le Conseil pour le développement du français en Louisiane

         

         French note cards are scattered around my living room floor accompanied by coffee stains, cajun lyrics, and french books. My notebook has scratched out words and scribbled over phrases along with dated conversations. Language is a beautiful thing. They say the Cajun-French that my great-grandparents and grandparents spoke won't ever be heard or articulated again. True, so very true. There wasn't enough speaking people, pride-less. It was looked down upon to speak french. Kids would be beaten in school for speaking the language, it became natural to fear it within this culture. French basically was banned from schools in 1912 when legislature passed an act allowing the Department of Education the power to select all books and curricula for public schools, 1913 is when the English language was stressed within the curriculum. 1921 is when the real shit happened, the Louisiana Constitution was changed so that all school proceedings had to be done in English, causing the public french usage to cease. So the kids of those generations would speak and learn English for public use but luckily some learned bits and pieces of french at home. Essentially it became a broken language and as the English-speaking generations grew the house french language was decreased. Every generation lost valuable knowledge of our language. But the reason I think language is beautiful is because it is always evolving, it is always taking a new form and becoming it's own entity. That's what my culture did. It took the the France french made it into Acadian French that eventually traveled its way to Louisiana to be Cajun-french. And it doesn't stop there. There are 48 parishes in this state of which about half speak french, a dialect of french. What you say in one town might mean a completely different thing once you cross the bayou. The Parisian francohones cock their head when they hear us say 'catin'. Traditionally our culture has used that word as a term of endearment to mean 'doll,dear,baby' but in France it is the opposite, they use it as a condescending word towards females, as in 'whore,tramp'. 
         Language equates to struggle, a struggle to achieve greatness and to end the cycle of poverty, a struggle to attain knowledge... or so we thought. We are paying the price, our french language was in such decline that it was threatened with eradication. James R. Domengeaux, former state legislature, began his crusade to restore french in Louisiana. Domengeaux traveled around Lafayette and neighboring parishes to gain support for his campaign to make Louisiana a bilingual state through French language education. By the spring of 1968, Domengeaux had gained enough interest from the public and support from officials to present his plan to the legislature. Legislators voted unanimously to create The Council for the Development of French in Louisiana, CODOFIL. The law empowered CODOFIL to "do any and all things necessary to accomplish the development, utilization, and preservation of the French language ... for the cultural, economic, and touristic benefit of the State.” 
         I know the struggle, I know the pain. The struggle of language. I knew it was apart of me, the French within my culture but I never had the opportunity to take advantage of education and learn it for myself. The want to speak the language, the longing to be intimate with my heritage always plagued me. It hit hard when my Papa Doc was on his death bed. His ole' friends would come in speaking to him, I didn't understand them. I wanted to, oh I so wanted to know. But all I could do was cry out of frustration, regret, and shame. So I started a little bit here and there. No formality to it, just do. When I turned diex-huit ans my birthday tattoo was going to be in honor of Doc. To be remembered, in french. I went about figuring it out on my own. Came up with 'être souvenu'. When I moved away for college, I landed in Lafayette, not knowing my life would turn into what it is now, not knowing it would be influenced heavily by music, culture, and language. So many people have inquired about my tattoo, and so many people have outed me and chastised me for it being wrong. "Not french, it doesn't conjugate to anything, it's just wrong." I heard it all, so much so, it really got to my head. I talked to my father about it. He leans over and looks me in the eyes, 
"Do you realize all those dumb asses were formally educated, they speak the romantic language of the country France. Do you know who our people are, who we are, who we come from?"
"Yes"
"Our people were beaten and flogged for speaking French, you know what they did? Created their own version of it. They started slurring words, cutting things out, making up new words and meanings. They established the base of français de cajun. From there some people stole horses and ran away to the prairie or took a pirogue and went down the bayou to set up camp. You know what they did? Continued it. That is why some parishes have their own dialect of cajun-french."
Now my pop didn't grow up speaking french, he didn't grow up immersed in a bilingual home even though both his parents spoke. His parents only spoke to each other in that St. Martin french. He maintains his thoughts,
"You know Irma [his mom] didn't teach any of her 14 children the french she spoke, you know why? Because she was afraid. She was afraid that she would teach us something wrong. You just have to do it. Don't think, just listen."
"But pop.."
"The next time someone tells you something about that, you look them in the eyes and say 'It's neg speak'. Fuck them, because they aren't you. They don't know you. Wear that sonofabitch with pride, do not hide it. It's the history of your struggle with the language, it's your story."

à plus tard,

  Zoë Louise Huval