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Barbara Kaneratonni Diabo is part of the Kanienkeha:ka nation (Mohawk), and the Kahnawake community, located close to what is today known as Montreal, across the Kaniatarowanenneh river (the big waterway), commonly known by its colonial name “St. Lawrence River.” Barbara is a choreographer, dancer, and director of the A’nó:wara Dance Theatre, where she creates experimental pieces that fuse Indigenous perspectives on Canadian history with powwow and Haudenosaunee dances, contemporary dance, and diverse dance styles such as hip-hop, and ballet. Barbara studied theatre at Concordia University and at the Native Theatre School. In 2015, she was one of eight dancers invited to participate in the first hoop dance competition, as a part of the Gathering of Nations in New Mexico, the largest powwow in all of Turtle Island (North America.) Barbara also collaborates with various organizations, including La Danse sur les routes du Québec and Indigenous Performing Arts Alliance, with whom she facilitates intercultural educational spaces and supports Indigenous artists across all of Canada.
I met Barbara in the Longhouse of Kahnawake in the summer of 2023, while participating in an intercultural gathering with Kanienkeha:ka artists and educators. As part of the guest speakers, Barbara shared one of her hoop dances as well as a short-movie: Smudge, Dancing the Land. In the fall, we met again–this time virtually–to talk a little bit about her perspective on dance, so we could share her experiences with the Siwar Mayu project:
“…dance can touch people on many levels, not just on an intellectual level, you know, as reading an article. It also can touch people on emotional levels. And maybe you can even say spiritual levels (…) Dance is my vocabulary, the vocabulary where I am very comfortable, so the more words, the more moves that I know, and the better I can express things. These different vocabularies can be read by more people as well, you know. So that’s why I like to mix a lot of styles…”
Barbara Kaneratonni Diabo
As we can experience in her 2017 McGill University performance (see above), coordination and technique converge with color and beat in the hoop dance, all together in the midst of a circular movement of both body and story. Before her performance in Kahnawake, Barbara warned us that everybody in the audience would likely weave a different story throughout the dance, or at least would identify different beings or scenes from the natural world. Indeed, hoop dance is highly narrative, and allows simultaneous times and spaces: a butterfly, a canoe, a harvest, a mother carrying her daughter. In this thought-provoking space, there is a connection with the ancestors and with the land, but–as Barbara clarified to me–in the moment of a performance before a cross-cultural audience, her intention distances from the ceremony, although it is inevitable that some aspects of the ceremony slip through her performance.
“I have encountered people who would like to keep powwow dance separate from other kinds of dance, and I respect that. To me, there is a value in keeping a more pure form. I also think it’s important to evolve because I think all these dances came from their environment at the time. And, you know, where did that time start? Where did that time end? Is it just a glimpse of a 100 years or a glimpse of 500 years? Who knows, right? We don’t know. So to me, we’re just continuing what we’ve always done, which is creating our dances from our environment in our experience as Indigenous people.”
Barbara Kaneratonni Diabo
Through the transformation of Indigenous cultural expressions, new generations may find an art form which they can identify with, and then receive “tradition” from this dynamic environment. Furthermore, Barbara’s dance is a powerful tool to break stereotypes that classify “Indigenous art” as “folklore,” since these dances are, at the same time, ancestral and contemporary. This aspect is clear in the short-movie Smudge.
Choreographer and dancer: Barbara Kaneratonni Diabo. Director: Pepper O’Bomsawin. Music: “New Women Song” by Cris Derksen featuring Jennifer Kreisberg. Dancer and additional choreography: Marshall Kahente Diabo. Director of photography and promo photo: François Léger Savard. Editor and colorist: Eric Morel.
In the middle of the global pandemic, during the time of social distancing, Barbara had an idea for Smudge, a piece in-between film, dance, and intergenerational healing. While walking in the forest behind her house, she felt the need to dance with the land and to reconnect with the trees and insects through movement and her body. One location of Smudge is that forest. The other location is the McCord Stewart Museum and its “Wearing Our Identity” exhibition, on which Marshall Kahente Diabo, Barbara’s son, tries to reconnect with the pieces and regalia exhibited, out of reach on the other side of the glass showcases.
“… one of the themes around this film is that when our culture isn’t accessible to us, when the land is no longer accessible to us, what do our beliefs, practices, and ceremonies mean? If you can’t access that, you know, you can go through emotions. But what does that mean? And so to have our clothing, our culture behind glass cases, inside, not outside, I found that was the perfect location.”
Barbara Kaneratonni Diabo
The contrast between the museum and the forest, the son and his mother, the inside and the outside, oblivion and memory, is powerful. Despite this apparent contradiction, both dancers communicate with each other through dance, and build an intergenerational vision: perhaps the certainty that we are all one with nature, and that everything is in a state of movement, the sap of a tree, traditional practices, atoms–as Barbara reminded me. At the end of our short interview, I asked Barbara if she had any advice for the young artists who may one day read this text. In response she said:
“…we’re all born with gifts, and we’re on a journey to discover what our gifts are. So just be your authentic self, and there is a place, an important place for you.”
Juan Guillermo Sánchez Martínez was born in Bakatá/Bogotá, in the Colombian Andes. He coordinates the online multilingual anthology and exhibition Siwar Mayu, A River of Hummingbirds. He has published the following books of poetry: Uranio (2023), Bejuco (2021), Salvia (2014), Río (2010), and Altamar, awarded with the National Prize in Colombia in 2016 (University of Antioquia). He is the author of Memoria e invención en la poesía de Humberto Ak’abal (Abya-Yala, 2012). In 2019, he co-edited the volume Muyurina y el presente profundo with Quechua writer Fredy Roncalla (Pakarina/Hawansuyo), and he is currently co-editing Abiayalan Pluriverses. Bridging Indigenous Studies and Hispanic Studies with Gloria E. Chacón and Lauren Beck (Amherst College, 2024). He is an Associate Professor in the Department of Indigenous Learning at Lakehead University (Thunder Bay, Canada).
The translator
Jocelyn Montalban was born in Ontario, Canada, where she currently lives. Her parents immigrated to Canada from Guatemala City in 1997. In 2023, she obtained a Bachelor’s Degree in Criminology from Lakehead University (Ontario, Canada). She is currently studying to obtain a Master’s degree in Social Justice. Her research focuses on Indigenous issues in Canada. In her free time you can find her traveling or hiking in the mountains.
At the turn of the century, animation was not the first option for Indigenous artists. Actually, when Joseph ᎧᎾᏘ Erb (Cherokee Nation) drove from Oklahoma to Philadelphia to do his Graduate Studies in Fine Arts at the University of Pennsylvania, he wanted to be trained in sculpture. However, some days before he arrived, there was an accident in one of the sculpture studios, and the program he was interested in was all but canceled. Since he did not not know exactly what to do, some professors motivated him to go into animation. While learning this new art, someone asked him: “Why don’t you try Cherokee stories?” This was in the early 2000´s, and that question opened a door through which Joseph Erb has refined his aesthetics and traditional narratives, elevating Indigenous animation to a new level. “The Beginning They Told / ᏗᏓᎴᏂᏍᎬ ᎤᏂᏃᎮᏓ” was the first Cherokee animation in Tsalagi, the Cherokee language. Since its production, Joseph Erb has expanded the use of Cherokee language in technology, cinema and education. Currently, he teaches at the University of Missouri Digital Storytelling and Animation.
In “The Beginning They Told / ᏗᏓᎴᏂᏍᎬ ᎤᏂᏃᎮᏓ”, Grandpa Beaver, Little Water Beetle, and the Great Buzzard work together somehow to create what today we call the Appalachian and Rocky Mountains. It is not just the use of Tsalagi and the syllabary that makes this short animated movie Cherokee, but also the way the elder-ones talk respectfully with each other, and are comfortable with their long silences. Furthermore, small pieces of a complex cosmology are shared in these stories such as the relevance of the numbers 4 and 7, or references to specific places where the community gathers medicines. As Erb explains, not all audiences pay attention to these details, and Indigenous animation is sometimes classified as “fiction” or “myth” in film festivals. Nevertheless, Erb prefers to call his art “traditional narratives”, because –as the animation title above suggests– these stories are still being told, believed, and followed by some members of the community. These short animations are not about supernatural beings, but contemporary representations of stories –which have many versions– that teach how to walk in “the proper way” (Duyuktv.)
Screenshots of an animated series, “ᎡᎵᏏ ᎤᏁᎫᏥ / Granny Was an Outlaw”, placed in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, in which modern day Cherokee life intertwined with tradition.
When you ask Joseph Erb about the challenges of doing what he does, he has plenty of stories to explain. Indigenous animation is not just about designs and aesthetics, but also about having the right tools, resources and technology. For instance, the software, app, or program being used needs to offer the syllabary keyboard and include the appropriate fonts to represent the language. This special consideration requires establishing relationships with big companies such as Google, Apple or Microsoft. Once you finally have the technology, you would never imagine that the syllabary font has to be approved at some point by the tribe, because the digital version is a different one than the 1820’s type that some elders are accustomed to. Now, after all of those negotiations –extra work– with both tech companies and the tribe, imagine that the moment to share your work has arrived. If the animation’s voice over is in Tsalagi (the Cherokee language), then you hope the non-Tsalagi-speakers will engage with the version with English subtitles, which is not something that some audiences enjoy. At these crossroads, Erb’s art finds the proper way to represent Cherokee narratives between codes, channels, and audiences. As Erb told me, elders who he worked with in “The Beginning They Told / ᏗᏓᎴᏂᏍᎬ ᎤᏂᏃᎮᏓ” were really excited about the possibility of seeing the Great Buzzard represented for the first time in this code. “A couple of elders made me actually animate it”, said Erb laughing.
The first animation that I encountered by Joseph Erb was “Mini Wiconi / Water is Life”, an artivist piece dedicated to the protectors of water at Standing Rock Sioux Nation. As voice over, Standing Rock Chief David Archambault II guides the animation with a clear message. Black uniforms over a red horizon in which fences disrupt the land are juxtaposed with black and red buffalo running free through the great prairies. How can an artist adequately represent the fact that 31 million buffalo were slaughtered at some point as a settler-colonial stratagem? Mountains of buffalo skulls in white fill the screen so the snake/train –a metaphor for progress and extractivism throughout Abiayala– can cross. Instead of the rhythm of buffalo’s hooves on the land, we suddenly can hear only bulldozers. Led by women, all types of peoples, all nations will always protect water for future generations. No Dakota Access Pipeline.
When I asked Erb about his vision for the future of Indigenous animation and game design, he was excited about the possibilities for indigenizing “narrative structures” with those unique flavors that place and community can add to creativity. “A place-based robust aesthetics” is Joseph Erb’s advice for younger Indigenous designers. One of his latest projects is Trickster, an app-video game in which the player drives the journey of a young person who is rescuing words in Tsalagi within a forest. While the player enjoys the obstacles and visuals (i.e. tree bark tattooed with Mississippian designs, or the underworld patterned as a basket), everytime he hits a word, they are able to listen one of the beautiful languages of one of the first peoples of the Appalachian mountains, the Cherokee.
He grew up in Bakatá/Bogotá, Colombian Andes. He dedicates both his creative and scholarly writing to indigenous cultural expressions from Abiayala (the Americas.) His book of poetry, Altamar, was awarded in 2016 with the National Prize Universidad de Antioquia, Colombia. He coordinates Siwar Mayu, A River of Hummingbirds. Recent work: Bejuco (2021), Muyurina y el presente profundo (Pakarina/Hawansuyo, 2019); and Cinema, Literature and Art Against Extractivism in Latin America. Dialogo 22.1 (DePaul University, 2019.) He is currently Associate Professor of Languages and Literatures, and Native American and Indigenous Studies at the University of North Carolina Asheville.
Miguel Angel Oxlaj Cúmez is Maya kaqchikel, from Chi Xot (Comalapa, Guatemala). He holds a degree in Mass Media Communications from the University of San Carlos Guatemala, and a Specialization in Linguistic Revitalization from the Mondragon University of the Basque Country, Spain. He is a professor at the Maya Kaqchikel University –Chi Xot campus–, a union leader, and a social/digital activist for Indigenous languages. He is one of the organizers of the Virtual Latin American Festival of Indigenous Languages. Miguel is a representative for the Mayan, Garífuna and Xinka peoples (UMAX) before the University Reform Commission -CRU- of the University of San Carlos Guatemala, as well as a representative for the Fight against Racism, Xenophobia and other Forms of Discrimination Movement, of the Public Services International Organization -ISP- for Mexico, Central America and the Dominican Republic. He is a member of the collectives: Kaqchikela’ taq tz’ib’anela’, and Ajtz’ib’. In 2009 he was awarded with the National Prize for Indigenous Literatures B’atz, Guatemala. He has published: La misión del Sarima’ (“The Sarima’s Mission”, narrative), Mitad mujer (“Half woman”, narrative), and Planicie de olvido (“Plains of Forgetfulness”, poetry.) His poems have been published in digital magazines and anthologies in both Kaqchikel and Spanish. He has written about one hundred stories for the Guatemalan Ministry of Education’s textbooks, which have been translated into Maya languages such as Q’eqchi ‘, Mam, K’iche’, Tzutujil, Q’anjobal, Achi, Ixil. He writes poetry and narrative, both in Spanish and Kaqchikel –his native language.
II
Rïn chuqa’ xinaläx kik’in ri kaminaqi’
xinaläx chuxe’ ri ruk’isib’äl q’aqajob’q’aq’ ri ruk’wa’n wi ri kamïk
ri q’aq’ nib’ojloj toq nkamisan ja wi ri’ ri uxlak’u’x
ri nima oyowal yeruxe’qeq’ej wi konojel ri rurayb’el ri qak’u’x
ri q’aq’ nkamisan ruk’ojon wi ri taq qachi’
xa xe wi ri kib’is ri xe uk’we’x
nuretz wi jub’a’ ri maq’ajan
rik’in ri ruk’isib’äl taq kich’ab’äl
rik’in ri ruk’isib’äl taq kitzij
rik’in ri ruk’isib’äl kitzij ri xkijosja’ kan
rik’in ri ruk’isib’el taq kib’ixab’änïk
rik’in ri ruchoq’omalil ri kisamaj kichapon
Rïn yenwak’axaj wi
ja ri’ wi ri lema’ ri yinkiwartisaj
[ronojel taq tokaq’a’]
ja ri’ wi ri achik’ ri yennataj toq nsaqär pe
ja ri’ wi ri itzel taq achik’ ri yik’asb’an
[rik’in xib’iri’il]
kik’in ri tzijonem ri’ xinwetamaj ri sik’inïk wuj
rik’in ri ronojel re’ xinwetamaj xinsik’ij ruwäch ri k’aslemal
rik’in ronojel re’ xinmestaj ri kikotem
Ja k’a ri’
toq ri e k’äs pa kik’u’x
majun wi yeq’ajan ta
juk’a’n wi yetzu’n apo
yetze’en wi rik’in janila b’isonem
nikijalwachij wi ki’
nkikusaj wi ri k’oj ri kikusan konojel
yeb’ixan wi chi re ri amaq’ ri ya’on chi kiwäch
chuqa’ yexuke’ wi chwäch ri ajaw ri man itzel ta tz’eton
Ja ri kojqan
xa xe wi ri yek’ase’
Ja ri toq xinch’akulaj ri kamisarem
ri kamisanel q’aq’ chuqa’ ri ajch’ayi’, rije’ ri’ xe’ok wetz’anel
ri kamïk xok nuchajinel
Wakami
jun peraj chi re ri nuwinaqil
k’a tal tajin nisk’in
ri jun chïk tanaj
nrajo’ ta nuyupij jun runaq’ ruwäch chi re rik’aslemal
pa runik’ajal re jun li’an re’ rulewal ri mestaxinïk
II
I graduated with the class of the dead
I was born under a hail of gunfire
rifles were peace
the war crushed our dreams
bullets sewed our mouths shut
and the silence was only broken by the cries
of the disappeared
by their fraying voices
their last words
their murmured goodbyes
their final advice
their reasons for fighting
I listened to them
they were my bedtime stories
[every night]
they were dreams I remembered in the morning
the nightmares that awakened me
[screaming]
the histories with which I learned to read
to understand life
to forget about happiness
Then
those who thought they were alive
kept silent
averted their gaze
smiled sadly
disguised themselves as normal
put on whatever mask was fashionable
sang the anthem to a country that had been imposed on them
xsach chupam ri rub’eyal ri jalajöj taqruyuchuj rutz’umal
Ri wati’t ri nimalaxel
Ri ruponib’äl
Xetal ruchapom rupub’axinïk ri pom
ruchapon runojsaxik ri kajulew
rik’in rujub’ulil
juq’o’ taq oq’ej
juq’o’ ruwäch b’ixanïk ri man e tz’eqet ta
rik’in k’a jun sutz’aj rayb’äl ri e oyob’en
Ri cera ri jalajöj kib’onilal
kichapon ruk’atïk ri kib’isonem chuwäch ri Tyox
nikisaqirisaj ri rokib’äl ri kamïk
nikisaqirisaj rupaläj ri meb’el ri xe tal k’o
ri man nib’e ta
kichapon rutijik ri tz’ilan rurayb’äl
re jun amaq’ re’
[ri man choj ta nk’oje’]
Ri kaji’ jäl (saqijäl, q’anajäl, raxwach chuqa’ ri kaqajäl)
xetal e k’o chuwäch ri Tyox
tajin nkichajij ri ruq’ijul ri wa’ijal
richin manäq xketoqa ta chïk
richin manäq xkemestäx
richin xkexime’paki natab’äl ri winaqi’
ri xeti’ojir rik’in kisamaj ri qawinäq
Ruxara ri k’äy
ruk’u’x ri q’ijul
ruk’ulb’a’t ri q’axomal rik’in ri k’ayewal
akuchi’ [xa jub’a’ ma] xe tal nasäch awi’
(richin akosik, richin ab’ey, richin ab’is…)
ri xara ri’ xetal yakon chuxe ruch’atal ri Tyox
ruchapon ruch’amirsaxïk ri b’isonïk
yerukuxka’ ri
[jalajöj]
taq animajinäq
[ri majun kitzolib’äl ta]
Ja ri rij rupo’t
Loq’oläj sik’iwuj
akuchi’ xutz’ib’aj ri runa’ojil
akuchi’ xupab’a’wi ri ruch’ob’oj
akuchi’ xuyäk kan ri rumanq’ajanil
akuchi’ xerupach’uj ri rutzij
K’a xetal rewan ri ruk’u’x ri aq’ab’äl
tunun k’a paruwi’ ri ruch’atal ri Tyox
royob’en toq rija’ xtiyakatäj chik pe
richin ruq’ejelonik ri nimaq’a’
[bisbissbisssbis, bisbissbisssbis
bisbissbisssbis, bisbissbisssbis]
Rub’ixanik pa bisis
xetal nq’ajan kik’in ri q’eqal taq jäb’
nroq’ej toq ye’ik’o ri al
nxik’an k’a kik’in
nib’e, nanimäj
ruma man tikirel ta nib’an ri tiko’n
chi rij ruq’ab’aj
ma x ata chi rij ruxikin
Ri wati’t, ri nimalaxel
Ja ri’ toq xluke’ qa ri rij
ja ri’ toq xsach rutzub’al
ja ri’ toq chajir ruwi’aj
ja ri’toq xetzaq el ri reyaj
Ronojel ri’ man ja ta rurijixik xub’ij
man ja ta ri raq’ab’äl xutzijoj kan
Xa jari’ wi rusipanik xuya’chi re ri k’aslem
Jari’ ri ruwinaqil xutzolij
chwäch ri jalajöj kiwäch taq kamïkri xepe chi rij ri ruwinäq
Rusemetil ri ruq’ab’aj
ri pa’k xel pe chi rij ri ruxtuxil
ri chikopiwinäq ruch’ami’y
ri ruchajil rupo’t
man ja’ ta ri ruch’ojixinik ri meb’alil akuchi’ xya’ox wi
man ja’ ta chuqa’ ri retal ri ruq’axomal
Jari’ ri rija’tz ri xutik kan
ri rayb’äl xretaj ri chuwäch apo
Ri wati’t ri nimalaxel
Ri q’ijul man xtikïr ta chi rij
xpapo’ chupam jun b’olqo’t richin ri ruxoq’op
xsach ruk’u’x chuwäch ri ruwachib’äl ri rupo’t
xsach chupam ri rub’eyal ri jalajöj taq ruyuchuj rutz’umal
My grandmother the nimalaxel [1]
Time could not stand her
it stopped in the weaving of her xoq’op [2]
it was confused by the code of her huipil
it got lost in the labyrinths of her wrinkled skin
My grandmother, the nimalaxel…
Her incenser
continues erupting copal
saturating the universe
with the aroma
of a million laments
of a thousand shapeless songs
of a cloud of hopes
The colored candles
continue burning their silence before the Tyox [3]
lighting death’s arrival
illuminating misery’s persistence
consuming the illusion
[exiled]
of a people
[rebelling]
The four ears of corn (white, yellow, black, and red)
remain, intact, before the Tyox
watching over times of hunger
so they are not repeated
so they are not forgotten
so they remain tied
to the memories of men
who get fat with the sweat of our people
The jar of k’äy [4]
nectar of time
border between pain and misfortune
[almost] mandatory point of disconnection
(richinakosik, richinab’ey, richinab’is…)
kept in reserve beneath the table of the Tiox
aging sorrows
dressing the
[consecutive]
escapes
[without return]
Her huipil, the rijpo’t,
sacred book
where she wrote her memories
where she engraved her thoughts
where she expressed her silence
where she gave shape to her verses
It continues encrypting the afternoon’s code
And folded on the Tyox’s table
It waits for her to wake up
for the morning ceremony
[hmmhmmmhmmmhmm, hmmhmmmhmmmhmm
hmmhmmmhmmmhmm, hmmhmmmhmmmhmm]
Her hummed song
still livening up the pouring rain
crying as the falcons pass
she flies with them
leaving, fleeing
because no one can plant the seed
on the back of her hands
or behind her ear
My grandmother, the nimalaxel…
Her curved back
her lost look
her grey hair
her deformed teeth
were not the symbol of her old age
nor the signs of her sunset
they were her offering to life
her [human] answer
to the bloodbath of pillage
The callus of her hands
her torn heels
her chewed up cane
her faded huipil
Were not a complaint about her impoverishment
nor a testament to her pain
They were a planted seed
the mathematical projection of every dream she harboured
My grandmother, the nimalaxel…
time could not stand her
it stopped in the weaving of her xoq’op
it was confused by the code of her huipil
it got lost in the labyrinths of her wrinkled skin
[1] Nimalaxel, literally means “sister or older sibling,” but can also be used to designate ones who “help” the Texel. The Texel is the female version of a town’s cofradía. In other words, Nimalaxel is a position of leadership and community service.
[2] Hairbrand with a strip of fabric.
[3] Tyox is the Kaqchikel-ization of the Spanish “Dios” and this is how one refers to the “plurispiritual” altar where Chiristian images and elements of Maya spirituality are venerated.
[4] K’äy: liquor, literally “burning water.”
Richinakosik, richinab’ey, richinab’is: reasons often said before having a drink. Literally "for your fatigue, for your path, for your sadness..."
Xutukukej k’a ruxe’el ri ruch’ab’äq ri ruk’u’an pa ruk’u’x
xub’än utzil ri rupub’, xirukanoj, xiril, k’a ri’ xiruk’äq k’a pe wakami
kik’in re juläy etzelaneltaq tzij re’
Ri nuchi’ ruk’ojonwi ri’
choj ja’e wi yitikir ninb’ij a po chi re
Xaxe’ wi nink’utula’ qa chuwe
achike choq’oma
achike choq’oma chuwe rïn
Xinya’ k’a chinuwäch chi nintaluj
rik’in k’a jub’a’ k’o ri ntikïr nutzolij tzij chi re
I
-Majun niq’a’xta chuwe rub’anob’al ri kaxlan ajaw- xub’ij toq xqachop qa ri ruwaxulan
¿Achike rub’anik nub’än chi re toq ye’apon chwäch ri kik’aqatil ri ajawarem chuqa ri k’utunïk ri meb’a’?
¿Achike choq’oma junam rejqalem nuya’ chi ke wi retaman chi man e junam ta?
¿Achike k’o paruk’u’x toq xetal yeruto’ ri ajawarem ri yatkitij, ja k’a ri chi re ri meb’a’ xa choj utziläj taq rayb’äl yeruya’ pe chi ke?
¿Wi retaman chi janila’ tz’ilanem xtik’oje’ ruma man oj junan ta xub’än chi qe, achike choq’oma man qonojel ta säq, man qonojelta q’äq, man qonojel ta qawinäq o man qonojel ta aj b’i la akuchi’la xub’än ta chi qe?
¿Nrak’axaj ta k’a ri qachaq’ qanimal toq yek’utun chi re jub’a’ paqach’ab’äl jub’a’ pa kaxlan?
¿Achike choq’oma janila’ xyoke’ toq xpe wawe’ pa qaruwach’ulew?
¿Wi nub’ij chi rija’ ajowab’äl, achike ruma xa xe’ k’ayewal, xa xe’ meb’alil chuqa’xa xe’kamïk xuk’ämpe chi qe?
¿Achike…?
Pan anin xinpab’a’ ri rutzijonem
man ninrayij yitzijon chi rij ri na’oj re’
kana’ ta ri natzijoj ri kamik’ayewal chupam ri kamik’ayewal
ruma chuqa’janila’ wi ninrayij ninwak’axaj ri kurij k’un
ri rub’ixanik runojsanwi ri k’ichelaj
II
-Nib’ix chi ri Israelí xek’ayewatäj juq’o’ juna’
röj ojk’ayewatajnäq juq’o’ wok’al juna’
chupam k’a ri q’ijul re’ xetal sanin chi qe ri nib’ix chi kij ri Israeli’
pa ronojel ruwäch ri qak’aslemal
richin manäq niqanik’oj ri qameb’alil qa roj
richin juk’a’n yojtzu’un chuwäch ri qak’ayewal k’o chiqawäch
¿Akuchi’ ek’owi ri kaqchikela’ taq Moisesa’
ri xkejote’ el paruwi’ ri Junajpu’ richin nb’ekiponij ri Ajaw?
¿Akuchi’ ek’o wi?
Nik’atzin chi yetob’os qik’in
richin nkik’ut ri saqb’e chi qawäch
richin nkitzalq’omij runa’oj ri q’aq’ chi qe
richin yojkelesaj chupam re k’ayewal
richin yojkik’w’aj chi kojik’o chupam ri kik’ palow
richin yojkik’waj chi nb’eqa chapa’
ri qak’aslemal
riqach’ob’onik
ri qana’ojil
ri qach’akulal
ri qulew
ri jantape’ qichin wi
Etaman jeb’ël
chi eb’osnäq chïk chuwäch re jun ruwach’ulew re’
kikolon chïk kik’aslem chuwäch royowal ri k’ak’a’ ajpop
po wakami xa tajin yejiq’
yejiq’ chupam re jun raqän ya’ ri etzelanel
¡Kan kekol tib’ana’ utzil!
Ri kurij k’un xutanab’a’ rub’ix
xub’än jun ti maq’ajan
ri raxq’ab’
numalama’ rij ri ch’eqel ruwach’ulew
Jun na’oj xik’o pa nuwi’
xintojtob’ej:
– Nib’ix chi ri maq’ajanil k’o pa ruk’u’x ri raxq’ab’
Jeb’ël akuchi’ ri sutz’ niqa paruwi’ ri ruwach’ulew
III
– ¡Tawoyob’ej na! – xcha’ pa oyowal
Ri maq’ajan man chi ri’ ta k’o
man xa xe’ ta chi ri’ –xub’ij–
ri maq’ajan k’o chupam ri ruk’u’x
ri xti xtän ri xetzeläx
ri xtala’ ri xetzeläx
ri ixöq chuqa’ achi ri majon ronojel chi ke richin xetok meb’a’
ri ajtiko’n ri xmaj ri rulew
ri ixöq ajtiko’n ri xq’ol
ri raqän ya’ ri xtz’ilöx
ri k’echelaj ri xtililäx
ri ruwach’ulew ri xpororäx
ri kurij k’un ri majun chïk ta rusok wakami
Xa jub’a’ ma wi yojapon qa chuchi’ ri raqän ya’
ruqul ri jun qupib’äl che’
man nuya’ ta q’ij chi nak’axäxkib’is ri loq’oläj taq che’
xanupimirisaj ri kaq’ïq’
yeruxib’ij ri tz’ikina’
– ¿Napon pan awi’ re ninb’ij chawe? – xuk’utuj paroyowal
– Ja ri rat wik’in rïn oj achi’el junmay – xcha’
kan oj achi’el ruk’u’x rijuyu’
ja ri rat wik’in rïn oj juqun k’äy
kan achi’el ruk’u’x ri q’ijul
ja ri rat wik’in rïn oj chajinela’
niqachajij jalajöj kiwäch taq k’aslemal
rat wik’in rïn xa oj moch’öch’il
ojaj q’equ’n
oj ruk’a’tz chi re ruq’ajarik ri saqil
rat wik’in rïn oj achi’el ri q’aq’
ojb’anön richin yojaq’oman
rat wik’in rïn oj achi’el riq’ijul
xojb’an richin man nipeta ri mestaxinïk
rat wik’in rïn roj ri aj
xojb’an richin man nqaya’ ta qi’
rat wik’in rïn roj ri ruch’ujilal ri ramaj
xojb’an richin man niqat’zapij ta qachi’
¿niq’ax pan awi’?
Ri q’axomal chuqa’ ri k’utunïk
ri b’isonïk rik’in ri kikotemal
ri rayb’äl rik’in ri q’axomal k’u’x
kichin juq’o’ ruq’ijul k’aslem
ye’anin chikipam ri k’uxuchuq’a’ ri qach’akul
juq’o’ mama’aj
juq’o’ ati’t
yech’i’an chupam ruk’u’x ri qach’akul
ke re’ k’a yesik’in:
tawelesaj chupam ri ak’aslem
ronojel ri xuk’ämpe chiqe ri majon ulew
ruma’ rutz’apen ri qana’oj
ruma’ niqatz’ila’ qi’ koma ri kityoxi’
ruma’ nimayon ri qak’u’xaj chirij ri pwaq
ruma’ oj q’olotajnäq koma ri manqitzij taq tzijol
kaxutun chuwäch re jun ruwäch k’aslemal re’
tamestaj ronojel ri ruq’oloj rusanin pan ajolom
tawetamaj ri qach’ab’al
kan takusaj k’a
tawetamaj ri qana’oj ri qab’anob’al
kan tak’aslemaj k’a
katzolin chupam ruxe’el ri qak’aslem
qawinaqir junchin b’ey…
– Tatz’eta’ rat – xinxoch’ij apo –
¡ri Pixcayá nimarnäq!
– Man Pixcayá ta rub’i’ ¿man awetaman ta? – xub’ij pe
B’ix qaya’ keri’ rub’i’ paqach’ab’äl
“rub’ixanem ri qaya’
rub’ixanem ri qaya’
jeb’ël b’i’aj richi jun raqän ya’
mank’o ta ruk’exel rub’ixanem
jun utziläj aq’om richin ri q’axomal …
K’a jari’ toq tikirel xqajäl ri qatzinonem
B’ixqa ya’
The man backed away
the rebellious child emerged
sparkling gaze
He shook the bottom up from the depths of his being
he charged, aimed and bombarded me
with these poisoned darts
My mouth was sewn shut
I could barely answer him in monosyllables
I just wondered
why
why me
Now I am sharing
maybe someone can answer him
I
“I don’t understand God’s role — he said while we began descending the slope
How does he manage to process in his office the whims of masters and the cries of slaves?
How can he give them the same amount of importance without flinching?
How can he support the aggressions of the impoverishing and sustain the impoverished with promises?
Why, I say, if he knew there would be so much inequity when he made us different, why didn’t he make us all white, all black, all indigenous, or all aliens?
Will he understand our Kaqchikel siblings when they pray in Kaqchiñol?
Why did he take so many centuries to come to our lands?
Why, if he claims to be love, did he only bring us death, misery and pain?
Why…?”
I interrupted him straight-out
I didn’t want to talk about it
it was like talking about war
in times of war
I also wanted to enjoy the song of the kurij k’un *
his trills filled the forest
* Kurij k’un: local pigeon.
II
“They say that Israel was captive for 400 years
Well, so far we’ve been captive for 500
and such is the time in which they have imposed on us the same as Israel
in every space of our daily slavery
and so we downplay our condition
and thus we alienate ourselves from our own circumstance
Where are the Kaqchikel Moses-men and Moses-women who
will ascend to Junajpú and burn pom for the Ajaw? *
Where are they?
It’s imperative they appear
to guide us through the saqb’e **
to interpret the foretelling of fire
to get us out of this daily horror
to make us cross this sea of blood
and lead us to the conquest
of our lives
minds
bodies
knowledge
of this land
that was always ours
Undoubtedly
they already arose in this land of confusion
they survived the sword of modern pharaohs
but they are drowning
drowning in the river of repression
Somebody save them from the river!”
The kurij k’un had stopped singing
a small silence was made
morning mist
caressing wet earth
An idea crossed my mind
I tried:
“They say that silence is at the heart of mist
right where the fog sits upon the earth…”
* Junajpú: Kaqchikel name for Volcano Agua (Antigua, Guatemala.)
Pom: ancient Maya word for copal and incense.
Ajaw: expression to name the Creator.
** Saqb’e: literally “white path.” Expression for the Maya “good living.”
III
“Wait a minute! — he rebuked annoyed
silence is not there
it’s not only there — he emphasized
silence is in the heart
of the girl who has been raped
of the child who has been abused
of women and men who have been impoverished
of the farmer who has been displaced
of the peasant who has been deceived
of the river who has been polluted
of the forest who has been riddled
of the land who has been looted
of the kurij k’un who has been left without a nest”
We were approaching the river
the scream of a chainsaw
silenced the sadness of trees
strained the wind
disturbed the birds
“Do you understand what I’m talking about? — he asked almost disappointed
You and I are a cigar — he continued
the pure essence of the woods
you and I are a shot of moonshine
the pure essence of time
you and I are guardians
guardians of different forms of life
you and I are shadows
darkness
imperative for the meaning of light
you and I are fire
we were made to heal
you and I are time
we were made not to forget
you and I are the pillars
we were made to fight
you and I are the madness of time
we were made not to shut up
Do you follow?
Pain and sorrow
sadness and joy
dreams and frustrations
of four hundred generations
they all ride on our atoms
four hundred grandmothers
four hundred grandparents
cry from our chest
and yell:
decolonize yourself
dereligionize yourself
dedocument yourself
desinform yourself
rebel against this egotistical system
unlearn so much banality
relearn our language and use it
relearn our thinking and live it
return to your roots
humanize yourself…”
“Do you see it? — I interrupted
The Pixcayá river has grown!”
“It’s not called Pixcayá, did you know that? — he said
his Kaqchikel name is B’ix qaya’
the song of our water
the song of our water
a beautiful name for a river
a marvelous song
a balm for deep wounds…”
And right there we finally could change the subject
Miguel Ángel Oxlaj Cúmez
Qach’ab’äl
I
¿Jampe’ xqachäp ruk’oqpixik pa taq qak’u’x?
¿Jampe’ xqachäp ruk’ojoxik ruchi’ richin manäq chïk nich’o’n ta pe chiqe?
¿Jampe’ xqatz’apij qaxikin richin manäq niqak’axaj ta rutzij?
¿Jampe’ xqamestaj rutzuquxik?
¿Achi’el toq xqamestaj chi ri qati’t qamama’ xekäm ruma rukolik?
¿Achi’el toq xqamestaj chi toq ri juläy xkisok, xkipaxij
ri qate’ qatata’, ri qati’t qamama’
xkimöl ruchi’
xkaq’omaj
xkik’achojirisaj
chuqa’ xkiya’ kan kik’aslemal pa ruk’u’x?
¿Kan chanin xqamestaj chi ri nab’ey t’uj ri xuya’ riqak’u’x xk’oxoman paqach’ab’äl?
¿Kan chanin xqamestaj chi ri qach’ab’äl ja ri’ ri xojk’asb’an?
¿Kan chanin xqamestaj chi xqatz’umaj chi paq’ij chi chaq’a’?
Ri qach’ab’äl janila’ yawa’
ruchapon kamïk
nikäm pa qak’u’x
ruchapon kamïk
chuchi’ taq qaq’aq’
pa ruk’u’x taq qochoch
Our Tongue
I
Since when did we start tearing it out of our hearts?
When did we sew her mouth up so she would stop talking to us?
Since when did we start covering our ears to stop listening to her?
When did we forget to feed her?
How did we end up forgetting that grandmothers and grandfathers died for her?
How did we forget that when she was hurt
our mothers and fathers, our grandmothers and grandfathers
took care of her
healed her
captured their own life in her words?
Are we going to forget so easily that our first heartbeat resonated in Maya Kaqchikel?
Will we forget so quickly that it was our language who gave us life?
Are we going to forget so easily that we sucked from her for days and nights?
“I urge you, if I die, to live as happily as you can. I want you to be a good person, who works hard, who has joy in her heart, who is grateful, whose heart sings, whose lips whistle, and who has a smiling face. This is life, my child, this is how life is.”
Paul M. Worley is Associate Professor of Global Literature at Western Carolina University. He is the author of Telling and Being Told: Storytelling and Cultural Control in Contemporary Yucatec Maya Literatures (2013; oral performances recorded as part of this book project are available at tsikbalichmaya.org), and with Rita M Palacios is co-author of Unwriting Maya Literature: Ts’íib as Recorded Knowledge (2019). He is a Fulbright Scholar, and 2018 winner of the Sturgis Leavitt Award from the Southeastern Council on Latin American Studies. In addition to his academic work, he has translated selected works by Indigenous authors such as Hubert Malina, Adriana López, and Ruperta Bautista, serves as editor-at-large for México for the journal of world literature in English translation, Asymptote, and as poetry editor for the North Dakota Quarterly.
Juan G. Sánchez Martínez, grew up in Bakatá, Colombian Andes. He dedicates both his creative and scholarly writing to Indigenous cultural expressions from Abiayala (the Americas.) His book of poetry, Altamar, was awarded in 2016 with the National Prize Universidad de Antioquia, Colombia. He collaborates and translates for Siwar Mayu, A River of Hummingbirds. Recent works: Muyurina y el presente profundo(Pakarina/Hawansuyo, 2019); and Cinema, Literature and Art Against Extractivism in Latin America. Dialogo 22.1 (DePaul University, 2019.) He is currently Assistant Professor of Languages and Literatures at UNC Asheville.
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