Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

Contents lists available at ScienceDirect

Language & Communication

journal homepage: www.elsevier.com/locate/langcom

Shifting: Amerindian perspectivism in Kaska narrative

performances
Patrick Moore
Department of Anthropology, University of British Columbia, 6303 NW Marine Drive, Canada

a r t i c l e i n f o a b s t r a c t

Article history: This article proposes a perspectival shift in views of Kaska storytellers’ code-switching to
Available online 20 March 2018 appreciate its verbal artistry, its role indexing features of the colonial encounter, and its
connections to Kaska ontology. Despite the major social and economic changes experi-
Keywords: enced by Kaskas, the basic features of their lived reality remain unchanged, and they
Ontology remain open to understanding the k’éh “ways” of other dene “people”, including those of
Code switching
animals and other animate beings. While English speakers may devalue the language shifts
Subarctic
of Kaska storytellers, such shifts enhance their authority as prominent men who were
Dene
Athabaskan
among the first to assume paid positions, as creative storytellers well informed about oral
Narrative traditions, and as eye-witnesses to dramatic events.
Ó 2018 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.

1. Introduction

This paper argues for the ongoing significance of Kaska ontology as foundational for their cultural practices, including
language, what Kaskas refer to as Dene k’éh ‘Kaska way(s)/Kaska language’. Kaskas are a Dene (Athabaskan) group whose
traditional unceded territories are in the Yukon and northern British Columbia as identified on the map below (see Fig. 1).
In this article I use the term “ontology” in a similar sense to that used by Eduardo Kohn in his 2015 Annual Review of
Anthropology article, as meaning “the study of reality.” However, since for many Kaskas “studying” sounds like an academic
exercise for non-Kaskas, the sense used here is closer to “being” or “lived realities”. Despite dramatic social and economic
changes in the last two centuries (Moore, 2001), the deeper realities remain largely unchanged for Kaskas and for the diverse
dene ‘people’ who share the world with them.
One route to understanding reality and modes of being for both Kaskas and non-Kaskas is through stories, and it was
through a story told to me and Kaska language teacher Ann Mercier by Kaska Elder John Dickson at his home in Dene K eyeh
(Kaska Territory), Upper Liard, Yukon in 1987 that I began to appreciate Kaska ontology. His story about the girl who lived with
salmon demonstrated two apparently contradictory features: an adherence to Kaska understandings of the identities of
humans and animals and their relations, coupled with extensive use of English. The version below was transcribed1 and
translated with the assistance of Kaska language workers Ann Mercier, Grady Sterriah and Leda Jules.2 It is rendered in
ethnopoetic format with the text of the original performance on the left and the translation on the right.

E-mail address: patrick.moore@ubc.ca.

1
The Kaska text is in the orthography used by the Yukon Native Language Centre except that <i> is used to represent [I]. The text is in an ethnopoetic
format with line breaks for pauses and breaks in the intonational contour. The major parts of the story are indicated with Roman numerals.
2
The English translation uses plain text for portions of the original story that were in Kaska and italics for portions that were in English. Kaska words are
used for some repeated terms to parallel the use of English echo translations in the Kaska text.

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.langcom.2018.02.001
0271-5309/Ó 2018 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
34 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

Fig. 1. Map of Kaska territory.

Fig. 2. Kaska Elder John Dickson at Frances Lake, Yukon, 1992.

 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 35

Dickson’s story was particularly enlightening for me because it confirmed that Kaska storytellers were as well
informed as the Dene Tha storytellers I had worked with in Chateh, Alberta for nine years before moving to the Yukon
(Moore and Wheelock 1990). When I worked with the Dene Tha between 1976 and 1985 almost everyone, including
young children, used Dene Dháh (Alberta Slavey) as their primary language and the many exceptional storytellers
recorded narratives for hours at a time. Dene Tha public religious ceremonies called ndawots’ethe “Tea Dances” were
common events at which ndátin (dreamers) shared what they had seen in their dreams. In contrast, when I began
working in the Kaska community of Ross River, Yukon in 1985 most Kaskas would switch to English when a non-Kaska
was present, and they were reluctant to tell stories or sing. Indigenous cultural practices had been suppressed by four
decades of residential mission schools and by the dominance of white settlers. Dickson’s story confirmed for me that
Kaska knowledge of their traditions, including relations with animal people remained strong despite this repression. The
point at which the Kaska nédet’
e (dreamer) reached into the swanʼs down with his left hand and pulled the salmon girl
into the daylight struck me at the time as a dramatic assertion of the strength of Kaska language, traditions, and
ontological understandings3 (See Fig. 2).

Gédḗnı Ge
s Ga
gáh Néde 
The Girl Who Lived with Salmon
I
Down there someplace, Down there somewhere,
Dawson I think, this side someplace. someplace this side of Dawson [City].
You know that little kid? You know those little kids?
Ts’íd
ane tu  ge dā́cho
 yéh łu  ka
genahtą̄h. The kids were playing with small fish in the water.
You make it slough, 5 Where there was a slough,
that here salmon, [where] those salmon,
salmon, little bigger now, g
es, were starting to get a little bigger,
dā́negede’éł. they dammed it. [dammed the outlet
between the slough and the river]
All those three, four kids: All those three, four kids:
two girls, two boys. 10 two girls, two boys.
I są̂ ts’ída
ne ’áné gédésde
tl. Those kids must have gone home.
That one girl he’s gone, That one girl was gone,
about that big. about that big.
He3 got necklace. She was wearing a necklace.
That watch chain kḗt’e
 you got here 15 It was like a watch chain
sendīý a
, [with a] cross,
that cross. ́ a
sendīy .

Ya’, ı są̂ mo  endū́ h.

 ma Her mother [realized] she was gone.
Gee, mekah k’égedéł gṓlī ́ endū́ h. Gee, they went around looking for her, but she was gone.
I ts’ída
ne, one, two boys, 20 Those kids, one, two boys,
 ge yéh tu
łu  yéh kenetąh dé’. played with the fish in the water.
She’s gone. Endū́ é ejā́ ’.
Endū́ é ejā́’. She’s gone.

“Nedū́ é ejā́’ łą̄́ mekah k’ídzıyis ghǫh endū́ é,” “She disappeared and we went around looking
for her without finding anything,”
éhdı. 25 she said.
Łą̄́ m
om
a etsey. Her mother really cried.

3
Kaska, like other Dene languages does not differentiate gender in personal pronouns and his use of he to refer to any third person in English is
consistent with Kaska usage. In the translation the appropriate gender is used to help in tracking the characters.
36 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

ma
Mo  etsey.  ma
Mo  etsey.
Metá’ Her father
all over. [looked] all over.
ze neyedéhtın są̂t’e
“Dle .” 30 “A grizzly bear must have taken her,” [he said].

Medicine man, Medicine man,

one medicine man, nédet’
e,
he make medicine. he makes medicine.
Ejin, He’s singing,
ejin, 35 singing,
ejin. singing.
“Didı ı ahtsedzı negıyedéhtın. “Those that you eat [salmon] took her.
 ge zǭ́ze ejá’;
Didı łu She became one of these small fish;
s ejā́’.
Ge She became a salmon.
Ahtsā́ gıyedéhtın. 40 They took her far away [towards the ocean].
 t yéh gídés’e
Bo tl. They went by boat.
[shift in voice quality for one line]
 hinı ku
Ku  ge dḗt’ını gebo
 doge łu  dé’ gū́ lī ̨. They seem like fish to us [but] they have boats.
Dā́ gídés’e
tl. They went downstream by boat.
Dígū́ ht’
a łą̄́ endū́ é? What happened that she disappeared?
 jā́ gḗt’
Łéndu e. 45 She might come back like that.
l enehle
Sha  Make a fishtrap
kū́ hdigé gedege ne
dedáhlede dé’.” up there before it melts [before summer comes again].”

“Ham!” gedı’. “Yes!” they said.

II
Kū́ hdigé ts’ıd
ane nedū́ é yigé, Up there where the child had disappeared,
Łą̄́ dene nístlo
 n łêdeł. 50 lots of people came.
 ge
Kóla s kóla
 łâbeł. The salmon were already arriving.
l,
Sha Fish traps,
l,
sha sh
al,
 ge tégedeleh.
łu they were taking out fish.
 ge tégedeleh.
Łu 55  ge tégedeleh.
Łu
That’s why metá’ elın. That’s why her father was there.
 ge tésegın.
Łu He was packing up fish.
Ten. [He brought up] ten.
Iyéh meyéhłígé’ łu
 ge ahgan, Then his wife was drying fish,
salmon. 60 salmon.
Iyéh didı last one, Then the last one,
she take, cut its head. she took it [and tried to] cut its head.
Never cut. It never cut.
“Gā́s gā́s, gā́s.” “Scr, scr, scr.”
 hłını et’ā́s.
Ku 65 She cut [on] something.
Chain! Chain!
Well, he holler here. Well, she called out.
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 37

Here medicine man he come;  ya

And the medicine man ła l;
łâyal. he came.
 t’e
“I le . 70 “That’s the one.
I tu
 kīĺ ın, That water flowing,
nā́sdǐ ̨’ yigé nénahtḗ.” bury it over across there.”
I feather Those feathers,
feathers, chos,
that here swan 75 those swan
chosé’, feathers,
megígela’. they put over her.
 łą̄́ nā́né dene d
“Du uyā́ dé’.
ud “People can’t go across then.
Megā́naht
an wḗdé, Watch her continuously,
chą̄ nagū́ dīǵ ā́’ dé’.”
ta 80 until it starts to get light tomorrow.”

III
mǎ’,
Gee, mo Gee, her mother,
she didn’t know what she was going to do. didn’t know what she was going to do.
 łą̄́ cut ’em.
Du She didn’t cut it.
Wḗdé megā́naht an. She watched it all the time.
I chos digé dā́jā́ dé. 85 Those feathers started to rise.
That foam kā́jā́ digé dḗt’ın dé’. The foam was rising [and falling] like that.

“You got to see ’em. “You have to watch it.

Just esdógedije dé, sinı. Just tell me what happens.
Du łą̄́ mets’ī ́ ̨’ d uyā́ dé’,”
ud No one can go across [to her],”
that medicine man. 90 that medicine man [said].
“Sinı sąhdı mets’ī ́ ̨’ nā́né d
ug
ud ayı.”
us “Just me alone, I’ll go across.”

Chos megígıla’. They spread down feathers over her.

Idéh mo
mǎ’ wḗdé nā́né megā́naht
an. Then across [the river] her mother was
always watching her.
ma
Ma  Mom,
metá’ k’ı. 95 her father as well.
That he come here, foam. Foam appeared.
Next time like that Next
.”
“Ahe .” [she breathed in and out]
“Ahe
The people they saw it like that. They saw [the down feathers] rise.
That salmon nā́sdǐ ̨ seda
. 100 The salmon was sitting across.
s sed
Ge a ı. The salmon was sitting there.

“Kḗsedahdī ́ dé’,” “Remind me then,”

éhdı, that medicine man. that medicine man had said.
Dahch’ah mets’ī ́ ̨’ m
omǎ łégedáhtl’a’. Suddenly the girl’s mom came running to him.
 ́ chos kétlíjī ́ digé.”
“Unā 105 “Across there the feathers are rising.”

, kóla
“Ham, kóla  łéna
da
l le
t’e
,” “Yes, finally, finally she’s coming back,”
éhdı. he [medicine man] said.
38 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

IV
Idé mets’ī ́ ̨’ digedáhya’. Then he [medicine man] went across to her.
More ejā́’ digé, More were rising.
I feather. 110 those feathers.
Chos digé kítlích, The feathers were rising [with her breath],
ahgháné dé. one after the other.
Mets’ī ́ ̨’  alı.
ay He went to her.
He sign the cross like that, He made the sign of the cross,
mets’ī ́ ̨’ nísd
a. 115 [and] sat facing her.
He sing. He sang.
 ,́ ’ nahg
“Anī ussī ̨ są̂!
ud “‘Come,’ I say to all of you!
Desgū́ h left side esgané’ kéde
díj dé’, ı netū́ é’ elını.” When I lift up my left arm she she will be your daughter.”
I metá’ k’ı, Her father was there also,
just two zedlé’ come. 120 just two of them came.
 sa’ǎgu
A jā́ī ́ kéd
edīj́ kā́jā́’. A short while later he lifted his arm.
Gee, tseygedáhtl’a’ Gee, they got up crying.
 łą̄́ ahtsey!” éhdı.
“Du “Don’t cry!” he said.

ane digé dā́t’

Ts’íd e sed
a, That child was sitting up like that,
little girl. 125 [that] little girl.
Da amǎ gā́naht
mǎ, d an. Her mother, she saw her mother.
I ge
s endū́ h. The salmon was gone.
Kā́cho
dé that here ge
s, All of those salmon,
Dene elī ̨, metū́ é’. are people, [including] her daughter.
I necklace, right there. 130 That necklace was right there.
Łąsī ́ ̨ dé d
ułą̄́ k udḗ.
ug She wasn’t able to talk.
That here, ı doctor elını, That doctor,
medicine man, nédet’
e,
he give her a little water, he gave her a little water,
,
tu 135 ,
tu
 , warm water.
tu ̄ water, warm water.
He sign the cross before he give it. He made the sign of the cross before he gave it to her.

“Aneī!́ ” he call ’em. “Mom!” she called out.

He call ’em as soon as he swallow he swallow She called out to her as soon as she swallowed
that water. that water.

“Etū́ é’! 140 “Daughter!

 łą́sı endū́ é dzetsey yéh,”
Kóla We cried and cried when you disappeared,”
gedı’ they said.

Metá’, “Eté’é!” éhdı. [To] her father she called out, “Dad-dy!”

“Didı entsīé l
a, “This is your grandfather,
ı la ́ eht
 lēn el l
et’
e. 145 the one who made you come back.
I doctor elın.” He is a doctor.”
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 39

uts’ī ́ ̨’,
“Eskǭ́ą̄ g “At my house,
uts’ī ́ ̨’,
nahkǭ́ą̄ g at your house,
łą̄́ esdege dêhjit, Mom,” it’s really stinky for me, Mom,”
éhdı. 150 she said.
“Didı dek’éh neshegetın, “They [salmon people] slept in their usual way,
dene yéh tsā́ łâss
al. [as] I went way downstream with people.
Atsḗ łą̄́ dene nístl
on. There are lots of people [salmon] downstream.
Bot yéh dza ’o
 lı la
t’e
. We paddled by boat.
I birch bark boat yéh come up. 155 We came up with a birch bark boat.
 hinı gu
Gu  dege fish elın. They are fish for us.
Someplace we stop; Someplace we stopped;
we sit down, we sat down,
like that we go out again,” [and then] we went on again,”
éhdı. 160 she said.

Kólahóné’ dene all ye come. Finally all the people came.

“Łą̄́ dene désjit!” éhdı. “People are really stinky!” she said.
“You stink!” “You stink!”
Iyéh dene nédete
ı, Then that medicine man,
he give her something to eat. 165 he gave her something to eat.
He got that necklace, he cut it, He took the necklace and cut it,
that here she’s got her neck like that. the one she had around her neck.
He’s got his hair like that. She had her hair like that.
He give her clothes; She gave her [the girl] clothes;
mǎ’ he give her clothes.
mo 170 her mother gave her clothes.
Now she get up, he talk: Then she [the girl] got up and talked:
“Don’t you so far! “Don’t play so far away!
s,”
Your life that here ge That’s your life, that salmon,”
éhdı. she said.
 meghąh négétsey.
Da 175 They cried for her continually.
 jā́ kól
One week gu a After one week
dā́ch
o ejā́’. she became that big.

I la
 sa’ǎ they got a łu  ge zǭ́ze yéh ts’íd
ane kenetąh. Long ago if children had a small fish they were playing with.
́ ́ ́
“Ā’! Ā’! Ā’! Łṓgī’́ !” “A! A! A! Don’t!”
gedı. 180 They say.
That’s a true story that one. That’s a true story that one.
That’s a true. That’s true.
That Grandpa he tell me. Grandpa told me that.
You got to have here your kid, When you have kids,
you’ve got kid, 185 you’ve got kids,
 ge zǭ́ze.”
tell them, “Don’t play that łu tell them,”Don’t play with those small fish.”
Anyone, Anything,
That little fish, grayling those little fish, grayling
little one just like that you know, little ones just like that you know,
40 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

like that, 190 like that,

don’t play. don’t play with them.
 łą̄́ meyéh kenahtąh!
Du Don’t play with it!
Ahtsedzı la
t’e
. That’s what you eat.

My interest in what has been termed the “ontological turn” in anthropology partly stems from a desire to recognize the
fundamental importance of Kaska ontology, and partly as advocated, by among others, Martin Holbraad and Morten Pedersen
(2017), from a desire to explore the wider implications of this reality. This article also pursues some of the questions raised by
Aparecida Vilaça (2015) in her article concerning the Amazonian Wari’, “Do animists become naturalists when converting to
Christianity?” Like the Wari’, Kaskas have been extensively missionized. In the period from 1942 to 1965, even greater pressures
were brought to bear on them as an entire generation of Kaska children was forcibly removed from their home communities and
“educated” in residential mission schools where Kaska beliefs, cultural practices, and language were consistently devalued and
prohibited. Yet despite those and other traumatic experiences Kaskas’ deep understandings of reality have remained intact.

2. What exists

Because the Kaska language makes especially productive use of verbs both through complex productive verbal
morphology and through composite semantic processes it isn’t surprising that many expressions that might be rendered as
abstract nouns in English are more commonly based on verbs in Kaska. The Kaska expression enét’ e gū́ lın “whatever exists”
could be offered as a near translational equivalent to “reality”, and for Kaskas animate beings have their own perspectives,
lives, cultures, personalities, as dene “people”.4 Roger McDonnell who conducted extensive ethnographic research with
Kaskas in the 1970s (McDonnell, 1975), explored Kaska understandings about the term dene, for which he offered translational
equivalents such as “man,” “person,” and “human being” (McDonell, 1984). He recalls working to understand what Kaskas
were telling him about how animals were also dene “people” and recounts the explanation that was provided to him by an
unnamed Kaska man. This account is closely aligned with what Eduardo Viveiros de Castro (1998) has termed cosmological
deixis and Amerindian perspectivism, and not surprisingly the (McDonnell, 1984) article was referenced by Viveiros de Castro.
In any event, after a series of insistently naïve questions, one Kaska invited me to reflect on the asymmetric nature of
perspective by asking me to consider a beaver we had been watching. What we were able to see was an animal
swimming about, cleaning off its fur and eating bark and twigs, etc., and as pointed out, we would appear just as
different and strange to the beaver as it did to us. I was then urged to imagine myself over with the beaver, to reduce the
strangeness of all the material and sensible differences that separated us. The inference that was made was that it was
my vantage that created the differences; were I able to shift this, then what had seemed strange and remote would
become intimate and familiardthe inedible wood would become food to eat and so on. Kaska believe it is not only
possible but necessary to make such a move and, in the event, had I actually been able to do so I would have become
/ɣin/(conscious, aware) of beaver as beaver-dene. (McDonnell, 1984, 43)
One indication of the extent to which Kaskas adhere to a common understanding of this reality is the widespread use and
understanding of what Kaska’s call ’ı, for which the nearest translational equivalents would include “respect”, and “taboo.”
The description Dickson gives for the orgins and etymology of this term at the end of his story “The Girl Who Lived with
Salmon” is accurate: it is the nominalized form of an exclamation ( ’!) used when someone is about to do something they
shouldn’t. Children so often encounter this term that it is one of the best known Kaska expressions even for those who
habitually speak English. Animals and all animate beings are conceived as powerful people that need to be respected because
there are can be dire consequences for disrespect, as illustrated in Dickson’s story. Children are advised not to say that animals
smell, or are “yucky”, or even talk about animal droppings. They are told not to point at animals or celestial “objects,” such as
the stars. There are rules prescribing the proper treatment of animals being butchered, for the consumption of parts of an-
imals, and for the proper treatment of bones and other parts that aren’t completely eaten. The rules are especially
comprehensive for the large game animals, although there are general and particular forms of respect for every animate
being. There is a large omnivorous animal whose name is not used during the parts of the year when they are not hibernating
because they are presumed to be listening to what people say and think (some Kaska speakers refer to them instead as mísdzīh̨
“owl” and I will do that as well). There are special rules for women, women of childbearing age, pregnant and menstruating
women. Because there is no separation of human “culture” and “nature” ’ı also applies to forms of “respect” or “taboos” for
social interaction with people. Both children and adults might be advised not to step over or handle the hunting implements
and snowshoes of older men. Married women should avoid talking directly to their father-in-law, and men would similarly
not talk directly to their mother-in-law. There are also gendered expectations for particular activities and at first menstruation
girls traditionally wore a head covering in seclusion so that they would not gaze at male hunters.

4
Kaska has significant variation between dialects that affects many terms. The word for “person” or “people” in the southern dialects is dane. I have used
the Pelly Banks dialect as spoken by Leda Jules in this article.

̄
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 41

The consequences of violating respect, for doing things that are ’ı, violating taboos, are vividly illustrated in a plethora of
Kaska narrative accounts that include sa’ gu  dejı “traditional stories”, dídu
 t’ene gu
 dejı “stories of recent times, including historical
narratives” and personal accounts. In Dickson’s story above, the salmon people take the girl because their own offspring were left
stranded when the children dammed the slough where the salmon smolts were living. In another well-known Kaska story a
woman who is picking berries comes to live with a man who is a mísdzīh̨ (Moore, 1999, 332–356). In the Kaska account her only
offense was that she had attracted the man by having two berries rattling around in her basket. In the accounts from the adjacent
Tagish, Inland Tlingit, and Tutchone analyzed by ethnographer Catherine McClellan (1970) the woman was taken because she
talked disparagingly about the animal’s droppings. Non-Kaskas are not presumed to be immune to the consequences of violating
’ı , the rules of respect. In 1849 the Hudson’s Bay Company traders at Pelly Banks 1849 insulted a Kaska nédet’ e (dreamer, a
spiritually powerful Elder) by pouring out the soup he had sampled, causing the onset of winter in mid-summer, which led to
their own starvation (Moore, 2001, 661–675). Kaskas of all ages are constantly made aware of the wide variety of offenses against
dene “people”, including all animate beings, which can lead to unfortunate consequences.
Kaskas don’t recognize a sharp divide between culture and nature or between humans and other animate beings, a theme
of special interest to researchers concerned with ontology (Descola, 2013; Kohn, 2015; Horton, n.d.). Dene can be Kaskas, non-
Kaska indigenous people, any people, or any animate beings, and in this way their lived reality is similar to that described for
groups in Amazonia. Kaskas presume the different types of dene all have particular cultural practices, modes of subsistence,
and forms of communication, what is called in Kaska k’éh “way(s)”. In Kaska one can talk about Dene k’éh “Kaskasʼ ways/
language” or Gu nı k’éh “White peoplesʼ ways/language” or ey dene k’éh “some other people’s ways/language”. One could
 ska
also contemplate the ways and forms of communication of animals or celestial beings: tsá’ k’éh “beaver ways/beaver lan-
guage” or són k’éh “star ways/star language” although it is also clear that most people know relatively little about the ways and
language of animals and other animate beings, and because of perspectivism those beings will perceive their own k’éh as
simply dene k’éh just as Kaskas do (Kaskas such as the girl who lived with salmon or the woman who lived with the mísdzīh̨
perceived them as speaking Kaska). As McDonnell (1975, 1984) and others describe, however, it is evident that Kaskas highly
value knowledge from diverse sources, including that shared by animals and other animate beings, and historically they
encouraged children in particular to be open to these experiences. Kaska approaches to seeking and accepting this sort of
́
knowledge are similar to those I encountered̄among the adjacent Dene Tha (Moore ̄ and Wheelock, 1990).
The main principles of Kaska ways, Dene k’éh are termed Dene k’éh g s’a n, which some Kaskas loosely translate as “Kaska
laws.” The expression suggests an enduring code of values and practices since g s’a n refers to something general in nature
that is anchored or located in a fixed position. These “laws” are not the same as the ontological underpinnings of reality since
they are subject to violation and change and are relative to a particular group and perspective.

3. Shifting

The story of “The Girl Who Lived with Salmon” vividly evokes Kaska lived realities that include animal people, while
Dickson’s alternating use of English and Kaska illustrates shifting between k’éh “ways/languages”. For Kaskas there is a
general parallel between the appreciation of other cultures and languages and the valuing of knowledge obtained from the
perspective of animals and other animate beings. Similar sorts of mental flexibility and perspectival perception are required
for both, and all animate beings are, after all, also dene. At the same time the extent to which a person can successfully adopt
the k’éh (ways or language) of others depends on their relations with those others, their current audience, and the expec-
tations for respect of others, including the provisions of ’ı. Animals and other animate beings are so powerful that it is unwise
to mimic them. That is why the woman resisted her brothers’ repeated requests to put on the skin of the misdz h she had lived
with, and why she changed to a misdz h and killed them when she did that.
Some of the motivations of Kaskas for shifting between languages are undoubtedly similar to those of others
around the world who code switch and include referencing their ties to two groups and deriving authority, and
prestige from their dual language performances. Dickson was part of the first generation of Kaska men who learned
English, and as a young man he held a prominent position as the guide and interpreter for Sergeant Claude Tidd, the
first Northwest Mounted Police officer stationed in Kaska territory. While working with Tidd Dickson expanded his
knowledge of English and networked with Kaskas to eventually assume leadership of one of the two group traplines
uniquely allotted to Kaskas in the Yukon. Tidd, who was also an amateur photographer, took the photo of Dickson
below when Dickson worked with him (See Fig. 3).
Other Kaska men who worked extensively with English speakers similarly incorporated English when addressing a
́
bilingual audience (although Dickson and others were equally capable of speaking almost entirely in Kaska to those with
́
limited knowledge of English, or in English to those who didn’t know Kaska). Arthur John Sr., for example, who was a suc-
cessful guide, trapper and prospector, also shifted between languages (Moore, 2002), as did Alfred Caesar, who worked closely
with prospector Anton Money (Moore, 1999). While some Kaska women married white traders or prospectors, they did not
achieve the same level of prestige as the Kaska men in paid positions. Most Kaska women of John Dickson’s generation,
including storytellers such as Maudie Dick, used Kaska almost exclusively (Moore, 1999). There may be parallels between the
limits placed on women’s employment and engagement with white people, and traditional Kaska restrictions on women’s
activities, including gendered forms of ’ı.
Kaska men, such as Arthur John Sr., who were fluent in neighboring languages didn’t switch between indigenous languages in
the way that they did between English and Kaska, likely because these indigenous languages had similar status. It seems likely,

́
́
́
42 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

Fig. 3. John Dickson, Ross River, Yukon 1921, Tidd collection, Yukon archives.

however, that in the past some Kaska men may have been bilingual in Tlingit, and may have switched between languages, since
there are Tlingit terms for trade items and other concepts that came into use in Kaska. I return to this topic in the discussion of
language switching in historical narratives below. In other regions the bilingual speakers of other Yukon indigenous languages,
such as Tagish commonly switched between Tagish and Tlingit (Carcross Tagish First Nation, n.d.), likely because of the social and
economic prestige Tlingit assumed through their control of trade with the Pacific coast. The Tagish language, which is closely
related to Kaska, was eventually displaced by Tlingit through language shift, intermarriage and immigration. While some Kaskas
may have been bilingual in Tlingit in the past, none of the Kaska storytellers I have worked with were fluent in Tlingit, and their
use of Tlingit loanwords likely reflected the practices and knowledge of earlier generations.
Kaskas’ acceptance of switching between languages contrasts markedly with the negative attitudes of most Euro-
Canadians. For Euro-Canadians assumptions of cultural and linguistic superiority may hinder their acceptance of other
ways and perspectives. The prominent Kaska men who initially excelled at switching between languages were undoubtedly
motivated by the prestige and enhanced authority that they enjoyed and their widened social networks. Their switching may
also have been facilitated by Kaska ontology and attitudes valuing the knowledge and perspectives of others, including all
dene, all animate beings. Context, especially the language skills of their audience, often governed which language or com-
bination of languages they chose. I have recorded Dickson telling stories entirely in English to his son David, who has limited
fluency in Kaska. I also observed him telling stories almost exclusively in Kaska to Elders Tillie and Tom Smith, who were more
fluent in Kaska than in English. Beyond these factors though, storytellers may also have taken advantage of ways that the
sophisticated use of two languages could enhance their narrative performances. Kaska storytellers such as Dickson were free
to explore the use of two languages in a single performance. In “The Girl Who Lived with Salmon” he makes use of code
switching for a variety of artistic functions that include, emphasizing key symbols, parallelistic metapragmatic commentary,
developing the identity of characters and tracking them through the story, and exploring related and contrasting meanings in
two languages through parallel constructions.
Dickson was clearly more fluent in Kaska than he was in English, his Kaska is completely grammatical, while his English usage
reflects the influence of Kaska conceptual categories. The influence of Kaska is apparent in features such as gender reversals
(Kaska does not distinguish gender grammatically), the use of present tense verbs where English speakers might conventionally
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 43

use past tense verbs (the aspectual system of Kaska only partially aligns with the English tense system, the aspectual distinction of
completed or incompleted action doesn’t apply to Kaska progressive verbs). In (2) below łâya l means either ‘he/she comes” or
“he/she came.”

(1) Gender reversals

That one girl he’s gone, 12 That one girl was gone,
about that big. about that big.
He got necklace. She was wearing a necklace.

(2) Misalignment of the Kaska aspectual system with the English tense system
Well, he holler here. 67 Well, she called out.
Here medicine man he come; l;
And the medicine man łâya
l.
łâya he came.

Even for the English translations of Kaska verbs that potentially distinguish completed and incompleted action (perfectives
vs. imperfectives), an English present tense verb may be preferred when the immediate performativity of an action is invoked.

(3) Use of English present tense to invoke immediacy of performance

He sign the cross like that, 114 He made the sign of the cross,
mets’ī ́ ̨’ nísd
a. [and] sat facing her.
He sing. He sang.
 ,́ ’ nahg
“‘Anī ussī ̨ są̂!
ud “‘Come,’ I say to all of you!

There is a clear parallel between Dickson’s use of sing in English above and his use of the Kaska imperfective verb ejin “he
sings” (rather than the perfective form 
ejin “he sang”) elsewhere in the story, to invoke the immediacy of performance.

(4) Use of imperfective verb in Kaska to invoke immediacy of performance

one medicine man, 32 nédet’
e,
he make medicine. he makes medicine.
Ejin, He’s singing,
ejin, singing,
ejin. singing.

Kaska makes extensive use of the term ı “that” or “that one” as a demonstrative pronoun. This term is also used to convey
definiteness in ways that the definite article the is used in English (Kaska doesnʼt have determiners). In English, Dickson
uses “that” extensively reflecting the influence of the Kaska grammatical category (l.3, l.6, l.12, l. 15, l.17, l. 55, l. 74, l. 87, l. 91, l.
97, l. 101, l. 168).

(5) Use of that as parallel to Kaska ı “that”, ”that one”

That here, ı doctor elını, 132 That doctor,
Dickson was able to use English not only as an emblem of prestige, but also for dramatic effect. Often his narrative uses align with
and enhance established Kaska narrative techniques. For example, Kaska storytellers often repeat key terms or phrases for emphasis,
as in the following examples from “The Girl Who Lived with Salmon” (English translations on the right, repetitions in bold):

(6) (Describing how her mother cried when her daughter disappeared)
Łą̄́ mo
 ma
 etsey. 26 Her mother really cried.
 ma
Mo  etsey.  m
Mo a etsey.

(7) (Describing how the Salmon Girl is taken from a fishtrap along with other
salmon)
l,
Sha 52 Fish traps,
l,
sha l,
sha
 ge tégedeleh.
łu they were taking out fish.
 ge tégedeleh.
Łu  ge tégedeleh.
Łu
44 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

To further strengthen his emphasis, while demonstrating his command of two languages, Dickson uses echo translations,
repetitions that switch languages, as in (8) and (9) below.

(8) (Describing the girl’s disappearance)

She’s gone. 22 She’s gone.
Endū́ é ejā́’. She’s gone.

(9) (Describing the swan feathers used to cover the Salmon Girl)
I feather 73 Those feathers,
feathers, chos,
that here swan those swan,
chosé’, feathers
megígela’ they put over [her].

Dickson makes prolific use of parallelism throughout this story, often switching between Kaska and English to enhance the
effect. The parallels between English and Kaska translational equivalents are often linked to other details that provide a
comprehensive image, as below in (10) describing how the children offended the salmon people by damming their children in
the slough, or in (11) by mimicking the way the girl’s mother repeated turned over every detail of her disappearance, and in
(12) by indicating that the nédet’e sang to determine what had really happened. Similar sorts of parallel constructions
characterize many genres of discourse, including narratives in a wide variety of languages.

(10) You make it slough, 5 Where there was a slough,

that here salmon, [where] those salmon,
salmon, little bigger now, g
es, were starting to get a little bigger,
dā́negede’éł. they dammed it. [dammed the outlet
between the slough and the river]

(11) Ya’, ı są̂ m  endū́ h.

oma 18 Her mother [realized] she was gone.
Gee, mekah k’égedéł gṓ lī ́ endū́ h. Gee, they went around looking for her, but she
was gone.
I ts’ída
ne, one, two boys, Those kids, one, two boys,
 ge yéh tu
łu  yéh kenetąh dé’. played with the fish in the water.
She’s gone. Endū́ é ejā́ ’.
Endū́ é ejā́’. She’s gone.

“Nedū́ é ejā́’ łą̄́ mekah k’ídzıyis “She disappeared and we went around looking
ghǫh endū́ é,” for her without finding anything,”

(12) Medicine man, 31 Medicine man,

one medicine man, nédet’
e,
he make medicine. he makes medicine.
Ejin, He’s singing,
ejin, singing,
ejin. singing.

Another important narrative use of code-switching in Kaska stories is to reinforce changes of voice, assisting audiences in
identifying who or what is speaking in any particular part of the story. In (13) below the Salmon Girl’s initial word after she is
restored to human form is differentiated from the narrator’s voice by a transition to Kaska.

(13) (Describing the revival of the Salmon Girl)

medicine man, 133 nédet’
e,
he give her a little water, he gave her a little water,
,
tu water
 , warm water.
tu water, warm water.
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 45

He sign the cross before he give it. He made the sign of the cross before he gave
it to her.

“Aneī!́ ” he call ’em. “Mom!” she called out.

He call ’em as soon as She called out to her as soon as
he swallow that water. she swallowed that water.
Like Dickson, the medicine man speaks both Kaska and English. His appearance in the story is often marked by a
description in English followed by a transition to Kaska as in (12) above and (14) below.

(14) (Describing the medicine man telling people what to do with the returned Salmon Girl)
Well, he holler here. 67 Well, she called out.
Here medicine man he come;  ya
And the medicine man ła l;
łâya l. he came.
“I le
t’e. “That’s the one.
I tu
 kīĺ ın, That water flowing,
nā́sdǐ’̨ yigé nénahtḗ.” bury it over across there.”

The extent and nature of switching may be adjusted to fit the age and gender of the characters. The medicine man al-
ternates languages, but the girl’s mother uses only Kaska, perhaps reflecting the restricted use of English by most women of
Dickson’s generation. The girl, however, being a member of the younger generation, code-switches extensively.
Storytellers switch to English to augment Kaska narrative resources in novel ways, including switching indicate a meta-
pragmatic commentary (in this case an explanation of the story), as in bold in the example below. Scholars of code-
switching such as Peter Auer (1995) have identified similar meta-pragmatic uses of code-switching in other languages.

l,
(15) Sha 52 Fish traps,
l,
sha l,
sha
 ge tégedeleh.
łu they were taking out fish.
 ge tégedeleh.
Łu  ge tégedeleh.
Łu
That’s why metá’ elın. That’s why her father was there;
 ge tésegın.
Łu He was packing up fish.
Ten. [He brought up] ten.

In other cases, echo translations have the metapragmatic function of explaining the meaning of culturally salient or un-
common terms through reference to English.

(16) (Describing the cross on a necklace that the girl was wearing when she disappeared)
That watch chain kḗt’
e you got here 15 It was like a watch chain
sendīý a
, [with a] cross,
that cross. ́ a
sendīy .

In addition to providing added narrative resources, Dickson’s use of English indexed his experiences working for Tidd and
interacting with other English speakers. His use of English constituted a prestigious emblem of these encounters in ways that
parallel the knowledge, songs, and sensory perspectives that Dene gained from encounters with animal people. From this
perspective switching to English emerges not as a capitulation to colonialism, but as valuable knowledge brought back from
powerful “others”. While some might argue that stories such as “The Girl Who Lived with Salmon” are simply remnant
traditions reproduced by Kaska storytellers based on what they heard as children, the quality of narration and the precise
understandings that they convey argue rather that the storytellers have continuously retold the stories, that Kaska ontological
understandings have remained unchanged, and that the storytellers are well informed about the details of Dene k’éh, Kaska
language and cultural traditions.

4. Arthur John, Sr. and the Story of John Martin

Arthur John, Sr.’s account of John Martin, a Gwich’in Anglican minister and renowned guide who came to Ross River, Yukon
in the 1930s, provides additional examples of switching between languages and the resources this provides Kaska storytellers.
The complete text of this narrative is available in my dissertation (Moore, 2002). John lived to be well over a hundred years old,
46 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

and at the time of his death in 2014, he and his wife Alice were the oldest couple in Canada. In 1942 John helped survey the
route of the Canol Highway and Road, which brought 30,000 soldiers to Kaska territory during World War Two. In the early
1960s, he was part of a group of Kaska and Northern Tutchone prospectors that identified the lead-zinc ore body at Faro,
Yukon that was later claimed by white prospector Al Kulan, which in the late 1960s and 1970s became the largest lead-zinc
mine in the world. Like Dickson, John’s fluency in English was a prestigious indicator of his interactions with white people.
I have previously written about the significance of Johnʼs “Story of John Martin in the context of indigenous political and
cultural activism in the Yukon (Moore, 2013). In this article I will focus instead on the special resources that switching to
English provided to Arthur John and other Kaska storytellers as they narrated first person historical accounts. In historical
accounts switches to English faciltiate what could be termed “double reflexivity” because within a Kaska narrative the English
terms call attention to themselves (they stand out from Kaska terms), while pointing to the people who were there with the
narrator, the places where the narrator interacted with people, and the goods and concepts that were in use.
In his account of John Martin, John refers to many Indigenous men by their English names: John Martin, John McKay, Jimmy
Keen, Selkirk Billy, Old Jule, Uncle Ollie, Pelly Smith, Jim Smith, Joe Ladue, Chiney, and Little Sam. These names are both an index of
oppressive Euro-Canadian domination (Moore, 2007) and a Who’s Who of local Indigenous men of that period. John’s uses of
English names below references his own engagement with individuals and events in the 1930s when John Martin appeared in
Ross River. The line breaks in 17. and 18. below indicate pauses and transitions in intonational contours.

(17) English names of indigenous men (in bold) from an introductory passage of “The John Martin Story”
 s digé, two boat.
Boat ts’edéslu We started to pull two boats upstream.
Three boats. Three boats.
John McKay yéh We pulled John McKay’s
dé’ téts’a
Jimmy Keen bo lu
 s. and Jimmy Keen’s boats.
Selkirk Billy k’ı boat téga
l u
 zı. They pulled Selkirk Billy’s boat as well.
 ’ k’ı boat téga
Denecho lu
 s. They also pulled Jack Sterriah’s boat.
Old Jule k’ajı dene ya  kū́ h.
da’ lî la Old Jules was looking after people at that time.

Similarly there are many English place names in John’s account: Fifty Mile, Sixty Mile, Otter Creek, Blue Hill, Selkirk, Dawson,
Mayo, Fort McPherson, Ross River, and Fox Lake. From an outside perspective such terms might be taken as an indication of the
displacement of indigenous topographic traditions in the face of Euro-Canadian hegemony. For John and other Kaska sto-
rytellers, however, they point to the contact zones where Indigenous men trapped, traveled, and traded with English
speakers, acquiring their knowledge, including their geographical nomenclature. They simultaneously reflexively signal
John’s engagement with those places, people and events, and his authoritative position as an eye-witness to them.

(18) English place names (in bold), contact zones between Kaskas and Euro-Canadians
Jimmy Keen dahtlah ah’áné digé. Jimmy Keen went off to the side up there.
Fifty Mile kū́ htsā́ kídıya’ dı He said he walked out at Fifty Mile [Slough].
 se’ū́ n l
Keda a. He shot a moose.
No, Sixty Mile yigé lą̂. No it was up at Sixty Mile [Slough].
ī.́
River gagáh teseya He walked up beside the river.
Sixty Mile łâd
alı, He arrived at Sixty Mile [Slough],
Raft zū́ ze neláı dedéskın la
. and made a small raft that he used to raft across.
Otter Creek ts’és’ī ́ ̨, Before Otter Creek,
ten mile this side są̂ g
ut’ a cabin
e n ten mile on this side there was a cabin
ı atsā́ netene ku
 gu
 deja
n. down where your trail comes out.
Kū́ hyigé dé na
sdī ̨’ cabin se’a
n la
, Down across from there was a cabin,
 ka
sku nı cabiné’. a whiteman’s cabin.

All the English terms that John uses reflexively point to the interactions in which those terms were originally acquired and
used and his own positioning as a child and young adult in those historical time periods. The many English words for trade
items: boat, trap, cabin, steam boat, tea, teapot, rice, tent, mosquito net, cup, and shotgun are prominent examples. Similarly the
use of English numbers and time expressions evoke the contexts in which Kaskas acquired those understandings, including
such things as numbers: two apiece, three, five time, twenty-one, one and time expressions: summertime, August, all the time, in
the morning, two nights, supper, all the time, next year, all winter, springtime.
 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48 47

(19) Summertime, summertime. August gu  jáī ́ dene tédedéł.

It was summertime, summertime. When August came around people were ready to leave

 dedłı, ja
(20) “Two apiece all the time dene gu nı gu
 ts’ī ̨h digé,” dı.
“From now on always go around together with someone,” they said.

(21) Oh yes, two nights shets’enehte  kū́ hyigé.

ts lî la
Oh yes, [before going on] we slept two nights down there.
Kaskasʼ use of English terms may be a continuation of earlier practices of shifting to Tlingit, which similarly evoke con-
trasting meanings of either the dominant role of Tlingits in controlling the trade from the coast, or the resourcefulness of
Kaskas in gaining trade items and related terminology. Many of the terms that originated from Tlingit are now assimilated
into Kaska. Examples from John’s account include the terms for bullets, gun, and related verbs for shoot: n e (gun), yés’ n
 t
(I shot him), nésén’ n (you shoot again), and etu e’ (bullets). In Johnʼs account there is also one place name from the Ross River
area that is based on the Chinook Jargon trade language once widely used along the Northwest Coast: Tena s Lake, from the
Chinook Jargon word for ‘small’, or ‘child’.

5. Conclusion

Kaska lived realities, which are reflected in their assertions that all animate beings are dene with their own perspectives,
continue despite the dramatic social and economic changes of the last century. The beliefs and practices of gu nı, white
 ska
people from the wider Euro-Canadian society, are taken to be features of gu nı k’éh “white culture and language” rather
 ska
than a competing ontology. Just as Euro-Canadians might assume that “naturalism” or scientific knowledge provides a
universal understanding of reality, and that Kaska and other Indigenous realities are merely cultural traditions, so too Kaskas
assume that their lived reality is universal and Euro-Canadian or scientific thinking fail to deal with features they consider
essential. In contrast to Kaskas, Aparecida Vilaça reports that the Amazonian Wari’ are gradually absorbing into their world a
separation of humans and animals, while constituting an inner self typical of Christian naturalism (in which human have
dominion over animals).
While Kaskas have similarly experienced dramatic social changes, which now include a shift to the use of English by
younger generations, this may not have resulted in the same sorts of ontological changes that Vilaça reports for the Wari’. The
Kaskas of Dickson and John’s generation, who were missionized by Catholic and Anglican missionaries added Christian Euro-
Canadian traditions to their cultural repertoires, without altering their fundamental understandings. In integrating Catholic
teachings with Kaska oral traditions, Dickson maintained the basic precepts of Kaska ontology. One of his favorite stories
concerned the origin of Jesus as the incarnation of Raven. In his story, which he attributed to his grandfather, Siwash Tom, the
animals called on Raven to release the sun, moon, stars, and the light of dawn so they would no longer have to live in darkness.
Raven turned himself into a spruce needle that was ingested by the daughter (Mary!) of the powerful man who was hoarding
the sources of light in a large chest. The daughter became pregnant and gave birth to the baby Jesus (Raven!) who
́ ́ cried for thé
́ he was finally allowed to play with them and release them.
celestial objects until
Even Kaskas who became evangelical Christians continue to share basic features of lived Kaska realities. I encountered
evidence of that in the ways they would caution me about the proper ways to hold fish (don’t put your fingers on their eyes!)
or how to respect the parts of animals that weren’t eaten. Like other Kaskas they also told stories about the consequences that
afflicted people they had known who had done things that were considered ’ı. Since the 1970s there have been strong
assertions of indigenous rights in the Yukon accompanied by increasing appreciation of indigenous cultural practices and
language (Moore and Tlen, 2007). This resurgence of indigenous cultural practices may preclude fundamental changes of
indigenous realities because the indigenous perspective is accorded a foundational authority by Kaskas and other indigenous
̄
groups of the region. ̄
While the use of language shifts in Kaska narratives might be taken as evidence for their cultural domination and
displacement by Euro-Canadians, from a Kaska perspective the story is more complex. For Kaska narrators, the use of English
is an indication of the prestige they acquired by learning about another culture and language. By switching artistically be-
tween Kaska and English they were able to enhance their narrative resources for emphasizing key symbols, tracking char-
acters or making meta-pragmatic commentaries. Narrators of first-person historical accounts were able to tell a story-within-
a-story through their use of place names, person names, trade items, and temporal concepts derived from their historic
interactions with English speakers. Kaska narrators’ language switches represent creative innovations that enhance their
stories, while they also make use of Kaska lived realities to assert a strongly indigenous identity.

Acknowledgments

Support for this research from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, Heritage Canada, Yukon
Aboriginal Language Services, The Ross River Dena Council, Liard First Nation, and the University of British Columbia is
gratefully acknowledged.
48 P. Moore / Language & Communication 63 (2018) 33–48

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