First release
This travel journey is divided into two parts, the first of which is published here. Both the trip and this publication are part of the action research we are conducting as part of the European project ReDes_Ling, Resisting Linguistic Inequality (Staff Exchanges ref. 1011131469). In this research, we aim to understand and reverse linguistic inequality by considering the following:
- The asymmetrical relationship between linguistic groups leads to social inequalities, economic disadvantages, unequal access to rights, lack of material and emotional well-being, and the inability to reach one's full potential (Bonnin, 2013).
- Linguistic discrimination is as pervasive as other forms of discrimination based on race, ethnicity, sexuality, or gender (Baugh, 2003; Lippi-Green, 1997; Urciuoli, 1996).
- Bridging the gap between academic research and society's understanding of language through exchanges between interdisciplinary academic teams and organizations.Luisa Martín Rojo
Special thanks to Virginia, Lara and Lucía for sharing this journey with me.
The Journey
We arrived in Sauzalito at dusk after crossing El Impenetrable. Traveling with me were three colleagues from the Centro de Estudios del Lenguaje en Sociedad (CELES) at UNSAM-Virginia Unamuno, Lara Messina, and Lucía Romero-and myself from UAM. The purpose of the trip was to meet with the bilingual teachers of the Wichí Lhomet organization (“The Trace of the Wichí Language”) and to present the European project ReDes_Ling, Resisting Linguistic Inequality (Staff Exchanges ref. 1011131469), as well as to explain the importance of their presence in Madrid.
Although the project was endorsed by Virginia Unamuno, who has been conducting collaborative ethnography in Wichí schools for 15 years, we knew there might be skepticism. Many might expect yet another extractivist research effort that talks about them rather than with them. Overcoming such asymmetries is a key goal of ReDes_Ling: to understand linguistic inequality and work to reverse it by building a collaborative team that integrates diverse epistemologies and social contexts, promoting horizontal relationships and co-production of knowledge.
Photo 1: The route
We left early, stopping only for fuel and provisions in Miraflores, where the asphalt ends and El Impenetrable begins. This second lung of the planet, located in northern Argentina near Paraguay and Bolivia, has always been Wichí territory. Wichí means “people” or “community” – an indigenous group present in all three countries. Traditionally nomadic, the Wichí found refuge from colonization in this harsh, remote region until nearly the mid-20th century.
Photo 2: Community map created by Juan Carlos Gómez for our trip
The dirt road stretched ahead, guided by oral wisdom: “Go to the woodcutters, then look for the yellow wheel.” Such analog advice replaced Google Maps during an outage. Our modest car struggled with dust, sand, and potholes, while larger 4x4s moved more easily. Along the way, we passed isolated homes, livestock, and wild animals-goats, cows, donkeys, and feral pigs. The vegetation was impenetrable: carob trees, palm trees, palo santo, ceiba, and thorn bushes. Trucks carrying lumber revealed exploitation for soy farming, cattle ranching, tourism, and even drug trafficking.
Renaming to colonize
As we continued, the name El Impenetrable seemed less like a description of the country and more like a warning. After a few kilometers we arrived at Misión Nueva Pompeya. This settlement probably had a Wichí name before it adopted its current name, which is heavily influenced by Criollo culture. The colonial name suggests nostalgia for another era or a mirage of classical ruins hidden in the vegetation.
The renaming not only introduces the language of the colonizers, but also their institutions, hierarchies, and values. Nueva Pompeya revealed traces of colonialism: a Franciscan mission, a bilingual school run by the Marist Congregation, and a library with works by García Lorca and García Márquez.
Photo 3: Lasting institutions
Photo 4: A mural in Nueva Pompeya denounces child labor.
Sip’ohi and Wichí Schools
Following the route, we arrived at a town with a significant name: Wichí. There we visited the only bilingual secondary school run by the community. The community had successfully appointed a Wichí teacher as director of the school. In this school, students stayed for several weeks and then returned to their communities for a week to avoid being uprooted. The school reflected administrative neglect and showed clear signs of deterioration. The implicit message seemed to be that if they wanted a school, they would have to pay for it themselves. Yet bilingual secondary education is essential to the success of the Wichí political, cultural, and linguistic project.
While early childhood and primary education in the community’s language helps preserve it, the lack of continuity at the secondary level leads to a very different outcome. The use of the mother tongue as a tool for the gradual introduction and consolidation of the colonial language – until it finally replaces the former – results only in substitutional bilingualism, in which one language gradually replaces the other. This approach is therefore a political, cultural and linguistic project that is opposed to that of the Wichí. Instead of promoting diversity, it reinforces the mechanisms of coloniality through its institutions, language, norms, and the devaluation of others.
As a counterpoint, the pursuit of full bilingualism throughout the community – not just among the Wichí – would help preserve and legitimize their ways of life, institutions, and values, and move away from reinforcing colonial structures and economies. In the struggle to decolonize land, economy, thought, individuals, and power structures, language plays a central role.
While we were talking with the director and the students, the mayor of El Sauzalito (or the equivalent of the mayor of the town) arrived. He was helping to transport the students back to their homes during these breaks. El Sauzalito is not only the name of the town we were going to, but also the name of the municipality, which includes several hamlets or settlements scattered throughout the region.
By the time we reached our destination, it was already night. We saw the newly inaugurated street lights illuminating the road. In Wichí, El Sauzalito is called Sip’ohi. Names are imposed and the space is illuminated by streetlights.
Photo 5: The newly installed street lights of Sauzalito (Sip’ohi)
Under the carob tree
In the days that followed, we gathered under the carob trees with colleagues from the project, which includes associations, civil organizations, and universities. We learned about their historical resistance to linguistic injustices that perpetuate social inequality.
Photo 6: The carob tree in Awucha’s Solidarity Garden
Josefa Ballena, a Wichí researcher, songwriter, and poet, is one of the leaders of the group. Her music critiques poverty, cultural assimilation, and gender violence. Another member, Agustina Lorenzo (Awucha), a kindergarten teacher, writes stories inspired by local wildlife. Read The Hornero [here].
Looking ahead
The project seeks to achieve genuine collaboration that empowers indigenous voices. The next installment of this travelogue will explore these efforts further.
