Colonizing Wild Tongues - Rethinking Schools

7/13/2021 Colonizing Wild Tongues - Rethinking Schools
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Colonizing Wild Purchase

Tongues PDF of this
Article
By Camila Arze Torres Goitia
RELATED
ISSUE:
My brain is a constant battlefield: harsh Volume 29, No.4

ch‘s and guttural r’s fighting against Summer 2015
soft ah‘s and rolling rrrr‘s. My tongue

tries to follow, catch up, code switch to
what my brain wants. As I suppress
https://rethinkingschools.org/articles/colonizing-wild-tongues/ 1/6
some words that come naturally for

others that don’t quite fit what I am
trying to say, I speak, knowing that
there is a better way to express myself.
I continually ask myself, “Who am I
talking to?” I can’t say anything off the
top of my head without running
through it. When I write, I pick through
the words in my head and constantly
erase when I realize the “wrong” one
slipped out.
The colonization began when I was 3. That was the year

when one, two, three, and four staked their claim over my
brain and tried to enslave uno, dos, tres, y cuatro—telling
them they were no longer appropriate in public. It was
the year when my favorite fruit became grapes instead of
uvas and the year my abuelita couldn’t understand when
I told her “I love you” because she could only understand
“Te quiero.” My mind was colonized by the English
language in preschool. Ever since, it has been a constant
struggle between accepting the privilege and
responsibility that comes with being bilingual, and
fighting to keep my mother tongue alive in its original
integrity.
On my first day of school, I was all excitement. Not like

my brother, who had trembled beneath my mother’s
skirt, trying to hold off entering the doors of education
as long as possible. As soon as I was unbuckled from my

car seat, I was flying through those doors too fast to hear
my mom yelling, “Espera, mi hija!”
I greeted the teacher, “Hola, como está usted?”—just like I

was taught to politely address my elders.
She said: “NO. We say hello.”
And just like that, a border was drawn across my mind—

half of me was legitimate, appropriate, and civilized, and
the other half was wild, inappropriate, and primitive.
Living with the genetic memory of my Incan ancestras/os,
whose tongues were cut for noncompliance, I obeyed. I
let those unfamiliar words infect my brain, spread, grow,
and exit out through my tongue—temporarily stunting
the flourishing of my native language.
More than that, though, I let those colonizers make me

believe that I was better than my own blood simply
because my mother could not speak their words. I
betrayed my people to claim a place for myself in the
hierarchy of elementary school. And if learning those
sounds and words was not enough, I had to make sure I
could navigate them with convincing ease. When Debbie
and Ashley—in blonde pigtails and corduroy overalls—
told me I had a funny accent, I went home and talked to
myself in my room for hours until I sounded just like
them. That night at the dinner table, when my mom said
“bold” instead of “bald” and “pass the carrrrrots,” I
gloated inwardly at my superiority. The next day, I made
a point of speaking to Debbie and Ashley in my new
Western sound, but they still moved on to their
hopscotch and jump rope without inviting me.
This is what colonialism does. It makes you believe that

you are better and smarter if you adopt the ways of the
colonizers. It made me believe that if I sounded like
Debbie and Ashley I could have their life and their
opportunities.
But I wasn’t Debbie and Ashley. I was Camila. Not Camille

and not Camilla, even though that is what I let teachers
call me. I would always be “other” in the United States. It
was years later, when I truly understood this, through
plenty of trial and error with the Debbies and Ashleys of
the world, that I started my own revolution—a struggle
for independence—promising to nourish my authentic
self by never forgetting my birth language.
To talk about this colonization, though, without

discussing the privilege that has come along with it
would be unfair, because to be a survivor of colonialism
is a privilege. Yes, bilingualism opens doors. Yes, I have
opportunities that some people who look like me and
have similar backgrounds do not have.
Still, these opportunities come with comments like “Oh,

yeah, you got that job because you’re bilingual.” First of
all, thank you for reducing me to one aspect of myself. I
am sure I do not have any other positive qualities that
could have aided in this achievement. Secondly, being
given a job for being bilingual is like being handed
broken pots as a Taíno in exchange for gold. Although
multilingualism opens doors, it also serves as a
gatekeeper—displacing me on the outside: somewhere
between Latina and Ah-muh-ri-can. If I am speaking with
a colleague and mispronounce jew-el-ry (one word my
tongue has yet to conquer) then I am other. If I am
speaking with my grandma and I pause, suck my teeth,

and say “Como se dice?” she has an hour-long
conversation with my mother mourning the death of my
Spanish. My tongue becomes a casualty of war. I
constantly find myself playing a losing game where I can
never be Latina enough for the Latinas (“Where’s your
accent?” they say) or American enough to be accepted
(“You’re so exotic!” they exclaim).
And so the colonization continues. So the sh‘s and ll‘s try

to coexist without slaughtering each other. And they will
remain at a stalemate until I do not have to choose to
use either when I’d rather use both, or until I can stop
translating in my head, or until I can stop
accommodating others by code switching. My mind is
colonized and it is up to me to resist, day after day,
fighting to overcome the tradition of silencing wild,
inappropriate, and primitive tongues. As Gloria Anzaldúa
said, “Wild tongues cannot be tamed; they can only be
cut out.”
Camila Arze Torres Goitia (Contact Me) teaches at Madison High School in
Portland, Oregon.
Favianna Rodriguez’s artwork can be found at favianna.com.
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7/13/2021 Colonizing Wild Tongues - Rethinking Schools

Colonizing Wild Purchase

My brain is a constant battlefield: harsh Volume 29, No.4

soft ah‘s and rolling rrrr‘s. My tongue

some words that come naturally for

The colonization began when I was 3. That was the year

On my first day of school, I was all excitement. Not like

as long as possible. As soon as I was unbuckled from my

I greeted the teacher, “Hola, como está usted?”—just like I

She said: “NO. We say hello.”

And just like that, a border was drawn across my mind—

More than that, though, I let those colonizers make me

This is what colonialism does. It makes you believe that

But I wasn’t Debbie and Ashley. I was Camila. Not Camille

To talk about this colonization, though, without

Still, these opportunities come with comments like “Oh,

speaking with my grandma and I pause, suck my teeth,

And so the colonization continues. So the sh‘s and ll‘s try

Favianna Rodriguez’s artwork can be found at favianna.com.

Copyright © 2021 Rethinking Schools All Rights Reserved. Privacy Policy

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