I grew up on the Navajo reservation.
I went to a day school at Crystal, New Mexico.
And I learned how to read from Dick and Jane books.
Some of you probably know these books.
In fact, you can, I think, buy them at Target now.
And you can even get a calendar of Dick and Jane.
So I'm going to read you a story from there.
This is what I read.
Imagine in the late '50s, people were still fluently speaking
the languages.
Language was still very much in common use among the families.
And going to school and being told
you couldn't speak your language,
and if you spoke your language, then you
would be punished for it.
So we read from these books.
And this is called Look Up from the Dick and Jane series.
"Dick said, look, look.
Look up.
Look up, up, up.
Jane said, run, run, run, Dick, run.
Run and see.
Look, look, said Dick.
See Sally.
See funny Sally and father.
See, see, said Sally.
Sally is up, up, up.
This is fun for Sally."
This is the kind of books we had to read.
And it goes on and on.
And there are pictures with it.
I don't know-- you probably can't see these,
but they were the characters, Dick and Jane.
Sally was the little girl, mother, father, and Dick,
and Jane.
Let's see, they had a battle of pets, Spot, and Huff,
and the teddy bear.
I forgot what the teddy bear's name was.
Does somebody know?
No?
OK.
Anyway, these were our readers.
So I wrote this book called No Parole Today.
And I call this my Where's Waldo picture.
And if you haven't been to any of my poetry readings
and you've never--
you don't know where I am in this photograph,
and you can guess on your first time, I'll give you $5.
And so far, only one person has guessed.
In fact, somebody kept writing to me from Montana asking me,
is this you?
Is this you?
[INAUDIBLE] Sending me these interviews.
And I thought, maybe I should just put that on my website
and have a contest.
This is called "Our Tongues Slapped into Silence."
Like I said, I was at the boarding school.
Actually, I was at day school at Crystal,
New Mexico in the late '50s on the Navajo reservation.
And, at the time, it was the policy of the government
to assimilate Native people.
"Our tongue slapped into silence.
In first grade, I was five years old, the youngest and smallest
in my class.
Always the one in front at group picture time.
The principal put me in first grade,
because I spoke both Diné Bizaad and English.
Because of that, I skipped beginner class.
All my classmates were Diné, and most of them spoke only
the language of our ancestors.
During this time, the government's policy
were to assimilate us into the white way of life.
We had no choice in the matter.
We had to comply.
The taking of our language was a priority.
Dick and Jane subdue the Navajos.
See father.
See mother.
See Dick, run.
See Jane and Sally left.
Oh, oh, oh, oh, see Spot, Joan.
Oh, oh, oh, see Eugene speak Diné Bizaad.
See Juanita answer him.
Oh, oh, oh, see teacher frown.
Uh oh, uh oh.
In first grade, our introduction to Indian school
was Miss Rollins, a Black woman from Texas,
who treated us the way her people have
been treated by white people.
Later, I learned how difficult it was for Black teachers
to find jobs in their communities.
So they took jobs with the Bureau
of Indian Affairs in New Mexico and Arizona
in the 1950s and '60s.
Miss Rollins found it difficult to adjust
to living in a mostly Navajo community, connected
to the outside world by only dirt road that was sometimes
impassable in the winter.
See Eugene with red hands shape of ruler.
Oh, oh, oh, see Eugene cry.
Oh, oh, oh, see Juanita stand in the corner.
See tears fall down face.
Oh, oh, oh, oh.
In first grade, we received the first of our Dick and Jane
books that introduced us to the white man's world
through father, mother, Dick, Jane, Huff, and Spot.
These and other characters said and did what
we thought all white people do.
Drive cars to the farm, drain maple juice from trees,
and say oh, oh, oh a lot.
Oh, see us draw pictures of brown horses under blue clouds.
We color eyes black, hair black.
We draw ears and leave out mouth.
Oh, see, see, see, see.
Miss Rollins, an alien in our world,
stood us in the corner of the classroom or outside
in the hallway to feel shame for the crime
of speaking our language.
Other times, our hands were imprinted with red slaps
from the ruler.
In later classes, we headed straight
for the rear of classrooms, never asked questions,
and never raised our hand.
Utter one word of Diné Bizaad and the government made sure
our tongues were drowned in the murky waters of assimilation."
Consequently, I think many Native people
from the generation after me who don't
speak the language-- their native language,
but it was forbidden to do that.
And ironically, the code talkers in World War II used the Navajo
language to successfully pass code back and forth.
My father never told us that he was a code talker.
And we didn't know that until after he passed on.