I recently read Bringing our Languages Home: Language Revitalization for Families, edited by Leanne Hinton.

The bulk of the book consists of contributed essays by various families/persons involved in language revitalisation in a family context. There are 13 chapters grouped in 5 sections.

The first section opens with two families working with Miami and Wampanoag languages. These are incredibly powerful stories, since they involve families working from zero. Miama language revitalization began with Daryl Baldwin, and his family, after the loss of speakers, and beginning from documentation alone. So much so, that Daryl persuaded a linguistics degree in order to reconstruct the language. The second language, Wampanoag, is also a “resurrection” more than a revitalisation – there were no speakers from 1850 to the 1990s.

These are truly heroic efforts to reclaim language. Part two speaks to families working in situations where there are elders who are speakers. We have the stories of two families working with Karuk and Yuchi. I particularly appreciated the Yuchi chapter, because of the way it laid bare the ways in which the explicit colonialism of English language forces to destroy indigenous languages.

Part Three speaks to family-based revitalisation where it is in concert with community efforts. This includes speakers of Kanien’kéha, Māori, Hawaiian, Anishinaabemowin, and Irish. The Māori chapter particularly resonated with me. It is the story of Hana O’Regan, who speaks about her own autobiopraphy, struggles with Māori and linguistic identity, efforts for revitalisation, and the difficulty within her own family.

All my years of lecturing, writing poetry in Māori, composing songs in Māori, and debating in public and on national stages in Māori didn’t prepare me for the moment I first held my precious baby in my arms.

And

Yet when the time arrived, I learnt very quickly that I didn’t have at my disposal the language I needed, and it wasn’t just the vocabulary; it was the idiom, the turn of phrase, the terms of endearment. I didn’t know the term for winding or burping a child, or how to say, “Let’s put your legs up so I can clean you up”; these weren’t structures or sentences I had ever had to use in the lecture room or with my peers!

I had hopes, when my daughter was first born, to speak only Gàidhlig to her. but I quickly found that despite being a somewhat competent speaker, the domain-specific competency needed for parenting rapidly escaped me. That, and other factors, eventually led me to abandon that practice.

Hana also speaks honestly and frankly about the problem of encroaching English, and that children do not care about intergenerational language transmission. Quoting Colin Baker:

For the child, language is a means to an end, not an end in itself…Language is a vehicle to help move along the road of information exchange and social communication.

(Colin Baker, A Parents’ and Teachers’ Guide to Bilingualism (Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters, 2000), 64)

Therein lies my own dilemma – young children will rebel against language they don’t understand when they know the speaker can use a language they do understand. These days a phrase or word in Gàidhlig is met by my now three-year-old with, “Don’t talk funny; talk properly; speak even gooder; what you saying that for” and similar. More about this below.

I also found the chapter on Irish (Gaeilge) very interesting. This was the story of a family that had joined with others in establishing a small group of houses in an area of Belfast together, for the explicit purpose of speaking Irish with each other, and fostering it as the first language among their children. It was interesting on several levels. The intentional decision to form a community to provide the children the opportunity to grow up in a Irish-first environment was always going to be challenging, as all forms of intentional community are. Secondly, the way in which the community faced schooling issues was also significant – once minority-language children start a majority language school, the balance of their language starts to shift. In this case, the families managed to achieve a critical mass to start a school, which initially was, ah, less than legal. Eventually it gained recognition, but then the growth of both external influences, and external parents wanting to have their children in an Irish-medium school, as well as the impact of ongoing school meetings and fundraising, placed very significant pressures on the community itself.

In all this, I have been struck by the way in which the language of home, of school, and of street, all interplay. Gàidhlig medium education in Scotland seems to face this barrier where students can get through a full sequence of in-language education (provided they can, the provisions in upper years are somewhat lacking still), but because it’s not the language of the street, the home, or the society, they disprefer Gàidhlig outside the classroom. Similarly, when a minority language is only used inside a home, it becomes a language of the home alone. Robust, widespread revitalisation appears to require deliberate incursions of the minority language into various domains.

Section IV is entitled “variations on a theme” and contains a couple of chapters that appear unique. The first deals with a family attempting to raise their child with Kypriaka (Cyprian Greek), and the challenges that presented in a variety of geographic contexts, ending with them eventually relocating to Cyprus. The following chapter is the reminiscence of Ezra Hale, daughter of Ken Hale, raised as a Warlpiri speaker. This is a fascinating chapter because Ken was the only Warlpiri speaker that Ezra and her brother knew. Ezra in fact has never been to Australia. And so it’s a fascinating case of “sole parent transmission” because Ezra’s only linguistic data for Warlpiri came from her father.

Section V deals with family-language programs. There’s a chapter on adapting master-apprentice style training to a family situation, with Kawaiisu, and a chapter on Finlay Macleoid’s work with Scottish Gaelic. I had encountered Finlay and his work (and opinions!) in the past, and he’s (to my impression) a man of decided convictions about language work. He has been actively involved in promoting the use of “Total Immersion Plus” work for Gàidhlig, and working to bring people into immersion contexts that also embrace “all of life”. He has also been involved in the development of Family Language Plans for Gàidhlig. These originally were produced with TAIC/CSNA, starting in the mid 80s. In particular, it’s notable the attention to providing appropriate plans for various home situations – both fluent speakers, one fluent speaker, neither fluent speaker, as well as considerations of community interaction. Finlay has also worked particularly to bridge the ‘domain gap’ (as I call it) of language with young children.

This was certainly my experience with my daughter. I didn’t have that vocabulary for Gàidhlig. I could read poems and stories, but I didn’t know how to talk about the fundamental things of life with a baby, or an infant, or a toddler. That was one factor that lead to my abandonment of trying to speak only Gàidhlig to her.

Finlay is still active, with the Moray Language Centre. Although it seems rather, hmm, less than easy to obtain some of the many resources he has produced over the years.

The book concludes with a chapter from Leanne herself, summarising some of the key points that emerge from the previous chapters, and offering some advice and wisdom for families.

So, to bring it back to myself. I live in Australia, far from most Gàidhlig speakers. My family is unlikely to make a significant contribution to keeping Gàidhlig alive. That does not mean, though that I have surrendered the fight. I have just reoriented myself to the current reality – I do not have all the tools and time to raise my daughter with a “One Parent One Language” strategy, and as she is now 3 years old, I am unlikely to ever shift the dominance of English.

But this book has galvanised me to begin a more active “resistance”. I am making conscious efforts to shift individual phrases and words into Gaelic. I use repetition and context to make sure they are understandable. Previously when talking about different languages, we would say “X’s language, Y’s language, Papa’s language”, but I have decided to refer to Gàidhlig as “our language” from now on. When Gàidhlig words are met with 3yo resistance, I offer gentle but firm push-back. For myself, I am working more diligently to expand not only my general fluency, but my domain-specific competencies. And every day I hope to shift the balance on the scales a little from English to just a little more Gàidhlig. It is a small, ongoing war against English.

This one’s hot off the press, and I read it voraciously over two days. Which given how little time I can normally carve out for reading, is itself a testament to the book. It addresses the American situation. Australia is obviously not identical, but a raft of similar issues apply here. Indeed, over half of all undergraduate teaching in Australia is done by casuals.

Childress’s book strikes me as an important contribution to the growing body of literature dealing with the adjunctification or causalisation of academic labour in higher education, a phenomenon of which I am a part (and which I will write more about in a part 2 to this post).

The book offers us eight chapters, the first hits you like a brick in the dark – the rather grim realities of what it is like to work as a non-tenured non-member of academia – low pay, minimal support, incredible overwork, disposability, and no path out of that situation. The stories that pepper this chapter in particular are depressing, and verge on a kind of ‘adjunct depression porn’, but they are also the reality of the majority of college instruction, and need to be squarely faced.

Chapter two does the work of making clear, especially for those who aren’t familiar with them, of the fundamental ‘categories’ of academics – Tenure Track, Non-Tenure Track, and Adjuncts (of various kinds). Childress does an important service in working through some of the numbers in terms of who teaches, and who is taught by whom, and also about how some representations of these numbers obscure the on-the-ground reality: that most undergraduate teaching is done by contingent academic staff, and that the tenured class is disappearing.

Chapter three plays a similar role of educating the reader, this time not about the hierarchy within institutions, but between them, community colleges, middle-class colleges, small liberal arts colleges, and the big R1 research universities. He also speaks to how these correlate, strongly, to the class origins, and outcomes, of their students.

Chapter four speaks to the hiring side of the problem – the oversupply of PhDs, the incredibly difficulty of getting a position, and how the continued creation of PhD graduates with no job prospects is a cruel bait-and-switch that is being blatantly and recklessly ignored by universities.

Chapter five looks at the economics of universities – where do they get their money, and where does it go, and why isn’t it on hiring staff to actually teach students. While some of the material here is familiar, Childress’ analysis of how ‘transferability’ works to commodifiy college credits – a credit hour is a credit hour and they are basically homogenous, interchangeable goods, puts downward pressure on pricing, and contributes to making adjunct staff likewise interchangeable and indistinguishable. This is one reason SLAC resist adjunctification – they (a) have significantly high incomes, (b) they almost do not engage in transfers, and so students come, stay full time, and graduate with a unique experience. Childress also examines the way colleges’ pursuit of shifting economy and job relevance works against stability. The chapter covers other issues too, all relating to costs: diversity, student supports,

Chapter six talks about life on the inside rather than the outside: the position of Tenure Track faculty, and how this works in favour of keeping (and accelerating) the status quo. It’s easy to think of oneself as a winner of a merit-based game, and everyone outside as not as worthy; the place and role of adjuncts in departments is largely invisible to faculty, and many structures of adjunctification make current TT life possible.

Chapter seven goes on to speak about the ‘third parties’ that suffer. What about students, admin staff, support staff and so on? They too are losers due to increased adjunctification. This is also a chapter where Childress provides another important, indeed crucial, angle – what is happening in higher ed is not an isolated phenomenon. Contingency of employment, the ‘gig’ economy, etc., is occurring across sector after sector, and it’s hugely damaging to employees. Witness, for the easiest example, the rise of Uber and other similar services. By re-writing employees as contractors, driving down wages, and outsourcing practically everything, we commodify everything and the only people who win are consumers. But only those with wealth consume.

Childress also speaks to technological issues here, before turning to a second important point – ‘hope labor’. The emergent model of the web heavily relies upon people producing content for free, in the hopes of gaining enough publicity to monetise it. That works for some, but it works well enough for only a very few. And yet, massive success at the attempt to become well known enough to capitalise on it, comes with enough publicity that it creates an information bias – we only see those who are ‘successful’ (and not how much luck played into that), not the huge number of people producing free content in obscurity.

This is equally true in adjunct-land. Adjuncts live with a deluded hope that teaching and service, and going above and beyond, will get them good will, and a foot in the door, and eventually transformed into genuine faculty. This happens almost never. Indeed, it seems crazy to outsiders, but the longer you are an adjunct, the more experience you have teaching, the less likely you are to gain secure employment.

What about those who aren’t scrapping by on multiple adjunct gigs? Isn’t that just a minority? What about all those industry professionals? Childress offers an analysis in four categories of independent workers.

A recent (atrocious) article in theconversation, just like many in the higher-education community, wanted to point to the ‘casual earners’ and ‘free agents’ – people who enjoy and choose to adjunct because they want to, because they enjoy the ‘flexibility’ of multiple institutions, or are industry professionals who enjoy teaching on the side. These people exist, without doubt. But they are not representative of the bulk – people who are either reluctants or financially strapped (if you’re wondering, I’m in the reluctant category).

This chapter also speaks to issue of gender rebalancing and devaluation, technology, marketing, and generation demographics as factors.

Chapter eight is hopefully and depressing at the same time. I had wondered whether Childress would offer any ‘solutions’. Or just leave us to wallow in despair. Childress does another notably useful service to us here. Firstly, he doesn’t just say, “well, hire more faculty”. He begins with a parable of a complex problem that required a multi-faceted solution, which worked. Higher Ed needs the same. He also goes on to give some advice to people ‘in the mix’ which is depressing as anything, because it’s (a) prospective undergrads, (b) prospective grads, and (c) colleges. No advice for adjuncts because we’re already screwed. But noteworthy here is one of his pieces of advice to undergrads:

Ask each one of your teachers what their status is. Are they part-time, full-time on contract, or tenure-track?

Would that all students did this as a matter of course.

But beyond that, Childress lays out a vision for colleges that would rejuvenate higher ed and move it to a model that actually had ideals and pursued them. I’ll quote his summary:

A worthy college works to foster and to respect its web of relationships. It is a culture shaped and steered by its faculty. It places everyone into a place of continual learning. It asks for regular public demonstration of that learning.[1]

That’s a place I’d want to study at, or work at. Unlike:

A college should privilege content knowledge over the people who carry it. It is a business shaped and steered by its managers. It places people into fixed roles of fixed expertise. It examines and measures the proxies of learning, evaluated only by an internal disciplinary audience.[2]

which is the default reality of many institutions right now.

Childress’s book concludes with an ‘aftermath’, and 2 appendices. The aftermath relates Childress’s own experience of academia, and it’s heartbreaking to read. And it concludes with this:

All cults, all abusers, work the same way, taking us away from friends and family, demanding more effort and more sacrifice and more devotion, only to find that we remain the same tantalizing distance from the next promised level. And the sacrifice normalizes itself into more sacrifice, the devotion becomes its own reward, the burn of the hunger as good as the meal.[3]

[1] Childress, Herb. The Adjunct Underclass (p. 154). University of Chicago Press

[2] Childress, Herb. The Adjunct Underclass (p. 154). University of Chicago Press

[3] Childress, Herb. The Adjunct Underclass (p. 163). University of Chicago Press.

On the continual raving of my friend Ryan, I picked up Susanna Elm’s book, “Sons of Hellenism, Fathers of the Church: Emperor Julian, Gregory of Nazianzus, and the Vision of Rome”, and I thought I’d offer my thoughts as I read through it.

The introduction opens with this:

This is a book about two powerful, enduring, and competing visions of universalism in the fourth century: Christianity and the Roman Empire. Yet, I will argue that these visions were in fact one, since Christianity was essentially Roman. Christianity’s universalism lasted because it was, from the beginning, deeply enmeshed in the foundational ideologies granting Rome’s supremacy.

This is an intriguing thesis, and one I’m inclined to agree with and interested to see it argued-out in the course of the book. It also contains a fundamental flaw in the way it’s constituted. “Christianity was essentially Roman” is a false statement. While I’m very invested in understanding and articulating the Christianity that was mostly co-terminous with the Roman Empire, I’m very aware and sensitive that this was not all Christianity, and that Christianity spread early, widely, and successfully beyond the bounds of that empire. Most notably, Christianity made its way, and its home, into the Syriac sphere very early, and thus into the Sasanian Empire, and the Church of the East existed as a successful, autonomous, and missionary enterprise from very early on. The integration of Christianity into Roman identity had, on the whole, a negative effect on Christianity outwith the Empire, because by tying Christian-identity to Roman Imperialism, it became more difficult for Christians outside the Empire to protest their non-allegiance to the ‘Roman’ religio. That is a big caveat that I would stamp on the introductory and dominant thesis of Elm’s work.

Nonetheless, insofar as Roman (in the Imperial, not the Papal sense) Christianity goes, it did indeed come to consitute its self-awareness of universalism in terms of that Imperium, thus giving rise to a very Greco-Roman ideal of Christianitas as Romanitas.

Elm’s method is to bring into conversation the writings of Gregory of Nazianzus and Julian (aka the Apostate). I think this is a novel idea and a good one. Particularly, I appreciate the way Elm rejects the notion that Gregory was a failed ecclesiarch and personally lackluster figure. Such a person does not become bishop of Constantinople, nor the most influential Greek theological writer of his age. By understanding Gregory’s writings as rhetorical perfomance that instantiates prestige, and by aligning the ‘true philosophical life’ as a performance of civic engagement for the social elites, Elm helpfully brings Gregory out from the purely ‘theological’ sphere and places him appropriately in the socio-cultural context of late-antique bishops as 4th century urban elites.

However, I have a second criticism of Elm here, when she writes, “Focusing on what unites rather than divides Julian the emperor and Gregory the Theologian reveals that the boundary between pagan and Christian was so porous that theses terms lose their analytical value.” In my mind this is a tautological statement that is also misleading, because it appears to mean, “Disregarding the distinctions between pagans and Christians and highlighting their similarities reveals that they are actually much more similar than they are different.” This is, ratione ipsa, true: abolishing their distinctions abolishes their distinctness. Does it have an analytic value to flatten some of those differences to highlight for us their similarities? Oh yes, certainly. And that is well-needed in this case, because Gregory and Julian are not figures brought into conversation and their similarities do need to be highlighted. To do so, however, and suggest that their differences are thus almost irrelevant is to do a disservice, I think, to those real differences.