
(2) balanced diglossia—biculturalism, bilingualism—must be vigorously pursued in
order that Hopi society remain comprised of a distinct people. The collective ideology
embedded in the Hopi terms nami’nangwa, sumi’nangwa—with mutual concern and care
for one another and in this mood of unity—remains fundamental to addressing the current
Hopi linguistic situation. More importantly, the study findings reveal that the younger
generation of Hopi have developed a strong allegiance to the Hopi way of life; they “have
their heart in the Hopi way of life” expressed in the Hopi words, “Hopiqatsit aw
unangvakiwyungw.”
In this final chapter, I first return to and enumerate the questions and concerns
that motivated and guided this study. Next, I present as conclusions, the answers that
emerged from the study. I follow by illuminating the prospects and processes of what
King (2001), describes as positive language shift or a (re)focus on culture and language at
the community-level. This view offers a strong basis for directing language revitalization
efforts toward “recouping or reinvigorating the use of the native tongue” (p.12). I
identify as positive prospects as well as cultural and linguistic “strongholds” for Hopi
language revitalization: (1) youth motivation to learn the Hopi language; (2) Hopi
traditions; (3) the commitment to the Hopi philosophy by individuals and families; (4) the
desire to maintain a distinct cultural identity; and (5) Hopi songs. I view as covert
processes of positive language shift those actions of cultural and linguistic maintenance
through personal agency of the participants in this study. It is also important to consider
351
the potential challenges to revitalization efforts; I attend to these in the discussion.
Lastly, the conclusions and implications emerging from the study lead to more direct
recommendations that are premised on a “whole-community approach” (Trujillo, 1997)
to pursuing successful and effective language revitalization which, ironically, looks to the
local schools to engage in collaborative partnership toward this end.
Research Questions and Concerns
1. Amidst the trend toward English monolingualism, how do contemporary Hopi
youth define what constitutes a Hopi identity?
2. What role does the Hopi language assume in this identity formation process?
3. What is the impact of language shift on the identity formation process of
contemporary Hopi youth?
4. When Hopi youth are no longer socialized through their heritage language, are
they still learning the culturally appropriate social knowledge of Hopi citizenship as well
as the esoteric knowledge that will carry the Hopi people into the future?
5. What is the pattern or process of Hopi language shift?
6. What are the cultural and linguistic strongholds that can be targeted as sites of
continuing maintenance as well as revitalization?

352
Conclusions
The Contemporary Hopi Cultural Identity
1. Birthright assured a fundamental sense of belonging and identity for each of
these youth. Through birthright, these youth also attained the Hopi cultural “markers of
identity”—birth/ceremonial names, clan and village affiliation, kinship and kinship
connections.
2. A key element of a contemporary Hopi identity was to feel a connection to or a
relation with other people, and thereby, to think and act Hopi. Inculcating this perception
of self to others—forming a Hopi identity—occurs through the clan/kinship system
which conveys the tenets that comprise “sticking together,” and characterize Hopi as a
communal society. Forming a Hopi identity is a process of becoming Hopi through
understanding one’s role and status in the community and fulfilling the expectations of
this role and status—inherent in the underlying principle of reciprocity—according to
long-established cultural standards. Kinship terminology used to reference a myriad of
others in the community reinforces this principle, the kinship ties, and further expands
these connections beyond the immediate family and household through ritual practices
and ceremonial activities, in essence embracing the whole community.
3. Each youth implicitly understood that one asserts her/his Hopi identity through
demonstration—actively and visibly participating in cultural traditions—practicing
“living Hopi.”
4. By practicing living Hopi, each of these young adults had become affected in
heart and thought leading to an allegiance and commitment to the Hopi sense of
353
community and people. Each of the youth in this study was firmly rooted in their Hopi
identity expressed as “one who knows who she/he is [culturally], and where she/he comes
from [the historical and social roots of Hopi].”
5. “Balancing English and Hopi” (the lifestyles and influence represented by the
language), and their respective influence on one’s personal and cultural identity—
(re)defining a personal and cultural identity that is Hopi—is a process that each
individual and succeeding generation of Hopi will face.
The Role of the Hopi Language in the Cultural Identity Formation Process
1. Cultural experiences lead to developing a strong sense of personal, social and
cultural identity, or “feeling,” Hopi, but subsequently, linguistic competence in Hopi,
especially in the ceremonial contexts, was fundamental to acquiring a complete sense of
being Hopi, particularly upon reaching maturity and/or adult status.
Yava (1978) in Big Falling Snow (1978), identified initiation at adulthood into
either a male or female higher-order society (Maraw for females and Wuwtsim for males)
through ritual, ceremony, and ritual language, as making one “complete.” Initiation
requires that one has learned responsibility, accountability and is prepared to “assume the
full burden of being accountable to your creator . . . that everything has a consequence
and that if you transgress divine and social law, you do so knowingly” (Abbott
Sekaquaptewa as cited in Page, 1983, p. 83). Therefore, the esoteric nature of this
instruction requires not only cultural and linguistic preparation that begins early in life
354
toward attainment of this knowledge, and continuing toward a highly sophisticated
knowledge and use of the Hopi language.
2. Language is the means by which the Hopi people continue to safeguard,
sustain, and convey the established moral image of themselves as a people (Spicer 1976)
at the collective and personal level. This was succinctly expressed by Jared’s mother,
Charlene who stated, “We don’t have an [collective cultural] identity if we’re not able to
speak our language,” as well as Justin’s father, Marshall, who declared, “Lavayi pi himu
hakiy tis a’wi.” “Language is something designated for the purpose of identification.
That’s [language] what you are.”
3. “Language” encompasses the total communicative framework—speech,
symbolism, song, ritual practices, ritual performances, ceremonies, and the myriad
cultural institutions such as baby namings, weddings, and initiations. Through active
participation and involvement in the total communicative framework of Hopi, one
becomes influenced or affected in heart, thought, and behavior by the cultural values and
principles conveyed through these forms of language. This understanding gives meaning
to the statement made by Justin’s father, Marshall “Put hak ak tuuqayte; put hak ak aw
Hopiningwu.” “When one learns by means of the Hopi language, then one becomes and
is Hopi by means of it. That’s the whole basis of being a Hopi.”
The Pattern of Language Shift
1. This study established a picture of Hopi language shift that was generational
in nature. The impact of compulsory Anglo-American education programs and policies

355
on the language ideologies and subsequently on Hopi language practices in the home was
in direct response to the benefits offered by the Pahaana world and attainable through
Western education.
2. The intergenerational shift from the predominant use of Hopi among the
grandparent and parent generations to the present linguistic situation of English
monolingualism among the younger Hopi was one of becoming “accustomed to speaking
English.” Partaking of the benefits of Western education, lifestyle, participating in the
wage economy, as well as cultural survival were the motivating forces.
3. There was a generational ideological shifting away from a cultural disposition
of humility to one described as arrogant pride, kwiikwivitoti. The Hopi character of
humbleness became obscured. First, the parents of the grandparent generation, or the
great-grandparent generation, encouraged their young to enhance the Hopi way of life by
bringing back to Hopi, the best of what the Western world offered. Whereas, many of the
grandparent generation became accustomed to the now attainable Western conveniences,
luxuries, and lifestyle and initiated a move away from traditionalism through a migration
to mainstream towns and lifestyle. Second, speaking English was perceived as a mark of
achievement. By means of the English language, associated with schooling, one not only
gained a foothold, but the means to attain personal economic prosperity in the
mainstream society.
It is important to include here a brief discussion of the fundamental difference
between the older and younger generations of Hopi in their preparation to enter
mainstream society. While media, technology, as well as school and family excursions
356
provided the young adults in this study with significant exposure to mainstream society,
the actual experiences of the “outside world” for the three youths of this study were
limited in comparison to the experiences of their parents and grandparents who spent up
to nine months and more at a time in distant boarding schools including summer
employment opportunities that kept them in the urban areas. As a result, the boarding
school era not only prepared previous generations of Hopi youth with applicable work
skills in relation to the educational curricula, but what they referred to as “coping skills”
that resulted from getting an educated in the boarding schools as a collective experience.
Therefore, most gained immediate employment upon graduation from high school
confirming the ideology that Western education brought personal and collective benefits,
thus, the Hopi people accepted its intervention into Hopi society. Unlike their parents
and grandparents, today’s youth, represented by the Dorian, Jared, and Justin, were not
immediately “employable” upon graduation from high school; at the time of this study,
Dorian, Jared, and Justin as high school graduates, were unemployed, facing uncertain
career opportunities, and struggling with personal and financial independence. Following
their career aspirations required that each of these youth pursue further education, and for
the most part, contemporary Hopi youth enter Western society—seeking employment,
pursuing higher education, or seeking experiences—independently, thus weathering the
experiences “alone.” Essentially, these youth were not prepared to successfully navigate
nor “cope” with the realities of the mainstream world—Jared returned to Hopi frequently,
Justin was not ready to leave what was familiar, and Dorian did not have the financial
resources to pursue her dream career.

357
4. The beginning of formal education served as a significant catalyst for the
shifting to English—first in school and among peers, then into the intimacy of the home
and among family members. The grandparents of the youth in this study, confident from
their own successful experiences in the mainstream world as well as users of the English
language, were likely to be the first generation of parents able to assist their children, and
later, their grandchildren, in the use and acquisition of English in the home. In this
environment, the potential for Hopi children/grandchildren to actively contribute to the
shift from Hopi to English in the home took root. Ochs (1988) describes this process as
bi-directionality—children socializing caregivers. Dorian’s mother, Anna, confirmed this
occurrence in her home by her statement, “It was easier to talk English since that’s what
they were talking at school.”
5. The pattern of Hopi linguistic maintenance was unique to each family
household made evident in the varying degrees of Hopi language competency and use
among the three young adults—Dorian described herself as a non-user of Hopi, Jared
understood and spoke some Hopi, and Justin described himself as a fluent user of Hopi.
The Impact of Language Shift
1. Users of Hopi, and particularly, older users of Hopi perceived a direct
relationship between Hopi linguistic competency and the development of a Hopi moral
fiber manifest in culturally appropriate attitudes and behaviors of self-discipline, respect
(naakyaptsi, self-respect and tuukyaptsi, respect for others), accountability, and
responsibility. Many of today’s Hopi youth are likened to children, who are not yet
358
mature, or have not yet learned the precepts that guide one to think maturely, and
therefore, behave in a uniquely Hopi manner. For Hopi, the consequence has been
particularly costly in terms of the specific culturally related languages with which “most
ethnocultural behaviours . . . have been traditionally associated” (Fishman 2001, p. 3).
Cited as especially troublesome and violating Hopi ethics were domestic violence, self-
destructive behaviors associated with substance abuse, gang membership, and a lack of
respect for cultural traditions.
2. There was a perceived link between linguistic competency, maturity and the
development of respect and integrity for Hopi traditions. This was exemplified in
Dorian’s words referring to many Hopi youth who, like babies, were immature and not
ready to “grasp the concepts of religion and what it really means, talk too much . . . and
might shoot something off they’re not suppose to.” Many youth did not appear to
comprehend the potential consequences of defying the secrecy required of them as
initiates and their “privileged” status. Consequently, they were perceived as
disrespectful, irresponsible and having “no respect for anything.”
3. The metaphoric use of language embedded in the myriad of communicative
forms is a sophisticated use of language utilized to convey and reinforce the principles
and moral ethics of the Hopi way of life. In order to “hear” the stories, “see” the images,
and fully appreciate and “connect” with the historical and social experiences of Hopi
requires a highly developed knowledge and use of Hopi. As Dorian expressed, a
consequence of language shift left her with only the ability to “get an idea of what they’re
talking about, but not the specifics.” As a non-user of Hopi, Dorian represents those
359
Hopi who are relegated, for the most part, to the role of participant observer in their Hopi
world.
4. The existence of a dichotomous relationship between the older and younger
generations of Hopi as well as between users and non-users of Hopi was a pronounced
reality. The result was not only others’ marginalization of younger and non-users of
Hopi, but self-characterization by non-users as qa hopi, not Hopi in identity. The tension
was made explicit in Jared’s recollection of “all of them laughing at you in the kiva if you
don’t know it,” or being subjected to such comments as, “How are you Hopi if you can’t
talk?” Dorian’s experiences as a non-user of Hopi pointed out that teasing viewed as
criticism profoundly and negatively impacted motivation to become users of Hopi.
Becoming Hopi Citizens Amidst Language Shift
1. Jared’s and Dorian’s experiences allude to an affective process by which an
individual attains a sense of feeling “complete” or fulfilled spiritually, and thereby thinks,
behaves, and acts distinctly Hopi. This process, affective enculturation, is the Hopi
identity formation process.
2. Each of these youth demonstrated a substantial knowledge and understanding
of her/his heritage—the principles, values, and ideals that make them distinctly Hopi—
acquired through affective enculturation. Anna, Dorian’s mother, asserted, “They know
the culture and they know the values of being Hopi; who they are and where they come
from, but not as a speaker.”

360
3. Hopi language continues to be viewed as an important aspect of cultural
identity by the youth participants in this study. They attached an intuitive sense of
purpose to pursue learning Hopi; it is a mark of identity with which each individual
journeys toward an intended destiny and where each individual will be asked to identify
her/himself in order to continue with the collective into the spiritual world.
The experiences and responses of the study participants to the contemporary state
of Hopi linguistic and cultural affairs implore a new attentiveness to the situation by the
total community of Hopi—positive language shift (King 2001). In turn, borrowing
King’s terms of prospects and processes, I give attention to what I identify as prospects
and processes of positive Hopi language shift by (re)focusing on the cultural and
language strongholds that remain as well as the efforts undertaken by the participants of
this study in “recouping or reinvigorating the use of the native tongue” (p.12).
Cultural and Linguistic Strongholds; Prospects and Processes
For the Hopi people, the cultural transmission mechanisms—rituals and
performances, cultural institutions and practices—continue to cultivate a strong cultural
identity among each generation of Hopi. Viewed as prospects (King 2001) for cultural
and linguistic continuity and survival, these correspond with a “positive” community-
level language shift directing language revitalization efforts on “maximizing the
influence of a particular language” (King, 2001, p. 12). For the Hopi people, this stance
places a (re)emphasis on the total Hopi communicative framework, the Hopi oral
tradition, which continues to exert a significant influence on the Hopi people confirmed
361
in this study. The term “prospects” is used to refer to the cultural and intellectual
strongholds—traditions, beliefs, and ideologies—from which the “processes,” or the
subtle and covert courses of action are currently and informally being undertaken at the
individual, familial, and inter-generational levels to maintain Hopi ideals. The kiva
environment as well continues to serve as the physical stronghold for conveying the Hopi
ideals through the teaching of esoteric knowledge. The prospects and processes, then, are
rooted in the continuing orientation and commitment to the philosophy of the Hopi way
of life across inter- and multi-generation Hopi families.
Prospects for Hopi Language Revitalization
Youth motivation—“Wanting in tradition.”
Dorian: [Within my lifetime] I’ll still be trying to learn . . . ’cuz I really am set on
[learning to speak] it.
Jared: Now that I wanna join [the male religious society, Wuwtsim], I need to
to speak Hopi. I need to know it real good.
Justin: I still wanna learn more of what things mean and I’m still learning it as
I’m getting older.
The statements of Dorian, Jared, and Justin confirmed that Hopi youth strongly
desire and are committed to learning Hopi. As such, the prospect for revitalizing the
Hopi language among Hopi youth is highly favorable. Through their personal cultural
experiences, each had realized the necessity of language in feeling and becoming “fully”
Hopi—attaining emotional and psychological well-being as a fully contributing member
of Hopi society as well as personal spiritual fulfillment. Their lifelong experiences in
Hopi culture have “affected” and consequently instilled in each of these youth a resilient
362
motivation to pursue learning the Hopi language as another aspect of becoming fully
Hopi, a lifelong process.
It is spiritual fulfillment that Dorian, Jared, and Justin now pursued, coinciding
with adulthood and greater involvement in the religious domains. Spiritual fulfillment
provides the ultimate motivation (Dauenhauer & Dauenhauer 1998) for fully
experiencing, contributing to and gaining satisfaction from being a part of something of
great significance to the Hopi people. Thus, as Richard Littlebear (1999), Cheyenne,
stated, “It is the spiritual relevance that is deeply embedded in our own languages” (p. 1)
that makes the heritage language relevant to contemporary times and important for Hopi
youth to pursue.
Attaining adult status has added to the motivation to maintain or learn Hopi from
a new awareness of responsibility for Hopi linguistic and cultural continuity. Dorian’s
words best convey this awareness and sense of: expectation: “Our elders and our parents
. . . are counting on us to keep the traditions going . . . [but] I don’t think it’s fully
complete without language, the tongue, the speaking;” inherited obligation and duty:
“The language is supposed to be on the parents’ efforts;” and tradition: “It’s always
been passed on . . . orally . . . from parent to child, for forever! Justin expresses a sense
of greater purpose—spiritual immortality—for maintaining the Hopi language although
not yet fully understood by these youth: “I [didn’t] learn and work all of this . . . for
nothing.”
363
Traditions: language as cultural practice. Recall the prevalent theme asserted
throughout this study—that language has a home in the context of culture, “in the course
of daily activities, in social institutions such as naming and marriages” (E. Sekaquaptewa,
personal communication, 1999) in ritual performances and ceremonies which constitute
the Hopi oral tradition. Essentially, there are messages in everything of culture beyond
the words of the culture (Dauenhauer and Dauenhauer, 1998; Hale, 1998; Jock, 1998;
King, 2001; Urban as cited in King, 2001). Hopi traditions continue to be practiced so
that for many Hopi youth who grow up in their villages, the Hopi world is the first world
they come to know in the course of “living it” through active participation and
involvement. The continuing maintenance of Hopi traditions, then, offers a strong
prospect for language revitalization efforts.
This study has revealed that, in the Hopi case, active participation and
involvement in cultural traditions beginning in infancy “take the place of language to
instill the sense of belonging and connection,” to provide the first exposure to and
association with the cultural forms of Hopi (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication,
November 22, 2006). Hopi children experiencing these cultural forms through activity
come to perceive them as “culture,” and one does not forget such forms, particularly
those learned through activity. Thus, the phrase, “going through the motions” has
cultural significance in the Hopi sense—cultural values and principles are imprinted and
internalized through active participation and involvement. Often, the influence of one’s
cultural experiences is realized away from Hopi as Dorian’s experience in the Miss
Indian Arizona pageant demonstrates: “You look at these other tribes and . . . compared
364
to us, they don’t have [traditional] dances . . . traditional puberty or traditional weddings .
. . a year-round [ceremonial] calendar like us . . . . I knew more about my traditions than .
. . any other girl [contestant].” Marie (a grandparent) asserts that the Hopi traditions—the
practice of planting corn, the infant’s 20-day purification period from birth to the naming
day, weddings, where the bride is instructed about how to care for and treat her in-laws in
the groom’s home—provide the Hopi people with much to know and learn about living
life. Dorian’s words acknowledge that traditions keep the Hopi people rooted: “That’s
why we still practice [Hopi traditions], a lot of us.”
Acting on faith; acting in faith. The following statements express continuity of a
long-held faith in and commitment to the philosophy of the Hopi way of life—growing
corn by hand as a way of life.
Charlene [parent]: The Hopi people believe that we’re never alone no matter
where we go . . . . You’re always with somebody [a guardian spirit] that’s
protecting you. You get to believe in those things and learn to respect what’s out
there.
Marshall [parent]: I’pi—itaahimuningwu, Hopihiita, taawi, i’uuyi—itamuy

tsaami’mani . . . . Kyaptsit hak akningwu. These things—our [cultural]
possessions [knowledge, beliefs], Hopi things, songs, my corn—will lead us along
[toward our intended destiny] . . . . One goes forward by means of respect [for
these things].
Marie [grandparent]: I’ve always felt that I had greater strength because I learned
[the Hopi way of life] and I didn’t forget . . . . I value and respect it . . . . And, I
want to live that life.
By means of and enacting this faith (by and with physical toil, humility, self-
discipline, and respect), the personal and collective reward—someone of greater power
will take pity on the Hopi people and will drop moisture on the corn (metaphorically
365
envisioned and expressed)—physical, spiritual, and cultural survival is assured. In the
Hopi perspective, the terms: piptsanta, picturing or visualizing; naaviptsanta, be
picturing oneself; and àasatima, be earning [a reward] through time [and behavior]
embody how the principles of the Hopi way of life are conceptualized and “enacted . . .
via the specific language with which these activities grew up, have been identified and
have been intergenerationally associated” (Fishman, 2001, p. 3). There are Hopi
individuals and families who continue to act on this faith and thereby contribute to
tradition—the maintenance and integrity of faith in the Hopi way of life. Further, these
individuals and families offer differing but enriching perspectives on significant aspects
of Hopi culture via the myriad avenues of language usages—song, ritual language,
metaphor. These individuals and families offer a strong prospect for reinvigorating the
integrity of the Hopi culture and language as well as recouping the lines of
intergenerational transmission of culture.
A culturally distinct people. An intimate relationship between language and
cultural identity is expressed in the following statements,
Marshall [parent]: Lavayi pi himu hakiy tis a’wi. Language is something

designated for the purpose of identification. That’s what you are.
Vivian [grandparent]: If one has learned Hopi . . . one has an identity; one is of
significance, precious. But if one has not learned Hopi, one is of an unknown
origin [a stranger] then.
Marie [grandparent]: According to our beliefs, it is said that we are still going
along this [earthly] life path moving toward [the spiritual world]. When we reach
that place, there someone or something [a greater power/guardian] will ask each
of us to identify ourselves [test us], it is said. If you have learned the Hopi
language, they you will be able to answer, ‘Yes, I am a Hopi.’
366
The ideology embedded in these statements regarding the Hopi language offers a
strong prospect and even stronger motivation for “recouping” and “reinvigorating” (King
2001) the Hopi language with its purpose illuminated—to reach a pre-ordained destiny,
gain entry into the Hopi spiritual world and achieve spiritual immortality individually and
collectively. Further, the implication inherent in this ideology is that Hopi adults and
parents bear the obligation and duty to guide their children toward this destiny. Dorian’s
words allude to this sense of purpose, “They didn’t teach us to introduce ourselves in
Hopi for nothing,” as does Justin, “I didn’t learn and work all of this for nothing.” This
supports Fishman’s assertion that “specific languages are related to specific cultures and
to their attendant cultural identities at the level of doing, at the level of knowing, at the
level of being . . . and [at the level of] personal responsibility (as well as personal
reward)” (p. 3). Hopi cultural viability depends on the use of the language by individuals
motivated by a commitment to this belief and duty (conduct owed) to cultivate and
nurture this identity for themselves and their children (Spicer 1975). In turn, the
community remains viable and those who are participants, are themselves personally and
individually viable (E. Sekaquaptewa, personal communication, January 12, 2007).
Hopi songs. Hopi songs are the creative and intellectual stronghold for the
language. Songs accompanying social dances and katsina songs are a powerful medium
which convey much about the Hopi view of life and allow one to “connect” with the very
ideas and values expressed through them even without a command of the Hopi language.
In Chapter 5, I describe how Dorian, Jared and Justin express the “affect” of songs
367
accompanying the ritualized performances of social dancing they experienced. On the
one hand, despite being unable to understand the ritual language of religious ceremonies,
Dorian and Jared give special attention and effort to gaining an understanding of the Hopi
world understood to be conveyed through song words and phrases. On the other hand,
Justin, privy to the Hopi world described and communicated through katsina songs,
emphasized the importance of knowing the words to each katsina song. Katsina songs
continue to “prompt” the Hopi conscious—remind and guide each generation of Hopi
people in the principles of Hopi life, a way of life based in corn agriculture
(Sekaquaptewa & Washburn, 2004). In Chapter 9, I provide a more detailed discussion
of katsina songs. Thus, this study not only revealed that songs still emit a powerful
influence on the Hopi people, but offer a likely and resilient pedagogical prospect for
Hopi language revitalization (Wilson & Kamanā 2001).
In the remainder of this section, I describe the processes—cultural and attitudinal,
as well as linguistic and socioeconomic—that the youth, grandparents, and parents in this
study have set in motion toward recouping and reinvigorating the Hopi language. I begin
here with an introduction to the section.
Change is central to describing and illuminating the processes underlying
“positive” language shift emerging from this study. According to Hale (1998), in a living
tradition, change sets in motion the processes of accommodation and adaptation and
conversely, these processes create and therefore, imply change. “What persists,” stated
Spicer (1975), “is the moral image that a people maintains of itself through its
interpretation of its history” (p. 48). In Chapter 1, I provide the Hopi perspective of
368
change and adaptation embedded in Hopi epistemology. Throughout the study, examples
from the life histories of the study participants identified the underlying principles of
Hopi epistemology—community and connection, a moral existence—and the
incentives—spiritual fulfillment and spiritual immortality—which have maintained and
brought Hopi as a communal society to the present. The transmission mechanisms of the
clan system, ritual, ceremony, and language convey and transport these messages across
time and space. These mechanisms continue to affect the proper behavior patterns in the
Hopi social, emotional, intellectual and spiritual realms that correspond with the Hopi
sense of destiny—adherence to the practice of natwani, the practice of growing corn by
hand—while accommodating and adapting to change without diminishing the sense of
being a Hopi people or the integrity of the Hopi way of life.
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Youth Generation
All Hopi youth who grow up immersed in the Hopi cultural environment have
varying degrees of cultural and linguistic proficiency depending on their involvement in
the Hopi cultural institutions and how much they are influenced by their experiences.
This study revealed that a strong commitment to the Hopi way of life is acquired by
participating and involvement in Hopi cultural practices and traditions; linguistic
competency and speaking the Hopi language is not a prerequisite. Thus, this finding
implies that language shift among Hopi youth is not necessarily threatening to their
cultural identity. However, young adulthood, a period of emancipation and
independence, spawned unanticipated struggles directly related to their limited

369
competency in the Hopi language and their new adult status and role in the community.
Conversely, responding to their linguistic struggles also set in motion “positive”
processes for Hopi language revitalization revealed through the course of self-reflection.
Self-reflection
For Dorian and Jared, with self-reflection came the realization that essentially,
each had taken the Hopi language for granted (King, 2001). Each readily admitted not
taking the initiative, the time, or making a strong effort to learn to speak and use Hopi
despite being surrounded by the language while growing up. This attitude toward the
Hopi language, Dorian observed, was especially prevalent among Hopi youth who were
“full Hopi,” (both parents biologically Hopi): “Most of us here, we don’t wanna learn
that,” whereas, they observed that youth of mixed heritage (Hopi and non-Hopi) made
impressive attempts to learn Hopi. However, a growing consciousness about the
importance of the Hopi language coincided with community acknowledgement of these
youth’s adult status in the Hopi social realm.
In the Hopi social realm, their adult status created a desire to interact with others
in the community, particularly elders with whom Jared associated the need to use Hopi:
“You want to talk Hopi to them . . . you don’t want to talk English.” Jared could
understand an elder Hopi speaker, but if asked a question, he was unable to respond, thus
was unable to carry on a conversation in Hopi. The seemingly unjust language behaviors
of family and others’ teasing and statements such as, “How can you be Hopi if you don’t
speak it?” actually spurred a strong motivation to learn Hopi. Jared now voiced his
370
frustration with his early indifference to learning Hopi: “You just feel mad at yourself
for not taking the time to learn to speak it.”
In the religious domain, adding a sense of urgency to learning Hopi included
feelings of being “left out,” or “not getting the specifics” of kiva discourse and ritual
language, a desire to join the higher-order religious societies, and a stronger “pull” to
participate more from a desire to “feel” good, important, and “connected” to something
of significance to the Hopi people. Although the motivation to learn is seemingly
negatively induced among these youth, their experiences served as a catalyst for positive
action on their part toward revitalizing Hopi. Jared stated it this way: “You can only take
so much criticism . . . if you don’t [know Hopi] you feel left out, ’cuz you don’t know
what they’re saying . . . . I’m gonna have to learn it somehow.” Accepting and enacting
personal responsibility for their linguistic dilemma became the next step for setting in
motion further processes.
Personal Responsibility
Jared’s words point out that Hopi youth are aware of the change that has occurred
in the traditional means of intergenerational transmission of language and culture: “I
would mostly say it’s supposed to be learned at home . . . [but] you can’t learn it from
home . . . . Try to find someone who will teach you a little bit.” With a new realization
about the importance of the Hopi language, Hopi language classes—a fortunate situation
where “somebody was willing to teach us”—awaited them as they entered high school.
Thus, without adult counsel or advice, each took four semesters of Hopi language classes.
371
Their agency highlights the significance of the developmental stage of young adulthood
as a period of emancipation and independence during which Hopi youth are assumed to
have “matured,” wuwni’vaya, and are able to make good life decisions. The classes
confirmed their cultural knowledge, addressed their curiosity about the Hopi language as
a subject of study, provided the experience of formal Hopi language instruction, provided
an environment for developing confidence in practicing “getting out [speaking]” Hopi as
well as basic Hopi language literacy. Each became a Hopi language and literacy expert
of sorts; family members looked to them to read and write Hopi and share new
knowledge about the Hopi language. In addition, each became a member of an elite
alumni group of Hopi language learners.
The Hopi language classroom discussions also initiated a process of addressing
significant issues of change such as Hopi language prophecies, interracial marriages and
a changed way of life. While disconcerting, the realities of contemporary Hopi society
facing this generation of Hopi youth were literally “put on the table” for serious
consideration. I discuss this as part of the process of “(re)delineation of boundaries of
ethnic identity” (King 2001, p. 191) later in this section.
Cultural Pride
The younger generations of Hopi have greater opportunities to venture away from
Hopi, including national and foreign travel, which have served to raise a new
appreciation for and sense of pride in their cultural identity. The outside world perceives
Hopi as unique in its continued adherence to their traditions; this cultural strength is
372
admired by other tribal communities and in the mainstream society, as expressed by
Jared: “It kinda makes you a little bit more . . . proud of who you are . . . some other
[tribal] cultures don’t have this anymore.” However, inherent in this outside admiration
is an expectation of linguistic proficiency in the heritage language. This expectation was
clear in Dorian’s case as she vied for the title of Miss Hopi: “Yeah, they [the pageant
committee members] were looking for one [Hopi contestant] that could speak the
language.” Although Dorian went on to win the titles of Miss Hopi and Miss Indian
Arizona, she was often asked if she spoke the Hopi language. This was a call to action
for Dorian. First, she applied the Hopi literacy skills she learned in Hopi language
classes to record, transcribe and translate Hopi invocations and songs prepared for her.
Secondly, Dorian began her public addresses or presentations by first introducing herself
to tribal audiences in Hopi and asserting that tribal youth have an inherited obligation “to
keep the languages going.” Further, Dorian encouraged the non-speakers in her
audiences to weather the teasing, learn their heritage language, and implored those who
spoke their heritage language “to speak it, use it” because language marks one’s cultural
identity; “they don’t teach us to introduce ourselves for nothing.” Essentially, Dorian
became an advocate for heritage language revitalization among the young.
(Re)delineating Boundaries of Ethnic Identity
Here, I restate Yava’s (1978) words from Chapter 4, “You can be born in a Hopi
village of Hopi parents and speak the language, but still you aren’t a complete Hopi
unless you go through the initiations and [for males] become a member of one of the four
373
kiva groups” (p. 2). This study confirmed that Hopi youth who cannot understand and/or
use Hopi are unable to fully participate in the religious domain of Hopi. Applied to the
Hopi case of language shift, the resultant tension and anxiety are clearly expressed in
Dorian’s and Jared’s words,
Dorian: You know, most people say, ‘If you can’t speak the language, than
you’re not of that tribe. So, I don’t know. It . . . makes me feel unsure . . . about
whether I should call myself Hopi or not. But I just remember all the things my
mom and [family] tell me. ‘It’s important to speak, but that’s not all that counts.’
Jared: Just because your mom’s a Hopi, you can’t really say you’re Hopi [as her
biological child] unless you really prove it.
However, Jared’s words imply that Hopi language shift had produced what King
(2001) phrases a “(re)delineation of ethnic boundaries” (p. 191); that is, one cannot
merely inherit or acknowledge a Hopi identity; one must be willing to enact it (Fishman
2001; Jock 1998; King 2001). This youth response is emphatically expressed by Dorian:
“I live Hopi, I just don’t speak [the language],” placing a greater emphasis on the proper
behaviors which mark a Hopi identity— practicing the religion, customs and traditions
through active participation and involvement. As a speaker of Hopi, Justin also espoused
this response: “You’re not Hopi until you do things as a Hopi . . . . [and the Hopi people]
won’t believe you until they see you doing.” Thus, these youth set into motion a process
by which they could recoup and assert a firm sense of security and confidence in their
Hopi identity by “living” Hopi.

374
Language as Cultural Practice
Justin’s case exemplifies the notion of language as cultural practice commencing
in early childhood: “When I was small, the language and that [planting corn], that was
the most I learned when I was growing up.” Hopi remains an integral part of his daily
life in the context of planting, kiva activities, and his relationship with his stepfather and
male kin. Hopi is the language he, his stepfather and male kin use as they tend to the
corn plants; it is the language he hears in the kiva and uses in participating in the kiva
activities; it is the language that conjures up the images of the Hopi world for him
through the katsina songs. Wilson and Kamanā (2001) confirm this language and culture
link in the Hawaiian case, as does Echeverria (2003) in the case of Basque. In both cases,
youth were observed to initiate a natural use of the heritage language in cultural settings
or situations. Hawaiian-schooled students on field excursions to Hawaiian taro-growing
areas and other cultural situations stated that they felt speaking Hawaiian to be more
natural in such cultural contexts. In the case of Basque, Spanish-schooled Basque
students stated they used Basque, or euskera, on excursions to pro-euskera festivals
featuring dance, music and other cultural forms, though nowhere else. These case studies
confirm that speaking a specific culturally related language is an “ethnocultural behavior”
(Fishman 2001) associated with culturally related traditions. Thus, for Justin, Hopi is the
language associated with Hopi as a culturally distinct way of life as well as his distinct
Hopi identity, such that he now states: “If you’re brought up [that] way, you can’t let it
go.” Justin’s case offers the prospect of developing a language as cultural practice
model in revitalizing Hopi among the youth.

375
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Grandparent Generation
Return to Hopi
Chapter 7 describes the English linguistic and cultural experiences of the
grandparent generation. Essentially, their experiences can be viewed as a “rite of
passage” toward acquiring knowledge and skills essential for self-sufficiency in modern
times. The fundamental difference between the grandparent and great-grandparent
generation rested in where the opportunity to apply the Pahaana’s way of work lay.
During the period of productivity in the Euro-American work tradition, the reservation
provided limited opportunities to do so for this grandparent generation. However, upon
reaching the age of “retirement,” an aspect of the American work tradition signaling the
end of one’s productivity, Vivian and Clara both made a permanent return to Hopi.
Marie made a permanent return with the birth of her first child. All resumed participation
in cultural activities and speaking Hopi. Their return set in motion, cultural and linguistic
continuity.
Retrospection
This study provided an opportunity for the grandparent generation to reflect and
offer poignant insight into how change in the use of Hopi is manifest in contemporary
Hopi society. Retrospection, then, sets in motion a vital process for language
revitalization that includes the perspective of the grandparent generation.
One outcome has been a consciousness-raising about the fact that the Hopi people
have become “accustomed to speaking English.” Marie observed that her own children,
376
raised bilingually, used English to interact with her grandchildren. Vivian posited that
her children who live away from Hopi were not teaching her grandchildren Hopi because
“they’re town people and everybody [in town] speaks English.” A second outcome was
expressed by Clara, who, in retrospect, wished she had advised her daughter that “Along
with your Hopi language [use the English language because] if you start speaking [using]
English, you will learn [it] proficiently].” This advice advocates for and promotes
bilingualism. Clara’s words underlie the potential for ideological change that views both
Hopi and English as essential to seeking personal fulfillment in contemporary times.
The process of retrospection also (re)positions grandmothers as agents of
language revitalization—by speaking to their grandchildren in Hopi, or by supporting the
efforts of others, individuals in the community and schools; it is an inherited duty
(conduct owed) and obligation (socially imposed responsibility). The youth in this study
indicated clearly that each had been considerably influenced by her/his maternal
grandmother. Marie humbly conveyed her contribution to this tradition: “I believe I
have moved our language along a little; my children at least have learned some. Now, if
my grandchildren plant corn then that [tradition] will also be carried into the future.
Therefore, when I look at myself from this point of view, I have almost set it right.”
Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Parent Generation
“I Chose to Be Hopi.”
Marshall’s words poignantly and emphatically expressed the influence of the
Hopi culture on the individual members of the parent participants of this study.
377
“Becoming” and “being” Hopi places an emphasis on enacting one’s cultural identity
compelled by desire, duty, obligation, and from respect, sincerity, conviction,
commitment, and loyalty; terms that describe a strong orientation to a particular
philosophy of life emanating from one’s core, or “the heart,” hence the Hopi phrase,
“Hak aw unangvakiwtangwu.” “One has one’s heart in it.” By returning to Hopi, these
parents chose to be Hopi and live according to the communal principles underlying the
Hopi way; however, one’s commitment and faith was greatly tested by the realities of
contemporary life. Charlene conveyed this sense of choice and struggle: There’s really
no way you can just live out here and [not] participate in [the cultural life],” as did
Marshall, “You’ve got a purpose here [to contribute to the community] and if you choose
not to live the Hopi life but still reside on Hopi . . . . [Your reputation will be that] ‘This
person is Hopi [by birthright] but unHopi in behavior.’”
Powers of Discernment
Excursions away from Hopi—pursuing education and employment—and the
difficulties—humiliation and loneliness—associated with mainstream life appear to have
stirred the learned and internalized powers of discernment—choosing to be Hopi—within
the individuals of this parent generation. Hopi oral tradition describes these “powers” as
having the ability to make the right choices based in a strong orientation and commitment
to the Hopi way of life. Chapters 7 and 8 describe the struggles and circumstances that
compelled each of these parent members to return to Hopi. As such, unlike their parents
who made a permanent return from the mainstream work world upon retirement, the
378
earlier and pre-retirement return to Hopi of this parent generation set in motion the
processes of reinvigorating and (re)incorporating Hopi cultural values, principles, and the
Hopi language into their personal lives and thus, their childrearing practices. Chapter 8
describes how each parent, and each household has worked to convey and instill the Hopi
principles within their children.
Cultivating the Hopi Language
The parent generation, like preceding generations of Hopi, were making
seemingly unremarkable but rapid and skillful adaptations to change that included the use
of the Hopi language in the contemporary social, cultural, religious, socioeconomic and
political contexts (Spolsky 2002), thus setting in motion a means of “cultivating” the
language in these areas. Both Doran’s and Charlene’s cases demonstrated cultivating
Hopi as the language of work. Doran returned to Hopi as a non-speaker of Hopi;
however, his effectiveness as a family counselor—assisting grandparents raising their
grandchildren—necessitated that he learn the Hopi language. In Charlene’s case, Hopi
was integral to assisting tribal elders with legal issues as well as a form of camaraderie in
the work environment.
Marshall’s case described how the Hopi language was cultivated in the home: “I
talk to them in Hopi. I try to name things . . . and ask them [in Hopi], ‘What is this?’
‘Where are you going?’ I direct them to do this and that . . . . Now and then, they’ll get it
Hopi [appear to understand], then I’ll repeat [what I said].” Marshall and Lillian also
called their children by their Hopi names, and used Hopi kinship terms to refer to their
379
relatives. His efforts to revitalize the use of Hopi in the home were rewarded when he
heard his stepson using Hopi in the kiva, his daughter wearing headsets and singing along
with Hopi songs recorded on CDs, and when his wife and children made concerted
attempts to use Hopi.
One’s Inherited Parental Duty and Obligation—Reciprocal Respect
The early return to Hopi by these parents also initiated a process of recouping
one’s inherited parental duty (conduct owed) and obligation (socially imposed
responsibility) to one’s children through active involvement in the cultural traditions on
the part of both parents and their children. As such, it also initiated the process of
recovering traditional family and community dynamics.
Marshall’s strong belief that Hopi traditions are carrying the Hopi people toward
their intended destiny positioned parents as the primary agents responsible for instilling
the respect and integrity for the traditions in one’s children. This was accomplished
through modeling exemplary Hopi behavior—with each member of the family involved
in the cultural traditions so that from childhood the images and values of the Hopi world
were “entering them gradually so that it sinks in . . . .They [come to] know the meaning
of it.” Justin’s case attested to the integrity of Marshall’s commitment to the Hopi way of
life.
Doran’s case illustrated a “struggle”—(re)learning and seeking cultural
knowledge—but a strong desire to recover one’s parental duty and obligation to assist
380
and support one’s children in their active participation and involvement in cultural
traditions. For Doran, parenting required that he “go and learn.”
Anna’s case demonstrated continuity. Returning to Hopi for the birth of her first
child, she remained at Hopi. She encouraged and reminded her daughters to participate
in “whatever I’m doing” culturally and being physically and visibly present. This
included a responsibility to assist their brother in cultural activities as she had and
continues to do for her own brothers. In the Hopi childrearing tradition, one’s parental
duty and obligation does not end as expressed by Charlene: “That’s what Hopi is,
[parenting] through life.”
Such prospects are not without challenges that are best anticipated and
understood.
Challenges to Hopi Language Revitalization
One challenge to the notion of “living Hopi” asserts a confidence that one can
learn the core values of Hopi via English. Although Dorian claimed a substantial
knowledge, respect for, and understanding of the “concepts of what we do and the
reasons behind it” taught through English, she also conveyed the “rhetoric gaps”
(Dauenhauer & Dauenhauer 1998; Henry as cited in Hermes 2005; Jock 1998) that result
from a lack of shared meaning between English and Hopi, first because “In Hopi,
everything is passed down orally; language plays a big key . . . in the learning process [of
Hopi culture], and secondly, because “there’s some things in Hopi that can’t be
381
explained in English.” Thus, Dorian also concluded, “If you don’t know it [the Hopi
language], you don’t really understand [Hopi culture].”
A second challenge is that while these youth acquired a strong Hopi identity and
strength in culture, their wavering insecurities were intimately linked to their limited
competency with the Hopi language. Therefore, without a strong origin in the Hopi
language, the cultural strength of today’s Hopi youth, particularly those who are non-
speakers of Hopi will likely be tested if they should leave the influences of the Hopi
culture for a substantial length of time. Dorian words confirmed this: “If I were off the
reservation, I would still have those [culturally influenced] thoughts, but it wouldn’t be
the same because I don’t have that interaction with the actual doings anymore.”
A third challenge rests in the current practice of giving primary responsibility for
second language learning of the heritage language to the schools. Schools alone cannot
revitalize the heritage language (Fishman 1991, 2001). Fishman’s asserts that languages
“cannot be successfully acquired unless they are used for the purpose of active
communication,” and that there must be opportunities to use the language “before school
begins, outside of school during the years of schooling and afterwards, when formal
schooling is over and done with” (2001, pp. 470- 471). Dorian’s experience in learning
Hopi in high school confirmed this: “When we finished that class . . . I just went straight
back to English because I never had that time, or opportunity, that 45 to 50 minutes to
speak or to have somebody speaking back to me in Hopi.” Further, schools are
concerned with educational policies, funding, and curriculum demands and are likely to
yield to their pressures. Thus, Hopi youth like Jared, who after two years of Hopi
382
language classes in high school, was still wanting: “I’m gonna have to learn it some
way.”
Accordingly, a fourth challenge rooted in the “ideological acceptance by parents,
principals, and teachers that school is for English” (Spolsky 2002, p.155) presents a key
obstacle to co-opting schools in effectively revitalizing language. Anna’s (parent)
account of a young Hopi boy who started school as a monolingual speaker of Hopi is a
case in point. This young Hopi, “as soon as he hit the school . . . started speaking
English. Now you can’t get him [to speak Hopi].” This confirmed that Hopi youth have
also embraced the ideology that school is associated with the learning and use of English
and initiated the process of further language shift from Hopi to English in his home—bi-
directionality (Ochs 1988).
The definitive challenge to the Hopi people rests with revitalizing, or restoring an
ideological commitment to the Hopi language and culture; one that has been assaulted
and weakened by myriad external forces (Echeverria 2003; Spolsky 2002). Recall
Marshall’s words expressing the urgency of seeking an effective and successful approach
to rekindling the ideological commitment to Hopi personally and collectively,
Those . . . who are now becoming adults, they’re the ones who are going to have
to [address the threat to the Hopi language and culture]. It’ll be in their lifetime
that this is gonna die out. And if they don’t uphold it and learn it, then they have
to, in turn, know that because of us [parents], the [Hopi way of life]ended . . . .
We have to make a difference . . . and it has to come from within [sincere, from
one’s heart].
As well, I keep at the forefront, Fishman’s (2001) proposition that “therapeutic
understandings and approaches” be pursued in language revitalization (p. 1), and Richard
Littlebear’s (1999) succinct forewarning that “Since this is the first time and only time we
383
are going to lose our languages, we have to devise new strategies accordingly” (p. 1).
Fishman’s proposition allows consideration of the fact that little has been undertaken to
provide a period of healing from the trauma of invasion and intrusion experienced by
Indigenous people and from which deep emotional and social scars remain (Nicholas,
2005). The trauma has left tribal communities “permeated with conflicting values and
practices” (Fettes, 1999, p. 36). Yet, Indigenous people have survived invasions
destructive to their way of life, but have not lost their identities (Spicer 1975). Language
revitalization efforts must remember and appreciate the struggles and sacrifices that attest
to the strength of culture.
I next turn to the implications for the Hopi case of language shift and vitality.
Implications for Hopi Cultural and Linguistic Continuity
Hopi Youth
(1) “They [Hopi youth] will have to make conscious decisions about their lives
and make the choice between . . . having a bad or disordered life . . . or a good life . . . .
There are two different ways that are open to us” (Vivian).
(2) “When you trying to learn your language, it’s more a self-responsibility than
anybody else’s” (Dorian). Youth need to determine the priority of the Hopi language in
their personal lives as well as that their own future children. Each generation of Hopi has
their own experiences from which to inform their choices.
(3) Birthright assures access to all that is Hopi, but the degree to which an
individual chooses to be Hopi in heart, thought, and behavior is a personal choice.

384
Parents and Grandparents
(1) They must determine who holds the responsibility for cultural and linguistic
continuity as well as when and where the transmission of knowledge and language
occurs.
(2) They must also determine how much cultural and linguistic change will be
accommodated in form versus substance and continue to safeguard the moral image of
the Hopi as a distinct people.
Community
1. Become accustomed to speaking Hopi. Intergenerational transmission
(Fishman, 1991) is a “family matter” (Palmer 1997); it can be revitalized if parents,
grandparents, and other speakers of Hopi use the language when speaking to each other,
and to children. The family and community serve as the foundation from which
supportive structures can be developed—finding and creating safe places in order to
cultivate and nurture Hopi language use in daily life.
2. Spirituality is a fundamental need and positions the Hopi language as a
language of survival. This foundation can be recovered by (re)emphasizing the
traditional activities revolving around corn which constitute an act of faith, a religious
duty, and the means for spiritual fulfillment.
3. Reinvigorate the integrity of the Hopi language through “language as cultural
practice.” Hopi children acquire an understanding of the language in its cultural context
leading to the cultivation of a strong cultural foundation—a Hopi identity.

385
4. Construct an image which clearly conveys the promises of a “good life”—long
life, health, and happiness—premised on and attained through adherence to tradition
that Hopi children can understand and aspire toward. The images of the Hopi world
conveyed through metaphor are no longer conjured up by the words nor by the language
alone for the younger generations of Hopi. Hopi children need assistance in
understanding the culture behind the Hopi way of life; that there is real meaning in the
language of Hopi culture; and that it has relevance for them in their contemporary lives.
The more that is understood about the philosophy of corn as a way of life as expressed
through language in words, song, custom and usage, the more is understood in terms of
the principles of being Hopi—of being human.
5. Conceptualize, visualize, and practice biculturalism and bilingualism.
Reaching this understanding alleviates the conflict between maintaining an adherence to
the principles of Hopi life and partaking of what the outside world may offer. One
develops powers of discernment that provide resolution and continuance toward one’s
intended destiny as part of the collective.
6. Pursue an understanding of contemporary Hopi youth, what motivates and
sparks their interest in learning their heritage language. The ultimate goal of Hopi
language teaching and learning is to create new speakers of Hopi. Instruction and
participation in the language learning situation must result in this outcome. Hopi youth
are in need of a real image of this outcome which will serve to stimulate their aspirations
toward the same.

386
Hopi Language Revitalization Initiatives
It is important to begin this final section with background on previous language
revitalization efforts initiated among and by Hopi people. The 1997 Hopi Language
Assessment Project (HLAP) Presentation of the Hopi Language Survey Results reported
that village programs and school-based instruction for Hopi literacy development were
operating to address language shift (HLAP, 1997, pp. 1-3). At the time of the report,
three villages sponsored youth programs provided activities with a focus on Hopi
language, culture, customs, values, foods, etiquette as well as arts and crafts. Instruction
in reading and writing Hopi were offered at Hopi High School, St. Gregory’s College
Preparatory School in Tucson, Arizona (Spring 1997), and a Hopi language and culture
class developed as part of the University of Arizona, American Indian Language
Development Institute (AILDI). In response to the results of the HLAP, the Culture
Preservation Office (CPO) developed the Hopi Language Preservation and Education
Plan (HLPEP). The Hopi Tribal Council’s Resolution H-022-98 approved and delegated
the responsibility for implementation and management to the tribal entities: CPO, the
Hopi Department of Education, and the Hopi Board of Education (HLPEP, pp. 69-70).
This three-year education plan solicited Hopi language program proposals to provide
oversight and assistance for development. One school-based, two village-based program
proposals as well as the eight Head Start Centers were at the focus of this plan, 2000-
2003. The three-year Project culminated in a reservation-wide language summit and the
outcomes: developing community awareness, Hopi language instructional materials,

387
development of a Head Start Hopi Language Curriculum, and the establishment of the
Hopilavayi Project under the umbrella of the CPO.
Since 2003, the Hopilavayi Program has vigorously pursued the goal of Hopi
language teacher training. A significant outcome has been the annual summer
Hopilavayi Summer Institute modeled after the AILDI; the Hopilavayi Program is
planning the 2008 fifth annual summer institute. The Institute has offered college credit
courses in Hopi Language Teaching Methodology, the Oral Immersion Approach, an
Oral Immersion Practicum, Hopi Language Curriculum Development, and Hopi
Language Literacy Development through the University of Arizona’s Continuing
Education University, a community outreach institution. However, these efforts have not
seen a cohesive and unified move nor measurable effective outcomes.
Recommendations for Hopi Language Revitalization
I begin by presenting general recommendations and follow with specific
recommendations for tribal, community, and personal efforts.
First, a comprehensive, community-wide, effective and successful language
revitalization plan for the Hopi language will require the engagement of the reservation
community on “all fronts,” and with the assistance of the “total community:” the tribal
entities, the village communities, the home, off-reservation communities, the religious
domain, and the schools.
Second, language revitalization efforts will require the involvement of individuals
who (1) are devoted to the philosophy behind the language and culture, (2) use the
388
language, (3) are willing to share their diverse perspectives about and through the use of
the language, (4) are committed to reclaiming their inherited duty and responsibility—
recovering intergeneration transmission of Hopi principles and values through the
language—to develop and prepare the community youth as good citizens of Hopi and the
world—being human, and more importantly, (5) have faith in their own ability to develop
and direct their own community plan of language revitalization (Adley-Santa Maria
1999).
Third, Hopi language shift away from the predominant use of the Hopi language
in daily life and cultural practices, an unprecedented change, will require that Hopi
language be taught. Thus, Hopi language revitalization in the schools will require a view
that promotes the notion that a quality education for Hopi children is one that includes the
heritage language and culture.
Fourth, the “total community” response or “whole-community approach” (Trujillo
1997) must engage all stakeholders (everyone living in or away from local communities)
in Hopi cultural and linguistic survival to work together in the spirit of sumi’nangwa,
nami’nangwa—with mutual concern and care for each other and in this mood of unity—
in order to address the current linguistic and cultural crisis. At the heart of this mission is
to encourage and promote the use of the Hopi language as relevant in daily activities in
all domains of contemporary Hopi life—in the full social, cultural, religious and political
contexts (Spolsky 2002).

389
At the Tribal Level52
The final paragraph of Section I, Introduction of the Executive Summary, Hopi
Tribe “Hopit Pötskwaniat” Hopi Tribal Consolidated Strategic Plan of 1995, begins with
the words, “The Hopi Tribal Consolidated Strategic Plan of 1995 is more than just a
document. It is the first step to institutionalizing a participatory tribal planning process . .
. ”(p.ii). Section II. Vision for Our Future, provides the context for this vision stating,
“The only thing constant about the future is that change will occur. If that change is to be
positive, it is up to the Hopi leaders to take proactive course of action. Effective and
cooperative planning will ensure positive change” (p. ii). These words remain true today.
Thus, the first recommendation at the tribal level is a focused revisit of the 1995 Strategic
Plan. This revisit must initiate a visible and “proactive course of action” that
(re)positions the Hopi language as fundamental to providing and conveying “the Hopi
vision for a better future” (p. i). The following recommendations are an outgrowth of this
initial revisit and identifies the entities and individuals who are either already engaged in
language revitalization activities or that/who should be invited/appointed to design and
implement this vision (Pecos & Blum-Martinez 2001).
2. Invite, select or appoint a group of individuals to be known as the
Hopilavay’a’yam, spokespersons for the Hopi language who would have official
recognition as a tribal entity. This entity should be comprised of a core group of Hopi
individuals willing and/or appointed to: (1) articulate the fundamental significance of the
52
I use term “tribal,” “tribe,” and “tribal entities” to refer to the tribal entities: the Hopi Tribal Chairman’s
Office, the Hopi Tribal Council (HTC), the Culture Preservation Office (CPO), the Office of Education,
and the Hopilavayi Program.
390
Hopi language in all domains of traditional and contemporary Hopi life, (2) to interpret
the Hopi Tribe’s goals and objectives for promoting the integrity of the Hopi language
and culture as well as its development in accommodating contemporary Hopi life; (3)
develop a foundational understanding of the issues surrounding the present situation of
language shift and revitalization and importantly to consider the function of written Hopi
in contemporary Hopi life. This committee’s charge should encompass envisioning and
carrying out through policy development the mission of maintaining, revitalizing and
preserving the Hopi language and culture in the tribal and political arenas. For example,
language policies can be developed to mandate the use of the Hopi language: (a) in
community service program areas such as the health, legal, and for the elderly and youth;
(b) in the tribal political arena, mandating the use of the Hopi language in greeting
community members as clientele, conducting executive and/or general council sessions;
and (c) actively pursue declaration of the Hopi language as the official language of the
Hopi Tribe. The latter objective is listed in the Executive Summary of the Hopi Tribal
Consolidated Strategic Plan of 1995 as one of a number of “key ingredients” (p. iii) to the
development of a vision for the future.
3. Specifically, strengthen and implement the Hopi language goals and objectives
in the Hopi Tribe’s “Hopit Pötskwaniat” (Hopi Tribal Consolidated Strategic Plan of
1995). Set forth a course of action toward the goal “to promote and develop the
language” (p. 9) which specifies: (1) a mandate that all schools on the Hopi Reservation
include a Hopi language curriculum; (2) seeking and funding proposals to develop village
language programs; and (3) Hopi language and cultural immersion programs. This revisit
391
must also now consider the Hopi language in both its oral and written forms, importantly
the functional role of written Hopi in contemporary Hopi life. With this revisit, the Hopi
Tribe must convey to the Hopi people that the Hopi language and culture is not only
fundamental to cultural and linguistic continuity but that the highest priority is being
given to ensure this goal.
4. The Hopi Tribe Culture Preservation Office—Hopi Language Program. The
Tribal Chairman’s Office and the Hopi Tribal Council should: (1) act to establish the
current tribal Hopi Language Program as a separate and stand-alone tribal department;
(2) act to allocate permanent funding and support in order to carry out community- and
school-based language revitalization initiatives; (3) establish the current Hopilavayit aw
Naa’aya’tiwyaqam, Those who have chosen to work with the Hopi language, (individuals
who are in essence a de facto Hopi Language Committee), as an official component of
the Hopi Tribe’s Hopi Language Program; and (4) charge the Hopi Language Program –
Hopi Language Committee with actively engaging in education, advocacy and promotion
of the integrity and use of the Hopi language on “all fronts:” the home, schools,
community programs, tribal services, community enterprises, and the media. This
committee’s charge should encompass: (a) educating the community about language
shift and maintenance; (b) developing community and school-based language initiatives;
(c) determining the kinds of language programs to be developed and implemented; (d)
developing and designing language program curricula; (e) spearheading community
language activities i.e. language forums, language fairs, collaboration with other
community programs and the media. The committee can work to address the sources of
392
the generational gap between older and younger Hopi rooted in “teasing” viewed as
criticism; linguistic purism; dialect wars as well as on-going debates about who and what
to teach and the teaching of culture and language in the schools. The committee can also
create “spaces” of enthusiasm for, curiosity about, and opportunities to practice using the
language. This group of individuals has been active; for example, this Committee
approached one local business to promote the language by allowing the Hopi names for
store items to be posted along with the English names. This group was also enlisted to
help a separate Hopi program to provide the script as well as contribute their voices to the
announcement of significant Hopi times of the day—early morning, mid-morning, noon
hour, late afternoon, and night—using the Hopi language through the medium of the
radio.
5. Actively supporting the Hopilavayi (Hopi Language) Summer Institute for
Teacher Training as an established and permanent tribal institution. In the summer of
2004, the Hopi Tribe’s Hopilavayi Program instituted a tribal/university collaboration to
train interested individuals to teach the Hopi language in the local schools. The
collaboration between the Hopi Tribe and the University of Arizona’s Continuing
Education University (CEU) has resulted in an annual summer language teaching training
program for both certified teachers and paraprofessionals in the classroom. The far-
reaching benefits of the Institute requires consistent program support, adequate
permanent funding, and long-range vision for recruiting and cultivating greater numbers
of instructors as well as trained language teachers.

393
Regular participants in the Institute now recognize themselves as “Hopilavayit aw
Naa’aya’tiwyaqam,” “those who have chosen to work with the Hopi language.” This
cohort is actively promoting the integrity of the Hopi language and culture in various
activities: promoting language use in the school, providing instruction in the Hopi
language during the class day as well as in after-school programs, presenting their work
at state and national conferences, providing community awareness about language issues
as well as developing language lessons that will result in a comprehensive Hopi language
curriculum. Although the participants are supported financially by the Tribe’s
Hopilavayi Program to attend the institute, the activities engaged in this cohort of
individuals have been done so intermittently and largely through their own efforts
independent of any tribal entity. More disconcerting is that their training has not been
fully utilized in the schools or applied toward the development of community programs.
The Hopi Tribe must look to these individuals as key participants in the Hopi language
planning process. Their language teaching expertise must be fully utilized and their
commitment to Hopi language revitalization must be recognized, valued, supported, and
encouraged in more concrete ways i.e. official position
6. Tribally sponsored community language forums—“prior ideological
clarification” (Dauenhauer & Dauenhauer 1998, p. 76). Community input is essential to
language revitalization efforts. In particular, the Hopi experience with Western education
and its assimilation policies, which played a significant role in Hopi language shifting,
lingers indelibly in the minds of the Hopi people; deep emotional and social scars remain.
In a 1998 action research project I undertook in a local community school (Nicholas

394
2005), a parent study participant poignantly expressed that “talking” Hopi, might “bring
back the gentleness, the kindness . . . talk about . . . plants and animals, our children, us as
human beings, and the spiritual beings . . . talk about hope . . . that things are going to be
better” (p. 61) all which are embedded in and conveyed through the language. In other
words, not only “talking Hopi” but opportunities to talk about the Hopi language can
assist the Hopi people in (re)invigorating the principles of sumi’nangwa, nami’nangwa to
pursue “therapeutic understandings and approaches” (Fishman, 2001) for cultural and
linguistic continuity.
7. Establish a Hopi Education Committee as a component of the Office of
Education. This committee should be comprised of the director/staff of the Hopi Office
of Education, school administrators, the Hopilavayit aw Naa’aya’tiwyaqam, interested
classroom teachers, Hopi language teachers, school board members, and
parents/grandparents representing each of the reservation schools as well as members of
the Hopi Board of Education (HBE). The committee should be charged with setting
educational priorities for the community beginning with a revisit to and subsequent
ongoing oversight of Section IX. Area of Education of the Hopi Tribal Consolidated
Strategic Plan of 1995. The policy language addresses the goal of inclusion of Hopi
language and culture in a “Hopi Education Master Plan.” Specifically, Section IX, Part
A, Objective 3, states “review and update (amend/modify) Tribal Ordinance 36 to include
a Hopi Language Program and other culturally relevant programs” (p. 10), and Part B.
Objective 6, states “establish a network of instructors to teach Hopi language, history and
culture” (p.10).
395
8. Co-opting Schools. Local community schools have been at the forefront of
positive language shift (King, 2005). Hopi language teaching is scheduled as part of the
school curriculum in most schools; Hopi language classes as the junior and senior high
school are offered as electives. However, such school-based efforts are carried out
independent of a cohesive tribal and/or community effort and their effectiveness is
undocumented. Schools need direction, assistance, and support from the tribal entities.
Promoting and developing the Hopi language has been one goal of the Hopi Tribal
Consolidated Strategic Plan of 1995, Section VIII, Areas of Cultural Preservation and
Protection. Specifically stated in this Section are the objectives to (1) “mandate all
schools on the Hopi Reservation to include a Hopi language curriculum and (2) develop,
adopt, fund, and fully support a total Hopi language and cultural immersion program to
be incorporated within the . . . educational systems on the Hopi Reservation” (p. 9). A
collaborative effort bridging the schools with the home and tribal entities must be
initiated premised in the principles of nami’nangwa, sumi’nangwa and from a
commitment to providing a quality education for Hopi children that includes their
heritage language and culture. The design and development of a comprehensive school-
based Hopi language program should result in: (1) salaried Hopi language teacher
positions, (2) on-going professional development, (3) Hopi language teaching
certification/degrees, (4) instructional materials development, and (5) securing
appropriate “space” and conditions within the schools conducive for implementation and
successful outcomes. In turn, the Hopi language program should demonstrate
effectiveness in meeting community and program goals.

396
9. Tribally sponsored Hopi language fairs. This study has described public
performances, i.e. social dances as akey transmission mechanisms for demonstrating
“language as cultural practice.” As such, the practice of public performances lends itself
well to planning language fairs as a new venue and approach for schools to demonstrate
to the parents and community inclusion of Hopi language and culture in school-based
language programs. Tribally sponsored language fairs can be considered as a culturally
appropriate approach for program evaluation as well as providing a goal/outcome for
schools to work toward in their Hopi language programs. More importantly, tribally
sponsored language fairs provide a venue for collaboratively bridging the tribe, school,
home and community in cultivating Hopi language use among Hopi youth. A move
toward this venue is being piloted by one classroom in a local community school. For the
annual winter program, the students in this classroom performed a coyote story skit in
which all the classroom students had a role. Originally performed in English, this skit
was translated into Hopi. The students have been relearning their parts in the Hopi
language and will be presenting this Hopi skit at an upcoming national language
symposium. In addition, plans are being made to present this skit to the Hopi community
by scheduling performances at school locations on each of the three Hopi mesas.
10. Tribally sponsored Hopi language immersion experiences. In the 2005
Hopilavayi Summer Institute, a six unit Practicum course stated in its syllabus that
Institute “participants in this course will be fully engaged in the experience, planning,
development and implementation of an oral immersion language program . . . for
community youth” (2005). The outcome of this course was multifold: (1) the Hopi
397
language teacher-trainees fully experienced the effectiveness of a collaborative approach
to language teaching developed around relevant cultural aspects in the daily lives of
community youth; (2) planned total immersion in the Hopi language is an effective
approach to creating users of the language; (3) the youth participants strongly confirmed
that the strategies of the oral immersion approach were helpful, fun, and allowed them
immediate ways to use the Hopi they learned at home; (4) the parent feedback confirmed
that youth can act as the catalysts for bringing the Hopi language back into the home, and
more importantly (5) the immersion experience was conceptualized in Hopi terms—now
referred to as Hopilavaynaatuwpi, Self-(Re)discovery through the Hopi language. The
success of this pilot experience was quickly drafted into a plan for more of the same
coinciding with the academic year breaks: winter, spring and summer. However, this
plan has not been realized although one junior/senior high naatuwpi was conducted at the
urging and with the full support of the district superintendent in summer 2006. This plan
must be reinvigorated and supported.
At the Community Level
1. Constructing an image of among the Hopi as being a bicultural, bilingual
people. The Hopi people must view themselves as a bicultural, bilingual people; both the
Hopi way of life and the Pahaana way of life bring benefits to the Hopi people
individually and collectively. The great-grandparent generation by their statement, “We
will be living two ways of life,” accepted this change premised in the ideology that the
one could not only ease the struggles of and enhance the Hopi way of life. Therefore,
398
today, not only must a Hopi individual assert that Hopi is my language, but English is my
language as well (Littlebear, 1999).
2. Contributing to tradition through personal responsibility and agency. The life
histories of the participants in this study made clear that birthright assures access to all
that is Hopi, but the degree to which an individual chooses to be Hopi in heart, thought,
and behavior is a personal choice; the desire according to Clara, a grandparent, exists
within. The Hopi people must look into their own hearts as well as seek assistance and
strength through prayer. Thus, as Dauenhauer & Dauenhauer (1998) states for the Tlingit
case, “Just as no one should feel guilty for speaking Tlingit, no one should feel guilty for
not speaking it—if they do, they should take action and do something about it” (p. 63).
This applies to the case of Hopi language use as well as cultural practices. For example,
(1) the Hopilavayit aw Naa’a’yatiwyaqam have made a commitment to using Hopi in
their communication and interaction with each other; and (2) as a Hopi literacy instructor,
I begin my email communication to this cohort using Hopi in its written form.
3. New venues for Hopi language use—media. The Hopi people must be
assisted in “getting accustomed” to hearing and seeing the Hopi language. The Hopi
newspaper, Tutuveni, as well as KUYI, the Hopi radio station can be utilized in this
effort. The Tutuveni, includes a Hopi crossword puzzle in its bimonthly editions. More
recently, a staff member of the Hopilavayi Program has been submitting explanations of
cultural practices entirely in written Hopi including its English translation. KUYI has
incorporated time and Hopi history segments using Hopi; the Hopi language has been
used to invite inquiries for service programs as well.

399
4. New venues for Hopi language use for youth—tribal pageants. Dorian
proposed the idea of pageants where young Hopi women would vie for title of their
respective villages, Miss Supawlavi Village for example. Tribal pageants as
contemporary events for youth, and as demonstrated by Dorian’s experience, draw
immediate and extended family as well as the community into the preparation (much like
the preparation for participating in the public performances of social dances). Also
demonstrated by Dorian’s case, is the expectation for a Hopi linguistic facility in
representing one’s tribal community, from the Hopi community as well as the
mainstream. Tribal pageants, as youth events, offer an opportunity and motivation for
the development of a new tradition of “language as cultural practice” which would
convey the values of self-respect, the qualities admired in Hopi women, appropriate
dress, food preparation, and being bicultural and bilingual.
5. The religious domain. The kiva remains a stronghold for language and cultural
continuity. Thus, religious leaders who conduct the ceremonies and clan sponsors who
provide the instruction to the youth must be enlisted in language revitalization and made
aware of their vital role in maintaining the spiritual relevance of the language.
6. Assisting and supporting schools in constructing an agenda for inclusion of
the Hopi language and culture. Marie’s words, as a grandparent, appropriately provide
the introduction to the role of schools in Hopi language revitalization.
We cannot speak against the teaching of Hopi in the schools. As a matter of fact,
we [as parents and grandparents] should go there and offer our support and
assistance because we are not teaching the children ourselves. We must
encourage them and offer our support . . . if we desire this for our grandchildren.
400
At the School Level
Someone must take the responsibility for [language] preservation; and the logical
place today is the school. Emory Sekaquaptewa, May 11, 1998
Schools have taken the lead in positive language shift for the Hopi. This study
documents this leadership (Haussler & Tompkins, 1983; Nicholas 2000, Nicholas 2005)
either undertaken in compliance with stated curricula objectives and/or initiated in
response to assessment of needs by schools independent of a cohesive and unified effort.
Nevertheless, as expressed by one language teacher who commented, “If we have the
Hopi language written in our curriculum, if we just see it on paper saying we need to do
this in the school, then there’s no objection [from the community].” Schools have
provided the impetus for addressing language shift among the Hopi people, and continue
to be at the forefront of positive language shift. However, schools need direction,
guidance and assistance.
1. Establish real partnerships with the home/ community. I provide one example
of establishing real partnerships with the home/community. One local elementary school
utilized a survey (January 2000) inviting parent and home input into developing a Hopi
language and culture curriculum. The survey was a simple and effective means to (1)
ascertain approval and support for developing a school-based culture and language
curriculum; (2) select and gain approval for the teaching of appropriate culture topics; (3)
assess the level of support in reinforcing the teaching of Hopi at home; (4) assess the
level of support for Hopi language use during the school day by Hopi teachers/personnel
who are speakers; and (5) elicit comments regarding the teaching of Hopi language and
culture in the school. The comments elicited pointed out that parents possessed some
401
knowledge about Hopi language issues, expressed urgency about learning the language
for their children and themselves, the importance of language as an aspect of cultural
identity, and were willing to participate and contribute to this school initiative. The
survey confirmed not only the need for the school to address an important community
concern—language shift and loss among youth—but also confirmed that schools offer a
important role in revitalizing the Hopi language (McCarty, 1998). At best, the school can
cultivate the potential for addressing this linguistic need for the community e.g. parent
classes in Hopi language.
2. Establish real partnerships with the tribal entities. Here, I again spotlight the
initiative of one local school and its subsequent partnership with the Hopi Tribe’s
Hopilavayi Program. In order to respond to the parental input elicited through the survey
described above, the school contracted the services of an independent consultant to
provide language teaching training to the paraprofessionals who were delegated this
responsibility in the classroom. This monthly, in-school training was further expanded
and implemented as a four-week summer training institute sponsored by the Hopi Tribe
in collaboration with the University of Arizona Continuing Education University. The
Hopi Tribe Hopilavayi Program provided tuition funding, the participants received
university credit, and the school provided the facilities. As a result, the school’s Hopi
language teachers received further training as well as developed skills and expertise in
teaching the Hopi language. This school continues to provide the facilities as well as
providing supplementary funding for tuition costs for its teachers.

402
The tribal/school partnership has made significant contribution revitalization of
the Hopi language. First, the experience and training material developed through the
contracted services for the school have provided the foundation for the institute training.
Second, the school has supplemented the financial costs of tuition for its language
teachers, thus the school has partially assumed the financial responsibility for the
professional development of its language teachers. A third benefit for the school is the
recognition from the tribe, other schools and the community as leading this movement
among the schools (this administrator has played a key role in a second school following
suit with contracting services for its language teachers and garnering the interest of a
third school, and there has been a rise in student transfers to this school for the Hopi
language program). More importantly, the school administrator has become a vested
participant in the implementation of language teaching activities (this administrator has
supported the development of an after-school language program) and the on-going
discussions for movement on the tribal initiatives for language revitalization. In addition,
the tribal/school partnership contributes funding possibilities associated with educational
resources.
3. Tribal/school partnerships—validate the cultural and linguistic expertise of
Hopi language teachers. In the Hopi schools, the classroom teacher assistants, assigned a
number of duties and responsibilities, are expected to do what certified teachers do, or
ask of them; providing Hopi language and culture instruction in the school setting is one
of their duties and responsibilities. As such, these “bilingual paraeducators” (Ernst-
Slavit & Wenger, 2006) have occupied largely marginalized —“overwhelming demands
403
on their time, fragmented schedules, poor teaching conditions, very little pay or no
institutional support (professional development)—positions in the education system” (p.
63). The “funds of knowledge”(p. 63)—Hopi speaking fluency and cultural
knowledge—they bring to the teaching environment receive little attention. The school
must begin to view their role as invaluable to providing the bridge between the
school/home/community, as well as the school/tribe.
4. Promote the integrity of the Hopi language. The school must view bilingual
paraeducators as key to promoting the integrity of the Hopi language in occupying a
natural and rightful space in the school environment. The use of the Hopi language in the
school among speakers of Hopi, in all areas of the school environment and directed to
students conveys a strong message that the Hopi language is a viable medium for
teaching and learning. In one local school, the Hopi language permeates the hallways,
classrooms, cafeteria and administrative offices; it has found a “home” in the school
context.
5. Set the appropriate pedagogical conditions (McCarty 1998). By valuing its
bilingual paraeducators, the school can assist in setting the appropriate pedagogical
conditions that will support effective language teaching and cultivate successful language
learning. In one local school, the bilingual paraeducators have attained monthly work
sessions to develop thematic units revolving around the Hopi annual calendar, a weekly
planning session for the after-school programs, and classroom instruction planning time.
In turn, the bilingual paraeducators have responded with commitment and collaboration
toward a more cohesive and unified Hopi language teaching effort. In addition, the
404
bilingual paraeducators have gained encouragement and financial support to attend state
and national conferences that showcase their work as well as membership in the field of
language revitalization. This reciprocal collaboration for the benefit of the Hopi
language learners is a model for other local schools.
6. Influence home language practices (McCarty 1998). This study confirmed that
children have strong potential for socializing their caregivers through language which
Ochs (1988) terms bidirectionality. Dorian’s mother provided two examples: (1) when
her own children began speaking English at home, it was easier for her to switch to
English as well; and (2) when one of her students, a monolingual Hopi speaker, rapidly
shifted to English at school and then at home. Premised on this knowledge, the school
can build on this potential to influence the home language practices by incorporating
Hopi language practice exercises that require the involvement of the parents or family
members. One example has been one classroom’s preparation for presenting a coyote
story skit using the Hopi language. Students have engaged the assistance of their
parents/family members in rehearsing their lines.
7. Promote an orientation that views the Hopi language as a resource
(Ruíz 1984). Schools must recognize that in their bilingual paraeducators and other
Hopi-speaking personnel, they hold an invaluable repository of Hopi cultural and
linguistic knowledge and expertise from which the whole tribal community can benefit.
These “language-competent” (p. 17) community members can provide language teaching
training to others, develop culturally appropriate language curriculum and instructional
materials, provide parent and community classes, offer immersion experiences as well as
405
develop Hopi language literature. Essentially, schools have cultivated a linguistic and
cultural resource that will contribute to a wide range of language revitalization planning
initiatives.
The recommendations outlined identify and build on existing concepts,
resolutions, entities, individuals and institutions that for the most part, currently function
independent of each other. Forward progress to address the urgency of the Hopi
linguistic situation to requires serious and immediate consideration of a central,
permanent home base of operation, coordination, collaboration, implementation and
support of language revitalization initiatives.
I close with what I trust is the desire of every parent/parent generation of Hopi, of
those who preceded us and those who will follow expressed in the Hopi words, “Hak
timuy amungem kyaanawanangwu.” “One wants the best for one’s children.” Further, I
believe that this desire encompasses what Dorian described as “balancing English and
Hopi,” balancing the two ways of life for ourselves, our children, grandchildren, and for
succeeding generations of Hopi. In addition, I choose to pay heed to the little-heard Hopi
prophecy, “Hopi yaw yàapaniiqe oovi pas sòosokmuy hìituy lavayiyamuy naat
tuuqaytani.” It is said of the Hopi that he is a “mockingbird [imitator] and therefore will
yet speak the languages of all races (Hopìikwa Lavàytutuveni 1998, p. 767).
406
Epilogue
Dorian is the mother of a three-year old son. She is currently pursuing her career
aspiration in the performing arts along with courses in business administration in a
community college program away from Hopi. Jared is also attending community college
in a specialized area of auto mechanics. Justin’s current employment has required him to
venture away, but not too far from Hopi.

407
APPENDIX A
THE HOPI CEREMONIAL CALENDAR
Compliments of the Office of CPO/Hopilavayi Project
Copied with permission of the Hopi Tribe Office of the Culture Preservation Office and
the Hopilavayi Project, March, 2007.
408
APPENDIX B
INFLUENCE OF SCHOOLING ON HOPI LANGUAGE MAINTENANCE
60 & Above 40-59 20-39 2-19

Hopi acquired as a first 97.6% 82.6% 54.9% 23.8%
language
Hopi maintained after 79.7% 54.2% 29.2% 12.6%
starting school
409
APPENDIX C
LETTER OF INTRODUCTION
410
APPENDIX D
PARTICIPANT’S CONSENT FORM

411
412
APPENDIX E
PARENTAL CONSENT FORM

413
414
APPENDIX F
ASSENT FORM FOR MINORS
DISSERTATION RESEARCH STUDY

The Role of Hopi Language in the Contemporary Lives of Hopi Youth
Researcher: Sheilah Nicholas, M.A
American Indian Studies
University of Arizona, PO Box 210076
Tucson, AZ 85721 520/621-7108 FAX: 520/621-795
ASSENT FORM FOR MINORS
Your mother/father has told me it was okay for me to ask you some questions for this
research study. I want to find out how important the Hopi language is to you, how you feel
about the Hopi language, and whether you think the Hopi language is important in making
you feel, behave, and live as a Hopi person should. To find those things out, I want to ask
you some questions. It is really important to me to hear what young Hopis say about these
things. If you want to answer the questions, that's great. If there are any questions you don't
want to answer, that's okay too. Your answers will be used to help me write a book about
how Hopi youth think about the Hopi language.
Do you understand why I want to ask you some questions? Is it okay with you?
Minor Subject's Name and Signature Date
Investigator's Signature Date

415
APPENDIX G
HOPI LEXICON—DORIAN
The following are proper names, words, phrases that Dorian interjected into her
responses during the interview sessions:
• Supawlavi: Dorian pronounced this word as it is traditionally called/pronounced
by speakers. It is spelled on the village sign and by most as spelled—Shipaulovi.
• Mosayru, Buffalo Dance
Clothing
• atö’ö, a traditional cape, woven of white cotton, with wide black and red borders,
used principally by women in formal rituals
• pitkunas, kilt
Kinship terms
• mano, siwa: terms of endearment
• taha, maternal uncle
• so’o, our grandmother
• möwi, female married-in-law
Food:
• piiki, wafer bread made from blue corn flour
• pölaviki, loaf bread, yeast bread
• somiviki, a tamale-like food made from blue corn flour, sweetening (sometimes),
and boiling water; it is wrapped in corn husks, tied at two places with strips of
narrow-leafed yucca and boiled

416
• kutuki, parched corn made from dried corn kernels
• paatuvsuki, a dish made of beans and hominy boiled together
Other words, phrases and names:
• Askwali, Thank you. (Female)
• mongwi, leader, head, chief
• inta, put [somiviki] in a shallow, open container [usually a sifter basket, tutsaya];
also refers to young girls putting somiviki into a container and distributing to the
kachinas in the kiva night dances
• hohoysi, a wild plant used for making herbed tea
• Shaw, pooko. [phrase] Shoo, dog.
• katsinki, kachina resting place (during dance intermissions)
• kwiivi, vain, proud
• Puwvaa, puwva. [line from lullaby] Go to sleep, go to sleep.
• na’ongvita [nahongvita], make an effort, exert oneself
• sumi’nangwa, united in purpose, proceed in the manner of togetherness
• nami’nangwa, mutual concern for other’s welfare
• Qömavkastiilas, refers to Black people, African-Americans
• Pahaanas, Anglo; anyone of European extraction
In addition, I include the following are elaborations on Dorian’s knowledge and use
of culturally specific words. Dorian’s use of words and phrases are in quotes; I follow by
providing clarification or description of the underlying knowledge embodied in her
statements.
417
1. Dorian stated, “[We make] somiviki when we have to inta (ini’yta).”—This
cultural activity refers to the time of the night dances during the (Powamuy) ceremonies
where unmarried girls demonstrate their ability to prepare food by distributing food
favors to the katsinas for their (nitkya)—journey food. The katsinas will pass judgment
on the girl’s ability.
2. Dorian stated: “Like for a wedding we did here, it wasn’t really a Hopi word,
it was a word, ‘honey’, and we were saying, this guy [the groom], he’s our honey, so [we
put into our song] itaaa honey’yoooo—our honey, making it sound Hopi.” Dorian
participated in Hopi weddings in which the groom was a clan relative, in particular, a
(mööyi)—grandchild who was also regarded as a “boyfriend” by the female clan
members. These women, as part of the marriage ceremony, go to great lengths to
discredit the new female in-law which might include creating songs to express their
affection for the groom.
3. During her reign as Miss Indian Arizona, Dorian sought cultural knowledge
about the symbolism of the Hopi woman’s traditional clothing. (Dorian’s descriptions of
the symbolism of each clothing item are in quotes). The manta (kwasa)—dress trimmed
with red and green yarn, “the red represents [one’s] bloodline…the green represents life,
our environment.” The atö’ö—a traditional cape woven of white cotton with wide black
and red borders is used principally by women in formal rituals—“the colors… represent
that you’re a woman…’cuz when you’re a little girl, you don’t wear the atö’ö. The black
means the storm, the white means “life”, and the red is the bloodline.” The belt
(kweewa)—“the tassels represent the rain;” and the shoes (mantotsi). “Traditionally when
418
the shoe has [a] black sole that means they’re still a young girl, but when it’s the white
sole, that means you’re married. The height of the wrapping was to protect our feet
especially in the afterlife. When we go make our journey to where we’re suppose to go
after we die, there’s gonna be hard times. We might be walking through some thorns and
the reason why it’s that high is to protect our legs.”

419
REFERENCES
Adley-Santa Maria, B. (1999). Interrupting White Mountain Apache language shift: An

insider’s view. Practicing Anthropology, 21. 16-19.
Arviso, M. and Holm, W. (2001). Tséhootsooíidi olta’gi Diné bizaad Bíhoo’aah; A

Navajo immersion program at Fort Defiance, Arizona. In Hinton, L. & K. Hale
(Eds.). The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 203-215). San
Diego: Academic Press.
Battiste, M. (2000) (Ed.). Reclaiming indigenous voice and vision (pp. 39-49).
Vancouver: UBC Press.
Bejamin, R., Pecos, R. & Romero, M. E. (1997) Language revitalization efforts in the
Pueblo de Cochiti: Becoming “literate” in an oral society (pp. 116-136). In
Hornberger, N. L. (Ed.). Indigenous literacies in the Americas: Language
planning from the bottom up. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Bentilla, A. & Davis, E. (1992). Convergence and divergence: Two cases of language
shift in Morocco (pp. 197-210). In Fase, Willem, Koen, Jaspaert, Kroon, Sjaak
(Eds.), Maintenance and Loss of Minority. In Crawford, J. (Ed.) Language
loyalties: A sourcebook on the official language controversy.
Black, M. E. (1984). Maidens and others: An analysis of Hopi corn metaphors.

Ethnology, 234(4), 279-288.
Briggs, J. (1998). Inuit morality play: The emotional education of a three-year old.
New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Bulag, U. (2003). “Modern ethnicity and linguist anxiety in China.” Special Issue,
Language, Politics & Practices. American Anthropology Association, 105(4).
Bunge, R. (1992). “Language; The psyche of a people.” In Crawford, J. (Ed.).

Language loyalties: A sourcebook on the official language controversy. Pp. 377-
380.
Clancy, P. (1999). The socialization of affect in Japanese mother-child conversation.

Journal of Pragmatics 31(11):397-421.
Clancy, P. M. (1986). The acquisition of communicative style in Japanese. In B.

B. Schieffelin & E. Ochs (Eds.). Language socialization across cultures. New
York: Cambridge University Press.
Crago, M.B., Annahatak, B., Ningiuruvik, L. (1991). Changing patterns of language

420
socialization in Inuit homes. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 24(3):205-

23.
Crystal, D. (2000). Language death. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Cummins, J. (1989). Empowering minority students. Sacramento, CA: California

Association for Bilingual Education.
Cummins, J. (1984). Bilingualism and special education: Issues in assessment and

pedagogy. San Diego, CA: College-Hill Press.
Cummins, J. (2000). Language, power and pedagogy: Bilingual children in the

crossfire. Clevedon, England: Multilingual Matters.
Dauenhauer, N. M., & Dauenhauer, R. (1998). Technical, emotional, and

ideological issues in reversing language shift: Examples from Southeast Alaska.
In Grenoble, L. A. & L.J. Whaley (Eds.). Endangered languages:
Current issues and future prospects. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Dehyle, D. (1986). Success and failure: A micro-ethnographic comparison of Navajo

and Anglo students’ perceptions of testing. Curriculum Inquiry, 16(4), 365-389.
Dehyle, D. (1992). Constructing failure and maintaining cultural identity: Navajo

and Ute school leavers. Journal of American Indian Education, 31(3): 24-47.
Dick, G. and McCarty, T. L. “Reclaiming Navajo: Language renewal in an American

Indian community school” (pp. 69-94). In N. Hornberger (Ed.), Indigenous
Literacies in the Americas: Language Planning from the Bottom Up. New York:
Mouton de Gruyter.
Dongoske, N. G., Jenkins, L., & Ferguson, T. J. (1993). Understanding the past through
Hopi oral tradition. Native Peoples, 6(2), 24-35.
Dorian, N. C. (1999). Linguistic and ethnographic fieldwork. In J. Fishman

(Ed.), Handbook of language & ethnic identity (pp. 25-41). New York: Oxford
University Press.
Dorian, N.C. (1986). Investigating obsolescence: Studies in language contraction and

death. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press.
Echeverria, B. (2003). Schooling, language, and ethnic identity in the Basque

autonomous community. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 34(4): 351-
372.
421
Eggan, D. (1970). Instruction and affect in Hopi cultural continuity. In

J. Middleton, (Ed.). From child to adult: Studies in the anthropology of
Education (pp. 311-332 ). New York: American Museum Sourcebooks in
Anthropology. New York.
Eggan, F. (1950). Social organization of the Western Pueblos. Chicago:

University of Chicago Press.
Eisenberg, A. R. (1986). Teasing: Verbal play in two Mexicano homes. In B.B.

Schieffelin & E. Ochs, Elinor. (Eds.), Language socialization across cultures
(pp.182-198). New York: Cambridge University Press.
Ernst-Slavit, G. & Wenger, K. (2006) Teaching in the margins: The multifaceted work
and struggles of bilingual paraeducators. Anthropology and Education Quarterly,
37(1): 62-82.
Fase, W. , Jaspaer, K., & Kroon, S. (Eds.), Maintenance and loss of minority languages.
Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Company:
Fettes, M. (1999). Indigenous education and the ecology of community. In S. May

(Ed.). Indigenous community-based education (pp. 20-41). Clevedon, UK:
Multilingual Matters.
Fishman, J. A. (1991). Reversing language shift: Theoretical and empirical

foundations of assistance to threatened languages. Clevedon, UK:
Fishman, J.A. (1996). What do you lose when you lose your language? In G. Cantoni
(Ed.), Stabilizing indigenous languages (pp. 80-91). Flagstaff: Northern
Arizona University Center for Excellence.
Fishman, J. A. (Ed.). (2001). Can threatened languages be saved? Reversing

language shift, revisited: A 21st century perspective. Clevedon, UK:
Fung, H. (1999). Becoming a moral child: The socialization of shame among young
Chinese children. Ethos 27(2):180-209.
Gapps, W. H., & E. F. Tonsing (Eds.). (1976). Seeing with a Native eye: Essays
on Native American religion. New York: Harper & Row.
Garrett, P. B., & Baquedano-López, P. (2002). Language socialization:

Reproduction and continuity, transformation and change. Annual Review of
Anthropology, 31, 339-61.
422
Gibbs, W. (2002). Saving Languages. Scientific American. August, pp. 79-85.
Gonzales, N. (2001). I am my language: Discourses of women and children in

the borderlands. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press.
Grenoble L. A. & Whaley L. J. (Eds.) (2006). Saving languages: An introduction to

language revitalization. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Grenoble L.A. & Whaley L. J. (1998). Endangered languages: Current issues and future
prospects. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Greymorning, S. (2001). Reflections on the Arapaho language project, or when Bambi

spoke Arapaho and other tales of Arapaho language revitalization efforts. Hinton,
L. & K. Hale (Eds.). The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp.
287-297). San Diego: Academic Press.
Hale, K. (1998). On endangered languages and the importance of linguistic diversity.

In L.A. Grenoble, & L. J. Whaley (Eds.). Endangered languages:
Current issues and future prospects (pp. 192-216) Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Hall, E. T. (1976). Beyond culture. New York: Doubleday.
Haussler, M., & Tompkins, C. (1983). Final report. Literacy development in Hopi and
English: A descriptive study. (Title VII Research and Development
Project). Hotevilla, AZ: Hotevilla-Bacabi Community School.
Hermes, M. (2005). Ma”iingan is just a misspelling of the word wolf: A case for
teaching culture through language. In T. McCarty, T. Borgoiakova, P. Gilmore,
T. K. Lomawaima, & M. E. Romero (Eds.). Theme Issue: Indigenous
Epistemologies and Education—Self-Determination, Anthropology and Human
Rights. Anthropolgoy and Education Quarterly (36)1: 43-56.
Hill, J. H. (2002). ‘Expert rhetorics’ in advocacy for endangered languages: Who is

listening and what do they hear? Journal of Linguistic Anthropology 12(2), 119-
133.
Hill, J. (1983). Language death in Uto-Aztecan. International Journal of American

Linguistics 49, 225-76.
Hinton, L. (1991). How to learn your language. News from Native California. 5(1), 34-
36.
423
Hinton, L. (2001). Hinton,L., & Hale, K. (Eds.). The green book of language
revitalization in practice (pp. 101-102). San Diego: Academic Press.
Hinton, L. (2001). Language planning. In Hinton, L. & K. Hale (Eds.). The green book
of language revitalization in practice (pp. 51-59). San Diego: Academic Press.
Hinton, L. (2001). The master-apprentice language learning program. In Hinton, L. &

Hale, K. (Eds.). (2001). The green book of language revitalization in
Practice (pp. 217-226). San Diego: Academic Press.
Holm, A. & Holm, W. (1995). Navajo language education: Retrospect and prospects.
Bilingual Research Journal, 19(1): 141-167.
Hopi Dictionary Project. (1998). Hopi dictionary/Hopìikwa lavàytutuveni: A Hopi-

English dictionary of the Third Mesa dialect. Tucson: The University of
Arizona Press.
Hopi Language Assessment Project. (1997). Presentation of Hopi language survey

results. The Hopi Tribe, Hopi Culture Preservation Office: Bureau of Applied
Research and Anthropology. Tucson: University of Arizona.
Hopi Tribe. (1998). Hopi Language Education and Preservation Plan. Hopi Cultural
Preservation Office, University of Nevada-Reno, Bureau of Applied research
and Anthropology , University of Arizona: Authors.
Hopi Tribe of Arizona. (2004). Age distribution – on off reservation. The Hopi Tribe
Enrollment Office.
Hinton, L., & Hale, K. (Eds.). (2001). The green book of language revitalization in
practice. San Diego, CA: Academic Press.
Hinton, L. with Vera, M. and Steele, N. (2002). How to keep your language alive: A
commonsense approach to one-on-one language learning. Berkeley: Heyday
Books.
Holm, A. and Holm, W. (1995). Navajo language education: Retrospect and prospect.
Bilingual Research Journal, 19(1): 141-168.
Hornberger, N. H. and King, K. (1997). Bringing the language forward: School-based

initiatives for Quechua language revitalization in Ecuador and Bolivia (pp. 299-
319). In N.H. Hornberger (Ed.), Indigenous literacies in the Americas: Language
planning from the bottom up. Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
James, H. C. (1974). Pages from Hopi history. Tucson: The University of Arizona
424
Press.
Jenkins, L. (1991). The Navajo-Hopi Observer, p. 1.
Jocks, C. (1998). Living words and cartoon translations: Longhouse “texts”

and the limitations of English. In L.A. Grenoble, & L. J. Whaley (Eds.),
Endangered languages: Current issues and future prospects (pp. 192-
216). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Kapanga, A. M. (2001). Recreating a language: A socio-historical approach to the study

of Shaba Swahili. Cultural Survival Quarterly, (25)2: 52-55).
Kawagly, O. & Barnhardt, R. (2004). Education Indigenous to place: Western science

meets Native reality. www.ankn.uaf.edu/EIP Fairbanks, AK: Alaska Native
Knowledge Network.
King, J. (2001). Te Kōhanga Reo: Māori language. In Hinton, L., & Hale, K. (Eds.).
The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 119-128). San Diego,
CA: Academic Press.
King, K. A. (2001). Language revitalization process and prospects: Quichua in

the Ecuadorian Andes. Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters.
Kipp, D. (2000). Encouragement, guidance, insights and lessons learned for native
language activists developing their own tribal language programs. Browning,
MT: Piegan Institute.
Krauss, M. (1992). The world’s languages in crisis, Language. 68, 1-10.
Krauss, M. (1996). Status of native American language endangerment. In G. Cantoni

(Ed.). Stabilizing indigenous languages (pp. 16-21). Flagstaff: Northern Arizona
University, Center for Excellence in Education.
Krauss, M. (1998). The condition of native North American languages: The need for
realistic assessment and action. International Journal of the Sociology of
Language, 132, 9-21.
Kroskrity, P. V. (1993). Language, history, and , identity: Ethnolinguistic studies of

the Arizona Tewa. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press.
Kuipers, J. C. (1998). Language, identity, and marginality in Indonesia: The changing

nature of ritual speech on the Island of Sumba. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
425
Kulick, D. (1992). Language shift and cultural reproduction: Socialization, self, and
syncretism in a Papua New Guinea village. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge
University Press.
Kuwanwisiwma, L. (2002). Hopit navotiat, Hopi knowledge of history: Hopi

presence on Black Mesa. In S. Powell, & F. E. Smiley (Eds.), Prehistoric culture
change on the Colorado Plateau, Ten thousand years on Black Mesa (pp. 161-
163). Tucson: University of Arizona Press.
Lakoff, G. & M. Johnson. (1980). Metaphors we live by. Chicago: The University of
Chicago Press.
Lee, T. & McLaughlin, D. (2001). Reversing Navajo language shift, revisited. In J. A.

Fishman (Ed.), Can threatened languages be saved? Reversing language shift
revisited: A 21st century perspective (pp. 23-43). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual
Matters.
Ledlow, S. (1992). Is cultural discontinuity an adequate explanation for dropping

out? Journal of American Indian Education, 31(3), 21-36.
Littlebear, R. (1999). Some rare and radical ideas for keeping indigenous languages
alive. In J. Reyhner, G. Cantoni, R. N. St. Clair, & E. Parsons-Yazzie (Eds.),
Revitalizing indigenous languages (pp. 1-5). Flagstaff: Center for
Northern Arizona University Center for Excellence.
Littlebear, R. (2004). One man, tow languages: Confessions of a freedom-loving

bilingual. Tribal College Journal, 15(3), 11-12.
Loftin, J. D. (1991). Religion and Hopi life in the twentieth century. Bloomington &
Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
Lomawaima, K.T. (2000). Tribal sovereigns: Reframing research in American Indian

education. Harvard Educational Review 70 (1), 1-21.
Lomawaima, K. T. (1994). They called it Prairie light: The story of Chilocco Indian
school. Lincoln: University of Nebraska.
Lomawaima, K. T. (1999). The unnatural history of American Indian education. In K.

Swisher and J. Tippeconnic (Eds.), Next steps: Research and practice to advance
Indian education. Charleston, WV: Clearinghouse on Rural Education and Small
Schools.
Lomawaima, K. T. and McCarty, T. L. (2006). To remain an Indian: Lessons in

democracy from a century of Native American education. New York: Teachers
426
College Press.
Mason, J. (1996). Qualitative researching. London: Sage Publications.
Morgan, G. (2001). Welsh; A European case of language maintenance. In In Hinton,

L., & Hale, K. (Eds.). The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp.
107-113). San Diego, CA: Academic Press.
McCarty, T. L. (1998). Review essay: Reversing language shift in Indigenous North

America—what schools can and can’t be expected to do. Language, Culture and
Curriculum, 11(2): 204-211.
McCarty, T. L. (1998). Schooling, resistance, and American Indian languages.

International journal of societies in languages. 132( ): 27-41.
McCarty, T. L. (1998). On the brink: Issues and cases in language planning in American
Indian communities. Unpublished paper presented at the University of Arizona
SLAT Colloquium, September.
McCarty, T. L. (2002). A place to be Navajo: Rough Rock and the struggle for
self-determination in indigenous schooling. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
McCarty, T. L. (2002c). Between possibility and constraint: Indigenous language

education, planning, and policy in the United States. In J. W. Tollefson (Ed.),
Language policies in education: Critical issues (pp.285-307). Mahwah, NJ:
Erlbaum.
McCarty, T. L. (2003). Revitalising Indigenous languages in homogenizing times.

Comparative Education, 39(2), 147-163.
McCarty, T. L., Romero-Little, M. E., & Zepeda, O. (2006 a). Reclaiming the gift:
Indigenous youth counter-narratives on Native language loss and revitalization.
American Indian Quarterly, 30(1/2): 28-48.
McCarty, T. L., Romero-Little, M. E., & Zepeda, O. (2006 b). Reimagining multilingual
America: Lessons from Native American youth. In O. Garcia, T. Skutnabb-
Kangas, & M. Torres-Guzmán (Eds.). Imagining multilingual schools:
Languages in education (pp. 91-110). Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters, Ltd.
McCarty, T. L., Romero-Little, M. E., & Zepeda, O. (2006c). Native American youth
discourses on language shift and retention; Ideological cross-currents and their
implications for language planning. International Journal of Bilingual Education
and Bilingualism (9)5: 659-677.
427
McCarty, T. L. & Watahomigie, L. J., & Yamamoto, A. Y. (2003). Introduction:

Reversing language shift in Indigenous America—Collaborations and views from
the field. Practicing Anthropology, 20(2), 2-4.
McConvell, P. (2001). Looking for a two-way street: Indigenous Australians battle to

keep their languages strong. Cultural Survival Quarterly (25)2: 18-21.
Mead, M. (1970). Culture and commitment: A study of the generation gap. Garden
City, NY: Natural History Press.
Meek, B.A. (2001). Kaska language socialization, acquisition and shift. PhD. Thesis.
University of Arizona, Tucson.
Mehan, H, Villanueva, I., Hubbard, L., and Lintz, A. (1994). Forming

academic identities: Accommodation without assimilation among involuntary
minorities. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 25(2), 91-117.
Miller, P. (1986). Teasing as language socialization and verbal play in a white working-
class community. In B. B. Schieffelin & E. Ochs (Eds.). Language socialization
across cultures (Vol. 3. pp. 199-212). New York: Cambridge University Press.
Nequatewa, E. (1967). Truth of a Hopi: Stories relating to the origin, myths,

and clan histories of the Hopi. Flagstaff: Northland Publishing.
Nettle, D. and Romaine, S. (2000). Vanishing voices: The extinction of the world’s
languages. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Nettle, D. and Romaine, S. (2001). The last survivors. Cultural Survival Quarterly
(25)2: 44-45.
Nicholas, S. (2000). Hopi language I, II, III. Field report for Indigenous
Language Institute. Unpublished.
Nicholas, S. (2003, October 1). Paving a path toward new and exciting adventures. The
Hopi Tutuveni, vol. 13, no. 20. pp. 1, 3.
Nicholas, S. (2005). Negotiating for the Hopi way of life through literacy and
schooling. In T. L. McCarty (Ed.), Language, literacy, and power in
schooling (pp. 29-46). Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.
Ochs, E. (1988). Culture and language development: Language acquisition and

language socialization in a Samoan village. Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
428
Ogbu, J. U. (1987). Variability in minority school performance: A problem in search

of an explanation. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 18(4):312-334.
Ogbu, J. U. (1991). Immigrant and involuntary minorities in comparative perspective.

In Ogbu, J. U. & Gibson, M. A. (Eds.), Minority status and schooling: A
comparative study of immigrant and involuntary minorities (pp. 383-400). New
York: Garland.
Page, J. (1983). Return of the Kachina. Science, 4(2) 24-30.
Palmer, S. (1997). Language of work: The critical link between economic

change and language shift. In Reyhner, J. (Ed.), Teaching indigenous
languages (263-283). Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University Center for
Excellence in Education.
Pecos, R. & Blum-Martinez, R. (2001). The key to cultural survival: Language planning
and revitalization in the Pueblo de Cochiti. In K. Hale and L. Hinton, (Eds.), The
green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 75-82). San Diego:
Academic Press.
Platero, P. (2001). Navajo Head Start language study. In K. Hale and L. Hinton, (Eds.),
The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 67-97). San Diego:
Academic Press.
Qoyawayma. P. (1964). No turning back: A Hopi Indian woman’s struggle

to live in two worlds. Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press.
Rivas, N. (2005, November). Hopi Tribe’s land team honored for economic
development plan and land preservation efforts. The Hopi Tutuveni, vol. 15, no.
23. pp. 1-2, 11.
Romero-Little, M. E. & McCarty, T. L. (2006). Language planning challenges and

prospects in Native American communities and schools. Tempe: Arizona State
University Education Policy Studies Laboratory. Retrieved May 10, 2005 from
http://www.asu.edu/epsl/EPRU/documents/EPSL-0602-105-LPRU.pdf
Ruiz, R. (1984). Orientations in language planning. NABE journal, 8(2):1534.
Rushforth, S. & Chisholm, J. S. (1991). Cultural persistence: Continuity in

meaning and moral responsibility among the Bearlake Athapaskans. Tucson:
The University of Arizona Press.
Rydstrom, H. (2001). Like a white piece of paper: Embodiment and the moral
upbringing of Vietnamese children. Ethos 66(3):394-413.
429
Schecter, S. R. & Bailey, R. (2002). Language as cultural practice: Mexicanos en el

Norte. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Schieffelin, B. B. (1990). The give and take of everyday life: Language

socialization of Kaluli children. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Schieffelin, B. B. & E. Ochs (Eds.), (1986). Language socialization across

cultures. New York: Cambridge University Press.
Schieffelin, B. (1986). Teasing and shaming in Kaluli children’s interactions. In

B. B. Schieffelin & E. Ochs (Eds.). Language socialization across cultures (Vol.
3. pp. 199-212). New York: Cambridge University Press.
Schlegel, A. (1999). The two aspects of Hopi grandmotherhood. In M. Schweitzer,

(Ed.), American Indian grandmothers: Traditions and transitions (pp. 145-157).
Alququerque: University of New Mexico Press.
Seidman, I. (1998). Interviewing as qualitative research: A guide for

researchers in education and the social sciences. New York: Teachers College,
Columbia University.
Sekaquaptewa, A. (1983). In Page, J. Return of the Kachina. Science, 4(2) 24-30.
Sekaquaptewa, E. (1972). Preserving the good things of Hopi life. In R. H. Thompson,

& E. H. Spicer, Edward H. (Eds.), Plural societies in the Southwest (pp. 239-260).
New York: Interbook.
Sekaquaptewa, E. (1976). Hopi Indian ceremonies. In W. H. Capps (Ed.), Seeing with a

Native eye: Essays on Native American religion. New York: Harper &
Row, Publishers: New York.
Sekaquaptewa, E. (1989). One more smile for a Hopi clown. In D. M. Dooling, &
P. Jordan-Smith (Eds.), I become part of it: Sacred dimensions in Native
American life (pp. 150-157). New York: Parabola Books.
Sekaquaptewa, E. (1997, July 7). Paper for living Hopi language. Panel 11 Label A6
Sekaquaptewa, E., & Washburn, D. (2004). They go along singing: reconstructing the
Hopi past from ritual metaphors in song and image. American Antiquity, 9(3),
457-486.
Simmons, L. W. with Talayesva. D. (1971). Sun Chief: The autobiography of a Hopi

Indian. New Haven: Yale University Press.
430
Sims, C. (2001). Native language planning: a pilot process in the Acoma Pueblo
community. In K. Hale and L. Hinton, (Eds.), The green book of language
revitalization in practice (pp. 63-73). San Diego: Academic Press.
Sims, C. P. (2005). Commentaries: Tribal languages and the challenges of revitalization.

Anthropology and education quarterly, 36 (1): 104-106. Berkeley: University of
California Press.
Skutnabb-Kangas, T. (2000). Linguistic genocide in education- or world-wide diversity

and human rights? London: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
Skutnabb-Kangas, T. ( ). Linguicism in education, or how to kill a people without

genocide. Invited paper. Roskilde University Centre. Roskilde, Denmark.
Smith, L. T. (1999). Decolonizing methodologies: Research and indigenous

peoples. New York: Zed Books.
Smith-Hefner, N. J. (1999). Khmer American: Identity and moral education in a

diasporic community. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Smith/Kocamahhul, J. (2001). For reasons out of our hands: A community identifies the
causes of language shift. Cultural Survival Quarterly (25)2: 36-39.
Smolicz, J. (1992). Minority languages as core values of ethnic cultures: A study of

maintenance and erosion of Polish, Welsh, and Chinese languages in Australia
(pp.277-305). In Fase, Willem, Koen, Jaspaert, Kroon, Sjaak (Eds.). Maintenance
and loss of minority anguages. Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing Co.
Spicer, E. H. (1975). Indian identity versus assimilation. (Occasional Paper) of the

New York: Weatherhead Foundation.
Spolsky, B. (2002). Prospects for the survival of the Navajo language: A

reconsideration. Anthropology & Education Quarterly, 33(2), 139-162.
Spolsky, B. & Holm, W. (1977). Bilingualism in the six-year-old child. In W. E.

Mackey & T. Anderson (Eds.), Bilingualism in early childhood (pp.167-173).
Rowley, MA: Newbury House.
Suina, J. H. (2004). Native language teachers in a struggle for language and cultural
survival. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 35(3), 281-382.
Supahan, T. and Supahah, S. E. (2001). Teaching well, learning quickly:

Communication-based language instruction. In K. Hale and L. Hinton, (Eds.),
431
The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp. 195-197). San Diego:
Academic Press.
Swisher, K. and Tippeconnic, J. (Eds.). (1999). Next steps: Research and practice to
advance Indian education. Charleston, WV: ERIC Clearinghouse on Rural
Education and Small Schools.
The Hopi Tribe “Hopit Pötskwaniat” (Hopi Tribal Consolidated Strategic Plan of 1995).
Trujillo, O. V. (1997) A tribal approach to language and literacy development in a

trilingual setting. In J. Reyhner, (Ed.). Teaching indigenous languages.
Flagstaff: Northern Arizona University Center for Excellence in Education.
Udall, L. with Sekaquaptewa, H. (1985). Me and mine: The life story of Helen
Sekaquaptewa. Tucson: The University of Arizona Press.
Valdés, G., & Figueroa, G. (1984). Bilingualism and testing: A special case of bias.
Norwood, NJ: Ablex.
Valenzuela, A. (1999). Subtractive schooling: U.S. Mexican youth and the

politics of caring. New York: State University of New York.
Villanueva, I. (1997). The voices of Chicano families: Life stories, maintaining

bilingualism, and cultural awareness. In M. Seller and L. Weis (Eds.), Beyond
black and white: New faces and voices in U.S. schools. New York: State
University of New York Press.
Vogt, L. A., Jordan, C., & Tharp, R. G. (1987). Explaining school failure,
producing two school successes: Two cases. Anthropology and Education
Quarterly, 18(4), 276-286.
Warner, 2. (2001) The movement to revitalize Hawaiian language and culture. In Hinton,
L., & Hale, K. (Eds.). The green book of language revitalization in practice (pp.
133-144. San Diego, CA: Academic Press.
Washburn, D. (1999). Perceptual anthropology: The cultural salience of

symmetry. American Anthropologist 101(3), 547-562.
Watahomigie, L.J. and McCarty, T.L. (1996). Literacy for what? Hualapai literacy and
language maintenance. In N. H. Hornberger (Ed.), Indigenous literacies in the Americas
language planning from the bottom up (pp. 95-111). Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter.
Watahomigie, L. & McCarty, T. L. (1994). Bilingual/bicultural education at Peach

Springs: A Hualapai way of schooling. Peabody Journal of Education 69(2): 26-
432
42.
Watahomigie, L. C. & Yamamoto, A. (1999). Reversing language shift in indigenous

America: Collaborations and views from the field. Special Issue, Practicing
Anthropology, 21(2), pp. 2-47.
Whiteley, P. (1998). Rethinking Hopi ethnography. Washington: Smithsonian

Institution Press.
Whiteley, P. & Masayesva, V. (1998). Paavahu and paanaqso’a: The

wellsprings of life and the slurry of death. In P. M. Whiteley, Rethinking
Hopi ethnography (pp. 188-207). Washington: Smithsonian Institution Press:
Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press.
Wilson, W. H. and Kamanā, K. (2001). Mai Loko Mai O Ka ‘I’ini:

Proceeding from a dream: The Aha Pūnana Leo Connection in Hawaiian
Language Revitalization. In L. Hinton, & K. Hale (Eds.), The green book of
language revitalization in practice (pp. 147-176). San Diego: Academic Press.
Wintermute, P. (1991, September). Renewal of Hopi language sought. The Navajo-

Hopi Observer, 10. p. 1.
Wong Fillmore, L. (1991). Second-language learning in children: A model of language

learning in social context. In E. Bialystok, (Ed.), Language processing in
bilingual children (pp. 49-69). Cambridge: New York: Cambridge University
Press.
Wong Fillmore, L. (2000). Loss of family languages: Should educators be concerned?

Theory into practice, 39(4).
Yava, A. (1978), Big falling snow: A Tewa-Hopi Indian’s life and times and the
history and traditions of his people. Albuquerque: University of New
Mexico Press.
Zepeda, O. & Hill, J. (1991). The conditions of Native American languages in the United
States. In R. H. robins and E. M. Uhlenheck, (Eds.), 135-155.

Becoming "Fully" Hopi: The Role of The Hopi Language in The Contemporary Lives of Hopi Youth

Hochgeladen von

Dokumentinformationen

Originaltitel

Copyright

Verfügbare Formate

Dieses Dokument teilen

Dokument teilen oder einbetten

Freigabeoptionen

Stufen Sie dieses Dokument als nützlich ein?

Sind diese Inhalte unangemessen?

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

Becoming "Fully" Hopi: The Role of The Hopi Language in The Contemporary Lives of Hopi Youth

Hochgeladen von

Copyright:

Verfügbare Formate

Becoming "Fully" Hopi: The Role of Hopi Language

in the Contemporary Lives Of Hopi Youth--

Item Type text; Electronic Dissertation

Authors Nicholas, Sheilah Ernestine

Publisher The University of Arizona.

Rights Copyright © is held by the author. Digital access to this material

Download date 14/08/2018 03:34:47

Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/194190

THE ROLE OF THE HOPI LANGUAGE IN THE CONTEMPORARY LIVES OF

HOPI YOUTH – A HOPI CASE STUDY OF LANGUAGE SHIFT AND VITALITY

A Dissertation Submitted to the Faculty of the

GRADUATE INTERDISCIPLINARY PROGRAM IN AMERICAN INDIAN STUDIES

In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

In the Graduate College

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA

prepared by Sheilah E. Nicholas

Degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Dr. Tsianina Lomawaima Date: May 8, 2007

Dr. Teresa McCarty_________________________________________ Date: May 8, 2007

Emory Sekaquaptewa Date: May 8, 2007

Dr. Yetta Goodman Date: May 8, 2007

Dr. Mary Jo Tippeconnic Fox Date: May 8, 2007

_Dr. Tsianina Lomawaima_________________________ Date: May 8, 2007

_Dr. Teresa McCarty______________________________ Date: May 8, 2007

This dissertation has been submitted in partial fulfillment of requirements for an

SIGNED: _Sheilah E. Nicholas___

“Hak so’on naala hiita ang mongvasiwmangwu.” “No one accomplishes

CHAPTER 1 INTRODUCTION. BECOMING “FULLY” HOPI: THE ROLE OF THE

The Purpose of the Research . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 21

Multiple, Intergenerational Case Study Approach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

Selecting the Data Sources . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67

CHAPTER 3 PORTRAITS: CONTEMPORARY HOPI YOUTH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 93

CHAPTER 4 HOPI LANGUAGE IN CULTURE: CULTURAL MARKERS OF

Establishing “Roots:” Cultural Rites of Passage . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 119

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

Himuwungwa, Clan Identity; Kitsokinawi, Village Affiliation . . . . . . . 119

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

CHAPTER 5 THE “MISSING PIECE”—USING THE HOPI LANGUAGE . . . . . . . 159

Puma Hooyi. They Have “Come of Age.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 160

CHAPTER 6 THE HOPI IDENTITY FORMATION PROCESS: ACTIVE

Hopiqatsit Ang Nuutum Hintsakme’ Hopisinoniwtingwu. Participating Along

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

CHAPTER 7 HOPI LANGUAGE SHIFT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 215

Schools and Schooling: Catalysts for Hopi Language Shift . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 216

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

Justin’s Parents: Lillian and Marshall . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 247

CHAPTER 8 INTROSPECTION: LOOKING INTO OUR HEARTS AND

The Grandparent Perspective: “We Became Proud.” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 257

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

CHAPTER 9 LANGUAGE AS CULTURAL PRACTICE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .301

The Hopi Oral Tradition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 303

CHAPTER 10 YAN PASIWTINI, THIS IS HOW IT WILL COME TO BE:

Research Questions and Concerns . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 351

TABLE OF CONTENTS – Continued

Processes for Hopi Language Revitalization: Youth Generation . . . . . . . . . . . 368

APPENDIX A: THE HOPI CEREMONIAL CALENDAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 407

APPENDIX B: INFLUENCES OF SCHOOLING ON HOPI LANGUAGE

APPENDIX C: LETTER OF INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 409

APPENDIX D: PARTICIPANT’S CONSENT FORM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 410

APPENDIX E: PARENTAL CONSENT FORM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 412

APPENDIX F: ASSENT FORM FOR MINORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 414