“Culture is alive and well”
At least 200 tribal nations now call the metro area home
Gripping a microphone, Tessa Holds The Enemy Abbey welcomed the crowd of hundreds on the last day of the Denver March Powwow in her Indigenous language first, then English. The 18-year- old traveled from Mandaree, N.D., to represent her people — the Mandan, Hidatsa and Arikara Nation — as the 2022 Denver March Powwow Princess.
At the powwow, she listens to other tribal members speak their languages and tries to pick up on them. Abbey’s spoken Hidatsa words since childhood, and is now teaching kids how to do the same. The MHA Language Project estimates that “less than 100 people speak Hidatsa fluently.”
“My generation of people are going to be the ones that are going to save us,” Abbey said at the powwow Sunday. “Our language is still here. We’re still here.”
That is one of the draws for many to the Denver March Powwow — to hear their centuriesold languages echoing throughout the Denver Coliseum.
Native Americans in Colorado and beyond are striving to preserve these Indigenous languages for generations to come, but continue to run into hurdles. The 47th annual event, which took place this past weekend, brought Indigenous people of all ages together as they chanted and sang in their Native tongues.
Only 197 Indigenous languages are considered “living languages” in the U. S. today — and 193 of those are endangered, according to language catalog Ethnologue. An additional 49 Indigenous languages have gone extinct.
Native speakers are trying to pass on their languages by teaching the next generations at school, speaking in their Indigenous tongues regularly and more. But even that is proving difficult in Colorado, with this year’s pending closure of the American Indian Academy of Denver ordered by Denver Public Schools because of low enrollment and funding.
Members of at least 200 tribal nations call the Denver area home. Almost 208,000 Colorado residents identify as American Indian and Alaska Native alone or in combination with other ethnicities, according to the 2020 U.S. census.
Montezuma County has the state’s largest Native community, making up about 16% of its population. The Four Corners region has the state’s only two reservations — the Ute Mountain Ute and Southern Ute Indian reservations.
Other Colorado counties with measurable Native populations are La Plata County at 9% and Alamosa County at around 7%. But many reside in urban areas, predominantly around Denver and Colorado Springs.
What’s now Colorado was initially inhabited by the Apache, Arapaho, Cheyenne, Puebloans, Shoshone and Ute.
The Denver March Powwow attracts an average of more than 90 tribes, said Grace Gillette, executive director of the
Denver March Powwow. The 74-year-old Denver resident, who’s part of the Arikara tribe, said her parents were forced into Indian boarding schools and punished for speaking their languages, so they didn’t teach her “because they didn’t want us to go through what they went through.”
But Gillette describes herself as “hopeful” that the younger generations will perpetuate their Indigenous languages through traditions like the songs performed at the powwow.
“Our culture is alive and well,” Gillette said. “We’re not extinct like all the history books make you believe we are.”
Preserving the Lakota language
Colonizers “didn’t want us to speak our language because it was our relationship to our ancestors,” said Sophia Bagola, Lakota language and culture teacher at the American Indian Academy of Denver. Language gives “us pride in our identity.”
The 42-year- old, who lives in Denver, is a member of the Oglala Lakota. The Pine Ridge Reservation, which serves as “home to the Oglala Lakota Nation” in southwestern South Dakota, is one of the country’s largest Native American reservations.
Today, more Indigenous people are working to preserve their languages, although it’s a race against time, Bagola said. As elders pass away, the current generations are also referencing books and other materials their predecessors left behind to perpetuate Native vocabularies.
“If you didn’t grow up speaking it, it can be challenging,” Bagola said. “I’ve heard people describe it as dying, and I just don’t like to do that.”
Part of the battle is helping youth understand the reasons for learning their Indigenous language. “A lot of kids are like, ‘ Who am I going to talk to? And why do I need to learn it?’ ”
The Denver March Powwow and other events where elders speak their Native tongues present these opportunities to students. Bagola is open to teaching her language to non-lakota children outside of tribal communities.
“If we could offer this into regular, mainstream education, that would be a brilliant idea,” she said. “I would love to have Lakota language in every school.”
Dellmarie Dullknife Bradfield — whose great-grandfather, Chief Dull Knife, once led the Cheyenne tribe — learned Lakota before she spoke English. Before moving to Colorado in 1990, the Oglala Lakota elder grew up on the Pine Ridge Reservation.
Bradfield, 71, remembers her college sociology teacher’s words: “Once a language dies, a culture dies.”
“I see it happening,” she said, describing “a sad situation” for the Lakota people and other tribes.
“I see our Native people being so disconnected from their own cultures,” the Northglenn resident said. “Our young people are forgetting the way of life.”
Bradfield learned to keep in mind “seven generations back, seven generations in the future,” so she’s intent on contributing to the revitalization of both the Lakota language and way of life.
And lately, she’s noticed others share the same interest, with young teachers like Bagola helping with the language renaissance.
“Who we were before you guys came”
Anthony Crank’s resume as an instructor and linguist runs long.
After growing up in Montezuma Creek, Utah, on the Navajo Nation, Crank studied Navajo and Japanese languages at Northern Arizona University, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in music. He’s taught both music and language since then, currently serving as the Dine language and culture teacher at the American Indian Academy of Denver.
Navajos have settled here and there in Colorado, including Colorado Springs, Fort Collins, Boulder and Louisville, Crank said.
“Navajos are everywhere. … They have to go where the work is.”
But the 52-year- old yearns for more area Native speakers.
“It’s difficult to be at this age, and have very few people to communicate in Navajo,” he said, although technology like Zoom and texting has eased that burden.
Some of Crank’s young family members are eager to learn the traditional songs and ceremonies, but that doesn’t always translate into wider use of the language. “When I look at the younger generation — like my children and also my nieces and nephews — I see that they speak less already.”
Crank places the blame on religions outside of Navajo culture pressed upon his kinsfolk for decades once they were move to the reservation. “They were forced to be taught by the churches,” which would convert and “shame them” out of their traditional ways, he said.
So, the Denver March Powwow offers a chance for tribes to gather and be “who we were before you guys came,” Crank said.
“The community’s still there. It’s still thriving.”