September 23, 2015 - 16:56
“Sometimes it’s something we do, not because we understand it, but because that’s the way it has to be. Because I remember that at first the prayers weren’t even in Spanish but in Latin or something like that. So although it’s something we say and express with all our faith, we don’t always understand what it means. Since the priests don’t know our language and they say the prayers in Spanish, our job is to memorize the prayers, and the chants. But we didn’t understand exactly what it meant, it was just a channel for our self-expression. It’s very important for us, but we don’t understand it” (Menchú 95).
Menchú describes the experience of speaking a language she does not understand as a means of delivering a message to a higher power, of externalizing something that is deeply internal and meaningful to her. She describes an interesting experience of agency, by which she is truly engaging in self-expression through speaking her beliefs, even though the language is not her own. In fact, she does not even understand the words she is saying, and yet still firmly believes in the message she is delivering.
Throughout the book, it is apparent that Menchú frequently views language this way—as a vessel, a means to an end. When she and her family members learn Spanish, it is a way through which to access the world outside of their culture, and a means of resisting the forces that have oppressed them and their people throughout their lives. To Menchú, it would seem, words have power beyond their mere beauty. Even the writing of the book itself (beautifully worded as it is) holds a deeply significant purpose—it is very much intentional.
In so many stories told by those who are robbed of their culture by their oppressors, regaining agency over oneself and ones culture is a matter of regaining ones original language. This does not seem to be the greatest priority for Menchú, who even goes so far as to write this book in Spanish, her second language. I wonder if this lack of emphasis on words themselves is connected to her culture’s relationship with language and silence. She describes the silent relationship shared between mother and child for the first few days after birth, as well as the deep connection between humans and nature (though individuals at times literally speak to parts of the natural world as a part of prayer, this relationship seems, for the most part, to be a silent, organic one). Perhaps this connection grounds Menchú spiritually in a truth deeper than language, allowing her to remain resilient when her freedom to speak is taken from her by her oppressors.