Education, Faculty of
Language and Literacy Education (LLED), Department of
DSpace
UBCV
Becker, Ava
Doctor of Philosophy - PhD
University of British Columbia
Global migration is increasingly driven by experiences of extreme social, political, economic, and environmental adversity (UNHCR, 2019)—experiences which become part of families’ personal and cultural narratives. However, such narratives are routinely marginalized in formal learning contexts (e.g., Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010), even though they may constitute a key part of students’ identities and connection to the language/s and culture/s of their heritage (Avineri, 2019; Becker, 2013, 2014). In recent decades, modern language education scholars have begun to call for the more explicit integration of historical and political knowledge when conceptualizing culture in language teaching (Byram & Kramsch, 2008; Freadman, 2014), but it appears that the field of heritage language education has yet to enter these conversations. Guided by theories of language socialization (Ochs & Schieffelin, 1984, 2017), syncretic literacy (e.g., Duranti & Ochs, 1996), and difficult knowledge (e.g., Pitt & Britzman, 2003), in this year-long ethnographic case study, I examined the language and literacy socialization of difficult cultural knowledge across three generations in one Chilean-Canadian family: the Calfus (pseudonym). The grandparents had come to Canada as refugees in the 1970s fleeing the Pinochet regime in Chile. Their grandchildren (ages 7 and 9) were learning their heritage language at home and in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. I used thematic (Saldaña, 2013) and narrative (Ochs & Capps, 2001) methods to analyze data from multiple sources, including interviews, audio recordings, field notes, and photos of student work. I also examined how adults made use of IRE (initiation, response, evaluation) routines to manage difficult historical topics when talking with children. Overall, the analysis demonstrated the salience and significance of difficult cultural knowledge in the Calfu family’s language and literacy socialization practices outside of school, the children’s dynamic and shifting sense of imagined transnationalism, and the ways that Indigenous identities can be eclipsed by Hispanic identities in Spanish language programs (e.g., Calderón & Urrieta, 2019). Nevertheless, the children consistently demonstrated highly creative and agentive ways to claim authorship and ownership of their difficult cultural knowledge. The study has significant implications for teaching heritage language learners in post-exile contexts.
AFTER EXILE: HERITAGE LANGUAGE AND LITERACY SOCIALIZATION ACROSS THREE GENERATIONS IN ONE CHILEAN-CANADIAN FAMILY by Ava Becker M.A., The University of Alberta, 2013 B.A., The University of Alberta, 2010 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES (Language and Literacy Education) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Vancouver) April 2021 © Ava Becker, 2021 ii The following individuals certify that they have read, and recommend to the Faculty of Graduate and Postdoctoral Studies for acceptance, the dissertation entitled: After Exile: Heritage Language and Literacy Socialization Across Three Generations in One Chilean-Canadian Family submitted by Ava Becker in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in Language and Literacy Education Examining Committee: Dr. Patricia A. Duff, Professor, Department of Language and Literacy Education, UBC Supervisor Dr. Maureen Kendrick, Professor, Department of Language and Literacy Education, UBC Supervisory Committee Member Dr. Meghan Corella, Assistant Professor, Department of Language and Literacy Education, UBC Supervisory Committee Member Dr. Margaret Early, Professor, Department of Language and Literacy Education, UBC University Examiner Dr. Ann Anderson, Professor, Department of Curriculum and Pedagogy, UBC University Examiner iii Abstract Global migration is increasingly driven by experiences of extreme social, political, economic, and environmental adversity (UNHCR, 2019)—experiences which become part of families’ personal and cultural narratives. However, such narratives are routinely marginalized in formal learning contexts (e.g., Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010), even though they may constitute a key part of students’ identities and connection to the language/s and culture/s of their heritage (Avineri, 2019; Becker, 2013, 2014). In recent decades, modern language education scholars have begun to call for the more explicit integration of historical and political knowledge when conceptualizing culture in language teaching (Byram & Kramsch, 2008; Freadman, 2014), but it appears that the field of heritage language education has yet to enter these conversations. Guided by theories of language socialization (Ochs & Schieffelin, 1984, 2017), syncretic literacy (e.g., Duranti & Ochs, 1996), and difficult knowledge (e.g., Pitt & Britzman, 2003), in this year-long ethnographic case study, I examined the language and literacy socialization of difficult cultural knowledge across three generations in one Chilean-Canadian family: the Calfus (pseudonym). The grandparents had come to Canada as refugees in the 1970s fleeing the Pinochet regime in Chile. Their grandchildren (ages 7 and 9) were learning their heritage language at home and in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. I used thematic (Saldaña, 2013) and narrative (Ochs & Capps, 2001) methods to analyze data from multiple sources, including interviews, audio recordings, field notes, and photos of student work. I also examined how adults made use of IRE (initiation, response, evaluation) routines to manage difficult historical topics when talking with children. Overall, the analysis demonstrated the salience and significance of difficult cultural knowledge in the Calfu family’s language and literacy socialization practices outside of school, the children’s dynamic and shifting sense of iv imagined transnationalism, and the ways that Indigenous identities can be eclipsed by Hispanic identities in Spanish language programs (e.g., Calderón & Urrieta, 2019). Nevertheless, the children consistently demonstrated highly creative and agentive ways to claim authorship and ownership of their difficult cultural knowledge. The study has significant implications for teaching heritage language learners in post-exile contexts. v Lay Summary In this study, I examined how the third generation in one Chilean-Canadian family was being socialized to talk about the violent political period that precipitated their family’s migration to Canada in the 1970s, and the implications of that socialization for their identities and heritage language trajectories. I spent a year with this family: talking with them and observing their interactions at home, in community settings, and at the children’s Spanish-English bilingual school. I carefully considered the children’s school work and what they said about it. I found that it was very important to the parents that their young children understand the difficult aspects of their cultural heritage (unlike in the school context). Although much of this socialization was adult-initiated, the children found creative ways to assert their identities and claim ownership of their difficult cultural past. The study offers novel insights into teaching heritage language learners in post-exile contexts. vi Preface All parts of this dissertation were designed, researched, analyzed, and written by the author, Ava Becker. This study was approved by the University of British Columbia’s Behavioural Research Ethics Board (UBC BREB Number: H15-01038) under the original title: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory. vii Table of Contents Abstract .................................................................................................................................. iii Lay Summary .................................................................................................................................v Preface .................................................................................................................................. vi Table of Contents ........................................................................................................................ vii List of Tables ................................................................................................................................ xi List of Figures .............................................................................................................................. xii List of Abbreviations ................................................................................................................. xiii Acknowledgements .................................................................................................................... xiv Dedication ................................................................................................................................ xvi Chapter 1: Introduction ................................................................................................................1 1.1 Connecting my Story to the Dissertation Research ................................................... 4 1.2 Sociohistorical Context and Research Problem ......................................................... 8 1.2.1 El Once de Septiembre and the Chilean Imaginary ................................................... 8 1.2.2 The Chilean Diaspora in Canada ............................................................................. 11 1.3 Rationale and Overarching Research Questions ..................................................... 14 1.4 Outline of the Dissertation ....................................................................................... 16 Chapter 2: Literature Review and Theoretical Framework ....................................................17 2.1 The Role of Difficult Cultural Knowledge in Language and Literacy Education Research ................................................................................................................... 17 2.2 The Role of Imagination in Heritage Language Use Trajectories ........................... 20 2.3 New Literacy Studies ............................................................................................... 22 2.4 Implications of Syncretic Literacy Studies for Literacy Socialization Research with HLLs ........................................................................................................................ 24 2.5 Language Socialization ............................................................................................ 25 2.6 Defining Heritage Language Learners .................................................................... 27 2.7 Heritage Languaging ............................................................................................... 28 2.8 Collective Memory and Difficult Knowledge ......................................................... 32 2.9 Scale and Identity .................................................................................................... 35 2.9.1 Scale ......................................................................................................................... 35 2.9.2 Identity ..................................................................................................................... 36 2.10 Significance of the Research ................................................................................... 38 Chapter 3: Methodology ..............................................................................................................39 3.1 Introduction ............................................................................................................. 39 3.2 Self-Reflexivity and Transparency .......................................................................... 39 3.2.1 Positionalities ........................................................................................................... 41 3.2.2 Transparency ........................................................................................................... 44 3.2.3 Ethical Considerations ............................................................................................. 46 3.2.3.1 Working with Children ..................................................................................... 47 3.3 Case Study and Ethnography ................................................................................... 47 3.4 Participant Recruitment ........................................................................................... 51 3.4.1 Description of Research Participants ....................................................................... 51 viii 3.4.2 Focal Participants .................................................................................................... 52 3.4.2.1 Valentina and Manuel Calfu ............................................................................. 52 3.4.2.2 Max and Ella Calfu ........................................................................................... 55 3.4.2.3 Inés and Eduardo ............................................................................................... 55 3.4.2.4 Pablo ................................................................................................................. 56 3.4.2.5 Sra. A ................................................................................................................ 56 3.5 Research Settings and Activities ............................................................................. 56 3.5.1 Description of Research Activities and Roles ......................................................... 57 3.5.1.1 Participant Observation ..................................................................................... 57 3.5.1.2 At Home ............................................................................................................ 58 3.5.1.3 In the Car ........................................................................................................... 58 3.5.1.4 At School and in the Classroom ........................................................................ 59 3.5.1.5 At Community Events....................................................................................... 60 3.5.2 Research Instruments and Artifacts ......................................................................... 60 3.5.2.1 Audio Recordings of Interactions ..................................................................... 61 3.5.2.2 Semi-Structured Interviews .............................................................................. 63 3.5.2.3 Select Screenshots of Valentina’s Social Media Postings ................................ 64 3.5.2.4 Research Photos ................................................................................................ 65 3.5.2.5 Field Notes ........................................................................................................ 66 3.5.2.6 Photo Elicitation ................................................................................................ 67 3.6 Data Analysis ........................................................................................................... 68 3.6.1 Overarching Analytic Approach and the Identification of Themes ........................ 68 3.6.2 Narrative Analysis ................................................................................................... 70 3.6.3 Initiation-Response-Evaluation (IRE) Exchanges ................................................... 72 3.7 Rigor and Credibility ............................................................................................... 73 3.7.1 Rigor ........................................................................................................................ 73 3.7.2 Credibility ................................................................................................................ 74 3.7.3 Triangulation and Crystallization ............................................................................ 75 3.7.4 Member Reflections ................................................................................................ 76 3.7.5 Resonance ................................................................................................................ 77 3.7.6 Thick Description .................................................................................................... 79 3.7.7 Level of Detail ......................................................................................................... 79 3.7.8 Generalizability ....................................................................................................... 80 3.8 Chapter Summary .................................................................................................... 81 Chapter 4: Becoming a Speaker of Memory: The Language Socialization of Difficult Knowledge ...............................................................................................................82 4.1 Language Socialization ............................................................................................ 86 4.2 Language Socialization Through Narrative ............................................................. 88 4.3 Affect, Language Socialization, and Difficult Knowledge ..................................... 89 4.4 The Study ................................................................................................................. 91 4.4.1 Sociohistorical Context ............................................................................................ 91 4.4.2 Data Analysis ........................................................................................................... 92 4.5 Findings ................................................................................................................... 93 4.5.1 Early Socialization ................................................................................................... 93 4.5.2 Remembering Allende’s Bench ............................................................................... 99 ix 4.5.3 Allende, Pinochet, and The Disappeared ............................................................... 104 4.6 Discussion and Conclusions .................................................................................. 111 Chapter 5: “Too much earthquakes!”: Imagined Transnationalism and Heritage Language Learning Trajectories Two Generations after Exile .........................................117 5.1 The Significance of Biographical Connection in Heritage Language Learning .... 117 5.2 The Role of Imagined Transnationalism in the Language Learning Trajectories of Young HLLs .......................................................................................................... 119 5.3 Imagination and Heritage Language Learning ...................................................... 123 5.4 Imagined Transnationalism and Heritage Language Learning .............................. 124 5.5 Findings ................................................................................................................. 126 5.5.1 Attitudes Towards Speaking Spanish at School .................................................... 126 5.5.1.1 Valentina Interviews Max ............................................................................... 127 5.5.1.2 Valentina Interviews Ella ................................................................................ 127 5.5.2 Banal Nationalism at School ................................................................................. 129 5.5.3 (Banal) Nationalism in the Community ................................................................. 133 5.5.4 Imagining a Chile of Instability and Unrest .......................................................... 137 5.5.5 From National Imaginaries to Imagined Transnationalism ................................... 141 5.6 Discussion .............................................................................................................. 143 5.7 Conclusion ............................................................................................................. 147 Chapter 6: Finding Max’s Wolves: Literacy Socialization in the Margins ..........................150 6.1 Children’s Literacy Socialization .......................................................................... 152 6.2 Children’s Text-Making ........................................................................................ 153 6.3 Conceptualizing Literacy Socialization in Max’s Case ......................................... 155 6.4 The Study ............................................................................................................... 156 6.4.1 The Participants ..................................................................................................... 156 6.4.2 Focal Participant: Max Calfu ................................................................................. 159 6.5 Data Collection and Analysis ................................................................................ 160 6.6 Findings ................................................................................................................. 161 6.6.1 Finding Max’s Wolves at Home ............................................................................ 161 6.6.2 Finding Max’s Wolves Outside ............................................................................. 164 6.6.3 Finding Max’s Wolves on Worksheets ................................................................. 167 6.6.4 The Wolf at the Back ............................................................................................. 171 6.7 Discussion .............................................................................................................. 176 6.8 Conclusions and Implications ................................................................................ 180 Chapter 7: Conclusion ...............................................................................................................182 7.1 Summary of Findings and Contributions ............................................................... 182 7.1.1 Chapter 4 Summary ............................................................................................... 183 7.1.2 Chapter 5 Summary ............................................................................................... 184 7.1.3 Chapter 6 Summary ............................................................................................... 186 7.2 Particularities ......................................................................................................... 188 7.3 Implications ........................................................................................................... 191 7.3.1 For Families ........................................................................................................... 191 7.3.2 For Teachers and Teacher Educators ..................................................................... 192 x 7.3.3 For Policymakers ................................................................................................... 195 7.4 Directions for Future Research .............................................................................. 196 7.5 Concluding Remarks ............................................................................................. 198 References ................................................................................................................................201 Appendices ................................................................................................................................234 Appendix A: Letters of Invitation and Initial Contact .......................................................... 234 A.1 Snowball Sampling Email ............................................................................................ 234 A.2 Teachers ....................................................................................................................... 235 A.3 Schools ......................................................................................................................... 237 A.4 Focal Parents ................................................................................................................ 240 A.5 Focal Grandparents ..................................................................................................... 243 A.6 Classmate Parents ........................................................................................................ 246 Appendix B: Consent Forms .....................................................................................................248 B.1 Consent of Schools (Administrator/Principal) ............................................................. 248 B.2 Consent of Teachers ..................................................................................................... 252 B.3 Consent of Guardian for Classmate ............................................................................. 256 B.4 Assent of Classmate ..................................................................................................... 260 B.5 Consent of Parents of Focal Children .......................................................................... 264 B.6 Consent of Focal Grandparents .................................................................................... 268 B.7 Consent of Parents for Focal Children ......................................................................... 272 B.8 Assent of Focal Children .............................................................................................. 276 Appendix C: Interview Questions ........................................................................................... 280 C.1 Teachers ....................................................................................................................... 280 C.2 Focal Families .............................................................................................................. 282 Appendix D: Transcription Conventions ............................................................................... 287 xi List of Tables Table 1.1: Top Three Provinces of Resettlement, and Top Three Birth Places of Immigrants (of all Categories) From Spanish-Speaking Latin America (Statistics Canada, 2016) ... 12 Table 3.1: Research Participants ................................................................................................... 51 Table 3.2: Summary of Research Activities ................................................................................. 57 xii List of Figures Figure 4.1: Max and Ella Standing Behind “Allende’s Bench” ................................................. 100 Figure 5.1: En la Mañana Hablamos Español (In the Morning we Speak Spanish) ................... 129 Figure 5.2: An Image of Easter Island Partially Eclipsed by the Canadian Flag in Ella’s Grade 4 Classroom ................................................................................................................ 130 Figure 5.3: Latin American Folk Dancers Next to the Canadian Flags at the Front of Max’s Grade 2 Classroom ................................................................................................... 130 Figure 5.4: Ella’s Poetry Analysis Worksheet of the Poem, Chile, by Chilean poet, Oscar Jara Azócar ...................................................................................................................... 132 Figure 5.5: Earthquake Fundraising Box .................................................................................... 134 Figure 5.6: Chilean and Mapuche Flag Colouring Sheets .......................................................... 135 Figure 6.1: Max’s Summer Literacy Project (September 14, 2015) ........................................... 162 Figure 6.2: “Iqaluit and the Land” Worksheet ............................................................................ 168 Figure 6.3: The Cover of Max’s Inuit Colouring Book .............................................................. 171 Figure 6.4: One of the Many Untouched Pages of Max’s Inuit Colouring Book ....................... 172 Figure 6.5: The Wolf Max Drew on the Back of his Inuit Colouring Book ............................... 172 xiii List of Abbreviations HLL = Heritage Language Learner IRE = Initiation, Response, Evaluation xiv Acknowledgements This dissertation would not be what it is without the people who journeyed alongside me over the past several years. I want to begin by expressing my deep respect and gratitude to the Calfu family: Thank you for your cariño and for your friendship, and for agreeing to share a piece of your lives with me for the purposes of this research. I learned more from you than I could ever fully unpack in any report. To the Escuela Magpie School community: Thank you for opening your doors, hearts, and minds to me. It was a privilege to learn from you. And to my in-laws, Tey y Tavo Zayas: Mil gracias por todas las formas de apoyo que me han brindado en esta etapa de mi vida, y especialmente durante el año de recolección de datos. Los quiero mucho. It is with great affection that I recognize a few key people on this journey, whose brilliance as scholars, mentors, and human beings has shaped me as an emerging scholar and as a person. Dr. Patsy Duff: I will be forever grateful to you for your kindness, for your guidance as I carried out this ambitious research project, and for supporting me in countless other ways over the course of my program. Dr. Maureen Kendrick: I am indebted to you for the multiple opportunities to explore multimodality and difficult knowledge with you over the years, which gave me essential tools for conceptualizing this project. Dr. Steven Talmy: Thank you for working with me on the winding road to candidacy. Dr. Theresa Rogers: When you offered me some RA work a few months after Rosa was born, I felt seen in a way that I have trouble articulating. I promise to pay that gesture forward if I ever find myself such a position. And finally, to Dr. Martín Guardado: Me faltan las palabras para describir de manera adecuada el impacto que has tenido en mi vida, pero te puedo decir con certeza que si no fuera por el ánimo constante y las multiples formas de apoyo que me has brindado a través de los años, sencillamente, ni siquiera hubiera aplicado al programa de doctorado. Te agradezco infinitamente. I also want to acknowledge the valuable contributions of my examining committee: Dr. Meghan Corella, Dr. Margaret Early, Dr. Ann Anderson, and Dr. Martha Bigelow. I am honoured that you invested so much time and effort in helping me think about and refine various aspects of this work. To my friends in LLED who made the journey both possible and enjoyable: Dr. Melanie Wong, Harini Rajagopal, Dr. Ernesto Peña, Dr. Ismaeil Fazel, Dr. Sara Davidson, Dr. Hyera Byean, and Klara Abdi—your friendship, humour, intellectual provocations, and candor have meant more to me than you can know. I’d also like to acknowledge the role that Dr. Meike Wernicke, Dr. Won Kim, and Dr. Ryan Deschambault played in mentoring me as senior graduate students when I entered the program. Our conversations served as both lighthouse and life raft. Outside of my LLED community, I want to thank: Francine and Mike Wilson for your warmth, laughter, and nourishment while I was living alone in Vancouver; Dr. Donna Kozak for the camaraderie and great conversations in Kelowna; and Jenna and Gordie Gauthier for literally helping me put one foot in front of the other at the very end of this journey. Mom and Dad: Thank you for always encouraging me to follow my heart. Sara: Thanks for cheering me on during this PhD; it’s meant so much. José, I simply couldn’t ask for a more loving and supportive partner. Te amo tanto. Rosita (and now Chiquitín): In the months after data collection ended, I wondered why I couldn’t just sit down and write. In retrospect, I don’t think I could write this thesis with only one heart beating within me. Hacían falta los tuyos. We wrote this together. xv Finally, I am so grateful for the generous financial support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada, as well as a number of grants, research assistantships, and teaching appointments from UBC. These honours and appointments helped me meet my basic needs while working on my PhD, and contributed significantly to my emerging professional identity. xvi Dedication To my loving and courageous parents, whose openness toward the difficult knowledge in our own family narratives set me on this path. Para Rosita y Chiquitín: Que siempre vean las adversidades que enfrentaron sus antepasados como una fuente de inspiración y no de vergüenza. 1 Chapter 1: Introduction For almost 40 years, language socialization research has provided rich, empirically-grounded insights into how people navigate group membership and participation through the complex development of communicative competence in a range of cultural contexts and social configurations, using a variety of modes (e.g., spoken language, gesture, textbooks), and languages (see Duff & May, 2017). Despite its more recently expanded scope, however, we still have little understanding of language socialization in the wake of forced migration. This gap is significant, as human displacement continues to be a leading cause of international migration (UNHCR, 2019), and is therefore a growing social, cultural, and interactional reality for communities around the world. Because exile is not a new phenomenon, any given K-12 classroom may consist of students who have been displaced, but it might also include the descendants of exiles. And because trauma is not neatly contained within the experiencing generation (Argenti & Schramm, 2012), it is valuable to take a multigenerational perspective on language socialization, particularly in the case of heritage language learners (HLLs), in order to better understand the implications of difficult cultural knowledge for language and culture learning in subsequent generations. This study was motivated in part by my desire to investigate intergenerational communication in a community whose cultural heritage contains recent instantiations of difficult knowledge, that is, social breakdowns, such as war and historical trauma (Pitt & Britzman, 2003), and whose everyday communicative practices may be mediated by psychological practices such as coping (Almqvist & Hwang, 1999) or repression (see Billig, 1999). How do children become “speakers of culture” (Ochs, 2003) as they grow up at the crossroads of different communities of memory, and whose cultural environment out of school is constantly 2 evolving? What role does cultural memory play in their acquisition of the cultural and communicative knowledge necessary to achieve and maintain membership in their communities and nuclear, extended, and surrogate (Guardado & Becker, 2013) families? These are some of the questions that spurred this dissertation research. This research was also motivated by a series of key experiences I had with my own heritage and heritage language learning growing up in Canada, which I describe below. I 1991 I don’t remember how old I was or how I first learned I had German heritage, but I remember the moment my friend told me she was Jewish. We were standing at the back of Mme. Valerie’s grade one classroom, between the sink with the water fountain and the bins filled with miscellany for counting. The wall of windows behind me framed the leafless trees behind the teacher’s parking lot. I remember how we were standing—close; the way I was holding my hands—fidgeting; and the way her striking blue eyes flared with angst when I told her that I was German. What treacherous waters had I unwittingly waded into? Why had the otherwise mundane sharing of my ancestry suddenly become so painful, particularly within the context of Canadian “celebratory multiculturalism,” in which we were told that all cultural origins are sources of pride? Whose anxiety were we feeling? And most importantly, how could we go on being friends under the weight of this knowledge? With one word, it was as though my friend suddenly represented the bottomless chasm of suffering sustained by Jewish people during the Shoah, or Holocaust, and I represented the perpetrators. Two generations, over 7,000 kilometers, and 46 years stood between us and the historical events that momentarily stopped my six-year-3 old heart that day. But we both seemed to feel the presence of that history as if it were just over the windowsill, and neither of us knew what to do with it. II 2006-2008 Having fulfilled the "foreign” language requirement in my Bachelor of Arts degree, I decided to finally study German. I already spoke English, Spanish, and French fluently, and felt it was finally time to learn the language my father had spoken while playing on the ship that brought him to Canada from Germany as a young boy. Publicly-funded German-English bilingual education had been an option for my parents in Alberta in the 1990s, but my dad resisted this option for my sister and me. I can’t help but think that on some level, he must have felt that he was sparing me the linguistic discrimination that he experienced as a newcomer with German-accented English in Ontario schools in the 1960s. He did eventually speak to me in German, but not until I began studying it of my own accord as an adult, that is, once I was old enough to choose to enter into the German-speaking communities of practice (and their histories) for myself. I studied German for two years and did well, earning Buchpreises and scholarships and strong encouragement to pursue graduate studies in German, and to study abroad. But when I approached my Oma (paternal grandmother) about the possibility of conversing in German from time to time, she simply said, “Oh, my dear! I have forgotten it.” She had not, of course. But that was that. In elementary school, I read as much as I could about the Holocaust in books like The Diary of Anne Frank and Number the Stars (Lowry, 1989). Without anyone to help me process and reconcile this difficult cultural knowledge at school or at home in a healthy and balanced 4 way, I was left to piece together my paternal cultural heritage from a very young age, largely on my own. Once at university, I hungered to know more about the country that raised my grandparents and the war that broke them down. In retrospect, I was using my German 100 and 200 classes as a kind of roundabout way to understand our family’s particular brand of function and dysfunction, exacerbated by the open cultural and psychological wounds that migration could not heal, but rather, kept open. Unable or unwilling to indulge my persistent questioning about the Germany my grandparents left, my German professors encouraged me to study abroad. “You’ll see. Germany’s moved on. You’ll love it!” But while much of Germany may have “moved on,” or come to terms with the country’s past, growing up in Canada (and largely apart from the German diaspora community) I did not have the opportunity for deeper cultural understanding or to achieve any sense of reconciliation. The suggestion that I study abroad only intensified my curiosity about a Germany I could only ever know through narrative, film, and artifact. In the end, my family’s reluctance to speak our heritage language, and my professors’ resistance to respond to my curiosity about Germany’s difficult past drove a wedge between me and my heritage language. 1.1 Connecting my Story to the Dissertation Research Perhaps in part because of my awareness of my family’s experiences during the Second World War and the widespread cultural and psychic trauma that it inflicted, as a teenager I became quite involved in human rights activism locally and globally. Indeed, it was through my participation in a month-long trip to Nicaragua with a local not-for-profit organization in 2001 that I took notice of Spanish, and quickly became deeply invested in studying it. Upon my return to Canada, I began to seek out Spanish classes locally, first through grassroots Saturday schools, 5 and later during my Honors BA in Spanish and Latin American Studies.1 I also attended social-justice-oriented events that the local Chilean community organized. The Latin American community in Corvidell,2 the Western Canadian city where I conducted the research, was founded by Chilean exiles in the 1970s, who welcomed subsequent waves of (largely refugee) immigration from Central and South America into the 1980s and 1990s (see Baeza Kallens, 2004, for a report on this wave of immigration in Edmonton, Alberta). As such, the Chilean community in Corvidell (and elsewhere) has historically built a diaspora culture around their abiding commitment to social justice—something that had been essential to president Salvador Allende’s political platform and governance, and that became illegal under Augusto Pinochet (see below for more on this political history). Indeed, it is widely recognized that exile became a tool of Pinochet’s oppressive regime (T. Wright & Oñate, 2007). Although I am a White, cis-gendered woman with no Latin American, Spanish, or Indigenous ancestry to my knowledge, I felt a sense of common purpose with local Chilean activists that I met. The way they mobilized their difficult cultural knowledge to advocate for a more equitable world resonated strongly with the way I was coming to terms with the difficult cultural knowledge in my own heritage, and subsequently deepened my commitment to learning Spanish in order to participate bilingually in that transcultural and multilingual social movement. For instance, I learned vocabulary like huelga (strike) and taller (workshop) and sindicato (union) and manifestación (protest) long before I needed or wanted to learn more quotidian vocabulary like correa (dog’s leash) or manija (door handle) or cordón (shoelace) or teclado (keyboard). I used 1 My honours thesis was an examination of the social, political, and symbolic significance of Salvadorean folk artist Fernando Llort’s work in El Salvador and in the diaspora. 2 All names of people and named research sites, such as the city and school, are pseudonyms. 6 cacerola (cooking pot) in the context of discussing protests before I ever asked anyone to pass me one in the kitchen. Because of Allende’s recognition of the existence and rights of Indigenous people in Chile, a great number of Chilean exiles during that time supported or aligned themselves with Indigenous (often Mapuche) human rights efforts, and brought this activism with them into the diaspora (T. Wright & Oñate, 2007). The local Chilean activists’ focus on Indigenous rights and advocacy for Indigenous cultural revitalization in Canada and in Chile was particularly interesting to me; as Macedo (2019a) points out, pre-colonial civilizations tend to be minimized, exoticized, or altogether absent from Spanish language education. The minimization of cultures and histories (particularly difficult histories) in language education resonated strongly with me. I was captivated by how the local Chilean activists’ progressive ideologies seemed to work syncretically with those of other Indigenous and non-Indigenous cultures in Canada who had faced and survived or thrived through various forms of state-orchestrated oppression, and I wanted to know more about this process. It is also worth mentioning that my partner of 15 years was born in the United States to parents who were fleeing the Salvadorean civil war in the 1980s. He lived in Canada from age two to 11, when his family decided to move back to El Salvador for seven years before returning to Canada permanently in the early 2000s. One of his sisters married a Chilean-Canadian man whose family had come to Canada as refugees in the 1970s during the same wave of immigration as the focal family in this dissertation. I do not presume to identify as an insider of either diaspora community (Chilean or Salvadorean), but I do feel deep kinship bonds to my extended family and I wonder how our children will navigate their cultural and linguistic heritage as they grow up in Canada. The time I have spent in conversation with members of the Chilean (and 7 Salvadoran) diaspora community, as well as the numerous family and community events I have attended over the years, have helped me to achieve a particular understanding of the social, affective, and political context in which they use and maintain their heritage language and cultural practices. It has long been apparent to me that the leftist political culture (Eastmond, 1993) that many second-generation Chileans (now in their 30s, 40s, and 50s) identified with in some way seemed to give renewed purpose to their heritage language use, which prompted my Master’s research (Becker, 2013, 2014; Guardado & Becker, 2013) and now, this dissertation study. In recent years, applied linguistics scholars have begun to conduct and call for research that is more attuned to the relationship between language learning or maintenance and difficult cultural knowledge (as socialized intergenerationally) or traumatic experiences in the homeland (including colonized Indigenous settings within their homeland) or in their new country, but this body of work is very recent, often theoretical, and very diverse in scope (see, e.g., Becker, 2014; Campano, 2007; Charalambous, 2019; Ennser-Kananen, 2016; Marshall & Toohey, 2010; Nelson & Appleby, 2015). This dissertation study aimed to address this gap in the literature, especially as significant numbers of people around the world continue to be negatively impacted by the increasing frequency of global economic, climactic, and health crises. Many displaced people and their descendants are, and will continue to be, students in our classrooms, and it behooves us to have a better understanding of the role of difficult cultural knowledge in the “much larger process of becoming a person in society” (Ochs, 2003, p. 106), and all of the constraints such becoming might entail. 8 1.2 Sociohistorical Context and Research Problem In order to adequately establish the research problem and anticipated significance of the research, it is necessary to provide some sociohistorical context. In what follows, I give a brief overview of the social, historical, and political context that families like the focal family in this study, the Calfus,3 fled, and the diaspora communities that the second generation grew up in. 1.2.1 El Once de Septiembre and the Chilean Imaginary On September 11, 1973, a violent coup d’état overthrew Chile’s democratically elected, socialist president, Salvador Allende. In the 1000 days Allende’s party was in power (la Unidad Popular, or Popular Unity party), it had made great strides to support the working class in particular; however, “the country’s economy was on a downward spiral toward an insurmountable crisis” (Shayne, 2009, p. 11). Because of the country’s deteriorating economic situation, the coup was not surprising even to Allende supporters (Shayne, 2009). However, “the brutality with which it was executed was shocking even to its advocates” (T. Wright & Oñate, 1998, p. 4). Disappearances, concentration camps, torture, and killings were routine during Augusto Pinochet’s rule (Manzi, Helsper, Ruiz, Krause, & Kronmüller, 2003; Shayne, 2009; T. Wright & Oñate, 1998). This period of brutality in Chile’s recent memory, and September 11th in particular, occupies a central place in the way generations of Chileans remember and imagine their country both within Chile (del Valle Barrera, Koch, & Aguirre, 2013; Guichard & Henríquez, 2011; 3 Valentina, the mother of the focal children in this study, chose Calfu for her family name pseudonym, meaning “blue” in the Mapuche language. The Mapuche are the Indigenous people of Chile from whom she and her children are descended (see Chapter 6). 9 Manzi et al., 2003) and in the diaspora (e.g., Shayne, 2009). Shayne (2009) writes eloquently of the effect of this time on the exiled Chilean left: The violent assault on [the left’s] hard-fought-for dream left a political and emotional scar that many have yet to heal from but it did not lead to full-scale surrender. Rather, the coup and dictatorship catalyzed anger, resistance, and ultimately public mobilization against the junta, not at all what Pinochet had intended. . . . Though many Chileans were traumatized both physically and politically by the violent assault on their dream, they converted this emotional pain into political mobilization. (p. 27; see also Aguirre, 2011; Power, 2009) Indeed, many exiled Chileans sought to transmit to their children a “political heritage” (Eastmond, 1993, p. 42; see also, Becker, 2013, 2014) in addition to (or interwoven with) the more traditional forms of cultural heritage that minoritized ethnic groups commonly desire to pass on to future generations (e.g., language, folk dance, music, culinary knowledge). From her research with Chilean exiles in California, Eastmond (1993) noted that Saturday schools were established to teach the children “Chilean political history and maintain the Spanish language”4 (p. 41; see also Peddie, 2014, p. 93). In Canada, community-run heritage language schools across the country were named for Salvador Allende, and housing co-ops for Indigenous Mapuche homelands (e.g., Arauco) (Peddie, 2014). Other values that Chilean exiles of the time sought to impart upon their children included anti-consumerism, collectivism, and solidarity (Eastmond, 1993, pp. 40–41). Young Chileans growing up in diaspora were regularly involved in the ongoing solidarity efforts that their parents participated in, such as fundraisers, peñas, protests, and rallies (Palacios, 2011; Serpente, 2015; Shayne, 2009) and some grew up in Chilean housing 4 Note the primacy of “political history” over “Spanish language.” 10 co-operatives where interactional and artefactual manifestations of their political heritage were part of daily life (Becker, 2013; Palacios, 2011). As Eastmond (1993) writes, the initial years of exile were characterized by a process of cultural transformation and redefinition: The formulation of their cultural heritage necessarily involved a selection of elements from tradition and history. As such it was a creative act, a collective reconstruction of the past in new contexts, which involved a rearrangement of traditional symbols for new functions. The primary function was that of political opposition to the Chilean regime, to preserve the identity of the popular movement. (p. 41) Baeza Kallens’ (2004) study in Edmonton’s Chilean exile community led her to refer to the diaspora culture that emerged there as a cultura del exilio, or exile culture, which she describes this way: As historian José del Pozo affirms, there was a more subtle and subjective manifestation of identity that corresponds with a sense of belonging to a collectivity, through non-material culture, like beliefs, values, and representations. This is precisely the definition that most corresponds to exiled Chileans. It’s not that they disdain eating empanadas and dancing the Cueca on September 18th (Chilean Independence Day), but to limit oneself to that would have been to have remained within the “traditional” Chilean ethnic identity, not [the identity] of the exile. What took precedence then has been the so-called “leftist political culture,” a key element in the identity of exiled Chileans. Indeed, for a long time the exiles were proud to come from a political experience that had constituted a unique case in history and that had attracted the interest of the public and the media all over the world. . . . And so, the political identity of the exiles was expressed in various activities carried out continuously since 1974. Denouncing the dictatorship, homage to the fallen of 11 September 11th, demands for the liberation of political prisoners, protests of the 1988 plebiscite, activities organized around Pinochet’s arrest in October 1998, all constitute diverse expressions of that culture. It’s important to highlight that the manifestations around these issues weren’t just from political groups or parties, but also from sports clubs, women’s groups, and professional associations. (pp. 82–83, my translation) In summary, September 11th, 1973 is a significant date within the Chilean collective imagination, a date about which renowned Chilean exile and writer Ariel Dorfman writes, “death entered our lives in an irrevocable way and altered it forever” (2006, p. 1, my translation). Despite the end of Pinochet’s regime, “the Chilean diaspora and its consequences did not end”—rather, “they will continue to affect individuals, families, and the nation for decades to come” (T. Wright & Oñate, 1998, p. xi; Shayne, 2009). 1.2.2 The Chilean Diaspora in Canada In the 1960s, Canada’s Latin American population was relatively small, with just over 14,000 people originating primarily in Argentina, Brazil, and Mexico (and other countries not listed on the census) (del Pozo, 2006). According to national census data, there were around 600 Chileans in Canada between 1961–1971, but in the following decade, that number rose to over 11,000, which likely reflects the exodus spurred by Pinochet’s coup d’état in 1973 and the ensuing military dictatorship (del Pozo, 2006, p. 129). As the first significant wave of immigration from Latin America, Chileans (many with progressive political ideologies) were the architects of much of the social infrastructure that welcomed subsequent waves of exiles and economic migrants from Latin America (Baeza Kallens, 2004; del Pozo, 2006; Palacios, 2011). As T. Wright and Oñate (1998) put it: “In general terms, Chilean exiles lived an experience shared by at least two million other Latin Americans over the past four decades” (p. ix)—a 12 number that has undoubtedly risen in the 21 years since the publication of their book, with the surge of refugees from South and Central America fleeing dangerous and unlivable conditions in their home countries. In the most recent Canadian Census (Statistics Canada, 2016, see Table 1.1), we can see that although most Spanish-speaking Latin American immigrants in Canada currently appear to be from Mexico, Colombia, and El Salvador, Chileans remain the third largest group from South America. It is also worth noting that Alberta, the province where I conducted this research, is home to the third largest Latin American population in the country (albeit a much smaller population than in the top two provinces, Ontario and Quebec). Table 1.1: Top Three Provinces of Resettlement, and Top Three Birth Places of Immigrants (of all Categories5) From Spanish-Speaking Latin America (Statistics Canada, 2016) Central America Province of resettlement Ontario 69,880 Quebec 38,475 Alberta 27,815 Place of birth Mexico 80,585 El Salvador 48,075 Guatemala 17,270 South America 5 Total immigrant population, including economic immigrants (worker, business, provincial or territorial nominee programs), family sponsored immigrants, refugees, and “other.” 13 Province of resettlement Ontario 181,995 Quebec 72,120 Alberta 28,720 Place of birth Colombia 70,035 Peru 29,620 Chile 26,705 Caribbean Province of resettlement Ontario 237,640 Quebec 110,650 Alberta 16,410 Place of birth Cuba 17,850 Dominican Republic 10,605 Puerto Rico 505 Although statistical information is not readily available reflecting the percentage of Mapuche Indigenous people who arrived in Canada during Pinochet’s regime, T. Wright and Oñate (2007) affirm that they were “well represented in exile ranks” (p. 37) globally, likely because of the severely repressive measures that the Pinochet government used against them (see Reuque Paillalef, 2002). Indeed, Mapuche people received important cultural and legal validation under the Allende government, whose progressive policies facilitated and supported a measure of 14 cultural resurgence for the Mapuche (e.g., by passing a landmark Indigenous Law, which recognized the Mapuche’s cultural existence and autonomy6). 1.3 Rationale and Overarching Research Questions The research questions that guided this study were formed out of years of experience in Spanish-speaking communities in Alberta, which in turn influenced how I interpreted the applied linguistics literature and other relevant social science literature that I encountered and sought out in graduate school. The overarching aim of this study was to examine how the Calfu children, Max and Ella, as exemplars of the wider phenomenon of HLLs descended from refugees, were being socialized into their family’s memories of their personal and cultural past, and to what extent this out-of-school socialization was taken up in a school whose cultural and linguistic objectives overlapped with (and in some ways stemmed from) the family’s exile narratives. I simultaneously endeavoured to understand the children’s emerging relationship to their heritage language in this complex language socialization milieu. As this dissertation is the culmination of my graduate studies, I feel it is relevant here to mention the pivotal role that Aneta Pavlenko’s (2007) book, Emotions and Multilingualism, had in validating the connections that I saw between social, historical, political, and emotional worlds of members of the Chilean diaspora and their language maintenance and learning. These connections would eventually become fertile ground for the research questions that would guide my master’s and doctoral case studies, and would empower me to see them through when questioned about their value or relevance. As it happens, Pavlenko and I both had similar experiences on the path to forming our research questions and agendas during our PhD programs. In her case, it was a professor at Cornell who, during a graduate seminar discussion, 6 Mapuche people have a long history of cultural activism that can be traced back at least to the government’s occupation of their lands in the 19th century (Crow, 2013). 15 became annoyed at her abiding quest to link linguistic phenomena and their social and emotional dimensions to second language acquisition, forcefully asserting one day: “Aneta, not everything in life relates to second language acquisition!” (Pavlenko, 2007, p. xii). Similarly, in the second year of my doctoral program at UBC, I was discussing my research plan with some peers, and one asked (with a similar, albeit less aggressive tone of incredulity), “But what does that [difficult knowledge] have to do with language?” and I remember telling him without hesitation, “Everything.” It was the initial hunch that I gleaned from my life experience that was nurtured by influential publications like Pavlenko’s (2007) (which discussed life experiences similar to mine), and a few key mentors during my graduate studies that led to the pursuit of answers to the overarching questions for this study: 1. What genres (e.g., narrative) were used by the Calfu family to support language and literacy socialization, particularly relating to their difficult cultural knowledge? (e.g., Chile, the events surrounding El Once, living in diaspora) 2. How were Max and Ella socialized to talk about and understand cultural practices and symbols that were important to their family and diaspora community? 3. How was Max and Ella’s heritage language socialization shaped by their imagined transnationalism, and what are the possible implications of their imagined transnationalism for their heritage language trajectories? 4. In what ways did Max and Ella mobilize elements of their other (non-national) identities and interests to construct their identities at school, at home, and in other settings? How were these identities interpreted and validated (or not) in different settings? 16 1.4 Outline of the Dissertation In the following chapter, I outline the literature review and theoretical framework. In Chapter 3, I describe the study's methodology in detail. The results chapters (4, 5, and 6) were written as stand-alone manuscripts in order to facilitate dissemination to families, schools, and researchers through future journal publications. Chapter 7 is focused on summarizing the major findings, listing some of the study’s particularities, describing some of the implications of the findings for different audiences, and pointing to possible directions for future research. 17 Chapter 2: Literature Review and Theoretical Framework 2.1 The Role of Difficult Cultural Knowledge in Language and Literacy Education Research Difficult cultural knowledge has not traditionally been a focus in applied linguistics. When considering migration, research in this field has tended to focus on the language and literacy development of voluntary migrants (e.g., for economic reasons) (for a discussion, see Ennser-Kananen, 2016; Nelson & Appleby, 2014). And when forced migrants have been a focus in this area of research, rarely has the role of the difficult cultural knowledge been considered—a knowledge that they bring into the diaspora with them, and mobilize as they simultaneously forge new identities, communicative competence, and cultural practices (cf. Baynham & De Fina, 2005). This gap is surprising, particularly in the area of heritage language education, where attention to learner affect, identity, culture, and histories and relationships is considered critical (e.g., Carreira, 2012; Leeman, 2015; Potowski, 2004, 2012). Nevertheless, Pavlenko’s (2007) review of a cluster of studies on Germans in English-dominant countries strongly suggests that there is a link between difficult cultural knowledge (including cultural trauma and re-traumatization or marginalization in the diaspora) and family language use—particularly in the case of first-language rejection. For instance, one family of German immigrants to the US abandoned speaking German entirely, even at home, after a teacher positioned their daughter as a Nazi. In their case, the family felt it had become untenable, unsafe, even, to maintain German “against a social background of an intense anti-German sentiment” (Pavlenko, 2007, p. 203). Of course, different families and different individuals within those families will respond differently to broader societal pressures, historical realities, traumas (collective and individual) and negative stereotypes, but those cases do not lessen the 18 impact of shame, for instance, or insecurity, on language use or rejection in cases where families are negatively impacted by their difficult knowledge. Pavlenko (2007) clarifies: Sociolinguistic studies of language attrition in immigrant contexts and of language shift in the context of minority language suggest that first language rejection is motivated by social, political, economic, and ideological reasons. Emotions have rarely taken a center place in this research, but it is becoming increasingly clear that people’s feelings about their languages, identities, and futures play an important role in their linguistic choices. (p. 201) Indeed, over the past decade, there has been greater consideration of language learning in conflict and post-conflict contexts (e.g., Charalambous, 2019; Charalambous, Rampton, & Jackson, 2012; also see Nelson & Appleby, 2015), and applied linguistics researchers have begun to focus more on the language and literacy experiences of refugee background youth and adults themselves (e.g., Bigelow, 2010; Duran, 2017; Finn, 2010; Hatoss, 2013; Hatoss & Sheely, 2010; Johnson & Kendrick, 2017). Nevertheless, the majority of this research focuses on the experiencing generation; to my knowledge, there has been no research that examines the legacy and impact of difficult knowledge on the heritage language and identity trajectories beyond the second generation (i.e., beyond the children of the experiencing generation). Much of the multigenerational work on difficult knowledge has been understood in terms of intergenerational trauma, and stems from psychology (see Britzman, 1998) and anthropology (e.g., Argenti & Schramm, 2012; Malkki, 1995), with much of its foundational work conducted with the descendants of victims, survivors (e.g., Bar-On et al., 1998), and perpetrators (Hardtmann, 1998) of the Holocaust. 19 Byram and Kramsch’s (2008) research examined why it is that university-level language teachers “tend to agree with the notion that what needs to be taught is critical language awareness, interpretive skills, and historical consciousness” while at the same time admitting that “they also find it difficult, if not impossible, to implement” (p. 21). In their interviews with teachers of German from a range of cultural and linguistic backgrounds, they found that their participants expressed three main concerns regarding teaching “language as culture.” Teachers’ first concern was about inadvertently reifying stereotypes by making reference to widely recognizable cultural icons or symbols (which may nevertheless hold significant cultural value). Teachers’ second concern was their self-professed lack of current cultural knowledge or native/ “insider” status, resulting in a purported lack of authority to “teach” culture. Their third concern had to do with “communicative imperatives in current foreign language pedagogy” (p. 33). In other words, communicative language teaching (for example) has been very popular in university-level language classes, but “How can students deduce from their readings or from their interactions a body of knowledge that their teachers have gained through reading, studying and traveling? . . . How much linguistic activity, and how much metalinguistic reflection is appropriate in language classes?” (p. 33). All of these reasons to avoid teaching language as culture or to talk about “how language is used to represent social and cultural realities” (p. 33) only serve to maintain the comfort of the language instructor and perhaps a few students, at the expense of those students for whom difficult cultural knowledge may be an important part of their cultural identity, in the case of some HLLs (see also Cranmer, 2015, for an example of intergenerational trauma and language attrition in Indigenous language revitalization narratives). This reluctance to teach language as culture—to incorporate critical language awareness and historical consciousness—into language teaching, does all learners a disservice, as it severs them 20 from important contextual information and opportunities for reflexivity that would make them more culturally-competent communicators. Considerations of difficult knowledge in applied linguistics tend to be more prevalent in New Literacy Studies, possibly because of its multimodal focus. Drawing, for instance, offers “children a less restricted and less institutionalized space to represent sensitive subject matter, which in turn, offers a means to insert themselves” into difficult cultural conversations (Becker-Zayas, Kendrick, & Namazzi, 2018, p. 385). Marshall and Toohey’s (2010) funds of knowledge study in an elementary school in Metro Vancouver offers a poignant example. In their study, children of Sikh heritage represented their grandparents’ difficult cultural knowledge visually (knowledge that stemmed from the violent period of history that they lived through during the partition of India and Pakistan) using modern symbols that were meaningful or recognizable to the children themselves (e.g., the Nike symbol). 2.2 The Role of Imagination in Heritage Language Use Trajectories Imagination is an integral yet sometimes underrecognized aspect of language learning (Block, 2009; Duff, 2015; Kanno & Norton, 2003; Kramsch, 2009; Li & Zhu, 2019). In applied linguistics it is often discussed in terms of desire or longing—desire to interact with other people and achieve some sense of belonging, locally or in another place. Imagination, like nostalgia, has been understood as “the ability and the process of forming new ideas, images or feelings in the mind that are not being seen, heard, or felt presently” (Li & Zhu, 2019, p. 76), a dynamic process that draws on both fantasy and reality. It is inherent in storytelling, a primordial meaning-making device for human beings (Ochs & Capps, 2001) and a central feature of language socialization (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002; Miller, Koven, & Lin, 2012; Ochs & Capps, 1996). 21 Imagination is a particularly significant tool for HLLs, whose biographical connection to the heritage language spans multiple scales of space and time, and whose physical movement between countries may be restricted by financial or legal barriers (to name only two). For instance, in her study on the identity construction and heritage language learning of third generation American-born Africans, B. Makoni (2018) noted that her participants constructed strong pan-African identities (“identities of resistance” to various forms of othering they experienced) despite the fact that “most had not been to the countries their families had come from due to exorbitant travel costs” (p. 94). Though not always characterized as such in the research report, B. Makoni’s (2018) participants frequently used imagination to form an image of home, and to nurture their local pan-African identities, which they indexed through dress and the use of African languages, for instance. Indeed, “the main driving force [to learn an African heritage language] was the construction of an identity distinct from that of the majority group” (p. 86) from which they were routinely excluded, through enrollment in ESL classes and other means. Similarly, for one adolescent in Bigelow’s (2010) study of the language and literacy practices of Somalis in Minnesota: Being “Somali” does not necessarily require firsthand experiences of life in Somalia. Someone else’s memories about Somalia may suffice and transfer to him. Furthermore, a person can learn how to speak and be Somali from others who are doing it and this is possible to do in Minnesota. (p. 27) Imagination was also central in Coryell, Clark, and Pomerantz’s (2010) analysis of the “cultural fantasy narratives” of seven HLLs of Spanish in the US, who decided to re/learn their heritage language online in adulthood. The learners’ identities, language attitudes, and practices were distinctly shaped by the metanarrative of “proper Spanish” that they had received throughout 22 their lives, particularly as Tex-Mex speakers. Also in an online learning context, van Deusen-Scholl’s (2018) research found that imagination played a key role in facilitating a sense of belonging across speech communities for university-level HLLs of less commonly taught languages. Not only does the use of imagination in co-constructing narrative have the potential to foster personally meaningful links to the heritage language and its speakers, but HLLs are also socialized into particular moral, political, and ideological understandings of their origins and current identity options through narrative. It is worth noting that this practice is complicated when the heritage language variety being taught does not match the student’s home language variety, as sometimes is the case with students of Chinese heritage (Duff & Li, 2013). Participation in heritage narrative practices enables HLLs to creatively insert themselves into representations of their heritage culture/s, which has a number of implications for identity development, present and future language use, as well as social or civic engagement (Becker, 2013, 2014). Blackledge and colleagues’ (Blackledge et al., 2008; Blackledge & Creese, 2009; Blackledge & Creese, 2010) extensive ethnographic research in a number of complementary heritage language schools in the UK is replete with examples of such exchanges, as is Baquedano-López’s (1997, 2001) seminal language socialization study of narrative in doctrina classes in Los Angeles. 2.3 New Literacy Studies I adopted a New Literacy Studies lens to understanding the literacy practices that occurred over the course of this research. New literacy studies is a theory of literacy that is rooted in the notion of situatedness. In other words, New Literacy Studies views all literacies as situated in a particular time and place, and “all literate activity [as] indicative of broader social 23 practices” (Barton, Hamilton, & Ivanič, 2000, p. 1), which include ideologies, power relations, and history (Barton & Hamilton, 2000). Indeed, literacy practices are an important way of affixing the past to the present and of achieving a sense of historical continuity (Stein, 2008; Stein & Newfield, 2004). In Tusting’s (2000) view, “the whole ‘point’ of literacy . . . springs from the need to construct written historical records of temporary social existence. Spoken language is ephemeral, while written language [and by extension, drawing, photography, etc.] is more permanent, and is therefore portable through time” (p. 39). This research was conducted at the confluence of multiple currents, including culture, politics, history, affect, and language. To address various layers of multiplicity in the research, I found syncretism to be a useful concept. As Duranti and Ochs (1996) put it: “The main idea behind [syncretic literacy] is the belief that, when different cultural systems meet, one rarely simply replaces the other” (p. 173). Gregory, Volk, & Long (2013a) clarify that syncretism differs from “hybridity” and other apparent synonyms in its foregrounding of creativity, transformation, and process over product. Being a theory of literacy, children’s intentionality, agency, and expertise in their own learning is also foregrounded in New Literacy Studies. Syncretic literacy research tends to be ethnographic in scope, which facilitates multi-layered analyses that help unpack dense contextual factors in syncretic literacy encounters. It also pays close attention to “mediators of learning,” which Gregory et al. (2013a) describe as “important people (grandparents, siblings, peers, parents, teachers etc.) in children’s learning lives” (pp. 313–314). In this multigenerational, multi-sited, and culturally and linguistically plural research context, the concept of syncretic literacy helped to situate the work socially and materially. 24 2.4 Implications of Syncretic Literacy Studies for Literacy Socialization Research with HLLs Given syncretic literacy studies’ ethnographic attention to multiple contextual factors, including “mediators,” there are clear areas of productive overlap between syncretic literacy studies and literacy socialization, which refers to the ways that “learning to read and write implies . . . cultural apprenticeship into a community’s values, social positions, and identities, which are associated with locally shaped literacy practices” (Sterponi, 2012, p. 227). Considering that HLLs’ identities, as well as their cultural and linguistic practices, are often talked about in terms of hybridity, multiplicity, and other related concepts (e.g., Block, 2009; Guardado, 2008; He & Xiao, 2008; Zentella, 1997), applying the lenses of syncretic literacy and literacy socialization to researching HLLs from a multimodal and intergenerational perspective can generate important insights. For instance, the four studies that constitute a 2013 special issue of The Journal of Early Childhood Literacy draw attention to the potential of a syncretic conceptualization of literacy to examine the situated, creative, and historical aspects of literacy development in childhood (edited by Gregory et al., 2013a). All of the articles focus on the social complexity of literacy socialization outside of school, and the curricular rigidity and beliefs that present barriers to deeper engagement in school. Curdt-Christiansen’s (2013) research with two Chinese families, one in Singapore and one in Montreal, highlights the rarely examined role of grandparents in their grandchildren’s language and literacy development, or their “imperceptible influence.” In her research, Curdt-Christiansen observes that grandparents act not only as caregivers for children, tending to their basic needs, but can be key influences in their heritage language and literacy development. Grandparents’ beliefs about language, literacy, and learning play a leading (if under-recognized) role in intergenerational language socialization. 25 Relatedly, in their research into literacy socialization practices involving a Bangladeshi grandmother and her two young grandchildren in the UK, Jessel, Kenner, Gregory, Ruby, and Arju (2011) demonstrated how syncretism means more than the blending or overlapping of two or more cultural understandings. It is an inherently creative process, whereby “new cultural understandings are created as participants syncretise their knowledge and experience” (p. 48). Writing from different national and multicultural contexts (the UK and the US), Kenner and Ruby (2013), as well as Long, Volk, Baines, and Tisdale (2013), describe how formal learning spaces can be enriched when teachers make space for families’ syncretic literacy practices. Nevertheless, when marginalizing practices are rooted in longstanding colonial traditions, awareness of student backgrounds is generally insufficient to prompt substantial and sustained pedagogical transformation. In other words, real change for historically marginalized students seems to be less a matter of awareness raising or teacher “training” than it is a matter of critical reflection and transformed systems, which is a process that requires a great deal of humility and vulnerability working within overarching frameworks of anti-racism and decolonization (Battiste, 2017). 2.5 Language Socialization In addition to syncretism, the guiding theoretical concept for this dissertation study is language and literacy socialization, which offers a dynamic frame to examine “socialization through the use of language and socialization to use language” (Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986, p. 163). For over three decades, language socialization has provided a powerful lens for examining how people navigate their social worlds and negotiate membership in their communities linguistically (see Ochs & Schieffelin, 1984, 2017), and in more recent research, through other communicative means (e.g., textbooks, Curdt-Christiansen, 2017; drawings, Pahl, 2017). It is a 26 theory of language learning that “is rooted in the notion that the process of acquiring a language is part of a much larger process of becoming a person in society” (Ochs, 2003, p. 106). Language socialization researchers use macro and micro tools and perspectives for analysis to understand how people acquire communicative competence in a given cultural or social context in the process of becoming ratified group members. This process is intrinsically bi- or multi-directional (Duff & Talmy, 2011), and occurs in a dynamic and fluid way over time. Identity and power negotiation, language ideology, the interactional construction and maintenance of community, the expression of affect, and the use of narrative are primary areas of focus in language socialization research (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002; Kulick & Schieffelin, 2004), as noted earlier. As Duff and Talmy (2011) have pointed out, “interactional routines” have traditionally been a focal point in language socialization research, “as a locus for meaning-making and learning” (p. 110). Indeed, it is through careful attention to apparently mundane, everyday interactions that implicit socialization often occurs (e.g., through enregisterment, indexicality), which are the primary vehicle for “other forms of knowledge that are learned in and through language” (Duff & Talmy, 2011, p. 95) such as cultural or social knowledge, or in the case of this study, the difficult knowledge contained within cultural knowledge. The main analytic foci of this study are the socialization practices and interactional routines that shape identity and facilitate belonging within a multigenerational, diasporic culture of memory: a culture for which remembering the coup d’état in Santiago de Chile on September 11, 1973 is seen as an essential act of both group identity and social justice (Chapter 4), a culture that continuously re/constructs “Chile” through memory using narrative and other semiotic means (Chapter 5), and a culture that 27 remembers and takes pride in its pre-Hispanic, Mapuche ancestry by making local and global connections (Chapter 6). Just as language socialization research centres power hierarchies, agency, and multiplicity in its social constructionist conceptualization of identity (He, 2017; Ochs, 1993), it also “conceives of language as one of a multitude of in-flux, contested, and ever-changing social practices that in part constitute particular dynamic communities of practice” (Duff & Talmy, 2011, p. 96). In other words, many language socialization researchers see both “language” (and other semiotic tools) and “language speakers” (and semiotic tool users) as shifting yet central elements of language socialization. Following this epistemological stance, this study adopts a “languaging” stance on heritage language socialization, which I describe in greater detail below. 2.6 Defining Heritage Language Learners Scholarly definitions of HLLs have tended to vary according to the goals of researchers, and in response to the various characteristics and needs of the student populations heritage language researchers aim to serve. HLLs can be first language speakers, or several generations removed from their heritage language-speaking ancestors. They can have “native-like” communicative competence, or they can have no knowledge of the heritage language at all, with biographical heritage being the only thread connecting them to their ancestral language and culture (Noels, 2005; Valdés, 2005; van Deusen-Scholl, 2003). Of greatest concern to researchers in this area is heritage language speakers of the first or second generation, for whom language maintenance has direct implications for family communication, academic success, and positive identity development (Wong Fillmore, 1991). Nevertheless, some researchers have ventured beyond the second generation and have often found language shift to be well underway or complete (Fishman, 2001; Zentella, 1997). Language maintenance beyond the second 28 generation is particularly valuable for its insight into the evolving links between individual and group identity development, transnationalism, and multilingualism (see B. Makoni, 2018, for a compelling example). From a language socialization perspective, heritage language research beyond the second generation has the potential to reveal the persistence and negotiation of cultural values from a historically-informed standpoint, which can include continued advocacy for human rights in the national context they fled (e.g., Eastmond, 1993; Power, 2000; W. Wright, 2010; T. Wright & Oñate, 1998) as well as in the countries in which they have settled (see Becker, 2013, 2014; Palacios, 2011). 2.7 Heritage Languaging The field of heritage language research was built upon a strong foundation of first-language advocacy and maintenance (e.g., Cummins & Danesi, 1990; Fishman, 2001; Valdés, 2005), which has been a necessary direction in applied linguistics research, and has resulted in positive outcomes for families, communities, and classrooms (e.g., Cummins & Early, 2011). Heritage language researchers have been very interested in HLLs’ language proficiency and, in the past 20 years, cultural identity. Findings in this area have routinely led to detailed reports on how often subsequent generations speak their family language, with whom and where; as well as their language attitudes, motivations and “investments” (Norton, 2013) to learn or continue speaking the (named) language. Too narrow a focus on the heritage language, however, has perhaps limited the depth and subtlety of understanding we are able to achieve of language use in multilingual families. For instance, an abundance of similar conclusions across the field seems to have resulted in Agnes He’s (2012) “composite master profile of a HLL,” Jason, a participant she created from data of a number of learners in order to illustrate “the most common pattern of CHL [Chinese heritage language] development” in the United States (p. 597). 29 A fundamental challenge that the language maintenance agenda presents lies in its point of departure, which is the assumption that named languages are “coherent entit[ies]” that can be counted, measured, and transmitted as such, and that heritage language learning involves negotiating two primary, distinct languages. As Møller (2016) explains: From a sociolinguistic perspective it is easy to support the claim that the notion of a Language should be viewed as a construction rather than a coherent entity. There is no clear method to determine where one language begins and another ends. In addition, there is no general, objective way to determine when human beings “speak a language.” This does however not stop speakers from treating Languages as entities. The huge majority of speakers world-wide are socialised into viewing language through the lens of Languages. . . . But what needs to be remembered here is that there is nothing natural about speaking in one Language at the time. Common knowledge for all sociolinguists is that speakers often juxtapose features associated with different Languages in the same interaction. Furthermore, it follows from viewing Languages as sociocultural constructions that perceptions of what linguistic features belong where, may differ from speaker to speaker and from situation to situation. In this sense “speaking a Language” is just a specific type of languaging based on certain socio-culturally constructed organisations of linguistic features and expectations [for] use. (pp. 280–281) In other words, named “Languages” as discrete entities are ideological constructions that only exist in national imaginaries, in the affective attachments we make to them, and in the sense of belonging we derive from using their features in ideologically recognizable ways (Blackledge & Creese, 2008; Schieffelin, Woolard, & Kroskrity, 1998; S. Makoni & Pennycook, 2007). In this sense, when researching issues related to heritage language maintenance or development as 30 separate from a language maintenance agenda, it could be productive to dislodge “Language” from the term altogether, looking at language use instead from a languaging or translanguaging perspective (García & Li, 2013), and considering actual language practices rather than focusing narrowly on which Languages we “should” or would like to see in a given context. It is the focus on the use of language more broadly in the larger language socialization framework that led me to begin to theorize the languaging of heritage as something less static than socialization through and into use of the heritage Language. Languaging refers to “any way speakers try to influence each other by the means of language without presupposing that what people are doing automatically corresponds to the use of a Language or for that matter any other labelled way of speaking” (Møller, 2016, p. 281). In this dissertation research, I did not often hear the named language “Spanish” spoken exclusively (i.e., without code-switching) between the children, between the children and their parents, or even very often between the parents and their parents. I heard Spanish used most consistently to deliver curricular material at school, which was motivated and governed by educational policy. From a traditional sociolinguistic view of language maintenance and loss, in this research context, Spanish vitality could be described as one of language shift taking place amid maintenance measures.7 However, Latin American cultural connections (often narrated and articulated in the named language “English”) were very strong, and Spanish was often used indexically both within and outside of school to reify and develop links to heritage (which in this context often meant socialization into certain political values and historical understandings), while weaving the past into present-day realities and identities (e.g., Avineri, 2019; Zentella, 7 Eduardo, the maternal grandfather in this family, had lost his native Mapudungun when he began school in Chile. The family had maintained or re-learned some Mapudungun vocabulary, but used it very infrequently, and purely for indexical reasons. 31 1997). In this sense, what might be described as language shift toward loss seemed more to be a period of cultural and linguistic change and adaptation to a sociocultural and sociolinguistic environment that was different from the one the Calfu grandparents left in Chile. “Spanish” language use seemed to be in service of the maintenance and further development of cultural heritage and present-day connections, which undoubtedly will serve the children’s ongoing (albeit changing) connection to their heritage language over the lifespan (Becker, 2013; Oh & Au, 2005), and, conceivably, to similar histories (heritages) and their associated Languages. Referring to the Yiddish “metalinguistic community,8” Avineri (2019) has described a complex relationship between language competence, community, morality, and collective memory. With explicit consideration of “situations of destruction and displacement,” she has argued that language use is “deeply linked to the community’s cultural heritage”—regardless of a speaker’s competence in the heritage language, which “include[s] references not only to linguistic structure and use, but also to experiential connections to a language’s history and that of its speakers (e.g., food, music, dance, and drama)” (Avineri, 2019, p. 93). For such communities, Avineri (2019) maintains, language is one of several means by which group members can forge and perform meaningful ties across space, time, and memory: Metalinguistic community practices are therefore identity-building, and nostalgic activities are focused on attempts at affiliation and identification. This phenomenological (e.g., Duranti, 2009) engagement with the heritage language therefore provides members with opportunities to publicly perform their moral relationships to others in the past and present. (pp. 93–94) 8 “a community of positioned social actors engaged in practices that position language as an object.” (Avineri, 2019, p. 90) 32 Therefore, in this research, I understand the concept of “heritage language” through a languaging lens, thereby de-privileging named language codes themselves in order to see the actual language practices of the participants as they happen. Focusing on Spanish alone, or as it is used in relation to English (e.g., Zentella, 1997; Potowski, 2007) as traditional heritage language educational research has done, runs the risk of obscuring other (non- or pre-Hispanic) cultural and linguistic processes that may support emerging multilingualism in important ways—in this case, the children’s socialization into particular historical and cultural narratives—predominantly though not exclusively in English—that are relevant to the family’s flight from Chile in the 1970s. With the concept of languaging, I seek to acknowledge, in a theoretically-grounded way, the range of language proficiency that heritage language scholars regularly refer to (e.g., Duff & Li, 2014; He, 2017; Valdés, 2005) with regard to the heritage language and also other named languages, and by grouping languaging together with heritage, I hope to bring attention to the “phenomenological (e.g., Duranti, 2009) engagement with the heritage language [that] provides members with opportunities to publicly perform their moral relationships to others in the past and present” (Avineri, 2019, p. 94). 2.8 Collective Memory and Difficult Knowledge Collective memory, including historical accounts and national myths, is a cornerstone of diaspora community identity and social life (Clifford, 1994; Safran, 1991; see also Olick, Vinitzky-Seroussi, & Levy, 2011). Simon (2005) defines communities of memory as “structured sets of relationships through which people engage representations of past events and put for shared, complementary, or competing versions of what should be remembered and how” (p. 61; cf. Nora, 1989). Simon (2005) points out that what is remembered, to whom, and how, is enacted within unequal power dynamics, and operates within local beliefs about the overarching 33 significance of the remembered and the act of remembrance. This conceptualization of memory aligns well with language socialization’s examination of the dynamic social, affective, cultural, and interactional “architecture” (Ochs, 2003) of communicative competence. Difficult knowledge has been richly theorized by education scholars (see Britzman, 1998; Simon, Rosenberg, & Eppert, 2000a) and has been taken up (more sparsely) in applied linguistics and literacy studies (e.g., Becker, 2014; Johnson & Kendrick, 2017; Marshall & Toohey, 2010). In education, the concept finds itself at the centre of discussions on “what learning means when knowledge references incommensurability, historical trauma, and social breakdowns. … [and how such knowledge] might open teachers and students to their present ethical obligations” (Pitt & Britzman, 2003, pp. 755–756). It has been used to refer to historical traumas of personal or familial relevance that seem to defy resolution (e.g., state-orchestrated terror)—reflection upon which, it is argued, can prompt deep psychological and social transformation. In this dissertation, I often refer to difficult cultural knowledge to emphasize the ways in which difficult knowledge is expressly linked to the cultural imagination and cultural practices. Witnessing is an essential feature of intergenerational remembering (Simon, 2005). Of relevance to language socialization research, witnessing highlights both the agency of all parties, as well as the moral socialization that takes place in remembering. Witnessing can be understood as a perpetually incomplete process of “making sense” of the breakdowns of others (e.g., in the case of historical trauma) or, in Derrida’s formulation, of “learning to live with ghosts” (1994, cited in Simon et al., 2000, p. 8). Importantly, however, the term also calls attention to the relational aspects of listening to (viewing, etc.) the experiences of others, and of the ethical obligations of response. As Holocaust scholar and educator Rachel Baum (2000) has remarked: 34 “What I want for my students—and for myself—is to develop a moral and healthy relationship to the past” (p. 93), a relationship that is based in learning from and not merely about the adversity recounted by others (Simon et al., 2000, p. 6; Britzman, 1998). In this sense, witnessing refers to a transformative process that occurs within and between individuals, as members of multiple communities of memory, nested within local and global networks. Funds of knowledge refers to “the essential cultural practices and bodies of knowledge and information that households use to survive, to get ahead, or to thrive” (Moll & Greenberg, 1990, p. 321). Engaging with “the emotionally difficult chapters of [students’] cultural heritage or migration story” (Becker, 2014, p. 19), or their funds of (difficult) knowledge, can benefit all learners by deepening interpersonal, intercultural, historical, and political understandings in and beyond the classroom. Difficult knowledge asks us to attend to the ethics of response (Pitt & Britzman, 2003; Simon et al., 2000a, 2000b; Simon, 2005). As Kramsch (2013) has remarked, “it is not enough to let learners tell their story. The story has to be socially acceptable, worthy of being listened and responded to” (p. 23). In other words, it is not enough to simply showcase the identity texts of others, especially when they may serve as a form of testimony. Educators have a fundamental role to play in fostering safe spaces for teachers and students alike to share and engage with the difficult histories that constitute their communities of practice at school, and beyond. A vital element of fostering safe spaces for such learning in multicultural, multilingual, and multiracial learning contexts is self-reflexivity and a commitment to antiracism in the classroom. (See Self-Reflexivity and Transparency in Chapter 3 for more discussion on this point.) 35 2.9 Scale and Identity 2.9.1 Scale Throughout this thesis, I refer to instances where history permeates the children’s present-day socialization and meaning-making activities as knowledge that moves across scales of time and space. For Wortham (2012), “a timescale is the characteristic spatiotemporal envelope within which a process happens” (p. 133)—processes that can span millennia, or be contained within a single moment. Likewise, spatial scales can span the globe, or take place at a kitchen table. Scales of time and/or space are interdependent and usually multiple, but it is important to note that their significance cannot be predetermined in a given research context (Blommaert, 2005; Lemke, 2000; Wortham, 2012). When I began this intergenerational study focusing on language socialization in an established diasporic context, I had a sense that scales of time and space would be relevant, but I had no way of knowing beforehand what forms they would take. As a language and literacy researcher, I understand the notion of scale as it relates to dialogism (Bakhtin, 1981/2008) and semiotic chains, which Stein (2008) describes this way: From a social semiotic perspective, meaning-making is always a process of transformation, in which cultural groupings use and transform the semiotic resources of communication available to them to express their interests, within different kinds of communicative practices. What people make can be viewed as ‘points of fixing’ within semiosis. These points of fixing contain the past, the present, the future. They are part of the chains of meaning-making, and in constant transformation as culture draws new materials into communicative processes. (p. 39) 36 In Stein’s (2008) description of semiotic chains, she emphasizes the way that different timescales manifest in “points of fixing” or semiotic, communicative acts. Another way to understand “points of fixing” is to look at the way themes (for example, the wolf figure in Chapter 6) recur across sites and through different modalities. 2.9.2 Identity In this study, I understand identity from a social constructionist standpoint, as something “both inferred and interactionally achieved through displays and ratifications of acts and stances” (Ochs, 1993, p. 291), and that is primarily mediated by language but also through other semiotic means. While both acts and stances were relevant in this work, my analytic focus was more on “acts,” which can be understood as more macro or thematic in scope than stances. As Ochs (1993) has observed: “it is the narrative interaction itself—the joining together of narrative acts from different persons to form a narrative—. . . that socializes co-present children into an understanding of the family” (p. 295) and of individual relationships to it and roles within it. In terms of parent-child relationships, the affective stance a parent “display[s] . . . toward a person or thing” constructs “a social relationship between their child and that person or thing” (p. 292). Through mother-child interactions, as early as infancy, children learn “to associate certain actions and stances with the structuring of their own and others’ identities” (p. 292). Identity formation takes place over what Lemke (2000) calls long timescales; in research, we collect samples of activities in our search for patterns “that [are] relevant to identity development is the long timescale” (Lemke, 2000, p. 133). A sense of one’s evolving identity and language learning trajectory begins to form when we consider “the contingent emergence of identity in particular events [across] categories that help give shape both to events and to individual trajectories. We must understand events, trajectories, social-historical and local 37 categories, and their interrelations” (Wortham, 2012, p. 133), which includes both recurrent, patterned activities and interactions, but also singular, one-off experiences. The multi-sited approach that I adopted in this study (see Chapter 3) helped ground my understanding of the ways that the Calfu children’s language socialization experiences influenced their heritage language learning identities and trajectories. As Lemke (2000) has remarked: “It is not what is unique about classrooms that contributes to our identity development, but what is the same about them compared to many other sites in our culture” (p. 284). In other words, a consideration of scale facilitates cross-site comparisons, which in turn help make visible the congruences and incongruities between home and school; to see what elements of culture are thriving outside of school, and that could be better supported or reflected within schools. A relevant example of identity construction across scales through narrative can be found in Baquedano-López’s (2000) widely-cited language socialization study in Mexican doctrina classes in Los Angeles. These religious classes offered opportunities for creative, local reconstructions of Mexican historical memory. One of the strengths of Baquedano-López’s study lies in how discourse analysis allowed her to foreground the agentive and interactional reconstruction of a historical event, the apparition of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in 1531 in Mexico, in the present day in Los Angeles, USA. Through communicative practices, the reconstruction and reappropriation of this historical memory served as a resource for educating youth about the trans- or international legacy of colonial oppression and also for constructing “a Mexican identity of the morally rich” rather than “an outcast identity of the materially poor” (p. 447). In other words, drawing on historical memory as a resource in regular, local narrative reconstructions of a highly significant narrative to Mexican national and ethnic identity helped 38 “transform an oppressed Mexican identity into an agentive one” (p. 449), paradoxically drawing on events from an oppressive colonial past to combat an oppressive present in the US diaspora. 2.10 Significance of the Research Writing with respect to foreign language education, Byram and Kramsch (2008) have advocated for teaching language in a way that “approaches language as both a personal and a cultural/historical event and that places individual experience into a larger social and historical framework” (p. 21; see also Carreira, 2012). It is the re-historicization of heritage language teaching, from a grassroots, family-socialization-informed perspective, that holds promise in the construction of an ethically-responsive, social-justice-conscious heritage language education. Such re-historicization might also reflect more closely the biographical/ migration narratives of many HLLs and their families, and consequently benefit non-HLL students by facilitating greater historical consciousness, critical language awareness, and stronger inter- and intra-cultural communication. With its unique focus on third generation HLLs, its conceptual framing of heritage languaging, and the intergenerational management of difficult cultural knowledge across sites, this study offers a “dialectical, dialogical, and ecological perspective on socialization,” emphasizing “trajectories of growth and change over space and time for all participants” (He, 2017, p. 191). 39 Chapter 3: Methodology 3.1 Introduction I begin this chapter by discussing my positionality in the research context and some of the major ethical considerations of doing this work. I then describe the ethnographic case study methodology I employed and why it was well suited to address my research questions. Next, I describe the recruitment procedures, the participants, and the research settings. After discussing the methods I used to collect and analyze the data, I provide an overview of measures I took to ensure rigor and credibility. While I discuss matters of quality last, I refer to aspects of how I ensured the rigor of this study throughout this thesis, as these matters informed my decision-making process at every stage. 3.2 Self-Reflexivity and Transparency According to Tracy (2020), self-reflexivity “is an honest and authentic awareness of one’s own identity and research approach, and an attitude of respect for participants, audience members, and other research stakeholders” (p. 272). It should begin during the study’s conceptualization and include “sharing one’s motivations to conduct a certain study and engaging in practices that promote self‐awareness and exposure” (p. 272), and it should be a continual practice throughout the research process. I am a White, cis-gendered, woman whose first language is English, and who began to learn Spanish in her late teens after learning French in a Western Canadian immersion program in elementary school, and before studying German in university (for more details, see Chapter 1). The focal family in this research was routinely racialized in more and less overt ways over the course of the research, and with different effects (sometimes othering, sometimes as an index of belonging). For instance, Valentina recalled times when White people had used versions of 40 “where are you from?” in conversation. But I also observed an instance where the children were racialized as a gesture of solidarity by another Chilean. On October 17th, 2015, I was in a food court with Max and Ella, and they were approached by a Chilean man who had noticed their aspecto Mapuche or Mapuche features, which prompted him to come and say hello. Moving through this research as a university-educated, multilingual, White speaking subject (Flores & Rosa, 2019) conferred upon me unearned levels of trust, respect, and recognition, particularly within the school where I conducted this study, such as facilitating access to students, teachers, and parents, which undoubtedly benefited the amount and quality of data I was able to generate. I made every effort to be cognizant of my unearned privilege as I moved across spaces, mobilizing it, for instance, to disrupt racist and linguicist practices wherever possible. I also feel that it is important to recognize that race and racism can affect how people engage with different aspects of their cultural heritage. Despite the fact that difficult knowledge and traumatic histories exist in all cultures—a point that initially helped me link my family history to that of my participants (see Chapter 1)—how and whether we engage with those histories can have markedly different consequences for people of colour than they do for White people in Canada. In my case, it was easy—expected, even—for me to grow up identifying simply as Canadian. White people in Canada tend to talk about their European ancestry when positioning themselves as “authentic” Canadians or when indexing their entitlement to resources or benefits (financial, educational, linguistic, cultural, medical, etc.). In the current historical moment, expressing pride in Western European ancestry in Canada is similar to expressing “pride” in other privileged identities (e.g., heterosexual, Christian): it maintains structures of White supremacy. Although my dad was called “Nazi” by other children on the playground in 41 Ontario when his family immigrated to Canada in the 1960s, as noted in Chapter 1, and although such comments stitched shame into the fabric of his identity, as a White man in this country he could decide—as so many White Canadians do—to opt for a “Canadian” identity, instead of highlighting the German one that indexed his connection to Germany’s genocidal campaign. In a nation built on White supremacist ideologies, people of colour do not have the choice to “opt” for a Canadian identity in the way that White people do, and are expected to. Distancing themselves from difficult elements of their culture’s history is less of an option, because they are constantly reminded of how White Canada views them, and the expectations people have for them, as was recently reported in Edmonton, Alberta (see CBC News, 2020). Refugees in particular can be seen as “embodying the violence that created them. They are feared and Othered as though they were that violence itself” (Kumsa, 2006, p. 240). In this sense, it is an act of courage for refugees in this country to go beyond the safety of the “foods, fairs, and folklore” triad when teaching their children about their heritage—a transgression that risks not only making White people uncomfortable, but also—and this is much riskier—reifying negative stereotypes that White people hold about them (Llopart & Esteban-Guitart, 2018). As educators and educational researchers, then, it is crucial that we work actively to support refugee learners and the descendants of refugees by confronting internalized racism, in order to begin to foster spaces for learners to connect with their heritage and heritage languages without inadvertently inflicting further trauma and maintaining oppressive structures. 3.2.1 Positionalities Over the course of the study, I positioned myself and was positioned by others in multiple ways. For instance, in September, 2015, Valentina was interviewing her children for me while I was away from the research site and referred to me as “tía Ava” in the interview. Adults 42 positioned me most often as tía (trusted adult/aunt), classroom assistant, friend, and researcher, or university representative. Parents at the school sometimes positioned me as another parent, saying things like: “I haven’t seen you around. Whose mom are you?” The most interesting, varied, and complex positionings came from the schoolchildren, however. Even by the middle of the data collection period, my role as “researcher” remained quite abstract to the Grade 2s especially, as I recorded in my field notes: “Almost every class I’m asked my name, what I’m writing in my secret book, and often about the recorders.” (Field note, January 8, 2016, Grade 2). For instance, as the children became accustomed to my presence, they would sometimes ask me whether I was going to come “watch” them in music class, perhaps like a caregiver might be prompted to assume an audience member role when the child wanted to showcase a new skill. The kinds of questions they asked me also served to suggest what their assumptions about me were, and even their hopes. For instance, when I introduced myself in Spanish to the Grade 4 class at the outset of the study, the students asked things like: “Where are you from? What countries have you been to? Do you speak English? Are you friends with my teacher?” During my subsequent weekly observations, the Grade 4s positioned me most often as a teacher or teaching assistant with their frequent questions about Spanish vocabulary or inquiries about how much power I had in that setting (e.g., “Can you make the bell ring earlier?” or “Can I stay in from recess?”). In both Grade 2 and Grade 4, however, it was not uncommon for students to position me as a child or adolescent. I was regularly asked questions like: “Who’s your teacher? Is it [are they] a boy or a girl?” and “Are you a teenager?” and “Why don’t you go to school?” and “What do you want to be when you grow up?” 43 I noticed that I took up different positions as well. The following reflection (captured in my January 2016 field notes) is an example of my awareness of the shifting positions I occupied in relation to the Calfu children: Things are starting to feel much more natural and comfortable [during home observations]. I’m writing these notes as I warm up a stew their mum left in the fridge; I’m perched on a stool next to the sink. Ella comes in to warm up food in the microwave; I advise on reheating times. The kitchen fills with the scent of warm tortillas; my thumb periodically sticks to the track pad that Max was using to navigate through the research photos I chose for him to tell me about. He’d been fishing the mint I gave him in the car out of his mouth. It’s amazing how my roles are so fluid here. From babysitter (negotiating tv time) to researcher (‘how about we do one or two more photo things first and then we can watch How to Train Your Dragon 2?’) [Update: They were not interested in doing “one or two more photo things” and we went straight to watching the film of their choice. I was heartened that they repeatedly found ways to withdraw from and contribute to the study]. (January 22, 2016) It is also important to acknowledge the socializing role that I played in this research. My interest in the intergenerational socialization of difficult knowledge in this family meant that the interactions I had with the children in particular served to socialize them into narrative representations of their difficult cultural knowledge. Because of my research focus, I introduced topics related to difficult cultural knowledge in conversation with Max and Ella, and encouraged them (through the use of continuers and follow up questions) to share their difficult cultural knowledge in ways that no other adult outside of their family unit was likely doing. My hope is that my questions served to validate the difficult cultural knowledge that was so valued within 44 their family. In other words, I was not a neutral ethnographic observer of their sociocultural practices but had an agentive role in determining some of the practices and topics they might engage with in relation to my study. 3.2.2 Transparency According to Tracy (2020), good qualitative research is transparent, which means that “researchers have the responsibility to clearly describe how the research was conducted ‘including any problems that arose and how the authors dealt with them’ (Ravenek & Rudman, 2013, p. 451)” (p. 274). It is rare to read qualitative research reports that discuss “any problems that arose” during the research because of the challenge of defining a “problem,” the sheer number of “problems” that might arise during a research project, and the vulnerability and humility it requires to be forthcoming about such “problems,” which, for qualitative and quantitative researchers, could undermine the credibility and impact of one’s work. Nevertheless, in the spirit of transparency, I discuss one challenging yet instructive instance below that occurred over the course of data collection (see also Duff & Early, 1996, for a discussion of change during long-term research projects with human participants). About half way through the school year, each class at the focal school, Escuela Magpie School, began dedicating music classes, recesses, and even the occasional gym class to preparing for the school’s key Latin American cultural event. This annual public event was held in late spring in the school yard, and was a great source of pride and excitement for the school community. Each class prepared a folkloric dance from a Latin American country, and their preparation (teaching the dances themselves, finding or making costumes, etc.) was a great challenge for most of the teachers—regardless of their heritage or personal experience with the dances they were teaching. The event was also an opportunity for families from different 45 backgrounds to sample foods from different Latin American culinary traditions, as well as (in the year of the research at least) to bring attention to Indigenous cultures in Canada and in Latin America (e.g., an Easter Island dance; an exhibit of student visual artwork inspired by local Indigenous artists). Despite the tremendous amount of work it took to put it together, it was an event that most teachers and families agreed was worth the extra effort because of the perceived benefits (social, cultural, linguistic, artistic) to their children’s experience in the Spanish-English bilingual program. In many ways, it was a quintessential foods-fair-folklore event, but it remained symbolically significant for many, particularly first- and second-generation Latin-American Canadians, in the school community. A week before the event was scheduled to take place, the school sent a memo home to parents notifying them that, because heavy rain was in the forecast, the event would be postponed to the following week. Because the note was sent out on such short notice, and because I was not at the school every day, I did not receive the subsequent memo saying that the event would indeed go ahead as scheduled due to a more promising weather forecast. In the end, I missed this rich opportunity for data collection and this key cultural event for the school community. I only learned that the event was taking place on the originally scheduled date minutes before it was over, when Valentina posted a video she’d taken of her children’s dance performances to her social media account. When I asked her about it, she said she didn’t tell me about the scheduling change because she thought I would have known. Later, when I asked Sra. A (Max’s Grade 2 teacher), she expressed her embarrassment for not notifying me; she had simply forgotten with so many other demands to attend to. The students from both focal classes had also noticed my absence. I was extremely upset that I missed it, at first because it was such an important event to the community and therefore a missed opportunity for data collection and 46 deeper understanding of the local context. But the communication mix-up also reified for me the perpetually unofficial (if invisible) status I occupied within the school community: I was “insider” enough that my participants reasoned I would be receiving the same communications they did from the school, but “outsider” enough that I did not actually receive communications destined for faculty or parents of students in the school. “Full” participation in the school community seemed to entail fitting into a pre-established category: Teacher, teaching assistant, administrator, parent, volunteer, teacher librarian, or student. “Researcher” was not an available (official) category for participation in the school (which alerted me to the need for schools and universities to form closer relationships), and so I remained largely in the school’s peripheral vision, which led to certain omissions. 3.2.3 Ethical Considerations The children’s maternal grandmother, Inés, gave permission for our interviews to be audio recorded, and for me to observe her interactions at the school and with her family. Eduardo (her spouse) was keen to offer insights to the study, but knowing the exploitative relationship that has traditionally predominated in Indigenous-university research relationships, Eduardo did not want to be audio-recorded (with the exception of his commentary at the end of his wife’s interview, which she consented to have recorded), and he did not want to sign any University Research and Ethics Board-approved documentation. The way Eduardo negotiated his participation in the research was unfamiliar to me, and I lacked the knowledge and experience to engage him further. As a result, I also did not follow up with him to clarify the comments he made during our (unrecorded) interview, or on stories shared about him by family members (who had great respect for him and presented him accordingly in their stories). 47 Therefore, any observational data concerning his role in his grandchildren’s lives is based on relevant stories his wife, daughter, and grandchildren shared with me about him, and that I was sometimes able to confirm (though not formally recorded as data) by my presence as a participant observer in the family’s everyday life. In doing this research I quickly learned that most of my participants seemed to be more interested in “helping” me do my research than they were in how I understood or represented them, or in the conclusions I was drawing. Often, when I would try to follow up with Valentina, she would tell me that she trusted me (which comes with its own challenges), but it also speaks to the level of rapport that existed between us, and reflects the deep cultural value of helping others, and of grassroots trusting relationships in her diaspora community (see e.g., Guardado & Becker, 2013). Both of these cultural and personal characteristics were amplified for many Chilean exiles in diaspora, and were mobilized regularly as survival mechanisms but also as links to the social movements that were fundamental to the identities of so many. 3.2.3.1 Working with Children Working with children presented particular ethical considerations while conducting this work, which I discuss in some detail below. 3.3 Case Study and Ethnography To achieve a deep, situated understanding of communicative practices (language and literacy socialization) in one family from Corvidell’s Chilean-Canadian community, I decided to conduct an ethnographic case study, paying close attention to interactions involving two focal children, Max and Ella: between them, between them and their peers, and between them and the significant adults in their lives (parents, grandparents, teachers). 48 Understanding the relationship between language and culture from a socialization perspective requires a good understanding of the local culture and relevant cultural influences, in the case of multilingual, multicultural research. Ethnography, with its anthropological focus on culture, is therefore a preferred method in language socialization studies, especially because language socialization is an intensely dynamic process that takes place over time, across multiple fields, within and between different social and cultural groups (Duranti, Ochs, & Schieffelin, 2012; Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002; Schieffelin & Ochs, 1986). Case study is a form of interpretive research typically that seeks in-depth understanding of a social phenomenon or issue. Supporters of case study cite gaining a depth of understanding among a host of its other strengths, such as: potential for longitudinal engagement, the examination of unique cases, high internal or conceptual validity, as well as its role in theory building and in the unearthing of new research questions (Duff, 2008a; Flyvbjerg, 2011). Case study is often (although not exclusively) discussed as a research method (e.g., Bogdan & Biklen, 1998), but also as “a choice of what is to be studied” (Stake, 2000, p. 435). Even though it is “generally associated with qualitative research,” methods from qualitative, quantitative, and mixed methods traditions can be brought to bear in attending to the questions a researcher has of the case (Duff, 2008a, p. 33). This characteristic of case study is perhaps that which causes the most confusion among critics and supporters alike. For instance, in discussing what kinds of research questions are “appropriate” for case study research, Yin (2009) and Berg (2009) restrict the scope to how and why questions, while others seem less concerned with the wording of the question, and more with the type of case study being conducted (Duff, 2008a; Dyson & Genishi, 2005). 49 There is conceptual overlap between the aims of ethnography and those of case study, which can cause confusion. For instance, “ethnographies represent a particular kind of anthropological case study” and focal participants in ethnographies become “case studies within a particular culturally oriented larger case study” (Duff, 2008a, p. 34). Duff (2008a) distinguishes between case study and ethnography (in the field of second language acquisition) in this way: case study is more concerned with the “behaviors or attributes of individual learners or other individuals/entities” while ethnography “aims to understand and interpret the behaviors, values and structures of collectivities or social groups with particular reference to the cultural basis for those behaviors and values” (p. 34, original emphasis; also see Ochs & Schieffelin, 2001). In other words, ethnographic research is typically made up of one or more cases, but not all case studies are conducted using ethnographic methods. Cases have been individuals, such as Isabel (Zentella, 1997); families, such as the Maradiaga-Fernandez family (Guardado, 2008, 2010); spaces, such as the “imprecise and expanding boundaries” of Boro Park, Brooklyn (Fader, 2009, p. 28); and classes, such as Baquedano-López’ (2001) doctrina classes, or the nesting of cases within larger cases (e.g., focal participant within a focal site). In this way, case studies can offer a particular focus for ethnography, as the researcher examines the particular as embedded within the larger ethnographic “case” (Duff, 2008a). As Green, Skukauskaite, and Baker (2012) have put it: “Although specific theories or disciplinary perspectives guiding a particular study differ across traditions, ethnographers share a common goal: to learn from the people (the insiders) what counts as cultural knowledge (insider meanings)” (p. 309). In a sense, the time I spent in the Chilean and Salvadorean communities in Corvidell, and the interview study I conducted in Edmonton’s Chilean-Canadian community (Becker, 2013) before beginning this dissertation research, helped me to recognize “what counts as [key] cultural knowledge” for 50 some Chilean-Canadian families in Western Canada. I decided to conduct an ethnographic case study of the Calfu family in order to arrive at a more fully-fleshed out, rigorous, and resonant understanding of the significance of political commemoration, the salience of Indigenous identities, and the existence of the intergenerational socialization of difficult historical and political knowledge in one Chilean diaspora family, and to begin to explore the connection between these cultural elements and the children’s heritage language socialization. In this study, I focused on how the Calfu family socialized one another into particular understandings and expressions of difficult elements of their cultural heritage, while the children were receiving explicit instruction in Spanish, their heritage language, and Latin American cultures at school. The Calfu family, as a “case” in this research, represents a semiotically- and historically-rich “integrated system” (Stake, 2000, p. 436) that participates in various social networks that intersect over time (such as the school, friend groups, community associations). By allowing me to enter their living and learning spaces and observe their interactions and daily activities, my participants became windows into the socializing practices that constitute participation in different Chilean-Canadian diasporic spaces (at home, in the community, and in some ways, at school). The textual, visual, and even musical features of this space are located along semiotic chains that carry pieces of the community’s history (Stein, 2003), making (especially emotionally difficult) aspects of the community’s past available for younger members to make sense of (Becker, 2014). These multimodal, semiotic features might be considered to be the primary units of analysis embedded within the case. Coming to know their daily practices, their living spaces, and the artifacts housed within them through verbal interaction is a practice of translating experience into data, which I, in turn, re-translate into analysis and implications in this dissertation (Dyson & Genishi, 2005; Flyvbjerg, 2011). 51 3.4 Participant Recruitment After securing UBC ethics approval to conduct this study, I forwarded a call for participants (see Appendix A) to personal and professional contacts. Valentina, the focal mother in this study, was a friend of mine before the beginning of the research. To mitigate any sense of pressure to participate, she received the same standard letter of invitation to participate that I had forwarded to others in my networks. About three weeks after receiving the recruitment email, Valentina contacted me and said that her family would be willing to participate in the research. I subsequently met with her family of four to outline the project’s aims, procedures and their right to withdraw their participation or data at any time. Valentina was one of two people (both mothers) who responded to the call, but because she contacted me first, and her family met all of the inclusion criteria, I did not pursue the other mother’s offer to participate. In early iterations of the study design, I had envisioned having multiple focal families, but eventually decided that only one would be necessary to address my research questions. 3.4.1 Description of Research Participants To conduct this ethnographic research across multiple settings, it was necessary to obtain consent and assent from a range of people (see Table 3.1; Appendix B). Table 3.1: Research Participants Participants Number of participants Parents of children in Max’s and Ella’s classes (semi-structured interviews) 7 Teachers and principal at Escuela Magpie School (semi-structured interviews) 7 Grade 4 students (Ella’s class) (gave assent to be observed and recorded) 19 52 Grade 2 students (Max’s class) (gave assent to be observed and recorded) 15 Calfu family (gave consent and assent to be observed and recorded) 5 Total 55 3.4.2 Focal Participants In this section, I describe very briefly the eight participants whose participation in the study appears in this dissertation in some way. All names of people, institutions, and the research city are pseudonyms. I have omitted several important and relevant details about the participants and their lives in order to further protect their privacy (Duff, 2008a, p. 59). Some of the participants selected their own pseudonyms. None of the participant-selected pseudonyms came with any explanation aside from simply liking the name. The only exception was Calfu, which Valentina told me was Mapudungun (the Mapuche language) for the colour blue. 3.4.2.1 Valentina and Manuel Calfu Valentina was born in the 1970s in Corvidell, Canada to exiled Chilean parents. Manuel, her husband, was also born in the 1970s to Chilean parents, but while they were still living in Chile. Manuel’s parents fled the Pinochet dictatorship shortly after his birth, and settled briefly in a major Eastern Canadian city before heading west and settling permanently in Corvidell. While both extended families had settled in Corvidell, Valentina had a very close relationship to her parents and sister, and her children spent quite a lot of time with their maternal grandparents. The couple believed strongly in social justice and solidarity, humility, hard work, and community, and had been actively involved in local Chilean cultural activities. They also wanted their children to understand and feel a connection to their Chilean and Mapuche heritage, and 53 supported them to use their heritage language (Spanish) by enrolling them in a public Spanish-English bilingual elementary school. According to Valentina, she and Manuel had enrolled Max and Ella in the bilingual program because they felt learning Spanish at school would help open doors for them later in life (what Guardado, 2018, refers to as the “Access” discourse of heritage language development): I know that Spanish is probably one of the second biggest or the most spoken [language] all over the world, (begins to smile) I think … [or at least] it should be! (both laugh) But it would open up more doors for my kids than French, for sure. Um, I took French and it was really good for me because it was the second best thing to Spanish right? And then when I was in grade 8 they did have Spanish? So I ended up taking Spanish as well. (Interview, October 10, 2015) She attributed her success in Spanish class partly to having attended grassroots, community Spanish classes. In her memory, though, the true benefit of the Saturday classes was the opportunity to develop meaningful friendships: “That’s how I made my friends, right? That’s, my best friend would go there.” When I asked her if Max and Ella attended the same community-run schools, she replied that she felt the shift from a volunteer-run model when she attended the schools, to one where teachers and staff were paid was not in alignment with her cultural values or the original impetus of the school: I know there’s still that school but it’s not what really I believe in, I believe more in a community that can volunteer their time? Rather than, I don’t know. I just think it made more sense to be a community and help each other? You don’t have to ask for money to do something that should be done, for our community, something, something our community needs? So it just becomes like another negocio ((business)), right? Which I 54 don’t believe in. Even though yes they can help teach other people how to speak Spanish, but culturally what we had when that school was all volunteer was each person was, was like their own boss, right? So I had my tío X who knew how to work copper ‘cause he was an artist back home, and he would teach us how to make piñatas and copper things like beautiful stuff, we had a lady, that tía Y, who, who taught cooking classes and taught us how to make brazo de reina, all different things, even though she was Central American, she would teach us [culinary traditions from] all over South America. How to make pupusas, that’s how I learned how to make pupusas, you know, like? And then after that we had dance, we had a lady la señora B, [from] Argentina, she taught us how to dance music from Colombia, from Argentina, from Chile, lots of different things, and so we had all those talleres ((workshops)) and then there was a taller de música, música andina ((music workshop, Andean music)), right? so we learned how to play the charango, el el, la guitarra ((the charango, the guitar)). (Interview, October 10, 2015) As is evident in Valentina’s description of the Spanish Saturday school she attended growing up, and how it had changed, political ideology and cultural values were priorities for her when making language education choices for her children. It was not only important that her children experience a wealth of cultural knowledge from community members, but that that knowledge be given freely, in the spirit of community rather than business. At the time of our interview in October, 2015, she was very pleased with Escuela Magpie School, and elaborated on this point again in June (2016): “I’m more happy that the kids are going to a [public] school where they can share their culture with people that don’t have the same culture” (Interview, June 3, 2016). Valentina and Manuel both spoke Spanish and English fluently, and had both spent time in Chile in their early adulthood. They spoke mostly in English to their children, but as with most 55 bilingual families, it was common to hear Spanish words and phrases in the home uttered by all generations, and to see Spanish-language books around. I spoke to them mainly in English, responding in Spanish when spoken to in Spanish, or following the Spanish-mornings policy at school. 3.4.2.2 Max and Ella Calfu Max and Ella were born in Corvidell to Valentina and Manuel Calfu. At the outset of the study, Max was seven years old and about to start grade two, and Ella was nine years old and about to start grade four. Max is the central participant in this study because of his self-confidence, interests, and candor. He was very outgoing and produced a lot of rich interactional data. Ella’s participation is less central in the analysis because she was generally more reserved, and therefore did not produce as much data (especially data related to the topic of difficult cultural knowledge). The fact that she was decentred in much of the analysis because of her relative reticence around people outside of her family highlights important issues of data collection and the conclusions that language socialization researchers are able to draw with their focus so tightly drawn around language production (in interaction). Certainly, Ella was growing up in the same linguistic and cultural environment as her brother, but her verbal participation in it was different. Her decentering may also be reflective of my reluctance to exert any pressure on my participants, and particularly the children. 3.4.2.3 Inés and Eduardo Inés and Eduardo are Valentina’s parents, who fled Chile in the 1970s. They were both life-long social justice activists and were proud to instill a sense of pride in their children and grandchildren regarding their Chilean and Mapuche ancestry and in speaking Spanish. Both were 56 proficient in English, but Inés had achieved “native-like” levels of competence across the four areas (reading, writing, listening, speaking). Eduardo was particularly connected to his Indigenous ancestry and promoted positive Mapuche and Indigenous identities actively to his children and grandchildren through participation in literacy and local Indigenous cultural activities. Both grandparents were greatly admired and respected by their children and grandchildren. 3.4.2.4 Pablo Pablo is the son of Valentina’s and Manuel’s close friends whose parents also came to Canada as exiles from Chile in the 1970s. He and Max were both in Sra. (Señora, or Mrs.) A’s grade two class at Escuela Magpie School. The boys were very close and would often appear in one another’s school writing and drawings, playing hockey engaged in light saber (Star Wars) battles, for example. According to Valentina, it was also not uncommon for them to call each other in the evenings to plan matching outfits for school the following day. 3.4.2.5 Sra. A Sra. A was Max’s grade 2 classroom teacher. She was a White Canadian who had learned Spanish while working in Spain for several years. As this was her second career, she was a newer teacher who approached her work with creativity and a great deal of enthusiasm. 3.5 Research Settings and Activities To attain a rich and textured understanding of Max and Ella’s language and literacy socialization at school and at home, I made observations and audio recordings, and kept field notes across multiple sites: in the Calfu family home, the children’s school (Escuela Magpie School), at community events (Chilean cultural events, hockey practice), and in my car 57 (described below). With Valentina’s permission, I also used screenshots of relevant photos from her social media account for interview prompts with Max and Ella. The dataset I generated from August, 2015—June, 2016 is summarized in the table below (Table 3.2), followed by detailed descriptions of my activities and roles in each activity. Table 3.2: Summary of Research Activities Method Amount Participant observation > 320 hours Audio recordings of interactions taking place during my observations > 300 hours Semi-structured interviews with key participants (from the family and school) 17 Screenshots from Valentina’s social media postings 25 Research photos of the research sites, children’s school work 550 Field notes of observations and reflective memos >95,000 words 3.5.1 Description of Research Activities and Roles 3.5.1.1 Participant Observation The main data collection activity in this study was observation and participant observation (August, 2015—June, 2016). I distinguish between the two approaches to observation because I was not always a participant (ratified or otherwise) during my field work. For instance, at local Chilean cultural events and most days in the classroom and in the school more broadly, I was not generally involved in the activities I was observing. This reality was largely influenced by my introverted tendencies and outsider status. Other times, however, I was not only a participant in the children’s daily activities, but also their caregiver (see below). 58 3.5.1.2 At Home Home observations were sparse (fewer than 10 over the course of the research year), and tended to take place while I was in the Calfu family home for other purposes. In other words, I never visited the home with the sole purpose of observing their lives in situ, even though this was part of the original research design. Shortly after the data collection period began, I realized that to have proposed such a research activity would have introduced an unnecessary degree of artificiality into our existing relationship. Not only did the thought of proposing purely observational visits make me uneasy, I worried that they might threaten the trust and rapport that I had been cultivating with the children particularly in this new role (researcher) that I had assumed in their lives. Instead, I observed the family informally in their home setting while I was there for other reasons: Visiting with Valentina, joining the family for Thanksgiving dinner, caring for the children after school, or while I was there to interview Valentina or Manuel. As a result, the roles I played and positionalities I took up over the course of the research in the Calfu family home were shifting and at times overlapping (e.g., friend and researcher; caregiver/ tía and researcher, etc.). In research contexts involving adult researchers and young children, it is not unusual for the researchers to take on some degree of caregiving responsibility (Freeman & Mathison, 2009). 3.5.1.3 In the Car On eight occasions (from December 2015—June 2016) when Valentina and Manuel worked past the end of the school day and Max and Ella’s grandparents were unavailable to pick them up from school, Valentina asked me to drive them home and stay with them until she, Manuel, or one of her parents arrived. It was understood that this arrangement would be mutually beneficial, as I would have an opportunity to record the children’s interactions and ask 59 them research-related questions, and their parents could rest assured that their children were being cared for by a trusted friend. Some of the key interactions that I examine in this dissertation (e.g., in Chapter 6) come from the time we spent together in transit between school and home. 3.5.1.4 At School and in the Classroom My observations in Escuela Magpie School took place at least twice a week, from October, 2015 until early June, 2016. To better understand Max and Ella’s cultural identity development, and the ways in which their language and literacy socialization was negotiated through different modes at school, I spent one full day per week in Max’s Grade two classroom, and another full day in Ella’s Grade four classroom. Sometimes I would go on other days to attend school events or assemblies. I would enter the classroom in the mornings, usually just before the children did, and place one recorder at the front of the classroom and another at the back. Throughout the day, I would move the recorders around, turning them on and off with the school bells. Although the teachers occasionally invited my input on Spanish grammar or vocabulary items, or to help collect things or set up activities, for the most part, I stationed myself with my note pad at an unoccupied multi-purpose table at the back of the classroom. While both teachers generously agreed to let me make weekly observations in their classrooms, our interpersonal dynamics differed. For instance, I developed a strong rapport with Max’s teacher, Sra. A, and consequently our conversations were more frequent and candid. Ella’s teacher, Sra. B, seemed to be especially busy that year and so I did not approach her as often and our relationship did not become as strong. The reasons for this difference in relating might be at least partly attributable to her temperament (Sra. A was more outgoing and energetic), or even cultural and language-background factors (Sra. A and I were both second-language speakers of 60 Spanish, whereas Sra. B was a heritage speaker of Spanish). In any case, partly because of the differences in rapport we established, I decided not to report on observations I made in Sra. B’s classroom in this dissertation. 3.5.1.5 At Community Events I attended six community events of differing levels of formality to get a sense of the ways that Chile and its past were constructed outside the family’s home and school, as well as how the Calfu family communicated in such contexts. This is a list of the events I attended9: 1. August, 2015: A local multicultural heritage festival in which the Chilean community has had a pavilion almost since the festival’s inception over 40 years ago 2. September, 2015: A local September 11th commemoration event (which Inés and Eduardo attended, but which Valentina decided not to take her family to that year) 3. September, 2015: Chilean Dance group rehearsals for children lead by Inés in preparation for a presentation at the Chilean Independence Day celebration 4. September, 2015: The Chilean Independence Day celebration 5. February, 2016: Max’s hockey practice 6. March, 2016: A local Chilean grassroots organization’s Pescado Frito (Good Friday) event At each event, I talked with other attendees and took notes (generally soon after the event). 3.5.2 Research Instruments and Artifacts In this section, I describe the research instruments and artifacts that constituted data and data collection in this study. From my perspective, each data source has the potential to address 9 Valentina, Manuel, Max, and Ella attended all of these events except for the September 11th commemoration event. 61 my research questions in unique yet partial ways, and so in order to arrive at a more rich and textured understanding of language and literacy socialization in this context, I opted to gain insights into this case by drawing on multiple forms of data in different modes. 3.5.2.1 Audio Recordings of Interactions The majority of the over 300 hours of audio recordings that I made were in Max and Ella’s classrooms. Because I was in the classrooms so often, after the first or second observation I did not make whole-class announcements to remind students that the recorders were on. The teachers and I agreed that such an announcement was unnecessary (and disruptive, even). Interestingly, even when I announced the recorder was on and everyone had agreed to it, the children (at home, at school, and in the car) would often double check that it was on a few minutes later, or express surprise that it was on. Other times, especially at school when students would come across a recorder placed on the marker tray under the white boards or resting on the bookshelf at the back of the room, they would greet the recorder by speaking directly into it, or notice it and then lower their voice. The children were especially adept at negotiating their participation in the research, and their interactions with the recorder sometimes took unexpected turns. For instance, on October 14, 2015, I noted the following in my field notes during a Grade 2 observation: After recess [a grade 2 student] sees me putting the recorder above the divider and says “oh, you’re gonna spy on us!” His comment makes me nervous and I find myself getting a bit defensive. But later, as we’re talking, he tells me how he loves spying, so spying is not a negative thing to him. It’s fun. As I would learn, this particular student was fascinated by guns and armed conflict, so what I had initially interpreted to be a categorization of my research practice as unethical (placing recorders 62 in places that were not clearly visible or distracting) actually endeared me to him. He seemed to see me as a spy, which made me interesting and recognizable. I can only imagine that “researcher” meant little if anything to him, but once he had decided I was a spy, he began to talk to me more often, eventually coming to me for comfort or to confide in me. Another example occurred in the Grade 2 classroom after first recess on January 13, 2016. The students were supposed to be working on math problems in small groups around the classroom, but as was typical of these kinds of activities, the conversation quickly moved on to other things. In this particular interaction, Max and Pablo were working on the floor at the back of the classroom in a group with some other children and a game of truth or dare had broken out. A girl asked Pablo: “Do you still pee your pants sometimes?” to which Pablo responded by shaking his head “no.” Now it was Pablo’s turn to ask a “truth” question, and he turned to his best friend, Max. His question was inaudible on the recorder because he said it very quietly while pointing to the recorder. All I could hear on the recording was Max’s reply: “yes.” I was so encouraged to see the children exercising their agency to be recorded (or not), and to participate on their own terms. Similarly, when we would leave the classroom to go to gym class or music class, I would sometimes bring a recorder along in my cardigan pocket. Ella never seemed to be concerned about whether the microphone was on or with me, but Max would occasionally ask whether I had the recorder on me and whether it was turned on. I would always answer truthfully. One thing I appreciated about his questions about the recorder’s presence was that it showed me he remembered my role in his life at school and that he had the right to opt out of being recorded at any time, as we can see in the math group work example above. 63 In the Calfu family home, I only turned on the audio recorders after everyone in the common areas agreed it would be okay to do so. For instance, if one or more family members were in their own rooms, I did not disturb them to ask for consent to make recordings in a room they were not in. In the car, I placed the recorder in a centrally-located cup-holder. At community events I did not make any audio or video recordings, although I did sometimes take digital photographs without people in them. 3.5.2.2 Semi-Structured Interviews In the original study design, I anticipated interviewing my adult participants more regularly (once per month) or at least in a way that seemed to echo the longitudinal nature of the data collection (e.g., around the beginning, middle, and end of data collection). However, parents, teachers, and school administrators have very full schedules, and I did not feel comfortable imposing my research interests on them. As a result, I had many more (uncounted) informal, ethnographic discussions with my participants than I did formal, quantifiable, semi-structured interviews. Nevertheless, the interviews that I did conduct with them—particularly with members of the Calfu family—provided invaluable insights to this study. On one occasion, when I was away from the research site, I asked Valentina to interview her children for me. I provided her with some questions to ask them regarding their feelings about the upcoming school year. I conducted one or two interviews with each of the two Chilean-Canadian community members at the outset of data collection, one interview with the Escuela Magpie School principal, Sra. A and Sra. B, and four other teaching staff from the school. I also conducted three group interviews with some of Ella’s grade four classmates (groups of two and four), in order to provide a more familiar social context (i.e., being among friends) and to provide greater 64 opportunities for the children to opt in and out of answering my questions. I did three interviews with Valentina, one interview with Manuel, and two interviews with Inés and Eduardo (one separate and one together). I brought a list of interview questions to guide the interviews (see Appendix C) but I often modified the questions over the course of the interview (Roulston, 2010). Interviews lasted from 1–2 hours. Interviews with the children were either done through focus groups or were impromptu (i.e., the recorder would be on and we would be discussing other things and then I would embed a few research-related questions into the flow of talk when it seemed like they might align with the surrounding talk). Early on in the research, I also made use of photos (see next section for a description) to use as prompts for more discursively open-ended interviews with Max and Ella. Using photos as prompts with children elicited some of the most interactionally rich data, especially being that those interviews were conducted in the Calfu family home, and with their mother present. 3.5.2.3 Select Screenshots of Valentina’s Social Media Postings Valentina and I had access to each other’s social media posts, and I had noticed that many of the photos she had posted were relevant to my research interests (e.g., her children participating in Latin American or Indigenous cultural activities). With her permission, I took screenshots of some of the photos that were most relevant to the objectives of my research to use as interview/discussion prompts with Max and Ella. The photos depicted her children involved in school assemblies, on nature walks with their family, at cultural events (Chilean and local Indigenous, such as pow-wows), of them holding the Mapuche flag outside of their school, and of them participating in commemoration practices for September 11th. These photos were rich sources of data that deepened my understanding of this family’s active engagement with multiple strands of their cultural heritages and values in ways that interviews alone would not have made 65 possible. Even though I was in Corvidell in September of the research year, Valentina determined that the family’s September 11th commemoration activity that year (see Chapter 4) was for family only. Granting me permission to ask her children about the day by using a photo that she had taken of them was very generous and advanced the research in important ways. 3.5.2.4 Research Photos I decided to use photography as a visual record of research sites to complement my written field notes. Most of the 550 research photos that I took during the data collection period were from the school or large public events. The majority of the photos I took also did not include people, as I felt it too invasive or problematic (and, more importantly, unnecessary) to take pictures of people. Many of the photos included student-created artifacts and signage (to capture segments of the children’s linguistic landscape). I should note, also, that despite the often-cited value of video recordings in ethnographic research (especially in classrooms) (Duff, 2008a, cf. Duff 2008b), I did not feel that the risks (ethically and socially) of using video outweighed the additional insights it might have provided for the purposes of this study. In particular, I am quite concerned about the rise of surveillance culture in Canadian schools (and elsewhere) (e.g., Steeves, 2009), and feared that idle video recordings would only contribute to the normalization of filming and photographing children in semi-public and public spaces in society more broadly. An advantage of using audio rather than video recording in this study was that the children could simply move away from the audio recorders if they didn't want what they were saying to be recorded (which I observed on a number of occasions). With video in the classroom, depending on the location of the camera/s, it is much more challenging to remove oneself from the recording (sometimes impossible), which, in my view, is highly problematic. As a result, I did not make any video recordings for analysis, although Valentina shared a key video 66 recording she had made two years prior to the start of the study because of its relevance to the research objectives (see Chapter 4). In the initial research plan, Max and Ella were going to take pictures of things that they were interested in or felt represented them or their cultural heritage. We did this once, at the outset of the study, but the activity was abandoned shortly after, possibly because of the activity’s lack of structure (it was quite open-ended), the children’s lack of interest in the topic, or because they were very busy with school and afterschool activities. 3.5.2.5 Field Notes I amassed 95,000 words worth of field notes over the course of this research. I wrote notes by hand in a series of small, inconspicuous coil notebooks and typed up in the evening or morning following the observation. The field notes included observations about language use, behaviour, and other things pertaining to my research interests (in real and symbolic ways). For instance, I included commentary on the physical setting (e.g., the weather, signage, artwork), sensory information (sights, smells, etc.), and emotional tenor of the day or a given lesson or interaction. My observational note-keeping also took on the character of a research journal (Duff, 2008a), with analytic reflections and more personal reflective writing, prompted by different situations. In the classroom, my notes took a very sequential, structured shape. I often noted the time when something that I wanted to return to was said, so that I could find it more easily on the recorder. This was very helpful in the data reduction and analysis process of such a sizable dataset. Early on in the research (September, 2015), I took notes openly at the September 11th commemoration event, and learned that there were appropriate and inappropriate times to take notes in public and/or private spaces. (I quickly put my notepad away when I noticed I was 67 making other attendees uncomfortable.) In the classroom, however, my role as researcher was more established, and the practice of writing was more commonplace and less conspicuous in a way. (Although I should note that both teachers did remark to me in different ways on different occasions that they wondered what I was writing about. I told them a version of what I am reporting here, and emphasized that I was not evaluating their teaching skills, but rather looking for the way English and Spanish were used and cultural content was negotiated.) 3.5.2.6 Photo Elicitation The use of photographs as memory prompts for eliciting (auto)biographical narratives—particularly in intergenerational memory studies—has been widely used across the humanities and social sciences (see Hirsch, 1997; Kuhn, 2007; Mannik, 2013), including in language and literacy research (e.g., Attarian, 2011; Payne, 2011). In reading scholarship about the significance of artifacts (Pahl, 2008; Pahl & Rowsell, 2010), tattoos (Kidron, 2009; Rowsell, Kress, & Street, 2009), music (Prosser, 2011), place (Abu-Lughod, 2011; Riaño-Alcalá, 2006), and protest, ritual, and performance (Sosa, 2011; Taylor, 2003) in social remembering (see also Strong-Wilson, Mitchell, Allnutt, & Pithouse-Morgan, 2013, in the context of education), we effectively bear witness to the synergistic, synesthetic relationship between the linguistic and other modes in social (re)constructions of memory. This relationship, again, underscores the situatedness and interconnectivity of multimodal resources in the accomplishing work of social remembering, and as such has clear implications for learner-centered agendas in language and literacy education. The purpose of using photos and child-created artifacts in this study was to prompt narrative and reflection from the children, and also to arrive at a better understanding of how they understood their heritage. Thus, I did not conduct a visual analysis of the images collected 68 in this research (see Rose, 2016). The photo-interviews and follow-up questions I asked Max about his drawings were prompted by “close readings” of the visual itself, leading to Kuhn’s (2007) and others’ (e.g., Mitchell, 2011; Pahl & Rowsell, 2010) recommendation to engage in a “performative viewing” between researcher and participant, which refers to talking about the visual with the research participant. 3.6 Data Analysis To construct a research report that pays close attention to both what my participants said and also how they said it (implications for socialization), in this study, I employed tools for thematic, narrative, and discourse analysis (specifically Initiation-Response-Evaluation routines). Below, I describe how I conceived of and drew upon each of these approaches in my analysis. 3.6.1 Overarching Analytic Approach and the Identification of Themes As I mentioned in Chapter 1, I came to this study with research questions informed by my lived experiences (Mayan, 2009) and a review of a wide cross-section of relevant literature in memory studies (which itself is a multidisciplinary area of inquiry; see Olick et al., 2011) and applied linguistics—initially emotion studies in second language acquisition, and later on language socialization, New Literacy Studies, and heritage language education research. The research questions themselves provided some initial etic codes (or categories, themes, units, as various methodologists have labelled them, see Saldaña, 2013; Tracy, 2020) that shaped the work at all stages. Following Saldaña (2013), I define a code as “a word or short phrase that symbolically assigns a summative, salient, essence-capturing, and/or evocative attribute for a portion of language-based or visual data” (p. 3). To code my dataset, I looked for “repetitive patterns of action and consistencies in human affairs as documented in the data” (Saldaña, 2013, p. 5). My 69 search was guided by the initial etic codes with which I approached my research (e.g., as contained within the research questions, or as indexed by academic concepts like heritage language and difficult knowledge), and more emic ones (like “Spanish” or “Chile” or “wolf”) that my participants used. Both categories of codes influenced the way I developed the interviewing and observation protocols for data collection, and then later data analysis and reporting. In the process of deconstructing the phenomenon (Denzin, 2002), I critically considered some of the study’s key concepts in light of recent applied linguistics research (see Chapter 2), which enabled me to widen my interpretive lens in some instances while focusing it in more narrowly in others. An important step in the ongoing abductive data analysis of such a substantial dataset was the simple act of typing up my handwritten field notes the same day of a given observation (on a couple of occasions, I was not able to complete this activity until 24–48 hours later). In doing this, I refamiliarized myself with my field observations and also enabled myself to add, clarify, and otherwise edit my notes in a timely manner. It was also at this stage that I began to notice recurrent and significant themes across settings, such as the important role and negotiation of difficult cultural knowledge in the Calfu family and community (Chapter 4), the relevance of nationalist renderings and constructions (imagined, discursive, and material) across research settings (Chapter 5), and the family’s Indigenous identity as manifest in Max’s drawings of and talk about wolves (Chapter 6). After I typed up all of my field notes and transcribed all of the interview data, I printed them out and began to identify themes more concretely on paper, or “coding,” which Tracy (2020) describes as “the active process of identifying data as belonging to, or representing, some type of phenomenon” (p. 213). During this phase of analysis, I used writing utensils and Post-it notes, and organized pages spatially on the desk and floor. As a 70 graduate student engaging in her first large research study, I also experimented with coding the dataset digitally using Atlas.ti, to see if it might offer advantages that my natural inclination toward making sense of the data on paper (Tracy, 2020) could not. Both methods allowed me to interpret the data in different ways and to varying degrees of granularity, but I struggled to find meaning in the coding process using the qualitative data analysis software. This might be because of (not in spite of) its efficiency. I quickly produced hundreds of codes (many of which were similar) and lacked the training, experiences, and resources to produce a coherent analysis from them. Indeed, as Saldaña (2013) observes (referring to Madden, 2010) coding adds to the research story, in a sense generating more data—something I found unwieldy and overwhelming at this stage in my research career. In the end, it was the continual process of revising and annotating (commenting on, assigning codes to) my dataset that facilitated the ongoing coding, data reduction, and interpretation of the data (Duff, 2008a). 3.6.2 Narrative Analysis My overarching interest in the intergenerational language socialization of difficult cultural knowledge (undergirded by collective memory) was ultimately a preoccupation with what stories about this family’s cultural past were told and how (across generations, settings, and spaces). Remembering itself is an integral part of the personal and collective narratives that we use “to imbue life events with a temporal and logical order, to demystify them and establish coherence across past, present, and as yet unrealized experience” (Ochs & Capps, 2001, p. 2), and is a central feature in constructing personal and familial identities (Ochs, 1993; Ochs & Capps, 1996; Fivush, 2008; Fivush, Bohanek, & Duke, 2008). Indeed, there has been extensive and wide-ranging discussion around the production and social functions of narratives (e.g., 71 Bamberg, 2006; Baynham & de Fina, 2005; de Fina & Georgakopoulou, 2012; Fivush, 2010; Gubrium & Holstein, 2012; Norrick, 2003; Ochs & Capps, 2001; Wertsch, 2002). A primary function of narrative is to achieve a sense of coherence across the various timescales that constitute and intersect with our lives (Lemke, 2000; Ochs & Capps, 2001). Traumatic experiences in one’s past can disrupt the production of everyday narratives and meaning making processes in the present, but, as mentioned above, verbal silences should not be equated with erasure. The material and multimodal aspects of our life worlds (e.g., photographs, tattoos, artifacts) provide the means to express and discover (if tacitly) the past in the present (Kidron, 2009; Riaño-Alcalá, 2006; Stein, 2008, Chapter 4). While I consider narrative thematically in all three results chapters, I analyze it more explicitly in Chapter 4, by drawing on some of the narrative “dimensions” that Ochs and Capps’ (2001) outline in their approach to analyzing narrative. The dimensions they identify are: tellership, tellability, embeddedness, linearity, and moral stance. In my analysis, I take up the first two in particular: Tellership, which refers to “the actual recounting of the narrative”—or animators, in Goffman’s terminology, and tellability, which points to the presumed “significance of events for particular interlocutors and the way in which events are rhetorically shaped in narrative” (p. 34). In Chapter 6, I conduct a thematic analysis of the narratives that wolves both represent (multimodally) and prompt (discursively) in Max’s world. I adopted an expanded, multimodal view of communication (see for example Jewitt, 2008; Kendrick, 2016; Kress & Van Leeuwen, 2001; Rowsell & Pahl, 2007; Stein, 2008) in this language socialization study in Chapter 6 for “its recognition of the linguistic mode as one of many possible modes for meaning making,” and also that mode is inseparable from the broader cultural and historical environment: “Semiotic 72 resources have been produced in the course of social/cultural/political histories—histories which of course keep on going. . . . Semiotic resources exist in different ways for different people and groups” (Kress & van Leeuwen, 2001, p. 112). Others have taken the notion of historicity even further, imbuing objects with a particular capacity to carry memories: “The properties of materials, in short, are not attributes but histories” (Ingold, 2011, p. 3210). 3.6.3 Initiation-Response-Evaluation (IRE) Exchanges Within the family narratives of Chapter 4, I paid close attention to the form and function of the rather structured memory exchanges that took place between Max, Ella, and their parents in particular. I noticed that the structure often took on the shape of IRE (initiation, response, evaluation) exchanges and began to explore the function of such exchanges in a family context, as they represent the most typical form of classroom discourse in Canadian and US schools (Mehan, 1979). In school contexts, the IRE exchange is typically initiated by the teacher, who sets off a chain of “knowledge display,” often taking the form of a known-answer question, such as “what colour is the book?” The student/s then provide/s a response, (e.g., “blue”) which is then evaluated by the teacher (e.g., “correct!”). Rymes (2015) has observed that IRE exchanges are teacher- or adult-centered interactions that can serve to gauge students’ understanding of a topic, bring attention to the main or supporting ideas, and to build toward a larger point. IRE sequences are usually manifest in known-answer or open-ended questions, with open-ended questions leading to a greater opportunity for discussion. Interestingly, images have been found to be particularly well-suited to prompt unscripted discussions that de-centre the teacher-as-initiator and IRE sequences more generally (Poole, 2008). Known-answer questions “are the prototypical 10 Many Indigenous worldviews understand place, animals, and the material world to share human beings’ capacity for memory (e.g., Basso, 1997; Cruikshank, 2007). 73 IRE sequence initiators. Their primary function is to prompt students to display information already known to the asker. . . . A prototypical known-answer question has one and only one right answer, usually one the teacher has in mind.” (Rymes, 2015, p. 108). Indeed, the known-answer question is so pervasive that students who are used to this style of interaction may begin to orient to open-answer questions as “known” (Rymes, 2015), even in the early grades. While a great deal of the attention to IRE exchanges has concentrated on classroom talk, Shirley Brice Heath’s (1982, 1983) pioneering study of home literacy practices in Black and White (“mainstream” and “nonmainstream”) communities in the Piedmont Carolinas found, among other things, that the degree to which families engage their pre-schoolers in IRE-type exchanges has a significant impact on their subsequent marginalization or success in mainstream learning institutions (cf. Eriks-Brophy & Crago, 2003; Heath, 1983). Despite their rigid and unequal power structure, however, IRE sequences are not immune to subversion or modification by interlocutors with less power in the interaction (children, students)—a feature of IRE exchanges that language socialization research has consistently demonstrated (e.g., Baquedano-López, 2000; Duff, 1993; Waring, 2009, 2013). A close examination of IRE sequences can help analysts to better understand local power dynamics, (language) ideologies, and the management of sensitive or difficult knowledge, as this study will show. 3.7 Rigor and Credibility I took a number of steps to ensure the rigor and credibility of this study, which I outline below. 3.7.1 Rigor Rich rigor refers to “the care and effort taken to ensure that the research is carried out in an appropriate manner” (Tracy, 2020, p. 271). Because I set out to understand the relationship 74 between local Chilean diasporic culture and the heritage language socialization of two children, I adopted a longitudinal, multi-sited ethnographic approach to data collection, which included large amounts of data from multiple sources (see above) (Ahearn, 2016). To attend to my abiding interest in the role of difficult knowledge and cultural memory in heritage language socialization, it was necessary to draw on theoretical constructs that have not yet been taken up in heritage language education, namely, difficult knowledge. (To my knowledge, the concept of collective memory has only been applied once in heritage language research, in Blackledge & Creese, 2008.) I also employed different techniques to analyze the data (thematic, narrative, discourse analysis), in order to contribute to the textured understanding of this local cultural context that I sought. I had to make important decisions about analysis, however, when considering resonance (more on this below). There were many points during data analysis where a micro discourse analytic approach would have helped to demonstrate the children’s agency in negotiating difficult knowledge and their affective stance-taking very clearly, but I feared losing potential teacher and parent audiences in the necessarily technical analytic language of such a method. Consequently, I opted for analytic methods that were more widely accessible to readers without training in discourse or conversation analysis. 3.7.2 Credibility Tracy (2020) describes studies with credibility as “dependability, trustworthiness (Lincoln et al., 2018), and expressing a reality that is plausible or seems true” (p. 275). As an ethnographic study, thick description has had a central place in my data collection and reporting. Tracy advocates for reporting that provides “concrete detail, explication of tacit (non-textual) knowledge, and showing rather than telling” (p. 270). Through thick description (see below), which refers largely to including an appropriate amount of concrete detail, I hope to have 75 produced a report that unearths some of the tacit knowledge present within the Chilean-Canadian diaspora community in Corvidell, and that the data I have analyzed offer sufficient support for my claims. Because of space constraints and other practical considerations, “showing rather than telling” is not always feasible in qualitative research reporting, but to the extent possible, I foregrounded interactional and multimodal data in my analysis, trying to balance ways to explain tacit knowledge without lapsing into what seems like conjecture. As Tracy (2020) has put it: Sometimes the most important issues are unspeakable while things that are easiest to talk about are relatively unimportant (Schwartz & Sharpe, 2010). Researchers must therefore not only examine explicit interactions and behavior, but also pay attention to awkward silences, winks, nods, humor, and flirtation – as these often relate to key cultural understandings. (p. 275) Particularly in cultural contexts marked by trauma, there may be little verbal or explicit data to offer as evidence of a given phenomenon (see Kidron, 2009), so there were occasions where I gave more attention to apparently mundane interactions (e.g., Chapter 4) than one might have otherwise. 3.7.3 Triangulation and Crystallization Tracy (2020) discusses the value of triangulation and crystallization as separate but complementary measures for constructing credibility in qualitative research. Triangulation can be a useful carry-over from the positivist paradigm that essentially refers to understanding a case or phenomenon from different perspectives (e.g., data sources, methods, investigators, and even theories, Stake, 1995, pp. 112–115), which should echo or “triangulate” with one another to produce more coherent and therefore more credible findings. In order “to gain the needed confirmation, to increase credence in the interpretation, to demonstrate commonality of an 76 assertion” (Stake, 1995, p. 112), to reach a deep level of understanding of the case, and to illustrate multiple yet complementary interpretations of the realities described (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), triangulation can be an indispensable tool in qualitative case study research. The limitations of triangulation have been discussed mainly in terms of the overwhelming organizational task it can present to the qualitative researcher who may have an abundance of data from many sources (Duff, 2008a, p. 55), as was the case in this research. By contrast, Tracy (2020) promotes the use of crystallization alongside triangulation, as a means to make “use of multiple data points and researcher points of view, even when they do not converge” (p. 276). The notion and practice of crystallization foregrounds the complex and complicated or messy (rather than coherent) realities that are often present in qualitative research, and invites researchers “to construct a multi‐faceted, more complicated, and therefore more credible picture of the context” (Tracy, 2020, p. 276). In other words, in crystallization, it is a more complicated picture that may be in fact more credible. As I have described throughout this chapter, in this research I made use of multiple methods and theories to engage with participants across sites and over a period of many months. Through the processes of triangulation and crystallization, I was able to see points of continuity and discontinuity in my research context, and was able to achieve a greater sense of certainty about both. 3.7.4 Member Reflections Tracy (2020) advocates for the use of member reflections instead of member checks, arguing that member checking does not in fact enhance validity (p. 278). Rather, it creates “a space for additional insight and credibility” (p. 278). In this study, the amount of formal follow up that I did with participants about their data was quite limited, due mainly to participants’ very busy schedules, but also, notably, because most communicated to me in different ways that they 77 felt this study was my undertaking, and when I would offer to show them transcripts of their interview data for instance, the idea generally seemed to make people feel self-conscious and they would tell me things like “oh, I’m sure it’s fine” and “I trust you.” While such statements at least partially reassured me that I had presented my research aims clearly and conducted myself with “sincerity” (Tracy, 2020), not having formal accounts of participants’ views or interpretations of the data to use as member reflections—or checks—felt uncomfortable from an ethical standpoint. I was also unsure of how to conduct member checks or reflection conversations with the children, who seemed even less invested in the research at times than the adults. Ultimately, I came to realize that meeting the traditional criteria for rigorous qualitative research (e.g., through member checking or reflections) was not part of the way this particular study was evolving, and that respecting the amount of participation my participants desired to have (including in follow up conversations) was itself an ethical practice. While none of the key participants had time to look over transcripts of their interviews or excerpts from observational recordings, I did informally share reflections and observations with key participants with whom I had developed stronger rapport, like Valentina, Manuel, Sra. A, and Inés, and they offered informal support, critique, or clarification of those reflections. Their comments served as member reflections, helping enhance my confidence in the credibility of my interpretations (at least for those participants), and contributing new data to consider, which directed my attention to other topics or areas I hadn’t thought were important before. 3.7.5 Resonance Resonance “is considered to be the feature of the text that meaningfully reverberates and impacts an audience” (Tracy, 2020, p. 279). It is essential to write qualitative research reports (particularly in the field of education) in a way that resonates with audiences in order to prompt 78 understanding, action, and change. According to Tracy (2020), resonance is achieved through transferability, naturalistic generalization, and evocative representation, though it seems to me that a report that is written with “aesthetic merit,” that is, research that is beautifully written, imaginative, and emotionally impactful, is more likely to support transferability (“when readers intuitively believe that research findings correspond to something significant in their own world” Tracy, 2020, p. 279) and naturalistic generalization, or, when researchers help audiences “feel as if they have been there” (Tracy, 2020, p. 279). Qualitative research that exhibits aesthetic merit “spurs audiences to feel with phenomena and participants and not merely think about them” (Tracy, 2020 p. 281, emphasis in the original). In the end, “good [case] studies should be read as narratives in their entirety” (Flyvbjerg, 2011, p. 313), and thick description provides a solid point of departure for empirical storytelling, or reporting. But herein lies one of the major challenges for case study researchers, namely, that of how much detail to include, and how much data to display (Duff, 2008a). Many scholars conducting case studies worry that by summarizing their data in some places, for instance, they are sacrificing richness for empirical closure (Stake, 2000), but as in any research design, decisions about reporting must be made (Dyson & Genishi, 2005). It is impossible to tell the “whole” story in any study, no matter how small the units of analysis, but the research story one does tell should be told as fully (albeit judiciously) as possible. As I have mentioned at various points in this chapter, I took measures to protect the privacy of my participants which sometimes diminished my ability to write an even more compelling or resonant account, but they were necessary measures. Because of its immersive and (to varying degrees) participatory observational methods, ethnographic research is particularly well positioned to produce resonant, emotionally-compelling research (although this is not guaranteed, of course). As the weeks and months went 79 by during field work, it became increasingly apparent to me that I would need to attempt to write this dissertation in an aesthetically-resonant way in order to capture the situational, material, symbolic, and affective complexity of the research sites and the cultural worlds that moved across them. This realization also impacted my decisions regarding data analysis: I strove to maintain a narrative style in interpretation and in writing in order to be inclusive of audiences with varying levels of education and training, but also to increase the likelihood of transferability and naturalistic generalization. 3.7.6 Thick Description Thick description, or the rich, detailed information that is included in describing qualitative data (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), is an important aspect of good quality case study, ethnographic, and qualitative research more broadly. Enough thick description will allow for the reader “to vicariously experience the setting of the study… [and, thus] to assess the evidence upon which the researcher’s analysis is based” (Merriam, 1988, p. 199). This latter point is key in enhancing the transferability of the findings to other cases and contexts (Lincoln & Guba, 1985), which, in Tracy’s (2020) framework, overlaps meaningfully with Resonance. Transferability is a qualitative response to generalizability, but it has been criticized by those who feel that it bears too much resemblance to its positivist cousin; difference, they contend, can offer as much insight about social phenomena as similarity (Duff, 2008a, p. 52). In this study, I cultivated thick description by keeping detailed field notes and multimodal documentation (photographs, screenshots, school work, etc.). 3.7.7 Level of Detail While thick and rich descriptions enhance the quality of qualitative research, participants’ privacy takes precedence over the amount of detail the researcher conveys about them. The Calfu 80 family was unique in many ways, and were also very active in their local community and therefore easily identifiable. As a result, I have omitted several details about them that would undoubtedly have enhanced and even expanded the claims I am making about them here. The focal teachers and the Calfu family’s close friends (Pablo’s family) also had certain salient characteristics that were very particular to them, so I have omitted these for the same reasons, and with the same consequences. 3.7.8 Generalizability Perhaps the chief issue for critics of case study is that of generalizability, a concept that has its roots in positivist traditions (Flyvbjerg, 2011). This scientistic bias presents immediate problems for qualitative researchers doing case study research, as deep understanding rather than statistical generalization is what is sought in the interpretive paradigm (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). The purpose of generalizability is “to establish relevance, significance, and external validity of findings for situations of people beyond the immediate research project” (Duff, 2008a, p. 48, my emphasis; see also Duff, 2006). Thus, because instrumental, qualitative case studies (arguably the preferred case study type among social science researchers) also aim to have significance beyond the case itself, it is worth examining how the issue of generalizability has been understood, defended, or refuted by scholars of case study as well as in this study. Some scholars have approached the issue of generalizability by taking a defensive stance. Yin (2009) posits that individual case studies are much like individual experiments in that they are indeed generalizable, but “to theoretical propositions, not to populations or universes” (p. 15). For Berg (2009), generalizability is a non-issue in case study research because, he contends, “few human behaviors are unique, idiosyncratic, and spontaneous,” (p. 330) suggesting that generalizability is in fact inherent in case study research. 81 As I noted above, my hope with this study was to create resonant work (Tracy, 2020) that could achieve a measure of naturalistic generalization beyond the current work. Naturalistic generalization recognizes the reader’s innate propensity to make connections across cases: “Conceptually for the reader, the new case cannot be but some combination of cases already known” (Stake, 2000, p. 443). The notion of generalizability in case study has also been rejected altogether on the grounds that it should not be the ultimate goal of all research (Stake, 2000) and that it is simply an “inappropriate” (if not irrelevant) goal within the interpretive tradition (Merriam, 1988, p. 175; also see Lincoln & Guba, 1985). These views help to remind us that “the real business of case study is particularization, not generalization” (Stake, 1995, p. 8). 3.8 Chapter Summary In this chapter, I explored the various positions I took up during the field work, and outlined some of the ethical considerations. I then gave a detailed overview of ethnographic case study, the participants, research settings, instruments, and artifacts, and I explained how I analyzed the data. I concluded this chapter discussing how I worked to ensure that the research was rigorous, and the findings, credible. In the next chapter, I examine the language socialization of difficult knowledge in the Calfu family. 82 Chapter 4: Becoming a Speaker of Memory: The Language Socialization of Difficult Knowledge The winter sun had set hours before Manuel Calfu finally sat down to his dinner in late November of 2015. His wife, Valentina, was still out, and their elementary-school-aged children, Max and Ella, sat about 15 feet away, watching TV in the living room, crossing behind us regularly to use the washroom or kitchen. In August, the Calfu family had generously agreed to participate in my year-long, ethnographic research into their family’s language and literacy socialization practices. Max and Ella were learning their heritage language, Spanish, at home and in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school, and I was curious about the cultural beliefs and discourses they were being socialized into in both places, given their grandparents’ exile from Chile in the 1970s and elementary schools’ reluctance to engage with political or emotionally difficult subject matter. Ultimately, I wondered how their cultural socialization in both places might impact their relationship to speaking Spanish. On this particular November evening, I interviewed Manuel in English while he ate. I had already eaten, and he seemed to welcome the conversation while his children were otherwise engaged. For about two hours, I asked questions and listened attentively as Manuel talked, in detail and at length, about growing up as the son of Chilean exiles, and about his hopes for his own children. From him and others, I had gotten the impression that the Chilean-Canadian community’s experience of resettlement, including its language and culture maintenance endeavours, seemed to stem from the political and violent circumstances surrounding their forced migration (Becker, 2013; Shayne, 2009), so over an hour into the interview, I broached the topic more directly: 83 I’ve heard you talk about the community needing healing. Um, do you feel like, could you talk a bit about how you feel the traumas from your parents’ generation have affected, like, your generation? (pause) And maybe moving forward to the next generation? What that might look like? Manuel sighed before stating that healing was, for him, “still, like, a work in progress.” He explained how he could relate to coworkers from other cultures who also felt their parents’ pain at “not feeling wel[come]—wanted here, or respected here in that sense of you-don’t-belong.” To illustrate the intergenerational, transnational character of their pain, he told me how news of the World Trade Center attacks on September 11, 2001 had affected him and his family. He had heard the news on the radio while driving to work, and he remembered receiving a panicked phone call from his mother who feared the attack had been orchestrated by a “crazy Chilean.” He remembered trying to calm her by urging her: . . . not to imagine it because I didn’t want it to be true. Because to me, right away it spelled: “Crap. I’m Chilean.” (sigh) Things of internment camps and just being, no one trusting me and just all that stuff came up. Right? He remembered his grandfather calling from Chile that day to remind them that, if they felt “pressured at all, [to] come back.” Manuel then summarized his reflections on the topic this way: So that wound is never far from the surface, that feeling of something being taken away. And that’s the feeling I get the most, I get the most, is that, that was taken away from me, I was a baby [when my family fled Chile], I could do nothing, it was taken away from me. I don’t blame my parents, I blame the people who did it. How do they [my parents] heal from it if I can’t get over that fact? Right? [If] I feel slighted? 84 As his testimony climbed in emotional intensity—hopelessness, even—I noticed that his seven-year-old son, Max, had been lingering around us on his way back from the kitchen, watching and listening attentively. All of a sudden, possibly to break the tension with his own connection to Chile, Max interjected: “Papí, papí, in my treat bag I got one of these!” Manuel chuckled, and his son elaborated: “Someone was giving these out,” before heading back to join his sister in front of the television set. Manuel then turned to me and explained that the candy was from Chile, and his children “know those candies are special because they don’t come back very often, right?” He then resumed his reflections on loss and healing in his community. While the foregoing vignette may seem in some ways unusual, both the content of Manuel’s narrative and its apparently seamless interweaving into an otherwise typical school night are not necessarily unusual in post-exile diaspora homes, where such narratives are a part of the family’s identity. In fact, it was scenes like this that prompted some of this study’s core concerns: What does it mean for children to develop communicative competence in a bilingual and bicultural community of practice that is still coming to terms with the violence that expelled their families decades before? What shape do practices of remembering and forgetting take, and of what consequence are such practices to the development of critical thinking, cultural identities, and language maintenance in subsequent generations? Versions of these questions have been explored in the context of Indigenous language loss and revitalization, revealing the complex interplay of intergenerational trauma, language (re)learning, and identity (e.g., Cranmer, 2015) in relation to physical and mental health outcomes (see McIvor & Napoleon, 2009; Whalen, Moss, & Baldwin, 2016). The psychological and material ruptures associated with forced migration are not neatly contained within the bounds of the experiencing generation (Argenti & Schramm, 2012; Baum, 85 2000; Kidron, 2009), and as such, the difficult knowledge (Simon et al., 2000a) that is (or is not) remembered to subsequent generations (Kidron, 2009; Marshall & Toohey, 2010) or overheard by them, is a central part of diaspora families’ and communities’ language socialization and language maintenance. Formal modern language education tends to minimize these difficult cultural realities, however, focusing instead on the safe “superficial triad—foods, fairs, and folklore” (Kramsch, 2013, p. 23; see also Freadman, 2014) and positive or “sunny days” (Kendrick & McKay, 2004; Wiltse, 2014) content. In this leftist Chilean diaspora community, youth are regularly reminded that the “food, fairs, and folklore” that they celebrate have complex political and emotional histories: The empanadas that are still lovingly prepared for family and community gatherings were also used to raise funds in socialist solidarity efforts in the 1970s and 1980s; the cultural festivals where grandchildren now perform folk dances dance alongside images of Salvador Allende—the democratically elected socialist president whose violent overthrow made continuing to live in Chile unbearable for their grandparents; and the folkloric dances themselves that have become platforms for the intergenerational sharing of their colonial origins and the evolution of their symbolism across decades and borders. Until fairly recently, as noted in Chapters 1 and 2, HLLs’ “difficult knowledge” had been largely absent from applied linguistics literature focusing on culture and identity in language learning (for calls to action, see Becker, 2014; Campano, 2007; Ennser–Kananen, 2016; Gallo & Link, 2015; Freadman, 2014; Kramsch, 2013; Marshall & Toohey, 2010; Nelson & Appleby, 2015). Nevertheless, work on intergenerational memory and cultural trauma from anthropology (e.g., Argenti & Schramm, 2012), sociology (Jelin, 2003), performance studies (Taylor, 2003), and education (e.g., Hamilton & Moore, 2004; Simon et al., 2000a; Strong-Wilson et al., 2013) 86 has amply demonstrated that experiences of mass violence and trauma can be abiding preoccupations for the families and communities affected by these phenomena. In this study, I examined the language socialization routines of Manuel’s and Max’s family, a family of Chilean origin in which the young children were developing their heritage language at home and at the Spanish-English bilingual elementary school they attended, and were concurrently developing identities and communicative competence in relation to their community’s difficult yet resilient past. In this chapter I demonstrate how the mother, Valentina, socialized her children, Max (age 7), Ella (age 9), and their friend, Pablo (age 7), into her version of Chile’s violent and political past from within the relative safety of Initiation-Response-Evaluation (IRE) sequences (Heath, 1982; Mehan, 1979), and how the children responded in expected and unexpected ways as they were becoming competent speakers of memory in their community (cf. Ochs, 2003). Through this socialization process, they were learning their family’s and diaspora community’s valued ways of remembering Chilean history and politics, while trying to reconcile this difficult knowledge with prevailing cultural expectations of what versions of history are appropriate for children to learn about, their own interests, and the current political climate in the United States. 4.1 Language Socialization Language socialization research examines the interrelated processes of how people develop communicative and cultural competence (Ochs & Schieffelin, 1984)—how people are simultaneously socialized through and into language use over time. While the focal populations of language socialization studies are now quite varied (see contributions in Duff & May, 2017; Duranti, Ochs, & Schieffelin, 2011), child-child and child-caregiver interactions have been an enduring focus of many key language socialization studies (e.g., Ochs & Schieffelin, 1984; 87 Schecter & Bayley, 1997; Zentella, 1997; see also Duff & Doherty, 2015), and particularly in heritage language socialization studies (e.g., Fogle, 2012; García-Sánchez, 2014; Guardado, 2008). This body of research has shed light on how children develop communicative competence at the intersection of multiple linguistic, cultural, and ideological currents. Children’s agency in renegotiating the terms and shape of the interaction has often been highlighted. For instance, in her seminal paper on the language socialization of young Mexican-Americans in doctrina classes in a Los Angeles church, Baquedano-López (2002) captured the creative communicative practices that emerged around a routine narrative told in a catechism class with children (also see Ek, 2005) and the co-construction of a multiscalar, collective, ethno-religious diaspora identity in real time. Her research highlights the agentive role children play in constructing collective identities, and of the power of narrative more broadly as a positive identity building tool in traditionally marginalized communities. Guardado’s findings (2008, 2009) from his research into the language socialization practices of Hispanic families in Vancouver were similar. The families in his research participated in grassroots groups whose primary goal was Hispanic language and culture maintenance. He found the role of underlying values and ideologies (language and otherwise) to inform the groups’ choice and negotiation of activities, in which children, again, interacted with agency, producing hybrid enactments and interpretations of received versions of language and culture (see also Guardado & Becker, 2014). Although agency, commonly understood as “the socioculturally mediated capacity to act” (Ahearn, 2001, p. 112), is an inherent feature of language socialization (Ochs & Schieffelin, 2011), persistent cultural beliefs about children as more-or-less passive recipients of the language, culture, and the general will of adults mean that this point cannot be overstated. Not only are children agentive in their interactions with adults or “oldtimers”/ “experts,” their 88 contributions to interaction simultaneously socialize their interlocutors into particular roles, beliefs, and understandings—as well as affective displays (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002; Kulick & Schieffelin, 2004; E. Moore, 2020), which is especially poignant when considering the socialization of difficult histories that neither parent nor child might have experienced firsthand. This particular narrative situation calls into question the working definition of “expert” (or, the arbitrator of the child/newcomer’s communicative competence), and also of “community” (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002). 4.2 Language Socialization Through Narrative Common to virtually all studies of language socialization—indeed, “a primordial tool of socialization” (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002, p. 353)—is narrative. While many genres of narrative and approaches to its analysis have been identified (see De Fina & Georgakopoulou, 2012; Holstein & Gubrium, 2011; Riessman, 2008), personal narrative “emerges early in the communicative development of children” (Ochs & Capps, 1996, p. 19), and serves key functions in the child’s evolving sense of self in relation to others (Fivush, 2008). In Ochs and Capps’ (2001) conceptualization of it, personal narrative “is a way of using language or another symbolic system to imbue life events with a temporal and logical order, to demystify experience” (p. 2). From very early on, remembering with others (peers and adults) is a cornerstone of child identity development (Fivush, 2008; Fivush et al., 2008), irrespective of the content of the memory (see Reese & Fivush, 2008, p. 208). Even as a fundamental meaning-making device whose principal social and affective function seems to revolve around notions of coherence and continuity (Ochs & Capps, 2001), the breakdown of narrative has yet to be closely examined by language socialization researchers (cf. Ochs & Capps, 2001). Questions narrative language socialization researchers might ask include: 89 How do children navigate the re-narration of violent pasts that are highly valued by kin—perhaps stories of their own origins—but that are deemed socially untellable (or at least uncomfortable) by outsiders? How do they become “speakers of culture” (Ochs, 2003) as they grow up at the crossroads of multiple cultural communities, some of which being characterized by rupture (migratory, affective, etc.)? Children hear stories “about other people and other times, yet there is surprisingly little research on how children make sense of these kinds of stories” (Fivush et al. 2008, p. 134; cf. Kendrick, 2016; Miller, Potts, Fung, Hoogstra, & Mintz, 1990) or how they become “funds” of knowledge, tools for meaning-making across their lifeworlds (González, Moll, & Amanti, 2005). The education literature on how children make sense of these kinds of stories when they contain emotionally difficult content (e.g., of pain, suffering, violence) is still quite sparse, and much of it seems to be located in the area of literacy studies,11 where multimodal methodologies such as child-produced drawings make it possible to access children’s understandings of difficult or unspeakable topics (e.g., Becker-Zayas et al., 2018; Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010; Mitchell, 2011; Stein, 2008; but see also Gallo & Link, 2015 for an example without drawings). 4.3 Affect, Language Socialization, and Difficult Knowledge While there is a dearth of language socialization research that has examined children’s negotiation of difficult knowledge12 (cf. Capps & Ochs, 1995), it is important to understand how children and adults navigate emotionally difficult cultural knowledge because such knowledge is integral to so many cultural and migration narratives. And because of the oftentimes heightened 11 But see Sullivan and Simonson (2016) for a review of research on school-based interventions to support student mental health among “refugee, asylum-seeking, or war-traumatized immigrant children and youth” (p. 510). Creative expression and multimodal interventions were among the three mental health interventions reviewed. 12 There has been a lot of language socialization research work on negative or difficult emotions, however, such as shame (see for e.g., Lo & Fung, 2012). 90 affect involved in sharing difficult knowledge, communication may be constrained and displayed in different ways, according to different rules, and with a unique set of cultural expectations than in mundane, household talk, for instance (cf. Blum-Kulka, 2017). Drawing on Fader (2012), He (2017) points out in her recent review of the literature: “language socialization into morality, authority, praising, and shaming must be considered in the context of historical and political changes in these notions over time and space” (p. 186); difficult knowledge, or knowledge that will not be settled (Simon et al., 2000b), could well be added to this list. This study contributes to this gap by examining the language socialization of difficult cultural knowledge across generations in one Chilean-Canadian family. The display of affect is central to developing communicative, cultural, and socio-emotional competence (see Kulick & Schlieffen, 2004, p. 352; also, Brown, 2012). Language socialization research has amply demonstrated the ways in which learning to display affect in culturally recognizable and accepted ways is intimately linked to building and maintaining local moral orders (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002, p. 352) in faith communities (Baquedano-López, 2001; Ek, 2005; Fader, 2009; Smith-Hefner, 1999), families (e.g., Capps & Ochs, 1995; Sterponi, 2009), and schools (e.g., Willett, 1995), among other contexts. With its interest in how “novices are expected to recognize and display emotions in culturally defined ways and according to local norms and preferences” (Garrett & Baquedano-López, 2002, p. 352; Kulick & Schieffelin, 2004), language socialization research has frequently adopted discourse analytic approaches to analyzing affect, making few (if any) claims about the internal worlds of their participants (cf. Capps & Ochs, 1995; Ochs & Capps, 2001). Indeed, from a social constructionist perspective, the experience and expression of affect are not naturally linked: 91 Emotion should not be viewed… as a substance carried by the vehicle of discourse, expressed by means of discourse, or “squeezed through,” and thereby perhaps distorted in, the shapes of language or speech. Rather, we should view emotional discourse as a form of social action that creates effects in the world, effects that are read in a culturally informed way by the audience for emotion talk. (Lutz & Abu-Lughod, 1990, p. 12) What follows is a narrative analysis of the intergenerational language socialization of culturally difficult knowledge through IRE sequences (described below). 4.4 The Study 4.4.1 Sociohistorical Context The explicit historical narrative Valentina and Manuel seemed to deem important for their children to know early on was the El Once narrative, or the retelling of Chile’s September 11, 1973—the day when the democratically elected socialist president, Salvador Allende, was killed in a US-backed military coup, and Augusto Pinochet took power. This day was a turning point for their families, and the beginning of a significant Chilean diaspora in countries such as Canada, Sweden, and Australia (among others) (see, e.g., Kay, 1987; Shayne, 2009; T. Wright & Oñate, 1998). Every year since, on September 11, leftist Chilean diaspora communities around the world gather to commemorate Allende’s life, death, and legacy, and to reflect on the grave human rights abuses that occurred under Pinochet’s rule and that continue to occur in their own diasporic communities and all over the globe. With their own children now having reached adulthood, it is not uncommon to see young children (the first generation’s grandchildren) at these events, with the express desire of their parents and grandparents that they not forget “why they’re here” and that they continue to denounce injustice everywhere (Field notes from a community-organized El Once commemoration event, September 12, 2015). An extension of the 92 movement that the Pinochet dictatorship attempted to halt, the enduring cultural values of the Chilean progressives in the diaspora seem to revolve around promoting a diligent yet humble work ethic in their children, (inter- and intracultural) expressions of solidarity with other marginalized people locally and globally, and the reclamation of Indigenous, pre-Hispanic roots (e.g., via music, dance, and artifacts) (Eastmond, 1993; Power, 2009). 4.4.2 Data Analysis The initial, broader identification of themes that began during data collection, particularly via field note writing (Ryan & Bernard, 2003, p. 100), which helped me to establish the significance of the El Once (and related) narratives for this family, and to confirm their absence at school (at least during my observations). I also discussed my emerging interpretations and reflections on the research with Valentina, Manuel, and Inés, at a few points throughout the field work in order to take their reflections into consideration (Tracy, 2020). I transcribed talk drawing on Jefferson’s (2004) transcription conventions in order to give a more fine-grained picture of the interactions (see Appendix D). Once I had transcribed the interviews and typed up the field notes, I began to read and code the entire dataset in a recursive fashion, which allowed me to identify patterns and select the excerpts I present below for closer analysis (Miles, Huberman, & Saldaña, 2014; Stake, 1995). I had initially coded the data I analyze below as “difficult knowledge” and “intergenerational socialization,” but it was only upon closer examination of interactions coded in this way that I noticed the salience of initiation-response-evaluation (IRE) routines (which adults, especially parents and teachers, regularly deploy to solicit knowledge displays from children [Heath, 1982; Mehan, 1985; Rymes, 2015]). It quickly became apparent to me that Max and Ella were being socialized not only to display 93 certain facts about their family’s difficult cultural knowledge, but to do so while adopting particular affective stances (e.g., anger, reverence). To enhance the credibility of the findings in this study, I employed a number of strategies. For instance, I spent hundreds of hours in the field over the course of an academic year in order to “recognize tacit knowledge” (Tracy, 2020, p. 275) that underlaid my participants’ communicative practices, and I kept meticulous field notes based on my observations to provide thick and rich contextual description (Geertz, 1973). (For more detail, see Chapter 3.) In this chapter, I focus primarily on how Valentina socialized her children and their friend Pablo into her version of the El Once narrative (described above) and related Chilean historical narratives from within the relative safety of IRE sequences (Heath, 1982; Mehan, 1979) (see Chapter 3 for a detailed description of IRE sequences), and I consider how the children responded in expected and unexpected ways (Ochs & Capps, 2001) as they were becoming competent speakers of memory in their community (cf. Ochs, 2003). 4.5 Findings 4.5.1 Early Socialization “September is a hard month for us,” began a prominent member of Corvidell’s Chilean-Canadian community at the 42nd annual commemoration event for Salvador Allende’s death (Field notes, September 12, 2015). Her audience of about 50 predominantly first-generation Chilean-Canadians,13 brows lightly furrowed in reflective solemnity, some discretely weeping, had settled as exiles in Canada 30–40 years prior, and needed no further explanation. The speaker nevertheless continued, perhaps in the day’s spirit of giving testimony—of speaking 13 60 years of age and older. 94 history aloud and of denouncing past injustice—or perhaps to make sure there was no confusion for outsiders (such as myself), or for younger Chilean-Canadians whose parents might not have explained their family’s migration story to them in that way. As someone who has no first-hand experience of immigration, from Latin America or elsewhere, I wondered whether the statement I had heard at the El Once commemoration this year resonated with Valentina, so I asked her about it a month later in our first formal interview. She said that September was a hard month for her, too, but it hadn’t always been. Although her parents had taken her to commemoration events growing up, they had never really talked about their reasons for going, perhaps to shield her and her sister (as many parents did) from the acute sense of loss and grief that they felt. It wasn’t until she had lived in Chile as an adult and began to attend the commemorative events in Corvidell upon her return that she “started being a part of it [and] really start[ed] feeling how intense it is of a Remembrance Day for our family. And what it meant to be here, right?” (Interview, October 14, 2015). I observed that this revelation came to her after her children were born, and she confirmed that the event did indeed take on renewed significance for her when she became a mother. Continuing to remember what Chilean society lost when Salvador Allende was killed in the military coup on September 11, 1973 (“El Once”) was “like a thank-you almost to our parents for being here but also like respecting the day itself and what it meant for them” (Interview, October 14, 2015) (see also Dorfman, 2006). Social practices of remembering and forgetting are inherently political, particularly as they concern the (re)construction of national imaginaries (Huyssen, 2006; Ricoeur, 2006, inter alia). This process of national reconstruction lies at the heart of diasporic identity construction (Clifford, 1994), and in the case of refugees, large-scale, human-caused atrocity often becomes a central feature of what is remembered over generations—or not (e.g., Baum, 2000; Kidron, 95 2009). In the Chilean case, renowned Chilean writer Ariel Dorfman, who also went into exile following Pinochet’s coup, has argued: “when Chile lost its democracy [on September 11, 1973] … death entered our life in an irrevocable way and altered it forever” (2006, p. 1, my translation). Thus, for Dorfman and other Allende supporters, like the Calfu family, not to talk about the physical and symbolic violence that displaced a generation of like-minded Chileans just under 50 years ago would be, in a sense, to perpetuate it (Jelin, 2003). Valentina then mentioned that she didn’t learn of the details of “what happened” until she was in high school, and had resolved to teach her children about it from a much younger age. Two years before this research began, on Max’s first day of Kindergarten, she made a video recording of herself asking her son and his Chilean-Canadian friend, Pablo, about the significance of El Once “so that they would understand what that day meant.” She continued: “I’ve explained to my kids what happened that day, probably the same way my parents did not to scar them like… what ended up really happening to [their abuelos/ grandparents]” (Interview, October 20, 2015). In the following interaction, transcribed from that video made in September, 2013, Valentina begins by asking the boys a question about the significance of El Once, unrecorded, which Max answers and elaborates upon on tape: 01 Max: Salvador Allende di::ed 02 Pablo: Yeah 03 Max: At Chile. 04 Valentina: Yeah. As Pablo makes a bid to elaborate in line 5, Valentina simultaneously initiates another question, leaning into the relative security of the IRE sequence: 96 05 Pablo: [And— 06 Valentina: [What day? 07 Pablo: [On September eleventh. 08 Max: [On September eleventh. 09 Valentina: ‘Kay and what happened to him? 10 Pablo: Um, he was a [ve:ry go:od man. (giggling) 11 Max: [ve:ry go:od man. (giggling) 12 Valentina: Okay and what happened to him? Pablo and Max offer the expected (“correct”) response (lines 7–8), which Valentina positively evaluates and follows up with a more complex question (line 9). In lines 10–11, Pablo and Max offer a response that doesn’t seem to satisfy the demands of Valentina’s question about Allende’s death, as she repeats it in line 12. Instead, they cleverly “jump ahead” to what they knew was the coda to this narrative (De Fina & Georgakopoulou, 2012, p. 29), or the ultimate response for this line of questioning (see lines 18–22), and they do so with the reverent prosody expected of this commemorative ritual. Through giggling at the end of their overlapping turns, Max and Pablo make a sophisticated bid to both satisfy the demands of their “evaluator” in this IRE routine with the expected response, while constructing themselves as independent thinkers with their own relationship to the knowledge they were being asked to display. According to Rymes (2015), “IRE sequences are always multifunctional. While they are initiating turns that probe for responses, they may also be… leading students incrementally on to a larger thematic point” (p. 108). Indeed, Pablo’s and Max’s responses here indicate that they were well aware of the larger thematic message—that Salvador Allende was a “good man” to be 97 remembered—but they were perhaps less interested in the incremental stages to arrive at it (as is evident in their jump to the coda). Their attempts to end this socialization ritual by delivering not only the expected content, but also the appropriate gravitas expected of their delivery (i.e., the elongated syllables), were deemed insufficient, however, and Valentina pressed on. There were other details—underscored by leftist cultural values of social justice—that she hoped they would display their understanding of through this exchange. In the talk that followed (omitted here for reasons of space), the two five-year-old boys were able to answer her open-ended questions with key details from this historical narrative. They told her that Allende died because “a bad guy bombed his palace14 where he worked,” that he wanted kids to have “lots of leche15 ((milk)), lots of water and ju::::ice!”, and they agreed (indexing their cultural competence) when she asked: “And he wanted kids to have an education, right?” She continued: 13 Valentina: Yeah. And? 14 (pause) 15 Valentina: So we remember him, right? 16 Pablo: Yes. (looks directly at Valentina) 17 Max: Yeah. (looks at Pablo) With the co-constructed narrative coming to a close, Valentina takes a final opportunity to check whether they know their reason for remembering Salvador Allende (line 18), to which Pablo emphatically supplies his well-rehearsed response, at the same time as Max attempts to launch a personal narrative, inserting it into the coda of this important commemorative one: 18 Valentina: Why do we remember him? 14 “Palace” is a direct translation from El Palacio de la Moneda, the Chilean house of government. 15 Salvador Allende’s government provided free milk daily to every child that needed it. 98 19 Pablo: [He was a ve:::ry go::od man 20 Max: [Do you know I went to Chile? (looks at his mother) Max’s turn (line 20) is interesting for several reasons, perhaps the most striking being that at age 5, there was likely very little his mother didn’t know about him, and that Max had not (and still has not, at the time of writing) been to Chile. Since about line 6, when the IRE sequence was becoming well established, Max had been rather disengaged from the interaction, often echoing Pablo’s responses or responding with him, but here he seems re-engaged, somehow, at the possibility of personalizing his mother’s narrative. Nevertheless, Valentina repeats her question, swiftly managing what may seem to her to be an illogical (possibly disrespectful) digression from the commemoration narrative that he was being carefully socialized to tell (line 21). Her turn in line 21 simultaneously reinforces the importance of telling the version of history that she wants them to know, while underscoring the seriousness of the ritual/remembering (e.g., in firmly saying her son’s full name before repeating her question). In line 22, Max finally (if annoyedly) produces the culturally appropriate response (which Pablo gave and that she did not sanction him for): 21 Valentina: What? Maximiliano. Why do we remember Salvador Allende? 22 Max: Because. He was. a. very. good. ma::n. In summary, as in many classroom IRE sequences, this El Once narrative contains factual information that is inevitably undergirded by moral and even political values. By adhering to a fairly rigid IRE sequence, Valentina was able to manage not only what was remembered (narrated) (e.g., lines 6, 9, 18, 21), but also the ordering of the facts (e.g., line 6), which gave her a degree of control over when and how the violent aspects of this narrative were delivered. Within the logic of the IRE sequence, Pablo’s (line 5) and Max’s (line 20) unexpected 99 contributions threatened not only the integrity of the narrative, but as unpredictable turns in a narrative of violence and loss, they also offered the possibility of treading onto sensitive emotional terrain. In this sense, Valentina’s role as initiator in the IRE ritual served not only to protect the integrity of her narrative, but also to keep the boys from knowing too much, too soon. It is also possible that adopting the role of initiator in this interaction helped her to protect herself from re-entering into the weight of the many difficult details that that version of Chilean history contained (see Chapter 1). Valentina’s role as gatekeeper of memory also forced her to decide to what extent she would allow her son to creatively enter into and personalize the narrative—a move she did not accept during the interaction. 4.5.2 Remembering Allende’s Bench Two years after Valentina interviewed her son and his friend Pablo on the Calfu family couch, Max and his mother were there again, working on a home reading assignment while I conducted a photo-interview with Ella, Max’s older sister, about 15 feet away in the dining area. Max was now seven years old, and his sister, nine. Using my iPad, Ella was guiding me through a selection of photos Valentina had given me permission to download from her social media account and ask her children about. I had chosen images of her children engaging in Chilean or Indigenous cultural activities in Canada (see Chapter 6), family outings, and school events. Until this point, Ella had been confidently guiding me through the images, casually narrating vignettes about the scenes they contained and including personalized commentary on the friendships they depicted, her and her brother’s likes and dislikes, and details that seemed to her compelling. Some of the images were a few years old (e.g., Max’s graduation from Kindergarten), but others were more recent, like the image of Ella 100 and her brother standing next to Allende’s bench16 three days prior on September 11 (see Figure 4.1). Figure 4.1: Max and Ella Standing Behind “Allende’s Bench” When Ella came to this particular image, she paused, and immediately deferred to her mother’s expertise: 01 Ella: This is: .h whe::n:: 02 Ava: Oops, lemme try something (attends to the iPad) 03 Ella: Mum! 04 Valentina: Mm. 05 Ella: What, why do we do this again? (holds the iPad up for her mum to see) 16 A local Chilean cultural organization had paid to have a plaque bearing Salvador Allende’s name installed on a municipal park bench in Corvidell. Such plaques are common on Corvidell city benches, but they often bear the names of deceased family members. To my knowledge, there are few (if any) plaques commemorating beloved political leaders from outside of Canada, which attests to the intimate significance of Allende for those from the Chilean-Canadian community that had organized it, and that visited it. 101 Ella’s departure from her previously confident narrating was notable for several reasons. First, she could have simply skipped the image or provided minimal commentary, as she had done with some of the others. The image itself made possible an infinite number of tellings (Rose, 2016). Also, being 15 feet away and otherwise occupied, her mother couldn’t see the images and would not likely have intervened. Interestingly, however, to the outsider (me), who could not see Allende’s name in small print on a plaque on the bench—who could only see Ella and her brother, smiling, standing behind a bench with the two bouquets of red roses that they brought with them propped up on it—she could have chosen to describe what was plainly visible to both of us, matter-of-factly, as she had with some of the other images. That she paused and called upon her mother to assist in the telling (and possibly invite another IRE sequence) suggests that the importance of the event the image indexed was not lost on her, and the value of remembering it “correctly” was paramount. While Ella knew why her family visited the bench that year and could speak authoritatively about it and the day more broadly, her choice to defer to her mother’s authority to tell about it suggests that talking about “the day” (September 11) authoritatively meant being able to talk about its historical significance to the family—something that she, at first glance, seemed to be less confident about or less willing to do. Lack of willingness to talk about the past may not have been the reason for Ella’s deferral here, however. Indeed, Ella seems to take her mother’s succinct yet suggestive response in line 6 (below) as both permission and a prompt to talk about the image before her, launching, without hesitation, into a description of what her family had done on that particular September 11 (i.e., “w[e—“). Nevertheless, Valentina’s apparent interest in ensuring that her daughter understood the significance of the date (or perhaps her ability to showcase her historical knowledge of September 11—El Once—to me) quickly overwhelmed Ella’s attempt to explain it on her own 102 terms (lines 7, 9). Paradoxically, this move reinforced Valentina’s role as an authoritative teller of this history, and seems to have led to Ella’s claim (in an exasperated voice) not to know what the date means (line 9): 06 Valentina: For. the eleventh of September. 07 Ella: For the ele(h.)venth of September w[e— 08 Valentina: [what does that mean. 09 Ella: (exasperated) I don’t know. I don’t know! While Ella was beginning to satisfy the communicative demands of the research exercise by describing images to me (which she starts to do in line 7), her competent participation in the research seemed to be at odds with her mother’s broader socialization goals, which included venturing beyond the socially-acceptable “whats” of commemorating El Once and into the uncharted emotional waters of the “whys.” Beginning her explanation with “w[e—” signaled her intention to launch a personal narrative, as Max had attempted in the “Early socialization” example (line 20). In IRE terms, we might interpret Valentina’s initiation (question) in line 8 as a bid to insert the missing difficult “increments” toward the larger (political) point of this socialization ritual (Rymes, 2015). Her question here confirms Ella’s sense (lines 1, 3, 5) that this photo requires heightened narrative sensitivity, and suggests that the historical narrative needs to be told before the family can enter it (which Ella seems to attempt to do at the end of line 7). This sequencing seems to be necessary to achieve the politically and affectively complex relationship between family and nation, present and past, and her children’s Chilean-Canadian language socialization and identity development. Still seeking an acceptable answer to her question, Valentina turns to Max and asks him: “Do you know what happened on the eleventh of September?” He nods, and she follows up by 103 asking: “What happened?=” Without the slightest pause, Max begins to utter the year of El Once in a tired, choral-recitation tone, which, at least partially (see line 13) demonstrates his knowledge of the September 11 in question, and preceding the well-rehearsed narrative his mother expected (Rymes, 2015). 10 Max: =Nineteen somethings: .h (choral-recitation tone) 11 Valentina: [Nineteen seventy-three 12 Max: [Sal:: 13 Max: nineteen seventy three Sal—va—dor—A[llende died. 14 Ella: [llende died. 15 Ava: Oh. Ella joins her brother in delivering the final piece of the response, matching his tone and pace (line 14), and without any corrective feedback from her mother, seems to complete the personal narrative she’d attempted to launch in line 7: 16 Ella: So we went to his bench? And we put flowers there. 17 Ava: Oh! This rich interaction proceeds for several more turns, in which Valentina and I intermittently ask Ella further known-answer questions about the violent events of El Once, with Max supplying the “answers” where his sister cannot, or will not. With some scaffolding and prompting, we establish that Pinochet killed Allende, and that he was a “Bad guy::” (Ella, smiling); that “they 104 both died!” (Max), but that unlike Allende, Pinochet was not killed: “He was o:ld though” (Valentina) (implying, subtly, that justice had not been served17). As much as Ella’s pauses, deferrals, delayed responses, claims not to know, and other prosodic features seemed to be related to her mother’s and my questions about the violent historical facts of the El Once narrative, it would be too simplistic to conclude that they existed because she found their content upsetting. Indeed, Valentina’s apparently simple questions about El Once were not at all simple, and both Calfu children seemed to be aware of this. Both the shape and topic of her questions and prompts were deeply indexical of her professed desire to foster respect for the sacrifices of her parents, thereby strengthening intergenerational understanding, kinship bonds, and her children’s socially-conscious identity development. Equally complex was my researcher involvement in this interaction—and in their home. Despite my expressed interest in the difficult aspects of the El Once narrative, as a relative outsider to the family and community, I might still have represented the institutional and societal expectations that children’s discourse feature only “sunny days” type content (Kendrick & McKay, 2004; also Jelin, 2003). 4.5.3 Allende, Pinochet, and The Disappeared By April, I’d seen Max and Ella at school twice a week and had driven them home several times as a favour to their parents, whose work schedules often overlapped (and who, by allowing me to extend my research to their children’s commute, were doing me a favour). The next section is from one of those commutes. As we drove, I left my digital voice recorder turned on and placed in a cupholder located in the centre of the car, behind my right elbow. The early-spring afternoon of April 2nd 2016 was bright and warm. The 2016 US primaries were in full 17 Augusto Pinochet died of a heart attack at the age of 91 in Santiago, Chile, without having been successfully prosecuted for any of the crimes he committed while in power. 105 swing and people around the world were beginning to speculate more intensely about the possibility of Donald Trump’s presidency. Although adults in the Calfu family seemed particularly concerned with the outcome of the US 2016 election, children, too, showed interest and generally voiced their opinions quite openly—even at school (e.g., Field notes: Grade 4, February 16, 2016; March 26, 2016; see also Coles, 1986; George, 2013). Leading up to this next interaction, we had been in rush hour traffic for about 25 minutes and were about 10 minutes away from the Calfu home. The conversation had meandered, as it always did, from one thing to another. Max shared news of good grades from a recent report card; Ella and I practiced some single-digit multiplication; we debated the viability of electric cars; they asked how taxes worked. Then I compared health care systems in Canada and the US as an illustration of how taxes can be used. My mention of the US seemed to prompt Ella to claim tellership of a story she had recently heard from her maternal grandmother, which was related to our discussion on the US: 01 Ella: Oh did you ever hear what um, my abuela’s friend said to my abuela? 02 Ava: No? 03 Ella: She said uh if Donald Trump wins, then she’s coming to Canada to live 04 here. 05 Ava: (chuckles) Yeah. Unlike the historical El Once narratives they’d been socialized into telling, this narrative had familiar, current origins, which Max insisted on knowing: 06 Max: Who?! 07 Ava: People have been saying those things. 106 08 Max: Who? 09 Ella: Uh, abuela X. She lives in the United States. Seizing the opportunity to see what Max and Ella would tell me about the (in)famous Republican candidate, I asked: “What do you guys know about Donald Trump?” To which they replied, in unison, with the same descriptors they’d used to describe Pinochet during our photo interview in September—a character-type developing across two political narratives they were being socialized to recognize and denounce: 10 Ella: He’s a [bad man 11 Max: [bad person. 12 Ava: (chuckles) 13 Max: And he’s rich. 14 Ava: Yeah. He is rich. Their abuela’s friend’s fear of Trump’s possible presidency reminded me of the feelings of loss, anger, and fear that Manuel described during his interview, and that had been common in other interviews I had done with other Chilean-Canadians of his generation (Becker, 2013). I wanted to know what members of the third generation—Manuel’s and Valentina’s children, in this case—knew about people’s fear of Trump (and ostensibly, other politicians): “Why do you think people are afraid of him?” I asked. There was a pause. Then Ella began: 15 Ella: He… (in a faint, sing-songy voice) I:: don’t know: 16 (long pause) 107 With my question, we seemed to have stumbled out of the comfort of the known-story-telling frame, and into more epistemically and affectively difficult terrain. Max ventured a response to my somewhat open-ended question from the familiar El Once narrative: 17 Max: Because he’s a bad man and: 18 Ella: And: To help things along, I probed further, much in the way their mother had during the El Once ritual: 19 Ava: What makes him bad? Do you know? 20 Ella: He doesn’t think about other people? “It’s true,” I confirmed, without elaborating or providing any sort of “answer,” my attention now held by changes in traffic patterns. Reclaiming more certain epistemic terrain that stemmed from her personal experience, Ella resumed the discussion, this time confidently merging her voice with those of the anonymous radio callers: 21 Ella: And even on the radio yesterday morning? Um they were talking about him on our 22 radio. 23 Ava: Yeah? 24 Ella: And so uh, they said “who do you think is gonna win? The other person or 25 Donald Trump?” And all of them said Donald Trump. There’s no way that the 26 other person’s gonna win. After some discussion of the US political process, Max concluded, emphatically, “I hope it’s Hillary. Clinton.” I agreed with him, and after some more anti-Trump discussion, there was a long pause, which I summed up with, “Yeah. Every once-in-a-while there’s a scary politician.” I 108 went on to ask them if they remembered Canada’s most recent “scary politician,” who I suggested was former Prime Minister Stephen Harper (2006–2015). Max and Ella both picked up on this: 27 Ella: [Oh yeah! 28 Max: [Oh yeah! All he cared about was money. 29 Ava: That’s right. I then went into a little more depth, briefly explaining some of the dangers of Trump’s xenophobic stance, which was followed by a long pause. So, I continued, linking Trump to other tyrants throughout history, naming Pinochet among them, knowing he would be familiar to my young passengers. Then, before my turn was finished, Max added: 30 Max: Yeah Pinoc[het he: 31 Ava: [Yeah 32 (very long pause) 33 Ava: Yeah: 34 Max: (between clenched teeth, measured) He killed the presi/tint/ of Chile. 35 Ava: Yeah. 36 (pause) I decided to pursue his statement further, though carefully, having prompted a sensitive affective frame (indexed by the pauses and Max’s clenched teeth). It isn’t possible to know to what extent Max actually felt the rage his measured utterance indexed, but its prosodic shape was an unequivocal index of his family’s position on the chapter of Chilean history that displaced them. And that Max used the narrative present to refer to Allende as Chile’s president further 109 speaks to Allende’s continued relevance for families like the Calfu, living in diaspora, some of whom still proudly display his portrait on their walls. At this point, I wanted to know what Max and Ella knew about this violent episode that they’d been so explicitly and diligently socialized to repeat (at home, but never at school). This, for me as the researcher, was uncharted territory. I did not know what details they knew, if any, about Allende’s death. Nevertheless, I held fast to the safety of my didactic, initiator (IRE) role: 37 Ava: Yeah and he also did some bad things to the Chilean people, right? 38 Max: (quietly) Yeah. 39 Ella: (quietly) Yeah. 40 Ava: Yeah. And then Max cautiously (as suggested by the rising intonation at the end of his turns) yet persistently offered more details than I expected, which prompted me to provide ample feedback, perhaps in an attempt to somehow manage or even shield him from his own difficult knowledge, or to manage my own unexpected feelings as I responded to his narrative: 41 Max: (softly) He started to steal people or something like that. 42 Ava: That’s right he was— 43 Max: People kept on disappearing? 44 Ava: Yup. 45 Max: From [because of] him? 46 Ava: Yup. 110 In launching the Calfu family’s origin story,18 Max and Ella proceeded to claim a confident tellership space in which to talk about the impact of Pinochet’s terrorism on their own family—particularly through the lens of their flight from Chile: 47 Max: And then my dad and my abuela had to move. 48 Ava: Yeah. 49 Ella: And Tata [Eduardo] 50 Max: (softly) and Tata yeah. 51 Ava: Yeah, it was too dangerous for them— 52 Ella: Yeah ‘cause my dad only lived in Chile for— 53 Max: Nine months. 54 Ella: Six months. Nine months. 55 Ava: Oh! He was really little hey? 56 Ella: Yeah so he had to go on the plane. 57 Ava: Yeah. 58 (pause) Even though the Calfu family origin story was never mine to manage, I held fast to the familiarity and relative security of the IRE sequence during this emotionally weighted narrative. Indeed, it was several turns before I would relinquish my role as initiator/expert/adult. The children did not seem to share my discomfort, however, as they continued to tell their family’s origin story despite my unnecessary contributions (alignments, affirmations). But I did 18 The use of “origin story” here refers specifically to the family’s Chilean origins as cast into relief by their displacement to Canada. For further discussion of their Indigenous origins, see Chapter 6. 111 contribute, partly due to nerves and partly to reassure them that their difficult knowledge was welcome in conversation with me, as this assurance was not always apparent in other settings (Jelin, 2003), like our earlier interview about Allende’s bench, and at school (Chapter 5). With this last pause, following Max and Ella’s conflicting versions about their father’s age at exile, I could feel the interaction pull away from the difficult aspects of the narrative, so I asked: “Do you think you’ll ever go to Chile?” bringing us back into the present. There was a pause, and then Max exclaimed: 59 Max: Too much earthquakes! 60 Ava: (laughs) 61 Max: Too hot. The family’s recent involvement in fundraising for the victims of the 2015 earthquake off the coast of Chile was undoubtedly on their minds, as were other narratives that contributed to their image of the Chile their family fled, and the Chile of 2015. When I asked Valentina whether her kids had expressed any interest in going to Chile, she told me on more than one occasion that Max didn’t want to “because they spoke Spanish there,” though it’s likely that the versions of the Chilean imaginary (see Chapter 5) that were so ever-present in Max and Ella’s diasporic, Canadian upbringing also contributed to how they imagined themselves in the future, in terms of travel, language learning, and identity. 4.6 Discussion and Conclusions In this chapter, I have sought to demonstrate the language socialization of two Chilean-Canadian children, Max and Ella, into locally valued ways of remembering and narrating the violent historical events that led to their family’s displacement from Chile two generations before. Through ritual IRE exchanges with their mother and me, Max and Ella were being 112 overtly socialized to display knowledge of the historical event that displaced their family, with a tone that indexed understanding, respect, and indignation as part of their group membership. While the exchanges were carefully scaffolded within the IRE sequences, Max made multiple bids to insert himself into the narrative, thereby incorporating its significance into his own life story on his own terms, and simultaneously positioning himself as (what he seemed to understand to be) a legitimate member of the Chilean diaspora. While I allowed or even welcomed such digressions (being an outsider to this history, and a researcher with different interactional goals), Valentina did not permit creative retellings. In these interactions, their mother was the ultimate arbitrator of remembrance, presumably to support her own emotional labour in revisiting this key cultural memory, and out of respect for the accuracy of its telling. Importantly, Max attempted to socialize his mother into a more flexible tellership role by claiming expertise of a narrative that was not his (or hers)—one that was in a sense more reflective of the labours of intergenerational remembering: Each generation tells the narrative differently, according to their interpretation of it, highlighting what was meaningful to them. Indeed, the element of creativity in retelling (making the memory personally relevant, and memorable to the teller) is precisely how intergenerational memories persist long after the experiencing generation has passed away (Baum, 2000). Valentina’s mediation of the family’s collective remembering practices was also selective; she chose a version of the narrative that she believed to be less painful than a fuller account, the way she remembered her parents socializing her (see e.g., p. 110 of this dissertation). In the second example, Remembering Allende’s bench, Ella used her turn at talk (an example of her agency in this interaction) not to contribute to or even retell the El Once narrative, but rather to defer to her mother in the telling. In this way, Ella both reaffirmed her 113 mother’s tellership rights while downplaying her own, and in so doing, effectively distanced herself from the narrative and from full membership in the Chilean-Canadian diaspora. Instead of appropriating the El Once narrative here (or even laying claim to narrate the outing that she participated in, depicted in the photo), she seemed to divest herself of it (cf. Poole, 2008), which had perhaps the unintended effect of enacting communicative competence: By deferring to her mother for the historical facts of El Once, she recognized her mother’s tellership authority and affective proximity to the coup. The multiple, and at times conflicting, communicative expectations seemed to require Ella to undertake significant emotional and discursive labour, as she simultaneously attempted to attend to the performative demands of two seemingly irreconcilable communities of practice and communities of memory (Simon, 2005): the home and the broader society (including the school), while remaining true to her own values and interests. In the third example, when Valentina was absent and I wasn’t guiding the discussion, a space seemed to open up for Ella to share difficult knowledge that she’d recently learned from her abuela—this time, claiming the authoritative teller (Ochs & Capps, 2001) stance that adults in her family most frequently occupied when discussing difficult cultural knowledge. My outsider status seemed to enable her to claim authoritative tellership, despite my positioning as adult and caregiver. Once shared, her narrative prompted collective remembering, speculation, and sense-making in the car, around tyrannical leaders past and present and the effect that such leaders had had (and continued to have) on their family. Just like the (intergenerational) memory of September 11th, 1973 that haunted Manuel on September 11th, 2001, his children were now drawing on their family’s El Once narrative to ascertain the significance of Donald Trump’s rise to power in the United States (see also George, 2013). 114 The implications of this family’s language socialization practices for the language education of HLLs and their classmates are profound. The notion of witnessing (Simon et al., 2000a) helps link the findings of this language socialization study (the construction and maintenance of local moral orders) back to the moral climate of the society within which the family lives. Witnessing invites us to ask: Of what consequence is it to remember painful pasts? What should one do—what should schools do—with difficult knowledge, with knowledge that unsettles and won’t be settled (e.g., memories of mass trauma)? (Simon, 2005; Simon et al., 2000b). Duff (2019) has recently remarked: Sadly, with increasing transnationalism and transmigration—processes that should be highly conducive to SLA and multilingualism—have come many deeply troubling trends: the forced expulsion, rejection, incarceration, or genocide of certain minority populations and their languages, xenophobia, linguicism, and neocolonialism, and other forms of prejudice and oppression. (p. 19) While transnationalism can, paradoxically, spur forms of oppression such as xenophobia, as this chapter has demonstrated, once-exiled populations may continue to experience actual or perceived threats to their safety for generations. How the intergenerational socialization of difficult cultural narratives affects heritage language maintenance is only now beginning to be fleshed out. The Spanish language was backgrounded rather than foregrounded in this research because to have focused on it would have overshadowed the findings with a tale of what appears to be language shift. English was the predominant language spoken at home (and at school) in this family. However, from a translanguaging perspective (García & Li, 2014), the Spanish words that were used in telling the El Once narrative indexed both group membership and reified 115 the link between that content of the narrative, the language of the experiencing generation, and the country of Chile. As such, the occasional yet significant use of Spanish words served as a constant reminder of origins and exile, while indexing the multifaceted and enduring experience of exile—geographic, linguistic, political, affective, moral—across generations. Given the unique factors inherent in this small-scale, qualitative study (such as my existing relationship to the family; our personal tendencies; my unusual interest in the family’s difficult cultural knowledge; and unconventional research sites, such as the car) any traditional or “explicated” generalizability (Stake, 1995) of the insights that this research has garnered is clearly limited. Nevertheless, the relative frequency with which Max and Ella were engaged in intergenerational interactions about their family’s difficult cultural knowledge over the course of the field work suggests that this kind of narrative socialization (using IRE or other interactional mechanisms) might be taking place in other post-exile families. While the small-scale design of the study does not lend itself to broad generalizations, naturalistic generalization (Stake & Trumbull, 1982; also Lincoln & Guba, 1985), or the “conclusions arrived at through personal engagement in life’s affairs or by vicarious experience so well constructed that the person feels as if it happened to themselves” (Stake, 1995, p. 85), is possible here, and I hope will take place. I have endeavoured to write this chapter in an evocative way, in order to facilitate its potential for resonance with multiple audiences (Tracy, 2020). In particular, I hope that this case study will compel applied linguistics researchers to carefully consider difficult cultural knowledge in heritage language studies, and that it will prompt teachers and educational policymakers to think differently about the role of their students’ difficult cultural narratives in their development of communicative competence across communities of practice (Freadman, 2014; Kramsch, 2013). Indeed, as forced displacement 116 becomes a more prevalent feature of human migration in the coming decades, culturally difficult knowledge will only become more relevant in language classrooms. What would it mean for language learning “if we underst[ood]… culture [as] the way intergenerational memories pervade present conversations” (Freadman, 2014, p. 383)? If we “conceive[d] the classroom as a space in which students [were] invited to craft narratives out of their family’s diaspora and refugee experiences?” (Campano, 2007, p. 52). Our task as researchers is to understand how families and communities socialize their children to become speakers of memory, so that we can build language pedagogies that see the sacrifices of previous generations of speakers as a starting point to fostering pride, autonomy, resilience and intercultural competence in the current generation of HLLs. 117 Chapter 5: “Too much earthquakes!”: Imagined Transnationalism and Heritage Language Learning Trajectories Two Generations after Exile While international travel is still commonly touted as one of the most effective tools in heritage or “foreign” language learning, it remains an elusive activity for those without a certain amount of economic (e.g., DeFeo, 2015) and legal privilege (e.g., Gallo & Link, 2015). For many refugees who arrive in a new country having had little time to prepare financially or otherwise, the focus of resettlement tends to be on meeting basic needs (securing housing and employment, language training, etc.). Nevertheless, although physical return to the home country is not always possible for refugees and their families—even one or more generations after arrival—imagined forms of travel or “imagined transnationalism” is (see Duff, 2015). Transnationalism “emphasizes the social processes by which migrants establish social fields that cross political, demographic, social, and cultural borders, maintaining relationships and connections that span nation-state borders” (King & Lanza, 2019, p. 720), and imagination enables these social processes and connections to be made in the mind. Such connections do not stay in the mind, however. In a recent analysis of a 20-year-long linguistic ethnography of transnational Chinese families in the UK, Li and Zhu (2018) concluded that the role of the imagination has a significant impact on language behaviour (maintenance) across generations. 5.1 The Significance of Biographical Connection in Heritage Language Learning Biographical connection to the family or ancestral language is a distinctive feature of students classified as HLLs (van Deusen-Scholl, 2003). Because of this connection, the sociocultural, affective, and political-historical elements of language learning often have heightened significance for them (Carreira, 2012; He, 2017; Kouritzin, 1999; Kramsch, 2009; Leeman, 2015; Noels, 2005)—sometimes more than the heritage language itself (Potowski, 118 2004). Certainly, in cases where diaspora communities become more established and their members begin to develop strong local cultures and identities in reterritorialized spaces (Rosa, 2015), people may concurrently begin to develop ethnic identities that do not require proficiency in the heritage language to be recognized, or “pass” as in-group members (Potowski, 2015, p. 26). In his systematic review of ways of speaking about heritage language development (both by researchers and their participants) in 24 studies, Guardado (2018) found “cohesiveness” (intergenerational and intercultural understanding) and “identity” to be the two most common reasons for heritage language maintenance. In other words, heritage or home languages are widely understood to be essential for developing a strong sense of self in relation to others across scales of time and space19 (see also Fivush, 2008). His typology drew from studies where the heritage language was still the dominant language of at least one generation (e.g., the parents), which differs from research in contexts where the participants are two or more generations removed from the family’s settlement in their current country (e.g., Potowski, 2004; Zentella, 1997). Studies that take a multigenerational view of heritage language development tend to be fewer, as “shift” to English in English-dominant societies is traditionally thought to be more or less complete by the third generation (Fishman, 2001). Nevertheless, while language competence (traditionally defined) in the heritage language might diminish over time, biographical links to the heritage language and cultural practices do not (sometimes growing stronger or more relevant for individuals, even). Indeed, some HLLs begin studying their heritage language with little to no competence in the language as adults 19 It is worth noting that while Guardado’s (2018) typology was based on heritage language research with immigrant populations, the significance of Indigenous language maintenance and revitalization for positive cultural and spiritual identities along with intergenerational understanding (among other factors, including health) has been established (see, e.g., McIvor & Napoleon, 2009). 119 (DeFeo, 2015; He, 2017; Noels, 2005). As Noels (2005) concluded based on her study on second- and later-generation German HLLs at a Western Canadian university “with no or very minimal competency in the ancestral language,” lack of competence “does not mean that their heritage background has no impact on their learning process” (p. 303). Because adult HLLs have gone through at least two major life phases (childhood and adolescence), their reasons for deciding to study the heritage language or to continue speaking it can range from “a cultural fantasy metanarrative,” which, Coryell et al. (2010) argue, is “rooted in a compilation of a lifetime of emotionally charged language learning episodes” (p. 465), or they could be traced to one key (even informal) conversation, moment, or realization “which may impact on their attitude and behaviour in a fundamental way” (Li & Zhu, 2019, p. 105). While we would benefit from a more textured understanding of HLL identity and motivation (see van Deusen-Scholl, 2018), especially in relation to critical moments or incidents, the real (lived) and imagined (remembered, projected) connection that HLLs have to their heritage—mediated in a particularly powerful way through the lens of family—can have a significant impact on HLLs’ decision to continue (or begin) learning the language of their ancestors. 5.2 The Role of Imagined Transnationalism in the Language Learning Trajectories of Young HLLs We know that cultural background and identity impact heritage language learning trajectories, but to my knowledge, the relationship between how children imagine the heritage country or culture and their heritage language development has not received much explicit attention. One exception can be found in Guardado and Becker’s (2014) analysis of the role of familism on heritage language development in one Hispanic family in Western Canada. The authors found the children’s fond memories of travel to their heritage country (Peru) and plans of 120 return helped maintain a sense of pride in their Peruvian heritage and positive attitudes towards speaking Spanish. Similarly, Decapua and Wintergerst’s (2009) case study of one American family (German-heritage mother), underscored the role of travel in supporting the children’s heritage language development as it gave the children a community of practice to return to in Germany each summer, but also a wealth of experience to revisit and remember during the rest of the year in the USA, thereby keeping those relationships—and their reasons for speaking German in the USA—active. In both of these studies, the memories that the children had of travel to the heritage country were both made based on their own immediate experiences and not just accounts from relatives, and were positive. Imagination and memory can work across generations as well. Marshall and Toohey’s (2010) research into a multimodal, funds-of-knowledge project with students of Sikh descent in a Metro Vancouver classroom showed that the multilingual, intergenerational narratives shared between grandparents and grandchildren not only took hold of the children’s imaginations (e.g., in drawings that depicted the battles their grandparents told them about during the time of the partition between India and Pakistan), but they also prompted the children to notice the lack of Punjabi resources in the school. Specifically, the children noticed that they had rich family stories but did not have adequate (material) tools with which to tell them in their heritage language. The experience then prompted them to ask their principal to acquire Punjabi language resources (see related examples in Cummins & Early, 2011). For children whose families do not have the means (financially, politically, etc.) to return to their heritage countries, family and community narratives about the heritage culture become the primary source of the children’s imagined transnationalism. For instance, the participants in my interview study (Becker, 2013) were four Chilean-Canadian adults whose parents immigrated 121 to Canada as refugees in the 1970s who had not been able to travel to Chile while they were growing up. However, once they reached adulthood, they had both the economic means and the interest to travel to Chile, primarily to seek answers to questions about their cultural origins and the country that had pushed their families into exile (Becker, 2013, 2014). Interestingly, but not surprisingly, upon arriving in Chile (in some cases more than 20 years after their families left it), they found a very different country than the one their parents had described. Some had grown up with parents who had shared a lot about what had happened to them and their compatriots under Pinochet (see below for further explanation), while others had been reluctant to share the weight of such knowledge with their children. Both the narratives (and lack of narratives) about their parents’ lives in Chile shaped the ways that the second generation grew up thinking about their families, their origins, and themselves. In terms of language use, all four participants were glad to be able to communicate in Spanish with family members and other locals in Chile, though one participant, Victor, remembered same-age peers in Chile making fun of his Spanish because they felt that he sounded like their grandparents. This research highlights the ways that the identities, language abilities and imagined (trans)nationalism change for heritage speakers over the lifespan (He, 2017; Leeman, 2015; Potowski, 2012; van Deusen-Scholl, 2018). Gerald Campano’s (2007) book, Immigrant students and literacy: Reading, writing, remembering, provides a compelling example of the ways in which first-generation immigrant students represent their families, countries, and personally-meaningful episodes pre- and post-settlement using text, image, and performance (theatrical scripts). Although language maintenance is beyond the book’s scope, Campano’s (2007) inquiry has far-reaching implications. He asks, for instance, “What would it mean to conceive the classroom as a space in which students are invited to craft narratives out of their family’s diaspora and refugee 122 experiences?” (p. 52)—perhaps essential components of their imagined transnationalism. In his analysis, Campano proposes that: students’ success . . . may involve a revisiting [and recontextualization], rather than repressing, of collective memory. Rather than be[ing] passive receivers of history, the students may draw on group experience in order to give new intellectual and ethical resonance to their lives. (p. 56) This observation should be self-evident, but because of enduring, modernist understandings of childhood as developmentally incomplete and separate from adulthood in Europe and North America, it may seem “natural that children are not expected to know as much. . . as adults. It is not obvious to think of these things as constructed by human society and culture and not a natural part of childhood” (Freeman & Mathison, 2009, p. 8; see also Thorne, 2009). Collective memories of difficult or traumatic migrations as experienced by or as they relate to children’s lives, for instance, are therefore often overlooked. As one teacher in Gallo and Link’s (2015) study observed of her teacher training in the US: “You talk about cultures, you don’t talk about immigration” (p. 371). The stakes (of which there are several—from losing face to deportation) are high when discussing certain difficult topics related to migration. Certainly, talking about recent immigration, and particularly in contexts where lack of documentation can mean swift deportation, can present unique challenges for educators. But talking about students’ migration stories at a multigenerational remove can not only be validating for the HLLs themselves, but also serve to honour their family and community histories and testimonies by providing them continuity across space and time (Baum, 2000; Jelin, 2003). 123 5.3 Imagination and Heritage Language Learning Heritage language development is a complex, non-linear and lifelong process for most heritage speakers, regardless of cultural background or linguistic proficiency (Avineri, 2019). Whatever the mode of heritage language communication practices (oral, visual, tactile, multimodal), imaginative processes can play a key role in motivation to use it—or not. From imagined transnationalism (Duff, 2015) to imagined communities (Kanno & Norton, 2003) (see also Douglas Fir Group, 2016, pp. 32-33), the imagined aspects of language learning can have a strong—and sometimes determining—effect on speakers’ investments in and attitudes towards their heritage language, and their decision-making process around using it. As Baker (2011) explains: Desirable imaginings may motivate learners; less desirable and low status imaginings may de-motivate learners; hidden or controlled imagining from outside may remove understanding and alienate. For example, a second language learner imagines obtaining well-paid employment; another imagines returning to the land of her ancestors and extended family. (p. 135) The notion of heritage itself is constructed through collective memory, which is a social activity that works with the imagination to reconstruct experienced and narrated pasts (Blackledge et al., 2008; Smith, 2006) using language and other semiotic means (e.g., flags, music, objects, photographs) and imbue our lives with a sense of meaning and coherence (Ochs & Capps, 2001). Indeed, imaginative processes underlie much of the heritage language research, although they might not always be labelled this way. For Li and Zhu (2019), imagination is an underexplored, yet central aspect of heritage language maintenance and shift. While 124 transnational families may often ground themselves in their history (and be seen as “backward-looking” by outsiders), in reality they are often deeply concerned with their present circumstances and future opportunities. Li and Zhu (2019) recognize that many “transnational individuals and groups . . . see the potentials of their present environment and . . . create new social spaces for themselves and their future generations” (pp. 76–77). The capacity to imagine interacting with others at different times, in different places, in different roles can have a significant impact not only on the choice to continue using the family language, but it can also support emotional wellbeing (Guardado, 2018); as Li and Zhu (2019) put it: imagination “produces a fusion of longing and belonging which in turn provides a vision and a source of inner strength that drives them forward in their daily struggles” (p. 104). 5.4 Imagined Transnationalism and Heritage Language Learning Like nations themselves (Anderson, 1983/2006), nationalism is a social and ideological construction, maintained by the everyday “‘flagging’. . . of nationhood” through social psychological (e.g., collective memory) and semiotic means (e.g., language, objects, symbols) (Billig, 1995, p. 8). In diasporic contexts, however, nationalism towards the heritage country or countries may be more explicitly (Blackledge & Creese, 2009) or implicitly (Lo, 2004) taught. Transnationalism is produced by the physical, discursive, or psychological crossing of borders. In this way, transnationalism complements the concept of nationalism by “emphasizing how migrants’ lives are lived with significant reference to places and peoples elsewhere” (Vertovec, 2007, p. 1049, my emphasis). It is in the continuous and meaningful reference to “places and peoples elsewhere” that nations and national identities are simultaneously sustained and reinvented at a geographic remove from the geopolitical borders of nation states. 125 Duff (2015) has argued that “language education contributes to a particular form of transnationalism and learner identity where people ‘move’ or ‘travel’—through their imagination, if not physically—using instructional materials and other media, and try to approximate transnational language exchanges and exploration” (p. 75). Imagined transnationalism, then, is “to imagine interacting and engaging in another language with people in other places” (Duff, 2015, p. 74, my emphasis) through various modalities within a particular cultural and ideological milieu. A perennial challenge for (foreign) language education teachers and researchers is how to represent other peoples, places, and cultures through instructional materials and pedagogical approaches in a way that resists touristic or consumeristic relationships with Others (Duff, 2015; also Byram & Kramsch, 2008; Carreira, 2012; Kramsch, 2013). For students studying their family language, the stakes are even higher. As Kramsch (2009) explains: Those who are learning the language of their ancestors as their linguistic and cultural heritage experience its symbolic value in particularly acute ways. Even if it is a language that they heard growing up but never really mastered or never spoke at all, it has nevertheless left emotional traces of childhood in their memory. . . . Like the spells in fairy tales [heritage language words] have the performative power of enacting and instituting family membership and ethnic solidarity. The American granddaughter who then decides to learn Armenian in a classroom context is likely to be disappointed when confronted with the referential meanings of words severed from their subjective dimensions. . . . Many heritage language learners abandon learning the language of their ancestors because they don’t recognize their grandmother behind the dry declensions and conjugations. . . .The challenge for the teacher is how to use myth wisely, in a way that 126 will not only corral the learners into conventional ways of speaking, but awaken the subjective relevance the language can have for them. (pp. 13–14; see also E. Moore, 2020) In other words, recognizing the complex affective and biographical connections that HLLs may have to their heritage language can be an important aspect of effective language instruction. In what follows, I examine the imagined transnationalism in which the Calfu children were engaged at school, at home, and in the community, focusing the family’s narrative language socialization practices (Miller et al., 2012; Ochs & Capps, 2001) and their construction of imagined transnationalism using different modes (language, artifacts, drawings). The data in this chapter come from formal and informal interviews, field notes, photographs from classroom and community settings, and student work. The excerpts that I analyze are representative of some of the broader themes I identified across the larger dataset (see Chapter 3), which stemmed from codes such as “transnationalism” and “imagination” and “safety.” I conclude by discussing the implications of these for teaching HLLs. 5.5 Findings 5.5.1 Attitudes Towards Speaking Spanish at School On the day before school began in the research year (September 7, 2015), I was away from Corvidell, so I asked Valentina if she would interview her children about their thoughts and feelings regarding the coming school year. When she asked them about their use of Spanish at school and their feelings towards it, their answers conveyed a sense of institutional obligation or requirement, as in the case of Max especially, or of instrumental motivation, in the case of his sister. What follows are relevant excerpts from those interviews: 127 5.5.1.1 Valentina Interviews Max 01 Valentina: Do you speak Spanish at school? 02 Max: In the morning, yeah. 03 Valentina: Yeah? Do you speak with your friends in Spanish? Or just your teacher? 04 Max: Mostly my teacher not my friends, actually. 05 Valentina: And sometimes with mom and dad? 06 Max: Yeah. 07 Valentina: Yeah? Do you like speaking in Spanish? 08 Max: No, not really. 09 Valentina: Why? (sounds surprised and amused) 10 Max: ‘cause you have to say ¿hola, cómo está? Bien, bien, ¿y tú? ((Hi, how are 11 you? Fine, fine, and you?)) 5.5.1.2 Valentina Interviews Ella 12 Valentina: Do you speak a lot of Spanish at school? 13 Ella: Mhm. 14 Valentina: Yes? 15 Ella: Yeah. 16 Valentina: When do you… do your Spanish? 17 Ella: In the morning. 18 Valentina: Yeah? 19 Ella: (quietly) yeah. 20 (pause) 21 Valentina: Do you like speaking in Spanish? 22 Ella: Yeah? 23 Valentina: Why? 128 24 Ella: I don’t know hahaha 25 Valentina: Do you think it’s fun?=Who do you speak in Spanish with? 26 Ella: Like, my teacher? 27 Valentina: And who else. 28 Ella: My friends in the morning? 29 Valentina: Yeah? 30 Ella: Beca::use we have palitos ((popsicle sticks)) and if we talk, and with our 31 names on, the palitos and if we talked in English in the morning then when— 32 and somebody heards us they had to say dame un… un palito. ((give me a… a 33 popsicle stick)) Because I, because someone speak, use… you speaked in 34 Spanish, in English. 35 Valentina: Yeah. Um, who else do you speak in Spanish to mum and dad? 36 Sometimes? 37 Ella: Ye:ah? 38 Valentina: And abuela and tata ((grandma and grandpa))? 39 Ella: Yeah. In these two IRE-like short interviews, the children seemed to view Spanish at school as a part of “doing school,” and they didn’t exhibit any real fondness for it or personal connection to it in that environment. During a home visit that fall, I asked Valentina if her children had expressed any interest in travelling to Chile, and she told me that Max was put off by the idea of speaking Spanish there. It could be that at the time, his English-speaking or bilingual identity was stronger, and the idea that he would be required to speak Spanish in Chile, as he did in the mornings at school (e.g., Figure 5.120), did not reflect the more fluid bilingual interactions that 20 One of several signs like it in Ella’s grade 4 classroom. The school’s official language policy mandated Spanish use in the mornings and English use in the afternoons. 129 were commonplace at home. He may also have felt that his interests or values, such as unstructured play and humour, were not adequately supported or represented at school. For instance, despite being a strong student, earlier on in the same interview with Valentina, Max expressed his dislike of being in the classroom and his excitement for recess. At the end of the interview, he also indicated that he looked forward to “having a laugh” with me over the course of the research. Max was indeed a bright and clever boy, with a well-developed sense of humour (see Chapter 6). Figure 5.1: En la Mañana Hablamos Español (In the Morning we Speak Spanish) 5.5.2 Banal Nationalism at School The transnational imaginary of Chile that Max and Ella were constructing through their daily interactions with people and artifacts drew from nationalistic references with varying degrees of subtlety (e.g., Figures 5.2, 5.3, and 5.4). In Figures 5.2 and 5.3, for instance, we see examples of how such references were layered into the visual pedagogical spaces that were the children’s classroom walls: An image of Easter Island next to the Canadian flag, beside a poster showcasing Canada’s provincial and territorial flags; An image of young girls of Latin American 130 heritage in folkloric dress next to the Canadian flag, above a label with an American flag on it, containing the Spanish word for flag (la bandera). Figure 5.2: An Image of Easter Island Partially Eclipsed by the Canadian Flag in Ella’s Grade 4 Classroom Figure 5.3: Latin American Folk Dancers Next to the Canadian Flags at the Front of Max’s Grade 2 Classroom 131 In Figure 5.4, we see an example of how a Spanish language arts reading activity invited Ella to imagine her heritage country and her connection to it. While there are several points of note in her responses on this worksheet (e.g., their upbeat tenor, her idyllic drawings of natural spaces), perhaps the most striking are her initial reaction to the poem, and the “memories” she drew in response to question #4. Here are the first four questions/ prompts and her responses (my translation): 1. What was your first reaction to the poem? Surprised because the poem is from Chile! 2. When I read the poem I felt/thought: ________________________ Happy. 3. What personal connections did you make when you read this poem? My family is from Chile. 4. It made me remember (you can draw or write): [Ella drew and labelled her maternal grandparents and her paternal grandmother smiling and standing between two houses, set against a backdrop of mountains, with a smiling sun in the upper righthand corner] 132 Figure 5.4: Ella’s Poetry Analysis Worksheet of the Poem, Chile, by Chilean poet, Oscar Jara Azócar Another point of note is that, even though her grandparents have lived in Canada for over 40 years, she drew her three (smiling) grandparents in Chile. Crossing temporal and geographic scales, Ella imagined a Chile that her grandparents (not her parents or herself) inhabited; a Chile remembered to her by others (likely her parents and grandparents themselves), and one that was evoked by the vivid description of Chile’s natural spaces that constituted Jara Azócar’s poem. In 133 this imagining, Ella’s Chile is a sunny, serene place where her grandparents live/d, and the thought of this scene, prompted by a nationalistic poem replete with natural imagery, makes her happy. 5.5.3 (Banal) Nationalism in the Community Indeed, narratives and memories of Chile were the primary source of Max’s and Ella’s transnational imaginary (e.g., Chapter 5), as we can see in this next excerpt. In August of the research year (2015–2016), Max and Ella were practicing a series of Chilean folk dances with a dance group led by their maternal grandmother in preparation for the Chilean Independence Day celebration (September 18), which would take center stage at the event.21 A month later, the community hall where the Independence Day celebration took place was heavily decorated with Chilean national flags (Billig, 1995). Located on both the physical and metaphorical margins of the event, there was a young Mapuche artist visiting from Chile selling her paintings near the entrance, and a box on the food and drink ticket sale table to raise funds to send in solidarity with those in Illapel, Chile, who were impacted by the 8.3 magnitude earthquake just days earlier, on September 16th, 2015 (Figure 5.5, Translation: HELPPP!!! LET’S HELP THE CITY OF ILLAPEL, COQUIMBO PROVINCE, CHILE. THE SOCIETY WILL SEND [THE FUNDS] TO THE VICARIATE OF SOLIDARITY22). 21 Max and Ella’s parents had been involved with their local Chilean-Canadian community to varying degrees since before they were born, which included activities such as folkloric dancing, food and souvenir sales, and public commemorations of Salvador Allende’s death and all that it represented to their exile community. 22 La Vicaria de la Solidaridad was founded on October 1, 1976, by the Catholic church in Chile in opposition to the dictatorship, “to provide legal, economic, technical, and spiritual assistance to those persecuted by the military regime, and to their families, as well as defending their lives and seeking freedom for the detainees” (Biblioteca Nacional de Chile, 2018, para. 3, my translation) 134 Figure 5.5: Earthquake Fundraising Box The Calfu family had a strong sense of pride in their Indigenous, Mapuche heritage (see Chapter 6), and thinking of the Mapuche artist selling her paintings near the entrance, I reflected: I asked the Calfu grandfather [Eduardo] why there were no Mapuche flags [at the event]. He said [it was] because he doesn’t actually support Chilean Independence Day. He said one year, Valentina put up a Mapuche flag at this event and he told her it wasn’t right. (Field note, September, 2015) Despite their different visions of Chile, his daughter, Valentina, was actively cultivating a Chilean identity in her children that was also Mapuche (Chapter 6), a view her mother, Inés, who 135 was also of Mapuche heritage, seemed to share. For instance, during one of the Chilean folk-dance rehearsals leading up to this event (taught by Inés), Chilean and Mapuche flags were laid out for the children to colour while they waited for their siblings (Figure 5.6). Figure 5.6: Chilean and Mapuche Flag Colouring Sheets In my field notes I described the following interaction between Inés and Ella, which unfolded at the colouring table: Today I was tasked with overseeing the colouring table. Inés plunked down two stacks of colour-in-able sheets: One with the national flag of Chile and the other with the Mapuche flag. Ella said that she wanted to colour in the Chilean flag and Inés quickly corrected her: "LAS banderas de Chile. Las dos son de Chile" [The Chilean FLAGS. They’re both Chilean]. This interaction illustrates that the national (e.g., Chilean, Mapuche) and transnational imaginaries (e.g., Canada, Chile/Mapuche), and resulting opportunities for imagined 136 transnationalism that the Calfu children were being socialized into (see also Chapter 4) were multifaceted and at times, contradictory, even within their own family; Inés perceived both flags as legitimate and central to Chilean nationality, whereas Ella only recognized the Chilean national flag. In my observations at Escuela Magpie School, the Mapuche flag was absent from Max’s and Ella’s classrooms and from common spaces. At the beginning of the research, Valentina shared a picture with me that she had taken of her smiling children holding a large Mapuche flag in the school yard on their first day of school; her efforts to socialize them into a sense of pride in their Mapuche ancestry operated on the literal and figurative periphery of the school’s consciousness. Indeed, official national flags from across Latin America, as well as local Indigenous symbolism, like medicine wheels, were readily visible within the school’s walls (though there were no flags from any local Indigenous nations). The absence of Latin American Indigenous flags such as the Mapuche flag or the Wiphala flag (representing Andean/Inca Indigenous people), in official spaces of learning, however, seemed to communicate distinctly colonial visions of Latin American nationalism to the students—a message that undermined the important Indigenous identity reclamation efforts of families like the Calfus. Indeed, even within the Mapuche nation in Chile, there continue to be conflicting perspectives on how Mapuche people figure into the national imaginary (Crow, 2013)—both among and outside of Mapuche groups, which mirrors the different visions of “Chile” expressed within the Calfu family. For educators in Escuela Magpie School to engage with this complexity would be to help to facilitate better connection between home and school socialization, and would undoubtedly benefit students from all backgrounds. 137 5.5.4 Imagining a Chile of Instability and Unrest While the school seemed to focus on more superficial aspects and interpretations of culture, at home the Calfus promoted a more historically- and politically-informed perspective. On September 15, 2015, I was conducting a photo interview (see Chapter 3) with Max and Ella using my iPad. At the end of our interview, Max decided to explore the other folders on the device, and discovered one entitled “Chile” where I had been storing freely-available images from a Google Image search that had been taken around the time of September 11th, 1973. In this brief exchange, prompted by found images, Max described the Chilean imaginary he was forming: 01 Max: Can I do this one? (looks at other albums in iphoto and chooses the one entitled 02 “Chile”) 03 Ava: Yea::::h. Those are old pictures of Chile. 04 Max: This was the wa::::r (looks at an image of protesters and military in the 05 street) 06 Ava: Yeah:: 07 Max: Salvador Allende:: (looks at an image of Salvador Allende) 08 Ava: Yes:: 09 (pause) 10 Ava: You know what tha— 11 Max: And that’s when:: yup this is actually the war, look. (points to a tank) Tanks 12 .h 138 For Max, “the war,” as indexed by the sepia photographs of Salvador Allende, tanks, protesters, and military in the streets, was part of the way he was imagining Chile. The regular present-day reminders of this period of Chile’s history, through narrative (see also Chapter 4) and other modes (image, fundraisers for earthquake victims, etc.) seemed to reify the instability and insecurity of that time in Max’s imagination of Chile’s present. With the violence of the Pinochet dictatorship decades past, even contemporary Chile evoked images of death for the children. With aging grandparents and relatives, death made its way into the most seemingly mundane stories about Chile in this family. For example, on February 5th, 2016, Ella was giving me a tour of her room, and I subsequently captured part of the tour in this field note: Ella pulls out a small leather purse with "Cuba" burned into it and a broken strap. “Just tie it together,” I suggest. She does and puts it on. She begins to tell me about Cuba as she pulls out a Guatemalan-looking change purse. "This one's from Chile," she says confidently. Another that she shows me looks like a green frog and could have been from anywhere. “That one's not from Chile,” she says, “you can tell by the beads. It's probably from Péru.” Then she pulls out an ornately beaded purse from her shelves and says, "But this one's from Chile. My abuela brought it back after she went to Chile when I think her dad died." In other words, the death of aging family members was yet another characteristic of the Chile Max and Ella imagined, alongside images of Chile as a place of war, earthquakes, and disappearances, as we will see in the following section. In late April, 2016, I was driving Max and Ella home from school and we were talking about “scary politicians” throughout history, because they were concerned about things they had 139 been hearing about Donald Trump and his possible presidency. Max added Pinochet to the list, and offered, through clenched teeth, that Pinochet had “killed the president of Chile.” I suggested that he also “did some bad things to the Chilean people, right?” which prompted Max and Ella to share a narrative about their dad’s family’s flight from Chile (see Chapter 4, pp. 124–125; I also observed Max and his peers share narratives of their families’ flight from Chile alongside a lesson on Acadia [May 10, 2016]. Notably, they did not share their stories with the whole class, but rather amongst themselves and to me). I wondered how the difficult knowledge contained within this narrative might affect Max’s imagined transnationalism, so I asked him: “Do you think you’ll ever go to Chile?” There was a pause, and then Max replied: 13 Max: Too much earthquakes! 14 Ava: (laughs) 15 Max: Too hot. Max and his sister then launched into an explanation of how Chile was currently bracing itself for another earthquake, departing from the 1970s dictatorship narrative: 16 Max: Yeah there’s supposed to be a [earthquake 17 Ella: [an… earthquake it was moving down from around 18 like China area? From Japan? 19 Ava: Mhm? 20 Ella: Right? 21 Max: No China. 22 Ella: China somewhere? Um and it’s moving down to Chile so. 140 23 Ava: Oh. 24 Ella: Yeah. 25 Ava: There was one in Ecuador the other day right? 26 Ella: [Oh yeah that’s moving down— 27 Max: [No! That was a major earthquake! 28 Ava: Yeah? 29 Ella: Yeah but I think the one in Chile’s gonna be like a little one though. 30 Max: No. 31 Ella: No? 32 Max: It said it was gonna be… 33 (pause) 34 Ava: A big one? 35 Max: Yeah. 36 Ella: But don’t all the people have to go up to a hill? 37 (long pause) 38 Ava: When there’s an earthquake? 39 Ella: Yeah. 40 Ava: Do you know what to do when there’s an earthquake? 41 Ella: No. It is beyond the scope of the present analysis to delve into all of the interactional richness in the foregoing excerpt, but it is clear that Max and Ella’s imagined transnationalism involving 141 their heritage country, Chile, was punctuated by old and new threats to their imagined safety there, and in this exchange at least, they did not seem too keen to travel to the country (Capps & Ochs, 1995). Nevertheless, their legitimate participation/membership in the Chilean diaspora required that they display their knowledge of the country’s difficult past and present, through solidarity fundraising efforts designed to help alleviate some of the financial burden brought about by recent natural disasters (as shown in Figure 5.5). While the Calfu parents intended to foster a sense of responsibility towards and interest in the Chilean people, at the time of this research, it appeared that telling and re-telling these narratives had a distancing effect on the children. This effect did not prove to be unchangeable, however. 5.5.5 From National Imaginaries to Imagined Transnationalism It would be inaccurate to characterize Max’s and Ella’s imagined Chile as being narrowly aligned with any single narrative or image. As with all imaginaries, the Chile they imagined was multifaceted. As we saw, Ella’s portrayal of the country (through scenes of Chile’s mountainous landscape and happy grandparents) was positive. Both children also delighted in eating and helping to prepare traditional Chilean dishes (e.g., sopaipilla, empanadas), proudly wore traditional costumes during public celebrations of their heritage (and even around the house), and thoroughly enjoyed dancing and presenting Chilean folk dances—and learning about their history—from their parents and grandparents. Max was also a fan of Chile’s national soccer team, and frequently drew himself wearing the team’s red jersey in school projects. Personal interests and peer influence seemed to have a powerful influence on Max’s imagined transnationalism in particular. For instance, in June, 2016, I was driving the children home from school, and I asked Max: “I heard that you don’t want to go to Chile because you don’t want to speak Spanish there.” He replied: 142 42 Max: I do want to go to Chile now. 43 Ava: Really? Why? Why all of a sudden. 44 Ella: Because since [his friend, not Pablo] went, [Max] wanted to go because of the ice, 45 the delicious ice cream there. 46 Ava: Oh! (chuckles) Is that true Max? 47 Max: Mhm. Although Max and Ella could trace their heritage to Chile, Cuba seemed to present them with a less complicated and ultimately more desirable option for future travel. From my observations and recordings, the Calfu children (and their peers) constructed Cuba as a place of relaxation and enjoyment, and they seemed to be nostalgic for it, even though they were both under the age of four when they travelled there for their parents’ wedding. During my classroom observations, several children in Max’s class vacationed with their families in Cuba, and the country was often brought up in casual conversation at recess or during group work. Not all families in the Spanish bilingual program had the economic resources to go abroad, however, which seemed to underscore the importance of imagined transnationalism and national imaginaries and imaginings for those heritage language speakers whose families had the desire, but not the means, to travel internationally. Indeed, in early March, 2016, Max’s closest friend Pablo announced to no one in particular that he was going to Cuba over spring break and would eat ice cream there (Classroom observation field note). Just over a month later, Max mentioned to me in an aside that he “doesn’t have a passport because they went to Cuba when he was five months old [for his parents’ wedding] and his parents have to save up before they can go again. I say, ‘it’s expensive’. He frowns” (Classroom observation field note, April 20, 2015). To summarize, Max and Ella’s imagined transnationalism was multifaceted—both constrained and 143 inspired in unpredictable ways by their own interests and aversions, financial limitations, and the narratives that friends and family shared with them. 5.6 Discussion In this chapter, I examined how one second- and third-generation Chilean-Canadian family talked about their heritage country, fostering “an opportunity for imagined transnationalism” (Duff, 2015, p. 18), and the relationship between the transnational imaginaries they constructed together and the children’s heritage language development trajectories. In line with other research in the field of heritage language education (see e.g., Li & Zhu, 2019), the results demonstrate the role of imagination in Max and Ella’s shifting attitudes toward travel to Latin America, and by implication, to speaking their heritage language there. The historically- and geographically-attuned lens of imagination that I used to analyze the data also revealed new dimensions in their heritage language development trajectories, which I will now discuss in greater detail. Much of the heritage language research that has considered the role of travel to the heritage country in supporting heritage language development involves physical travel to the heritage country, which provides opportunities for the children to create their own memories in that physical space and to forge relationships with same-age peers and adults alike (e.g., Decapua & Wintergerst, 2009; Guardado & Becker, 2014; Sakamoto, 2001). The transnational imaginaries they form together with their families are informed by the personal interests that emerge from lived experience. In those studies, children and youth generally look forward to returning to the heritage country to visit or to resettle as they derive personal benefits such as enjoyment, cultural cachet (having mastered English in the case of North American studies involving families returning to non-Anglophone regions), and some sense of belonging racially, 144 culturally, and/or linguistically. In this study, Chile was clearly an important place to the family and to the children (and even to some of Escuela Magpie School’s teachers, whose classrooms showcased Chilean artifacts and flags), but its value seemed to rest primarily with what was said and remembered about it. In other words, their immediate needs for belonging (i.e., locally) were not dependent upon having travelled there or planning to travel there, so they were “safe” in their diaspora community, deploying locally valued knowledge about Chile and using Spanish to index their membership. Cuba, on the other hand, was a Spanish-speaking country that their family remembered positively, and to which the children desired to return. The existence of Cuba as a kind of proxy or allied political space (Becker, 2014) seemed to hold some appeal for Valentina and Manuel, but it was also not emphasized in the family’s memories of their vacation there. The children appeared to be nostalgic for that time, and interestingly, they never cited “speaking Spanish” as a reason to avoid travelling to Cuba. The narrative practices that sustained the family’s Chilean-Canadian transnational imaginary in the diaspora had been honed over the decades since the family’s arrival in Canada, when, for political and economic reasons, physical return to the country was not possible (Safran, 1991). The practice of remembering the violence that expelled them—that ended a generation’s work towards a more equitable society in Chile—has been well documented by sociologists of the Chilean diaspora (Eastmond,1993; Kay, 1987; Power, 2009; Shayne, 2009; T. Wright & Oñate, 1998, 2007), and was indeed an essential part of how the Calfu children were coming to understand their heritage country over the course of this research. Thus, instead of having peer-aged friends or family in Chile, they were being raised with stories of other people’s childhoods there (see also Bigelow, 2010), and more recently, of the failing health and death of the elderly friends and family members who had remained. In a sense, these stories were a form 145 of resistance: they pushed back quietly against the superficial food-fair-culture discourses that their school promoted (Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010). International travel was an activity that many of Max and Ella’s schoolmates enjoyed annually or biannually. For the most part (though there were exceptions), travel was an experience that their schoolmates enjoyed and talked about positively. Cuba, for instance, was a destination that their peers returned from with tales of enjoyment, and it was also a place where the Calfu family had made positive memories together.23 On the other hand, travel to Chile for the Calfu children seemed to be somewhat marred by the largely negative associations they had come to have with it (war, natural disasters, death, disappearances)—until one of Max’s peers returned talking about “delicious ice cream.” Suddenly, Max was able to see a way that he might someday travel to a country that was meaningful to him personally—irrespective of the cultural and familial understandings that he was being socialized into. Even at seven years of age, the role of same-age peers who share familiar and desirable experiences cannot be overstated in terms of how it facilitates the co-construction of opportunities for imagined transnationalism (Goodwin & Kyratzis, 2012). As we saw in the findings, however, the emotionally difficult narratives that the family drew upon to construct their Chilean imaginary seemed to foster a particular disposition in the children. The disposition was not necessarily one of ambivalence or conflictedness about their heritage language and heritage culture (cf. Duff & Li, 2014, p. 46), but perhaps one that genuinely began to feel out the uneven emotional and political contour of their family’s history. Max and Ella were being socialized to recount difficult historical narratives of great significance 23 Charter vacation flights and all-inclusive packages to Cuba and other destinations (Mexico, Dominican Republic) have been popular among middle- and upper-middle income earners in Canada during winter months in particular for many years. 146 to their loved ones as they were learning to become speakers of memory (ratified participants), to achieve a sense of deep connectedness to their family and community (Chapter 4; Fivush, 2008). To hold the weight of those narratives was certainly not a comfortable or conflict-free experience for their adult family members either. It was, perhaps, a “learning to live with ghosts,” as Derrida (1994) put it (cited in Simon et al., 2000b, p. 8)—learning to live with a knowledge that has no resolution, but that is also a defining characteristic of one’s cultural heritage and continuity (see also Baum, 2000). So perhaps what Max and Ella were exhibiting, more than ambivalence or conflictedness, was the discomfort that involves coming into difficult knowledge. For their parents and grandparents, the knowledge was no less comfortable, but over the course of their lives, they had come to relate to it in a way that was meaningful and that allowed them to coexist with it, and even utilize it, to take social action. One mechanism of that coexistence was resilience—looking back to how their political and Indigenous identities had been oppressed by the myriad forces of colonialism (Chapters 1, 2, 6). These were also lessons they hoped their children would learn from these difficult narratives. Indeed, part of the transnational imaginary that the children were participants in required Spanish to index cultural affiliation to Latin Americans, knowledge of the events that led to their family’s expulsion (iconized by September 11/El Once), and also of their Indigenous Mapuche heritage as a vital part of Chile (Chapter 6). Knowledge of these elements of culture helped promote a sense of intergenerational understanding and continuity (Baum, 2000; Fivush et al., 2008; Ochs & Capps, 2001), which is particularly important in families and communities produced by international ruptures such as exile, or local ones, like cultural genocide (e.g., Chandler & Lalonde, 1998; McIvor & Napoleon, 2009). 147 In terms of the implications of the transnational imaginary on their heritage language trajectories, the foregoing analysis seems to suggest that Max and Ella’s apparent reservations around speaking Spanish had more to do with where it was spoken and how it was managed in those spaces, as in the institutionalization of it at school versus the imagined use of it to obtain ice cream in Chile, for example. It is also possible that, working within his “socioculturally mediated capacity to act” (Ahearn, 2001, p. 112), Max leveraged “not wanting to speak Spanish” as a more socially acceptable reason not to want to travel to a country that he had heard so many heartbreaking things about. Later, when he learned that his friend had travelled there and had enjoyed eating ice cream, speaking Spanish was no longer a barrier. The children’s (and their parents’) relationship to their heritage language and culture will undoubtedly continue to change over time as a result of myriad factors, but it is important to emphasize that the culturally difficult knowledge in his family’s past will not necessarily be demotivating (see Becker, 2013, 2014). Max’s interest in candy and ice cream might actually be more reflective of kinds of the positive or “apolitical” stories he knows are welcome at school, rather than the full range of his interests and motivations. Indeed, for one middle-aged participant in Avineri’s (2019) research about Yiddish HLLs in the United States, Yiddish became a meaningful part of her “heritage narrative” when she understood that “it was the language in which Holocaust survivors would be ‘narrating their own stories’” (p. 107). 5.7 Conclusion Extending discussions of cultural identity formation, language attitudes, and language competence in heritage language research, this chapter has demonstrated that narratives of the heritage country and culture provide opportunities for imagined transnationalism. Max and Ella attended to such opportunities with imagination and agency, which will likely impact their 148 heritage language learning trajectories. Two generations after migration, when language shift from Spanish to English is well underway, issues of Spanish language maintenance for family communication are less urgent. But in post-exile contexts, intergenerational understanding of the family’s migration story—facilitated by a combination of heritage and non-heritage language use—can serve multiple purposes: personal, familial, and societal enrichment; global consciousness; and social justice. Indeed, the Calfus’ continued connection to social justice concerns globally was one way the family kept its connection to Chile alive, and also kept their “community of memory” active in the diaspora. This study has strong implications for language curricula in contexts where there are HLLs. Specifically, it will take appropriate changes to policy, to teaching and learning resources, and also a good amount of courage for educational communities to begin to see students’ family stories—particularly those with difficult content—for the learning resources that they are, rather than defaulting to the food-fairs-folklore model that promotes a more touristic gaze (Kramsch, 2013). It will take equal parts skill and humility to teach language and culture in a way that facilitates connections with real people who have overcome adversity to produce the cultures in which they take pride. As Carreira (2012) has noted, “distilling good HL teaching to its essence: it is all about the learner” (p. 235), and learners have a wealth of life experiences (including those they have only experienced narratively) that they can use to make their learning meaningful (González et al., 2005; Kramsch, 2009; Marshall & Toohey, 2010). To achieve this goal of tailoring heritage language teaching to the learner, Noels (2005) recommends the inclusion of “material that incorporates the activities of the local community, highlights stories of its migration and settlement experiences, or provides opportunities to explore the language and culture at the 149 international level” (p. 304)—practical suggestions that take careful consideration to implement effectively in post-exile communities. Doing so, however, would only serve to humanize the people who comprise the cultures we teach and study, and to deepen interpersonal and intercultural connections. In a time of unprecedented political and ideological divisiveness, as well as ecological and migratory uncertainty, we must ask what the implications of failing to make these connections would be. 150 Chapter 6: Finding Max’s Wolves: Literacy Socialization in the Margins For decades, language and literacy scholars working within a sociocultural framework have laboured to bring attention to the strengths of marginalized students in an effort to create more inclusive and equitable learning environments (see e.g., Cummins, 2000; Dyson, 1997; González et al., 2005; Heath, 1983; Zentella, 2005). Researchers have tended to focus on learners labelled as being “at-risk” of failing or falling behind. While this work has moved the field forward in invaluable ways, this approach has not consistently engaged with processes of marginalization as a complex practice, which has produced gaps in our understanding of how marginalization works, and how we can best address it in research and practice to the benefit of all learners. This chapter presents a close examination of the in- and out-of-school literacy socialization practices of Max Calfu, a seven-year-old, academically strong Chilean-Canadian boy, over the course of a year-long ethnography I conducted with his family at their home, in transit, and at his Spanish-English bilingual public school (Escuela Magpie School) in a large Western Canadian city (Corvidell). The notion of syncretism, or syncretic literacy (Duranti & Ochs, 1996; Gregory et al., 2013b) refers to the creative blending or merging of cultural knowledge systems that occurs during cross-cultural literacy events and practices. Max’s grandfather, Eduardo, was a significant mediator (Gregory et al., 2013b) of his syncretic literacy and Indigenous identity socialization. Following Eduardo’s exile from Chile in the 1970s, Canada became a space in which he could reclaim a strong sense of pride in his Indigenous ancestry. In contrast, Mapuche Indigenous people continue to endure (and resist) substantial physical and symbolic repression24 by the 24 For example, police and military violence toward Mapuche people during protests concerning land and resource rights; the symbolic erasure of Mapuche culture through lack of official support for Mapudungun language education. 151 Chilean state (Carter, 2010; Crow, 2013). Although Escuela Magpie School featured displays of local and Latin American Indigenous art, most of the faculty seemed to be largely unprepared to engage more substantively with Indigenous cultures or Indigenous students. Building on a rich tradition of ethnographic literacy research (e.g., Duranti & Ochs, 1986; Dyson, 1997; Gregory, Long, & Volk, 2004; Heath, 1982, 2012; Kendrick, 2016), in this chapter I consider the ways in which Max’s Indigenous identity was rooted in his syncretic family literacy practices (echoing broader Indigenous and Mapuche cultural revitalization efforts) and the ways in which he attempted to reconcile these meaningful home literacy practices, identities, and knowledge(s) with academic literacy expectations at school. Drawing on interview excerpts, field notes, and Max’s schoolwork, I pay particular attention to the recurrence of the wolf figure in Max’s text-making and oral sense-making, and demonstrate how the wolf figure was an essential part of his syncretic literacy socialization, which allowed him to (re)claim an Indigenous identity in his literacy practices at school. While most of his classmates and teachers understood the wolf to be Max’s favourite animal, the following analysis of his literacy practices through the lenses of literacy socialization (Sterponi, 2012), syncretic literacy (Gregory et al., 2013a, 2013b), and critical Latinx Indigeneities (Blackwell, Lopez, & Urrieta, 2017) reveal multiple strands of Max’s family and cultural history. These strands have implications not only for understanding and supporting his sense of belonging to local and global communities, but also for that of his classmates, whose unique family histories overlap to varying degrees with one another’s. The colonial ideologies and practices that Indigenous people around the world have to contend with in the broader society are often perpetuated in classrooms, where Indigenous identities and ways of knowing are routinely marginalized, exoticized, appropriated, and 152 exploited (e.g., Battiste, 2017; Hare, 2005). In a Spanish-English bilingual program where Max’s Chilean-national heritage had symbolic capital, it was unsurprising (though unacceptable) that his Indigenous identity (which was integral to his family’s conception of their Chilean-ness) was not valued in the same way (Calderón & Urrieta, 2019). I conclude the chapter by arguing that examining syncretism in children’s literacy practices can lay the foundation for a more ethically, emotionally, and culturally engaged language education. 6.1 Children’s Literacy Socialization This study builds on a robust body of work in the literacy socialization tradition (see Chapter 2) that has used ethnographic methods to provide highly contextualized accounts of children’s in-and-out-of-school literacy development in order to advocate for a greater awareness and consideration of institutionally marginalized ways of knowing, reading, and representing. This research has demonstrated, in a variety of national, cultural, and linguistic contexts, “how language and literacy learning is embedded in the broader process of becoming a competent member of a community” or communities (Sterponi, 2012, p. 232; e.g., Duranti & Ochs, 1996, 1988; Dyson, 1997; Fader, 2009; Gregory et al., 2013a; Heath, 1982, 1983; L. C. Moore, 2008; Pahl, 2007). Most studies have foregrounded contextual aspects of how literacy and social belonging or “becoming” are related, such as identity, culture, language, ideology, representation, history, and power. A major contribution of the literacy socialization literature has been to demonstrate how students labeled “at-risk” (officially or unofficially) are further marginalized by institutional ideologies, beliefs, and practices (e.g., Dyson, 1997; Hawkins, 2005; Heath, 1982; Willett, 1995). This study examines marginalization from a different angle. Here, I consider how the Indigenous knowledge of a Mapuche-heritage student was marginalized in the classroom, which may have inadvertently contributed to the cognitive imperialism 153 (Battiste, 2017) that continues to marginalize Spanish HLLs with Indigenous heritage in schools (Calderón & Urrieta, 2019). This institutional reality was somewhat (though not entirely) surprising in a school that indexed its awareness and inclusion of Indigenous people regularly and overtly (e.g., having an Indigenous consultant on staff, regularly inviting Indigenous Elders and writers to speak, and commissioning Indigenous artists to lead art projects and paint murals on their walls). 6.2 Children’s Text-Making While children’s text-making and identity formation begins long before they enter school (Kress, 1996; Pahl, 2007), the first few years of schooling are a particularly crucial time for literacy and identity development in children (Compton-Lilly, Papoi, Venegas, Hamman, & Schwabenbauer, 2017; Dyson, 1997; Kendrick & McKay, 2002, 2004; O’Neil, 2015; Rogers & Elias, 2012). For many children, the onset of formal education is their introduction to the institutionalized literacy socialization trajectory that will have major implications for their social and cultural mobility as they grow. It is a trajectory that most will follow over the next 12 years of their lives, and one that has its roots in a variety of literacy practices and events embedded in significant intergenerational (at times intercultural, multilingual) relationships (Heath, 1982, 2012). Neither context (in- or out-of-school) is free of ideology or power structures, of course, but the homogenizing goals (e.g., standardization) of schools and curricula can be particularly fraught (e.g., Freire, 1970/2000). For instance, Kendrick and McKay (2004), Wiltse (2014), and Campano (2007) all examined, in different racialized, migratory, and cultural contexts, the ways in which children’s funds of knowledge, which appear in a variety of modes in classrooms, are often disregarded, which has negative implications for their engagement with literacy in that space. In traditionally marginalized groups, such as racialized learners and English language 154 learners, the consequences of dis- or non-engagement in institutional learning can be severely limiting, and often results in high rates of program attrition (Gunderson, 2007). Research on students’ in- and out-of school identities in relation to their literacy practices has shown that young learners tend to have a strong sense of who they are and/or aspire to become, what interests them, and how they prefer to communicate their identities and interests (e.g., Dyson, 1997; Kendrick & McKay, 2004; Kress, 1996; Wiltse, 2014). As Compton-Lilly et al. (2017) have put it: “a child who repeatedly writes about a favorite sports team or a favorite Disney princess is making claims on being a particular type of child" (p. 119)—and the same can be said of other ways of representing their interests (e.g., drawing, acting, film-making) (Cummins & Early, 2011; Rowsell & Pahl, 2007). For instance, Pahl’s (2007) highly contextualized attention to one Turkish-British boy’s (Fatih’s) drawings of birds over multiple timescales revealed that the bird figure recurred in his text-making not simply because he “liked” birds, as one might assume, but rather, because it was rooted in significant relationships and life events (e.g., his mother called him “bird” as a baby; he had memories of chickens on his grandparents’ farm in Turkey; and a relative suggested the bird might be symbolic of his mother’s flight from his abusive father). As a result, the bird figure seemed to serve as a consistent, as well as affectively and semiotically meaningful device that Fatih deployed agentively to make sense of his life and experiences across domains, over time. Similarly, in her study of four second-grade students in the US, O’Neil (2015) examined the ways in which they incorporated out-of-school lived and aspirational identities into their in-school literacies (e.g., as fashion designer, good student/daughter, car designer, artist). She concluded that the children used drawing to “try on” different identities and even enact tensions they were experiencing in their home lives. Compton-Lilly et al. (2017) also examined children’s literacy and identity, 155 focusing specifically on the relationship between literacy engagement and intersectional identity negotiation in the children of recently arrived immigrants. Drawing on King (1988) and others, they used the lens of intersectionality to demonstrate how children's various interests, relationships, and identities worked together, and to warn against our tendency, as researchers and teachers, to oversimplify student subjectivities and relationships to literacy and school. 6.3 Conceptualizing Literacy Socialization in Max’s Case To lend further analytic clarity to my analysis of Max’s wolves, I draw on concepts from New Literacy Studies (e.g., Barton et al., 2000; Street, 2017) that intersect with the foci of literacy socialization. As Duranti and Ochs (1996) put it: “The main idea behind [syncretic literacy] is the belief that, when different cultural systems meet, one rarely simply replaces the other” (p. 173). Gregory et al. (2013a) clarify that syncretism differs from “hybridity” and other apparent synonyms in its foregrounding of creativity, transformation, and process over product, as well as children’s intentionality, agency, and expertise in their own learning. In this chapter, I conduct a close examination of the wolves and other Indigenous knowledge represented in Max’s literacy practices over the course of the research year, considering multiple scales of space and time, and in relation to various “mediators,” including his sister, his teacher, his grandfather (Tata), and me. Three additional concepts that are useful in the analysis and interpretation of Max’s drawings, writing, and spoken words are hidden literacies and difficult knowledge. Rowsell and Kendrick (2013) define hidden literacies as “literacies that are least recognized by schooling” (p. 588), which tend to be those forms of communication that challenge the orthodoxy of text (e.g., visual arts). A closer consideration of such literacies is particularly warranted in literacy research with boys in North America, as there appears to be “an increase in underachievement by boys in 156 reading and writing” (Rowsell & Kendrick, 2013, p. 588). While Max was a skilled reader and writer during data collection, the implications of the following examination of his drawings and oral narratives about wolves have implications for the ways that teachers can support boys who choose to engage in literacy multimodally. Deborah Britzman’s (1998) concept of difficult knowledge also enhances the analysis, as “a concept meant to signify both representations of social traumas in curriculum and the individual’s encounters with them in pedagogy” (Pitt & Britzman, 2003, p. 755). In this study, Max’s knowledge and representations of the wolf become difficult knowledge at school because of their absence from, rather than inclusion in, the curriculum; in the settler state known as Canada, the absence of Indigenous knowledge in the curriculum, and the lack of opportunity to encounter it in pedagogy can be interpreted as the perpetuation of the myriad forms of erasure and violence that these colonial structures enacted (with similar forms of erasure being carried out in Chile). In the analysis that follows, I demonstrate how Max’s Indigenous identity remained “hidden” in the margins of his literacy socialization at school, and in the discussion, I argue that Hispanic identity was privileged at the expense of his Indigenous identity in a similar (bilingual) educational context. 6.4 The Study 6.4.1 The Participants Valentina’s parents were very involved in her children’s lives. Inés had been their teacher at school, and Eduardo frequently picked them up from school and cared for them until Valentina or Manuel arrived home from work. The children were very close to both of their maternal grandparents; they would sometimes appear in Max and Ella’s drawings and frequently came up in conversation. While both grandparents promoted a positive sense of identity in relation to their 157 Indigenous ancestry, it became evident that Eduardo was a key figure in their socialization into Indigenous identities and worldviews—a socialization centrally mediated by text and the arts. For example, he provided them with children’s books by Métis author, David Bouchard, and would reportedly read them with his grandchildren after school. According to Inés, he would point out eagles and coyotes whenever they saw them as a way to recognize their presence and “review” their personal and spiritual significance (Inés Interview, March 5, 2016). According to both grandparents, Mapuche people continue to be strongly repressed and are represented in Chilean society “como una cultura desaparecida” (like a lost culture). Inés noted, however, that: ahora no es así, los [Mapuches] están siempre en la cara del, de toda la gente entonces… a lo mejor el odio [hacia ellos] se ha acentuado? (risa) Pero también es una cultura más presente. (It’s not like that anymore. [The Mapuche] are always in everyone’s face… maybe the hatred [toward them] has increased? (chuckles) But it’s also a more present/visible culture.) According to Valentina, her father didn’t start to embrace his Mapuche ancestry until he came to Canada: I think my dad got into his spirituality and environment and all of that when he came to know and found resemblances with the Native people here. Right? So that was always a part of my, mine and my sister’s upbringing was, which was very different than the rest of the Chileans that lived here right? (Interview, January 22, 2016) She remembered that her father took Native Studies at the local university when she was younger, which was a very validating experience for him and one in which he was able to make important connections. She described her own Indigenous socialization in terms of attending 158 round dances and powwows as a girl, and having identity conversations with her dad like this one: I remember I would say “Dad, we’re half Spanish half Native, right?” He’s like “No!” (laughing) “You’re not. You’re mostly Mapuche look at your grandma from [. . .], . . . and she’s not a short woman, and . . . ” He talked to me about how people looked but it wasn’t just that for him, it’s different right? Being of an Indigenous culture was more of a, something meaningful for him? And how he taught us is more of a way of life and spirituality. (Interview, January 22, 2016) In my home observations, the importance of keeping a strong and positive connection to their Indigenous identity was apparent through the pan-Indigenous artwork and artifacts that adorned the family’s common living spaces. Valentina and teachers I interviewed at her children’s school confirmed that Inés, a veteran teacher at Escuela Magpie School, was instrumental in spearheading a number of educational responses to the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada’s (2015) recommendations for education, such as inviting Elders into the school to deepen their understanding of Indigenous people and cultures in Canada. Invited guests included speakers (e.g., Inuit author Michael Kusugak; students’ family members) and muralists, who would give presentations and inspire further learning activities. Despite these strides, however, Valentina was disappointed that deeper shifts in understanding had not happened yet. As she noted in our third interview: You know there’s some times where Max says—and it’s sad because it’s from school—he’s like “Things, they used to be like this, right? They [Indigenous people] used to be 159 here.” I said “No! We’re still here” right? And that’s sad, to me it’s sad that it’s not even, it’s not coming up properly in class. (Interview, January 22, 2016) Indeed, I observed the frequent use of the past tense to refer to Indigenous people during both Max and Ella’s social studies lessons (see also Battiste, 2017, pp. 31–32) and noted the profound disjuncture between the Calfu family’s explicit Indigenous socialization strategies and the school’s efforts to include contemporary Indigenous perspectives and arts. 6.4.2 Focal Participant: Max Calfu Max was an inquisitive and creative 7-year-old. I often observed him reading for pleasure (at school, at home, and in transit), looking up information, and using figurines for pretend play. He was among the top students in his class and would sometimes grow impatient with classmates who didn’t understand things as quickly as he did. He was usually among the first of his peers to complete an assignment, even though he mentioned on a number of occasions that he preferred recess to being in the classroom (e.g., Interview, September 7, 2015). He was well-supported at home, academically and otherwise, by a grandmother who was a school teacher, and parents who believed strongly in the value of fostering early literacy, bilingualism, and cultural identity. He was an English-dominant heritage speaker of Spanish whose major interests at the time of this research included: soccer (Chilean and British teams), hockey, Star Wars, Piccachu, Minecraft, Skylanders (an interactive, figurine/videogame interface), and wolves. He would also regularly work Chilean flags into class assignments (something Compton-Lilly et al., 2017, have referred to as “transnational negotiations of self” p. 127) alongside renderings of his other interests. Of all of the meaningful characters in his life, however, the wolf figure held a special place in Max’s semiotic repertoire, as I will describe throughout the remainder of this chapter. 160 6.5 Data Collection and Analysis Over the course of the year, I noticed how Max indexed his relationship to wolves in various ways, including his clothing, photography, oral and written storytelling, assignments, and drawings at home and in school assignments. Drawing was a mode that Max frequently used to express himself. He was always looking for ways to improve his drawing skills, and would copy drawings of wolves and pop culture characters that he admired in books and online. While drawings were often part of class assignments in grade two (particularly in this class, where workbooks and worksheets were central pedagogical tools), the rich communicative value of drawings (by him and other children) was not apparent to his classroom teacher (Field notes, December 2, 2015; March 16, 2016), something Kendrick and Rowsell (2013) discuss in their examination of the visual as hidden literacy—particularly in the case of boys: “many practices that embed literacy (e.g., play, art, video games) are ‘invisible’ because teachers do not define these activities as literacy” (p. 587). Through a process of constant comparison and data revision, I transcribed all of the interviews and conducted a content analysis of the broader dataset (see Mayan, 2009) which allowed me to identify patterns and examine them in relation to intersecting factors that I captured in my detailed field notes. The transcription conventions can be found in Appendix D. This initial step revealed the salience (and significance) of wolves in Max’s literacy socialization, and the importance of Eduardo as a mediator (Gregory et al., 2013a) of his Indigenous and literacy identities. I then coded the broader dataset and further refined my analysis, using analytic memos (Saldaña, 2013). Working within the space constraints of this chapter, I have selected five illustrative examples of how Max drew, wrote, and talked about wolves and represented his Indigenous 161 identity socialization over the course of the 2015-2016 school year, and discuss them in relation to his literacy socialization at home and at school, his intersectional identities, and the syncretic literacy practices involving the wolf that worked along multiple timescales. 6.6 Findings 6.6.1 Finding Max’s Wolves at Home At the first home observation in early September, 2015, Max and Ella proudly shared books with me that they had made with their maternal grandparents over the summer. Max’s book was about wolves (Figure 6.1), and Ella’s was about eagles. On the back of the book, a page titled “About the author,” Eduardo (who authored this section) positions Max as a writer with a long-standing connection not only to wolves, the “wolf spirit,” and the values associated with it (“strength, humility, and family ties”), but also to the Indigenous children’s literature (e.g., “David Bouchard’s stories”) from which he drew inspiration for his text-making. The text reads: About the author. Maximiliano Calfu [redacted in the image] is a young writer who likes wolves since he was three years old. He was very impressed by David Bouchard’s stories, especially those that describe the meaning of the wolf spirit: strength, humility, and family ties. August, 2015 According to Inés, her husband would read David Bouchard’s stories with his grandchildren every time he picked them up from school and cared for them before their parents returned from work (Field note, March 16, 2016), which took the shape of a ritualized, intergenerational literacy activity from which projects such as this one could evolve—even at home, when school was out for the summer—and be personally meaningful and memorable for the children. Through this biographical text (Figure 6.1), Eduardo coauthors the relationship 162 between Max’s Indigenous identity, his connection to the wolf figure, and his developing literacy skills and identity. Figure 6.1: Max’s Summer Literacy Project (September 14, 2015) This summer project had left a strong impression on Max, and a desire to see it continue into the next year. The day before school started, I was away from the research site and asked Valentina if she might interview her children to get a sense for how they were feeling on the eve of the first day of school. After establishing that tomorrow was the first day of school, Valentina asked her son, “How do you feel about going back to school?” Max paused and then replied: Max: Happy and, sad. Valentina: Happy and sad? Why— Max: Happy and mad, sometimes. Valentina: Yeah? Max: Yeah. Ha. 163 Not accepting his mother’s subtle invitation to expand on why he might feel happy and sad and mad sometimes about going back to school, Valentina continued: Valentina: What are you looking forward to, at school? What, what, what’s gonna be your favorite thing, what do you want to learn about? Max: (quietly) Want to learn about (long pause) Wolves! Wolves. Wolves. Wolves were clearly meaningful to Max, and so was the summer project that his school report on wolves evolved into with both of his maternal grandparents (Figure 6.1): Valentina: What’s your favourite school project last year? Or you did one over the summer right? Max: Yeah I liked my wolf report. I a:sked if I could do one but it didn’t end up so well, so I did it through the summer. Valentina: And who helped you with that? Max: My abuela! Valentina: And she made a nice little book for you, hey? Max: Yeah! As Inés had also been his Grade 1 classroom teacher, the possibility for the report’s continuity into the summer was more likely than it might have been had she not occupied that dual role in his life. Furthermore, the freer mode of communication—creating one’s own book, versus filling in the blanks in one of the many teacher-provided worksheets and workbooks that awaited him in Grade 2—was undoubtedly memorable as it was more cognitively demanding and a product of conversations and reading in existing, meaningful relationships with grandparents. 164 6.6.2 Finding Max’s Wolves Outside On February 5th, 2016, I was driving Max and Ella home from school. They lived at the very edge of town. Their neighbourhood was loosely demarcated by a tall fence encircling the houses on one side of the road, with an agricultural field on the other. Remembering that Ella had reported seeing an eagle in her neighborhood before, I looked toward the field and asked: “Any eagles out today?” She then told us what she knew about the size of eagles’ nests, and then I offered that I’d also seen nests that size during a road trip I had taken through British Columbia. Max asked about the size of nest I had seen, and as I began my description, Ella drew a sharp in-breath and exclaimed: “Is that a fox?” and with another audible in-breath: “A wolf! Oh my gosh!” “No,” I uttered, having mistaken wolves for coyotes myself in this region as a child, “it’s a coyote.” “Oh,” she replied, sounding somewhat disappointed. But maybe I was wrong, I thought. I felt ashamed to have dismissed her observation so quickly, so naturally. “Where?” I asked, to see if she could point to it. Her excitement crested again, and this time Max took notice as well: Ella: A coyote a coyote [right there! Literally!! Max: [Oh my gosh!! Ava: Oh yeah! That’s a coyote! Ella: [Oh my gosh!! Max: [Oh my gosh!! Ava: (laughs) That’s really sp[ecial Ella: [Oh my god! As the energy in the car intensified, it became very clear that the coyote sighting was quite significant for both Max and Ella. My insistence that the animal we saw was not in fact a 165 wolf didn’t seem to matter much to Max, however, who enthusiastically voiced his deep connection to the wolf in his next turn: “I’m lucky! I’m lucky! ‘Cause I have a wolf spirit! I’m lucky!” soon elaborating with “There’s my, one of my cousins!” Ella playfully attempted to downplay Max’s claim to his wolf spirit, first by stating “I like eating wolves yum yum yum!” and then by insisting that she had seen one when she “was really little but Max didn’t see it, so [she] should have had a wolf spirit instead of him” (her spirit animal was the eagle). Max stood his ground, though, skillfully drawing on his own story to counter his sister’s claim to have seen it “first” and therefore, have more connection with it: Ella: ‘Cause I saw it first. He was, he was asleep. He was asleep. Max: Yeah but [as soon as Tata showed me it— Ella: [I saw it. It was in the morning and it was a baby coyote. Max: Yeah I know. Ella: It was at night time. Max: And, and um, and [Tata showed me a wolf picture when I was a baby and I smiled. Ella: [that’s so cool! Ava: Ah! That’s how they knew that the wolf was your animal? Max: Yup. In contrast to his older sister’s repeated claims to have seen the wolf before him (and by implication, to have a greater connection to it), Max confidently constructed his counter-argument by re-voicing a memory of when he “was a baby.” His short but poignant narrative foregrounds their Tata’s crucial role in establishing his connection to the wolf through the literacy practice of sharing an image of the animal, which prompted him to smile—a detail which 166 Max offers here as indisputable evidence of the connection. This narrative of being shown “a wolf picture” by his grandfather seems to have been a catalytic moment in Max’s Indigenous identity formation, establishing deeply meaningful bonds—even kinship bonds—to the wolf (e.g., “There’s my, one of my cousins!”), to place, and to his literacy practices, contextualizing the wolf’s recurrence in his own image-making, as we will see below. Three days later, Max’s class was on a field trip at one of the city’s public nature interpretation centres to learn about local animals’ winter adaptation strategies and also to try snowshoeing. Accompanying him on the trip as part of my fieldwork, I observed: At the Nature Education Centre, the interpreter shows a PowerPoint of different animal tracks in the snow and has the children guess which animal makes which print. A coyote pops up and everyone gets excited; a few mention that it might be a wolf. The interpreter announces that it was a coyote and that there were lots around town, especially [near the river]. Max’s breath draws in sharply as his whole body slingshots his hand up, and he begins to say “we saw a…”. I could feel the recent story aching to be shared. It was so deeply meaningful. But the interpreter had an agenda and a lot of ground to cover (apparently) so he was not called on. She saw his hand, finally, as she moved on, and telling him to wait. Wait for what? The time never came. The story was buried. Later, in the hallway, some students were using the washroom before we headed outside and I watched Max try to tell his story to Sra. A, who was talking with a parent volunteer. She also told him to wait. He finally gave up and went to put on his boots and head outside. (Field note, March 8, 2016) While in many ways the lack of space for Max’s story in formal learning contexts is familiar, it does raise some important questions: Why are students’ funds of knowledge so 167 frequently marginalized in formal learning contexts? Certainly, it isn’t always because of lack of time, or the “in/appropriateness” of children’s life experiences to their learning—oft-cited reasons that work to mask or naturalize adults’ decision-making regarding which stories/ knowledge they make space for. If we recognize that making space for student stories can be less a product of external constraints (e.g., to do with time limitations and curricular “appropriateness”) than it is one that stems from the power that adults have to arbitrate which stories are heard and when in formal learning contexts, we must ask: Who benefits from these decisions? Whose stories are heard? When? In what contexts? And importantly, as the next two examples suggest: In what modes? What affordances might different modes (e.g., drawing) offer to facilitate communication where powerful audiences might not have been receptive to other modes (e.g., speaking/oral/aural modes)? And what would this mean for students whose cultural practices are rooted in oral traditions? 6.6.3 Finding Max’s Wolves on Worksheets Over the spring of 2016, I observed a series of text-making activities on school worksheets or in workbooks where Max drew on his pan-Indigenous worldview. The value of his text-making to his cultural identity and ultimately, to supporting his family literacy socialization, was not apparent to his classroom teacher. In March, the grade two class was working its way through a social studies unit on Inuit culture when I noticed a page in Max’s workbook that caught my attention. I found the drawing to be visually striking, but it was the erased text still somewhat visible below the new text that compelled me to inquire further (Figure 6.2). The prompt reads: “Why is the land so important to the Inuit people?” 168 Figure 6.2: “Iqaluit and the Land” Worksheet The two prompts are: 1. Draw a picture of the land around Iqaluit. Label the river and the bay. 2. Why is the land so important to the Inuit people? Original (erased) text: Because the Earth is giving the inuit all they [indecipherable] fish [indecipherable] animals and birds. New text: The land is inpotint [important] because the inuit use the animals for clothing. At first glance, the apparently open-ended writing prompt, “Why is the land so important to the Inuit people?” seemed to invite an Indigenous worldview, yet its framing within the context of a Eurocentric approach to schooling and history (e.g., through textbooks and 169 worksheets) seemed to resist it. Max’s two responses were dramatically different, from his reverent capitalization of “Earth” in the first answer, and the notion that the earth provides the Inuit with all they need, to the reductive, even exploitive response in the amended version, which places the Inuit on the same footing as settler people who “use” the earth and do not act upon it in an interconnected, respectful relationship. As we can see in the following exchange I had with Max about the erased text, academic socialization into a Eurocentric model of learning and knowledge representation (e.g., notions of correctness, appropriateness) seems to have played a role in erasing—figuratively and literally—the rich, Indigenous worldview of relationships between people and the earth’s gifts (resources) that Valentina told me had been part of her upbringing. Leading up to this excerpt, I reminded Max of the worksheet and praised him for what he had written and erased while I looked for the photo I had taken of it on my phone. Having found it, I asked: Ava: Okay, can you tell me, here, I’m gonna make sure this [xxx]— Max: (in a resigned tone) I had to do it again because I didn’t think through really. The common Western educational discourse of “think[ing] things through” before you create or contribute knowledge was striking here. Max had clearly “thought things through” in providing his first, insightful answer, but perhaps he had not considered the answer that the worksheet seemed to prompt, and its assessor (his teacher), valued. This is apparent both in the content but also in the composition, with the revised version conforming to the curricular emphasis on forming complete sentences (see Figure 6.2). I continued: “But I loved your first 170 answer. What did you say? ‘Because the earth is… giving?’” Max claimed the right to differ from my reading, proposing “living” instead of “giving” and then settling on the latter: Max: No, it says, hm. (pause) “Because… (mumbles)… Because the (pause) earth… is… living?” Ava: Living! Max: No, it’s giving. Ava: Hm. Max: (continues reading in a stilted manner) “giving the Inuit all the food they need” Based on my classroom observations, I knew that it was not uncommon for the teacher to ask her students to re-write sections of their worksheets that did not conform to curricular standards for this grade, so I asked: Ava: And why did you have to change it? Max: Because! (in an exasperated voice) that wasn’t really, it had to be why the land was so important. (In a resigned tone, reading) The land is important because the Inuit use the animals for clothing. “So Sra. A made you change it?” I asked, probing to see if my observations might be confirmed, simplistically trying to single out one actor in the suppression of his developing syncretic literacy socialization. But again, claiming the right to both save face and represent himself as in control of his text-making process—as a “good student” who knew the institutionally valued answer, Max insisted, rather matter-of-factly: “No, I just wanted to change it” (March 22, 2016). 171 6.6.4 The Wolf at the Back On May 10, 2016, after handing in a test, Max came to the back of the room where I was observing the class and somewhat nervously asked me to come with him: “I want to show you something.” I asked where it was, and he gestured toward his desk. We both seemed to be aware of the transgressive nature of our interaction, taking place during the undesignated classroom time he now found himself in. We communicated in low voices as he led me to the unofficial space his drawing now occupied at the back of his Inuit-themed colouring book (Figures 6.3, 6.4). Most of the booklet’s official colouring pages had been left untouched. On the back cover of the photocopied and stapled-together colouring book, he’d drawn a wolf with intricate designs within it, including a star and a mountain (Figure 6.5). When I ask him about the star, he replied that he had seen it in one of his books. Figure 6.3: The Cover of Max’s Inuit Colouring Book 172 Figure 6.4: One of the Many Untouched Pages of Max’s Inuit Colouring Book Figure 6.5: The Wolf Max Drew on the Back of his Inuit Colouring Book I pulled away from the interaction sooner than I would have liked because I felt obligated to observe the relative silence of the test-taking environment. In the last ten minutes of the day, though, when the class was enjoying a period of unstructured time (Latin American folk music playing over the classroom speakers, students completing assignments, conversing, and working 173 in their Inuit colouring books), I approached Max again about the wolf drawing at the back of his colouring book, which he was now filling in with more colour. Unsure of where to start, I pointed to the red-coloured earth the wolf was standing on: Ava: Is that blood? (pause) Max: It’s the only colour I could find. After a few more turns I asked: “So why’d you draw your own picture?” Claiming authority and agency over his creation, Max replied: Max: Um… I just wanted to. Ava: Yeah. Max: That and I got the idea ‘cause, and I did this at the Art Gallery with, um, what’s your story? And then I drew another one— Just then, his best friend Pablo came over to us and interjected, commenting, as someone who knew Max well would: “Let me guess. A wolf.” “Yes,” Max replied, matter-of-factly. “Wow!” I continued, not wanting to lose the story’s momentum. “The Art Gallery?” Max: Yeah. Ava: They said what’s your story? And you drew a wolf? Max: Yeah. I did it this way. I asked if Eduardo had accompanied him and his sister to the gallery, and Max confirmed that he had. In this sense, Max’s use of the blank page at the back of the colouring book served as a space for him to connect with the extra-curricular workbook in a personally meaningful and culturally relevant way, and in doing so, it became an opportunity for others (like Pablo and me) 174 to inquire about his creative process and simultaneously validate the syncretic knowledge and relationships that his drawing indexed. I decided to inquire further about the knowledge that seemed to be codified in his drawing: “So what are these symbols? What are your drawings symbolizing here [on the wolf’s body]?” After a long pause, Max replied: Max: I, I say it’s all his memories. Ava: It’s all his memories? What are they? Can you help me read it? Max: Shooting star… Ava: Uh huh. Max: And mountains… huge mountains. (pause) Max: I don’t know. I forgot what this is. Ava: Yeah. Max: I just did it. Ava: Yeah. Max: And this is to symbolize the tail. Ava: Mhm? What about here, near his lungs? Max: /Ein/, I just did that. In Max’s family, the role of memory featured strongly (see Chapter 4), so in this way, his wolf drawing can be understood as a representation of his connection to family—one whose memories of travel to the mountains and to recognizing wolves in the landscape—were another key part of his identity. 175 As we can see in the last few turns, Max’s explanations seemed to thin out, interspersed with responses like “I just did that.” So after a few more unsuccessful attempts to elicit deeper explanations, Max clarified: “‘Cause it’s mostly an artist we read about,” which speaks to the influence of reading to his text-making and to the importance of having access to texts by and about Indigenous authors at school. But it also underscores the impact of reading about Indigenous authors on a young boy whose syncretic literacy socialization was an extension of his family’s Indigenous identity reclamation efforts. After this exchange, once the recorder was turned off, Max mentioned to me that “he did the wolf drawings because he didn’t know what he was ‘supposed to do’ on that blank page” (Field note, May 10, 2016). The stark contrast between this rather resigned comment that echoed the language of school assignments, and the rich drawing he chose to fill the blank page with, haunted me. Max seems to have chosen to design (New London Group, 1996) his own drawing on the one blank page in the colouring book not because he was looking for instruction (he could well have coloured in any of the preceding colouring sheets), but rather, to insert his syncretic identity (which indexed relationships, spirituality, and cultural heritage) in a less sanctionable, extra-curricular way. Despite the pedagogical shortcomings of supplying an Inuit-themed colouring book to the children to work on in their spare time, the colouring book topicalized Inuit visual art, which seemed to make space for the visual representation of Max’s wolf in a way that worksheets or even classroom discussions had not been able to. Without attentive and respectful audiences to create safe spaces for students with historically marginalized funds of knowledge (Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010; Wiltse, 2014), students have fewer opportunities to articulate the significance of their syncretic literacy practices. So when asked about their creative renderings of their identity texts (Cummins 176 & Early, 2011) or funds of knowledge (González et al., 2005), a student might reply, as Max did “I just did it” that way, leaving authoritative others (like teachers) in their learning environments to believe, in cases like Max’s, that the wolf was his favourite animal, rather than the deeply significant cultural artifact, syncretic literacy tool, and Indigenous identity reclamation device that it was. 6.7 Discussion The results presented above confirm the central role of family in literacy socialization (see Gregory et al., 2013a, 2013b; Maybin, 2009; Sterponi, 2012) and particularly those of grandparents as caregivers and literacy mediators (e.g., Jessel et al., 2011). Indeed, the lens of syncretism (Duranti & Ochs, 1996; Gregory et al., 2013a) in particular highlighted the role of Eduardo not only as caregiver (e.g., caring for Max and Ella after school, taking them to the art gallery), but also as a key mediator of Max’s syncretic literacy socialization, literally coauthoring his grandson’s author biography in the first example (Figure 6.1). Throughout their interactions, which were frequently mediated by text, image, and narrative, Max and his grandfather were syncretizing their experiences, knowledge, and finding synergies of mutual interest. They were constructing continuity in their shared Indigenous ancestry by creatively reapplying it (at times subversively, as in the colouring book example) to their present-day, local surroundings. Consequently, because language and literacy socialization “is both a lifelong and a ‘life-wide’ process across communities and activities” (Duff, 2012, p. 564), through their syncretic literacy practices in Canada, Max and his grandfather were able to successfully insert themselves into their own learning, identity development and expression, and literacy socialization in ways that would likely not have been possible in other national, educational, or temporal contexts. As Duranti and Ochs (1997) and Gregory et al. (2013a) have posited, syncretism does not simply 177 refer to supplanting one cultural practice for another, or braiding two or more cultural practices together. Syncretism implies the creation of a wholly new cultural practice out of the dynamic interplay of different social and semiotic (cultural, political, historical) influences. In the case of this Mapuche-identifying, Chilean-Canadian family’s literacy socialization practices, a powerful manifestation of syncretism can be seen in the way that Eduardo drew on local Métis and Cree authors’ work to inspire and support his family’s deeper Indigenous and literacy socialization goals—goals which were only partially supported by the school. The value of Eduardo and Max’s syncretic literacy practices stretches across scales of space and time (Douglas Fir Group, 2016; Pahl, 2007; Rowsell & Pahl, 2007). According to Inés, the opportunity for their grandchildren to study in Spanish at school was “a dream'' that she and her compatriots had had since arriving in Canada as refugees of the Pinochet dictatorship in the 1970s (Inés and Eduardo Interview, May 3, 2016)—a move which, research has shown, could in fact support their Mapuche identities. As Martínez and Mesinas (2019) have observed: “despite being a colonial/colonizing language, [Spanish] can serve as a powerful vehicle for Indigenous survivance” (p. 140) because it can help facilitate a connection to Chilean-Mapuche culture, in this case, which is significant in contexts of Indigenous language loss or erasure (see also Morales, Saravia, & Pérez-Iribe, 2019). In a related way, Inés and her husband’s efforts to foster positive Indigenous identities in their grandchildren through literacy practices was fulfilling a dream that spanned decades and continents. Mapuche feminist activist, Rosa Isolde Reuque Paillalef (2002) explains the relationship between Mapuche cultural resurgence in Chile and the Pinochet dictatorship this way: 178 If the dictatorship had any positive effect, it was to reawaken our culture. I think in times of great repression people look for ways to connect to each other and unify. When the repression was greatest, the Mapuche movement was strongest: with militant revivals of our language, our traditions, our traditional organizations. . . . Our greatest strength was that the younger generation was able to rekindle our identity as a people. (p. 115) Although Max and Ella’s grandparents (maternal and paternal) left Chile at the beginning of the dictatorship, Inés and Eduardo carried this sense of reawakening with them to Canada, and were able to continue on their path of reclamation, socializing their own children, and later their grandchildren, into proud Indigenous identities primarily through connections with local Indigenous peoples (e.g., Cree) and participation in cultural activities like round dances and powwows. Unfortunately, at school, where the official focus was on Spanish-English bilingualism, the Indigenous aspect of Max’s ancestry was largely eclipsed by the school’s valorization of his Chilean/Hispanic heritage. Indeed, Max’s White Canadian teacher (whose basic education was in Canada) knew that his grandparents were actively involved in promoting Indigenous cultural awareness activities in the school, but it wasn’t clear to what extent she recognized Max’s Indigenous ancestry (or that of his Mapuche- and Indigenous-identifying peers, for that matter). This dissonance might have been partly due to “the false and pernicious representations of Indigenous peoples as vanishing Canadians” (Battiste, 2013, pp. 31–32) (or vanishing peoples and cultures more broadly) to which Valentina referred in an interview, and which I observed in the children’s social studies discussions of Canada’s Indigenous people. As Battiste (2017) points out: 179 The [Canadian] education system has not yet ensured that non-Indigenous children develop an accurate understanding of the Indigenous peoples in Canada and their knowledge systems, much less who is their neighbour. Instead, education systems perpetuate a biased construction of the strength of colonialism [posing] as globalism. (p. 32) In formal learning spaces, Max was largely denied the power to impose reception (Bourdieu, 1977, p. 649) of his Indigenous identity and knowledge using the oral mode, which was even more profound given the colonial history of silencing Indigenous children in schools. However, by syncretizing wolves into his text-making at school—a powerful index of his ancestry, literacy identity, and family relationships—Max created ways to give voice to an aspect of his identity in an institutional space that could not or would not appreciate it. In their analysis of Ugandan children’s drawings of HIV/AIDS, Becker-Zayas et al. (2018) observed that drawings can offer “children a less restricted and less institutionalized space to represent sensitive subject matter, which in turn, offers a means to insert themselves” into difficult yet important societal conversations (p. 385). While none of Max’s drawings represented anything that could be construed as “difficult” or problematic in mainstream classrooms, the spiritual, cultural, political, and kin relationships that his stories and drawings of wolves represented became a form of difficult knowledge in the classroom (Pitt & Britzman, 2003), because they represented knowledge that his White Canadian teacher had been socialized to understand only in a superficial way, in line with the Eurocentric, colonial educational goals that have actively suppressed respectful cultural representations of Indigenous people and their intellectual and spiritual contributions. Consequently, Max’s rich understanding of and connection to wolves was not valued as such, and that aspect of his identity endured a form of symbolic erasure at school. 180 Aside from large-scale policy changes, teachers have a significant role to play in transforming students’ (and their own) perspectives (Cummins & Early, 2011; Kenner & Ruby, 2013; Long et al., 2013) regarding Indigenous learners from local and international backgrounds, and their relationship to both. 6.8 Conclusions and Implications For decades, language and literacy researchers have studied the ways in which schools privilege certain ways of being, knowing, and communicating to the exclusion of all others. Manifestos advocating greater social, linguistic, and multimodal inclusivity have been written (e.g., New London Group, 1996), and calls for increased socio-political engagement have been made (Douglas Fir Group, 2016). Scholars have put forth vital critiques of the underlying racist and colonial ideological biases in our research and teaching practice that have prevented (and in some cases, reversed) any real progress in this area (e.g., Flores & Rosa, 2015; Macedo, 2019a ). It would therefore be insufficient to conclude this chapter by arguing that colonial models of education continue to marginalize students, or that students have complex identities, or that their out-of-school socialization has bearing on their in-school engagement and achievement. These points have been made, repeatedly and robustly (e.g., Dyson, 1997; González et al., 2005; Heath, 1982; Macedo, 2019a ). The foregoing examination of the wolf figure in Max’s syncretic literacy socialization brings our attention to the interconnectivity of students’ funds of knowledge across time and space, via relationships, identities, and social movements, as well as multimodal forms of representation and expression. In this study, Max was being socialized into a syncretic Indigenous identity in a diasporic space through text, image, and narrative, which worked across scales to extend the current cultural revitalization work of Indigenous groups in Chile and 181 Canada. In other words, it bears remembering that a child’s funds of knowledge are not theirs alone—they are nested within and linked to the knowledge of others in their world, which can span generations, as well as cultural, national, and importantly, political contexts. Just like Fatih’s birds (Pahl, 2007), children’s syncretic literacy practices are nested within socialization practices that work across multiple scales. In this way, the syncretic literacy lens sensitizes us not only to the complexities inherent in children’s text-making, but also to the embeddedness of their text-making in multi-scalar social, cultural, political, and historical contexts. Students’ stories are linked to other stories, which, as we saw in the foregoing analysis, can be the narratives of broader political and cultural movements. When considering the politicized elements that children’s literacy practices can embed and the key role they play in children’s broader socialization as actors in multiple communities of practice, it is difficult not to hear the intergenerational echoes of social justice lessons yet to be learned, and to ask questions about how these lessons might lead us toward a more affectively and politically conscious future (Freadman, 2014; Freire, 1970/2000; Macedo, 2019a ; Simon et al., 2000b). The identity claims (Compton-Lilly et al., 2017) that our students make multimodally are rooted in multiple, politicized histories and communities of practice. Acknowledging these claims and facilitating dialogue between them will be invaluable in building inclusive pedagogies for language and literacy education that are attuned to the increasing climatic, economic, and migratory uncertainty in the world. 182 Chapter 7: Conclusion In this chapter, I briefly summarize the study’s most significant findings and contributions, describe some of its particularities, outline possible implications, and posit some directions for future research. I conclude the chapter with some remarks about the research process and my hope that heritage language education will begin to engage substantively with the historical and political dimensions of language, culture, and identity. 7.1 Summary of Findings and Contributions In this section, I draw on insights from Chapters 4, 5, and 6 to respond holistically to the study’s guiding questions. The questions are: 1. What genres (e.g., narrative) did the Calfu family’s language and literacy socialization practices take, particularly relating to their difficult cultural knowledge? (e.g., Chile, the events surrounding El Once, living in diaspora) 2. How were Max and Ella socialized to talk about and understand cultural practices and symbols that were important to their family and diaspora community? 3. How was Max and Ella’s heritage language socialization shaped by their imagined transnationalism, and what were the possible implications of their imagined transnationalism for their heritage language trajectories? 4. In what ways did Max and Ella mobilize elements of their other (non-national) identities and interests to construct their identities at school, at home, and in other settings? How were these identities interpreted and validated (or not) in different settings? 183 7.1.1 Chapter 4 Summary In this chapter, I sought to address what I have long perceived to be a major gap in heritage language research, namely how the intergenerational socialization of difficult cultural knowledge affects young people’s relationship to their heritage language (their heritage language trajectories). I found that verbal interaction, particularly narrative mediated through IRE exchanges, was the primary mode through which the explicit LLS of difficult cultural knowledge took place. Despite the formulaic structure of the IRE exchange, however, Max and Ella acted in both expected and unexpected ways, which worked to claim authoritative tellership, and to defer it to others while demonstrating their knowledge of the importance of remembering and retelling their mother’s version of the El Once narrative precisely. These exchanges were a site of moral and political socialization into collectivist and socially-conscious values, and also of socialization into a community of memory (Simon, 2005) that spurred their family’s immigration to Canada—the process that rendered their family language and culture “heritage.” Perhaps the most significant finding from this chapter was the way that the children deployed their difficult knowledge (both of their family’s migration and from more recent narratives) to begin to make sense of widely circulating discussions of Donald Trump’s rise to power by drawing on their own histories and cultural identities. It is important to note also that the events surrounding El Once and the experience of living in and constructing a diasporic culture following September 11, 1973 had a constant presence through artifacts and in interaction in the family home especially. For instance, in the family’s dining area, a poster of Victor Jara served as a symbol of collective memory, which had a physical presence during dinner conversations, homework sessions, arts and crafts, and family phone calls. Indeed, socialization into difficult cultural knowledge took place largely outside of 184 the school in all modes, thereby reinforcing the school context as a space where such histories were not relevant or valued, even though they were part of the migration stories (and a key meaning-making device) of a number of the students and some of the faculty. The absence of these histories in school worked to socialize the students into an understanding of Latin American cultures at school as largely ahistorical and apolitical (with the exception of “safe” images of the pre-colonial period in the Americas). 7.1.2 Chapter 5 Summary Recognizing that the Calfu family invoked Chile fairly regularly in their daily interactions, I decided to examine how talk (and other multimodal representations) about their heritage country and hypothetical travel to it fostered “an opportunity for imagined transnationalism” (Duff, 2015, p. 18) and potentially impacted their HLL trajectories. Relatively few heritage language studies that have considered the impact of travel to the heritage country on HLLs’ language and identity development have also adopted the lens of imagination (but see Kanno, 2003; Kanno & Norton, 2003). Transnationalism has been a very tangible experience for HLLs in a number of studies (e.g., Decapua & Wintergerst, 2009; Guardado & Becker, 2014; Sakamoto, 2000; cf. Kanno, 2003), and one through which to maintain both real and imagined ties to friends and family in the heritage country. Nevertheless, the role of imagination in language learning is significant (e.g., Kanno & Norton, 2003; Kramsch, 2009, 2014; Li & Zhu, 2018), and particularly so in diasporic contexts where physical travel is limited by multiple factors (e.g., legal, financial, public health). In this chapter, I endeavoured to engage with the relatively small body of heritage language literature that has considered imagination and imagined transnationalism, while paying close attention to the role of difficult cultural knowledge in the Calfu family’s construction of Chile. 185 It was not surprising that Max and Ella derived their greatest sense of cultural belonging from participation in their local Chilean-Canadian diaspora community (e.g., Potowski, 2004; Zentella, 1997), and not from travel to Chile itself (which they hadn’t yet done). Over the course of the study, Max and Ella did not express any (unsolicited) desire to travel to Chile, but they did express wanting to return to Cuba, where their family had enjoyed a holiday together when the children were pre-school aged. A number of their peers would also travel to Cuba over spring break, a luxury the Calfu family couldn’t currently afford. But when their friends returned from their Cuban vacations, their narratives would echo Max and Ella’s positive memories and prompt talk of wanting to travel there. Attention to the difficult cultural knowledge in the family’s discursive construction of Chile enabled me to understand why, perhaps, at ages seven and nine, travel to Chile was not as desirable as travel to Cuba, despite their family’s strong affective connections and commitment to social justice in Chile. While the children’s talk about Cuba constructed it as a place of leisure, with activities like swimming and eating ice cream, Chile was often associated (consciously or unconsciously) with insecurity (the coup, earthquakes, the death of their beloved president, and the more recent deaths of family members). There were, of course, positive renderings of Chile as well, as we could see in Ella’s drawing of Chile, stories about family members who still lived there, and in the family’s positive connection to their Mapuche ancestry. Nevertheless, Max seemed to be the most vocal about not wanting to travel to Chile, citing socially acceptable reasons such as hot weather or not wanting to speak Spanish there. Interestingly, he also seemed to be more comfortable with (or at least more rehearsed at) engaging in discussions about the difficult aspects of his family’s migration story and the events surrounding El Once than his sister was, who seemed to be generally more ambivalent about going to Chile. Because 186 preserving the memory of Chile’s difficult past was so valued in this family—arguably more so than maintaining their heritage language even—citing the weather or language preferences was less sanctionable than pointing to any sense of danger Max might have experienced when imagining travel to the country. It is noteworthy that having to speak Spanish and hot weather were never given as reasons not to visit Cuba. While Max and Ella appeared to be rather reluctant to visit Chile, their attitudes toward travelling to the country shifted over the course of the study, and I expect they will continue to change over their lifespans. At the time (2015-2016), some of the reasons their parents deemed important to keep in contact with the heritage country (e.g., fundraising for earthquakes, commemorating assassinated heroes) were likely some of the reasons the children may not have been keen to travel there. But because of the substantial—and admirable—value that the family places on commemoration and social justice efforts, to have resisted the idea of going to Chile for reasons related to those values would have been to risk positioning themselves, even tentatively, as cultural outsiders and as somehow misaligned with their family’s ongoing quest for social justice in their heritage country. Nevertheless, from a “lifelong and a ‘life-wide’” (Duff, 2012, p. 564) perspective, knowing the difficult aspects of Chile’s past in relation to their family’s migration story could prompt future travel, as it did for members of Max and Ella’s parents’ generation, and could motivate continued (or renewed) investment in using Spanish in order to go beyond superficial connections and conversations once they arrive (Becker, 2013). 7.1.3 Chapter 6 Summary Children’s identity construction is often discussed in a relatively ahistorical light, in terms of their contemporary affiliations, living kinship ties, and current interests. However, as Lemke (2000) has written: 187 The formation of identity, or even fundamental change in attitudes or habits of reasoning, cannot take place on short timescales. Even if short-term events contribute toward such changes, it is only the fact that they are not soon erased, do not quickly fade—that subsequent events do not reverse the change—that makes it count. It is the longer-term process, including the effects of subsequent events, that determines for us the reality of basic human social development. (p. 282) The syncretic lens I applied in my examination of Max’s wolves across sites and over time highlighted not only the deeply meaningful multimodal literacy practices that take place over time outside of the school (Gregory et al., 2013; Rowsell & Pahl, 2007, 2010), but also the multiscalar historical and political dimensions of these multimodal expressions of his Indigenous identity. By centering the influence of his abuelo particularly in his recurrent wolf-themed literacy practices, their political significance became more visible. For instance, according to Eduardo and Inés, given Chile’s historical (and current) relationship with the Mapuche people, it is highly unlikely that such opportunities would have been available to Max if he were being educated in the Chilean school system. In this sense, Max’s wolves were both a site of identity making, heritage socialization, and anti-colonial resistance from (in the Chilean diasporic sense) and within Canada. Through the ethnographic perspective that I adopted in this study, I was able to see how embracing an Indigenous identity as part of (and sometimes alongside) the development of a Chilean-Canadian diasporic identity was linked to El Once. For instance, the Calfus’ living room was adorned with artworks (paintings and artifacts) from local and Chilean Indigenous cultures. While these Indigenous images and artifacts did not directly represent difficult cultural knowledge, Mapuche people were brutally repressed under Pinochet’s regime (Crow, 2013) and 188 thus, the presence of such objects was deeply indexical of both difficult cultural knowledge—and cultural resurgence (Reuque Paillef, 2002) in Chile and abroad. Indeed, the prominence of Indigenous artifacts in the family home was a constant reminder of the family’s resilience and ability to draw on different strands of their cultural heritage to cope with the additional trauma of exile (the original and ongoing trauma being colonial ideologies and structures). While Max’s teacher at Escuela Magpie School might not have been prepared to fully appreciate or engage with Max’s wolves, the school’s public embrace of local Indigenous cultures through mural painting, regular Indigenous guest speakers, and whole-school studies of Indigenous authors and artists, seemed to carve out a space for Max’s syncretic Indigenous identity work, as the colouring book example demonstrated. In a sense, even these small or marginal spaces can be meaningful steps toward greater inclusivity in language education. But the onus is on teacher educators and teachers themselves to recognize the complexity within cultural identities as a source of enrichment, as potential sites of critical civic engagement, and even, potentially, as forms of reconciliation and cultural reclamation across multiple scales. 7.2 Particularities The small number of focal participants (n=8) offers a very detailed, yet very particular view of the language and literacy socialization of difficult knowledge. In line with the resonance goals of this work, I sought naturalistic generalization instead of “explicated” generalization (Stake, 1995). Also, because of the small number of participants and the many unique characteristics of the school, the family, and the teachers, I decided to omit a number of key details about them that would have enhanced both the credibility of the analysis, and possibly, its potential for naturalistic generalization. 189 While my existing relationship with the Calfu family afforded facilitated access to my participants’ lived experience in ways that few others could have enjoyed, this relationship may have also limited the research in important ways. For instance, I did not want to come across as metida (meddlesome) in the family’s lives, so I didn’t arrange for as many data-collection or analysis activities as I might have. As Duff (2008b) poignantly observes, participating in ethnographic research can be quite onerous, and introducing (or repeatedly reintroducing) formal aspects of the research for participants to consent to “only increases the sense of suspicion, imposition, or intrusion” (p. 116). On the other hand, the more passive role I assumed as researcher may have had some benefits. To give one example, it seemed to open up a freer space for the family—and particularly the children—to come to me with things (issues, artifacts, opinions) that they thought I would find interesting or helpful. Despite the school’s friendly faculty and students, I felt like a perpetual outsider there, and I always felt somewhat uncomfortable being open about my interest in difficult cultural knowledge—as if the mere mention of it might be looked at “not just with critical skepticism, but with dismissive suspicion” (Simon, Rosenberg, & Eppert, 2000b, p. 1). (On one particularly memorable occasion in the teachers’ lounge, it was.) Consequently, I was not assertive during data collection, seeking refuge in abstraction: I professed to be interested in “cultural practices and values” and “language learning among the grandchildren of refugees”—interests that were not untrue, but not specific, either. In terms of data analysis, Tracy (2020) and others have emphasized how important it is to discuss ongoing findings with colleagues and peers. I was aware of this criterion for good qualitative research, but I also faced many tangible challenges in executing it, such as being away from my home university during and following the fieldwork period, which limited my 190 opportunities to meet and discuss data with other graduate students. In future research projects, I will know to be more cognizant of my personal and systemic limitations and seek out (or advocate for) support early on in the process. A final, yet crucial point concerning my positionality: I am a White woman who, until the final stages of writing this dissertation, had not fully begun to engage in the emotionally, intellectually, and psychically uncomfortable work of examining my whiteness and my complicity in multiple structures of oppression that I likely upheld and enacted throughout this research. Such engagement is implicitly presented as optional in our field, with “critical” scholarship offset by critical labelling in conference strands and journals. I believe that “critical” perspectives should not be optional or separate from other areas of research; all research is political, and all researchers benefit from differing degrees of privilege. Whiteness and systemic racism are not optional; they are ever-present social, psychic, and embodied realities (Menakem, 2017). A confessional statement in a paper’s abstract or short paragraph in its Methods section is insufficient to address these realities in research. To continually advocate for an assets- or funds-of-knowledge-based approach to learning is futile if educators are unable to examine the ways in which their best intentions may work in the service of White supremacy, and uphold structures that keep students in the margins (see Macedo, 2019a; Paris & Alim, 2014; Rosa & Flores, 2019). Having recently come into a deeper understanding of White privilege and whiteness, I am beginning to see how conducting research without an awareness of race and racism will limit its implications. For this reason, I am committed to continuing to educate myself about racism (and other mechanisms of marginalization, such as classism and sexism), and to conducting future research with these understandings at the front of my mind. 191 7.3 Implications 7.3.1 For Families The potential implications of this research for families, especially families of HLLs whose migration stories include difficult cultural knowledge, are many. But perhaps the main implication of this research for families is its potential for cultural validation and better representation of post-exile families in the applied linguistics literature. If HLLs’ family histories and cultures are understood as “the way intergenerational memories pervade present conversations” and their cultural identities are approached “as the answer to the question ‘what story or stories am I a part of?’” (Freadman, 2014, p. 383), schools might be less inclined to see HLLs one-dimensionally, through the nationalistic, foods-fair-folklore lenses, and greater opportunities for inter- and intracultural understanding could emerge. With more points of entry into heritage culture narratives (i.e., not only superficial or “sunny days” tropes), and the normalization of difficult knowledge in discussing culture, children like the Calfus are more likely to see their families represented in school, and are more likely to take pride and invest in continuing to use their HLs. When I have presented on the findings of previous research with a common focus on HLLs and difficult cultural knowledge (Becker-Zayas, 2016a, 2016b, 2017), Latinx attendees have sometimes approached me afterwards to thank me for telling their story. Similarly, during data collection, Inés thanked me for asking her whether she inquired about her students’ difficult family migration stories, because it compelled her to invite a Salvadorean friend to share her migration story. When the woman began to cry as she told her story to Inés’s grade one students, Inés explained to them that “it can be emotional when people share their memories,” and linked the story to the Syrian refugee crisis they’d been learning about. “I mean, that’s the backbone,” 192 Inés concluded about the way she now understood the role of difficult migration stories in her bilingual teaching practice. “I will talk to my colleagues individually about doing this.” I take these two examples as evidence that recognition and validation of difficult cultural knowledge in heritage language learning is important to families for whom these stories form a key piece of their cultural identities. 7.3.2 For Teachers and Teacher Educators Above all, this case study offers educators a unique glimpse into the negotiation of difficult cultural knowledge in the in- and out-of-school socialization of two Spanish HLLs in Western Canada, who were descended from grandparents who fled their home country. Students who have immigrated to Canada are often categorized or coded by school boards (e.g., “English Language Learner”) in order to allocate funding to provide presumedly appropriate supports. Although coding students can be extremely problematic, by design, coded students are more recognizable to their teachers. But HLLs like Max and Ella, who are third-generation Canadians on their mother’s side, receive no explicit coding pertaining to their cultural and linguistic heritage, and so their heritage (in addition to other relevant aspects of their lives and identities) is only known to their teachers if and when students deem it safe or appropriate to share. Teachers therefore have an important role to play, and responsibility, even, to foster safe and welcoming spaces for students like Max and Ella to bring the historical and political dimensions of their heritage into their heritage language learning—dimensions that may be cornerstones of their cultural and linguistic development outside of school. Despite the importance of difficult cultural knowledge for different social groups, it is an institutional habitus to construct difficult knowledge as inherently problematic and therefore irrelevant to learning (Simon et al., 2000b). Educators’ discomfort with difficult cultural knowledge does not mean that this knowledge is 193 irrelevant or even dangerous, as some teachers might believe. It is important for teachers to bear in mind that the generational remove at which students like Max and Ella find themselves from El Once, for instance, serves as a kind of affective barrier from the trauma of the experiencing generation, and also as a bridge to the past, because the past itself is not as affectively triggering as it was for the generation before (Baum, 2000). Insofar as language, culture, history, and identity are intrinsically intertwined, the most important implication for teachers and teacher educators, however, might be to keep in mind that difficult cultural knowledge can be productive—transformative, even—providing opportunities to learn “from social breakdowns in ways that might open teachers and students to their present ethical obligations (Pitt & Britzman, 2003, p. 756). Drawing on students’ difficult cultural knowledge can support language maintenance and learning, as it can serve to validate cultural identities rooted in traumatic pasts, enhance intergenerational understanding, and even promote the development of positive self-esteem (Fivush, 2008, 2010) and other positive physical and mental health outcomes (e.g., Chandler & Lalonde, 1998; McIvor & Napoleon, 2005). Indeed, it is the “incommensurability” of difficult knowledge, and ultimately, the social and affective challenge that engaging students’ difficult knowledge presents, that might be best suited for the current historical moment. As Kramsch (2014) has observed: “A modernist pedagogy feels it necessary to standardize the situation to make it teachable. A pedagogy for global times must wonder whether this is the best way to teach learners how to link text and social context in a world that has become much more unstable” (p. 307). In Escuela Magpie School, the principal claimed not to have read the Common Curriculum Framework for Bilingual Programming in International Languages (1999), and most of the teachers did not have language teacher training; they were trained broadly in 194 elementary education, and were hired because they were to some degree bilingual in English and Spanish. Bilingualism-focused curricular documents exist, and language education courses are available, but both, it seems, are optional. As such, it was not entirely surprising that the teachers I spoke with did not identify as language teachers first, even though all teachers are technically language teachers, and perhaps even more explicitly so in a bilingual program. But what is a language teacher if not a teacher of meaning making? As Kramsch (2014) has remarked: language teachers are teachers of meaning, and . . . the notion of meaning should be expanded to include its interpretive and discursive symbolic dimensions. The professional repertoire of language teachers should include, in that respect, a deep reflection on their own personal experiences and professional trajectories. (p. 309) Building on the work of critical scholars in language education, I would add that such “deep reflection” must necessarily include adopting an antiracist and decolonial perspectives in order to understand how language teachers can be routinely complicit in marginalizing the very students they seek to support (Flores & Rosa, 2019; Macedo, 2019b; Rosa, 2019). In Escuela Magpie School, languages were officially treated as separate from each other (e.g., the “Spanish in the mornings” and “English in the afternoons” policy common in many bilingual programs), and culture was treated as something students experienced at home or abroad, and that fit or did not fit in with specific curricular goals or projects. However, as research has repeatedly shown, and as this study provides evidence for, language and culture operate much more fluidly. Culture (like language) is never ahistorical, apolitical, impersonal, or optional, as it is often treated when teaching language or when teaching through language (Blackledge & Creese, 2008; Byram & Kramsch, 2008; Duff, 1993; Freadman, 2014; Kramsch, 2014; Macedo, 2019b; Rubin-McGregor & Rubin, 2018). The apparently “safe” decision to build 195 language learning around an ahistorical, apolitical portrayal of foods-fairs-folklore is indeed a political and ideological stance that marginalizes HLL families for whom historical and political dimensions of culture are paramount, and it robs non-HLL families of an opportunity for deeper intercultural awareness, personal reflection, and intellectual growth. Finally, I chose to write this dissertation as a series of publishable manuscripts in order to facilitate the dissemination of the study’s findings and ideas, and to stimulate discussion among teachers of students like Max and Ella. The most concrete action that concerned teachers and administrators of HLLs might take at this point is to educate themselves further, individually or collectively, about heritage language education in particular—but with an emphasis on social, affective, historical, and critical perspectives, and with a commitment to reflecting on their own relationship to difficult cultural knowledge as part of their teaching practice. It is also important to keep in mind teachers do not need to be familiar with their students’ histories or share their cultural heritage to engage with it meaningfully in the classroom (Byram & Kramsch, 2008). Making space for student histories can take the shape of a question, or inquiry project, rather than a lesson (Campano, 2007; Marshall & Toohey, 2010). Questions have value at the level of teacher education and professional development, as well, as we saw above in my interaction with Inés (7.3.1 For Families). 7.3.3 For Policymakers Perhaps in some ways as a result of validating cultural identities at the individual and social group level, this study has bottom-up implications for structural change. For instance, while there continues to be a vocal segment of the Canadian population that views education in languages other than English or French to be a threat to the Canadian imaginary (see Bale, 2019; Cummins & Danesi, 1990; Haque, 2012), over the past 50 years the unabated advocacy of 196 parents and educators has led to the proliferation of bilingual allophone language programs in Canadian K-12 schools. Indeed, around the year 2000, Escuela Magpie School (an anglophone school at the time) was slated for closure due to low enrollment when someone suggested that the school pilot a Spanish bilingual program. The introduction of Spanish bilingual programming not only saved the school from closure, but its increasing enrollment eventually warranted the recent construction of a new, larger school. In other words, actions at the grassroots level can impact higher-level decision making. In the case of this study, by mobilizing HLLs’ funds of (difficult) knowledge (Becker, 2014) as tools for inter- and intracultural understanding in the classroom, students whose cultural background might otherwise index conflict, widespread oppression, or even political ideologies that are not widely embraced in the local popular imagination may be repositioned for their strength. Such repositioning, if done thoughtfully while fostering historical consciousness (Seixas, 2004; Seixas & Morton, 2013), can become a catalyst for the kind of societal shift that would enable us to see common points of cross-cultural struggle and resilience. Language pedagogies that draw conscientiously on HLLs’ diverse funds of (difficult) knowledge could also serve to support educators in Canada as they continue to look for meaningful ways to engage with the recommendations of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (2015) in increasingly diverse classrooms. 7.4 Directions for Future Research This exploratory case study has begun to shed light on the multigenerational socialization of difficult cultural knowledge in a post-exile context, while attempting to link this socialization to two young children’s HLL trajectories. It builds primarily upon three robust research traditions in applied linguistics: language socialization, heritage language studies, and New 197 Literacy Studies. While research in all three areas is replete with examples from multigenerational, multicultural, and multilingual settings, more research is needed to understand the implications of the language and literacy socialization of difficult cultural knowledge for the heritage language trajectories of young HLLs. Longitudinal, multi-year studies would be particularly insightful in this respect, in order to see the way that young HLLs’ beliefs, attitudes, interests, and group membership shift over time (Lemke, 2000), along with their languaging practices (Møller, 2016; Wortham, 2012), as would research with HLLs from a range of linguistic and cultural backgrounds. Heritage language education research would benefit from a broader conceptualization of language. In this study, considering heritage language learning as heritage languaging allowed me to consider the implications of narrative and other social, political, and affective factors that I might not have if I had been more narrowly concerned with Max and Ella’s Spanish language development or overall use of Spanish in the home/ at school. As I discussed in Chapter 2, heritage languaging attempts to disentangle named languages from heritage language research—not to take away from the advocacy work that much of this work strives to accomplish, but in fact to include more voices in our research that might otherwise be excluded for having shifted to English. In their discussion of culturally sustaining pedagogies, Paris and Alim (2014) propose a focus on “heritage practices” (to do with the past, tradition) and “community practices” (to do with actual, current cultural practices). This distinction does not work in the context of the present study, but Paris and Alim’s inclusion of heritage or pastness in culturally sustaining pedagogies is crucial. The difficult knowledge and witnessing lenses I applied in this dissertation suggest that future heritage language research should combine the two (heritage and community) 198 to consider the ways in which HLLs deploy the past in the present, and ask: which aspects of culture are truly “old” or “traditional” or “ancestral,” which are truly “new,” and what do the interactional or multimodal practices that infuse the past into the present look like? What do they accomplish? Do they, as in the case of the Calfu family, serve ethical obligations over scales of space and time? Generally speaking, more heritage language research is needed that considers the everyday socialization of politics, history, and difficult knowledge over time and across settings. Which identities are eclipsed by the cultural myopia or systemic racism of formal learning institutions (e.g., in the case of Latin American Indigenous identities in Spanish language programs; multiracial or multiethnic HLLs)? Who benefits from such eclipses? Who benefits when cultural histories that families consider vital to their children’s learning as part of the “much larger process of becoming a person in society” (Ochs, 2003, p. 106), are absent at school, or are misunderstood or misrepresented when they are present? In what ways do subtle forms of cultural disenfranchisement, marginalization, and erasure manifest in and out of school, and how do they negatively impact young learners’ emerging identities and language learning interest or investment? How can schools disrupt these processes? A final, yet promising direction for future research in Spanish heritage language education will include a careful consideration of Indigenous identities (Baquedano-López & Borge Janetti, 2017; Guardado, 2008, 2010; contributions in Blackwell et al.’s 2017 special issue), and a consideration of the ways in which Spanish, a colonial language, may serve as a tool for cultural and linguistic survival among Indigenous-identifying Latinxs in diaspora. 7.5 Concluding Remarks When I began reading in preparation for this study, I found myself consistently drawn to scholarship on collective remembering and mass trauma. I struggled to find a way to link 199 collective remembering and mass trauma to language maintenance, but I knew that it was relevant, so I persisted. Knowing that your ancestors or relatives suffered greatly at the hands of a state that was supposed to protect them (Edkins, 2003), and being associated in diaspora with the governments that victimized your family in your heritage country generations ago can introduce a great deal of shame and confusion into the relationship you have with your cultural and linguistic heritage (Pavlenko, 2007). During our formative education in Canada, we are told that all languages and cultures are valuable and beautiful, but quickly learn—through omission or negative representation at school and in the broader society—that this is not the case. As such, attempts to de-historicize or depoliticize language and culture at school only serve to exacerbate this sense of confusion that I felt as a child, for instance, and that others undoubtedly feel, too. I noted such practices in Escuela Magpie School, and I’m sure I would have noticed them in other schools as well. For this reason, it is not enough to insist that all students have knowledge, and that knowledge has value (González et al., 2005). In fact, to continually insist that it does and that teachers should value it without recognizing the power structures that keep some histories out while ensuring the reproduction of others, is misguided at best, and harmful at worst. Cultural, personal, and intergenerational narratives are the primary mediators of human experience and identity (e.g., Fivush, 2008, 2010; Ochs & Capps, 2001). In North America, teachers have been encouraged to invite their students to incorporate their interests and family stories into their learning for decades. But “it is not enough to let learners tell their story. The story has to be socially acceptable, worthy of being listened and responded to” (Kramsch, 2013, p. 23). And in order to “make stories worth listening to,” we must question which stories are heard and taken seriously in institutions of learning. 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Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Zentella, A. C. (Ed.). (2005). Building on strength: Language and literacy in Latino families and communities. New York, NY: Teachers College Press. 234 Appendices Appendix A: Letters of Invitation and Initial Contact A.1 Snowball Sampling Email Hello, I’m writing to ask for your help in recruiting participants for my dissertation study. I’m interested in learning more about the Spanish language education and bilingual development of an under-researched population of language learners in Canada: heritage language learners (HLLs). In this study, HLLs are students who have a family connection to Spanish but who may or may not speak the language at home. Little is known about the needs of Spanish HLLs in Canada as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Ultimately, learning more about one “type” of language learner can lead to better pedagogy for all learners. In particular I’m looking for two groups of participants to help me with this research: 1. Families. At minimum, families interested in participating in the study will consist of: a. At least one grandparent who immigrated to Canada from Latin America in the 1970s or 1980s due to social or political unrest in their home country. b. At least one child who is enrolled in a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school. 2. Community members. “Community members” are defined here as people who have (had) some connection to the Latin American community that formed around the time social and political upheaval in their home countries in the 1970s and 1980s (e.g., Chile, Argentina, El Salvador, Guatemala, Nicaragua). If you happen to know of anyone who would meet the above criteria and might be interested in participating in my study, I would be very grateful if you would forward the attached letter/s along to them. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me by email (xxx@gmail.com) or by phone (xxx-xxx-xxxx), or you can contact my supervisor, Dr. Steven Talmy (xxx@ubc.ca). Many thanks, Ava 235 A.2 Teachers Dear Colleague, My name is Ava Becker-Zayas. I am a PhD candidate in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. One of the focal children in my dissertation study is in your class, and I am writing to ask if you would consider allowing me to use your classroom as a research site during the 2015-2016 school year. The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. This research has been approved by UBC, by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board, and the school principal. Parents of all children in the class will also be contacted to provide information about this study and to ask for their permission to allow their child’s participation. The children will also be asked for their permission to participate in this study. If you agree to allow me to use your classroom as a research site for this study, this is what will happen: • I will observe the focal child in my study as s/he interacts with you and his/her classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe. I would negotiate with you about when and how these observations are conducted to ensure that the times selected are acceptable to you. • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording device. • I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. • I will interview participating children about their thoughts and feelings about learning Spanish at school, their cultural identities, and their family migration stories. These interviews will be audio recorded so I can use them for data analysis. • I will interview you, the classroom teacher, two-four times over the duration of the study for your perspectives on teaching HLLs. • I will ask to see curricular and teaching materials that you use and have developed, and will ask you questions about how you use these materials with your HLLs. 236 I will make every effort not to interrupt classroom instruction because I do not wish to be a burden or a distraction, and because I want to observe what you and your students usually do regardless of my presence. I will also respect any classroom language policy you may have in effect. I do not believe there is anything in this study that could harm you. The study does not present any other risks than what would be expected in a daily classroom context. I am not conducting this study to evaluate you or your teaching. I am interested in learning about how the focal HLL child in my study negotiates his/her multiple identities and understanding of his/her heritage your classroom. There are several potential benefits to the people who participate in this study. First, students will likely gain a better understanding of themselves as learners. Second, there is the possibility that what is learned in this study will impact changes in policies in the school, school district, etc. and this could result in positive benefits for all learners in Spanish bilingual programs. Relatedly, I intend to share the results of this study locally (e.g., at professional development events such as conferences), so that teachers in this program might benefit more directly from what I find. This study is not related to the Corvidell Public/Catholic School Board/s. It is being conducted by a doctoral student for the purpose of completing her degree requirements at the University of British Columbia. At no time before or during this study should you feel any pressure from anyone to participate. Your participation is voluntary. If you have any questions about your rights as a participant in this study, you can contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. Your identity, your students’ identities, and the school’s identity will be kept strictly confidential. If you are interested in learning more about any aspect of this study, or would like to offer your classroom as a research site for my study, please contact Ava Becker-Zayas (co-investigator) by phone at xxx-xxx-xxxx, or by email at xxx@gmail.com. Best regards, Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx, Email: xxx@gmail.com Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor (Supervisor) Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: (xxx-xxx-xxxx), Email: xxx@ubc.ca 237 A.3 Schools Dear _________, My name is Ava Becker-Zayas. I am a PhD candidate in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. One or more of the focal children in my dissertation study attends your school, and I am writing to ask if you would consider allowing me to use your school as a research site during the 2015-2016 school year. The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Also, learning more about one “type” of learner can ultimately lead to better pedagogy for all learners. This research has been approved by UBC and by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board. If you agree to allow me to use your school as a site for this study, this is what will happen: • I will contact the classroom teachers of the focal child/ren in my study with a letter of invitation to allow me to use their classroom as a research site. • If the classroom teachers give their consent, parents of all children in the class will also be contacted and provided with information about this study, and asked for their permission to allow their child’s participation. The children will also be asked for their permission to participate in this study. (Consent to observe the focal child has already been obtained from his/her legal guardian, and from the child him/herself.) • I will observe the focal child/ren in my study as s/he interacts with their teacher and their classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe. I would negotiate with the teacher about when and how these observations are conducted to ensure that the times selected are acceptable to the teacher. • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. • I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. Photographs of student works will not be appear in any reports of the research findings without prior consent from the parents and assent from the child. • I will interview participating children about their thoughts and feelings about learning Spanish at school, their cultural identities, and their family migration stories. These interviews will be audio recorded so I can use them for data analysis. 238 • With his/her consent, I will interview the classroom teacher, two-four times over the duration of the study for his/her perspectives on teaching HLLs. • I will ask the teacher to see curricular and teaching materials that s/he uses and has developed, and will ask him/her questions about how s/he uses these materials with HLLs. • I will photograph of public spaces in the school (e.g., hallways, libraries) for further analysis. These photographs will not include people and will not, at any time, during or after the research, be made public without your consent. I will make every effort not to interrupt classroom instruction because I do not wish to be a burden or a distraction, and because I want to observe the classroom dynamics as they normally are, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any classroom language policy the school or classroom teachers may have put into effect. As a school administrator, I would also like to interview you regarding the school vision, school goals and background knowledge about the school context. Interviews would be audio recorded. I do not believe there is anything in this study that could harm anyone at your school. The study does not present any other risks than what would be expected in a daily classroom context. I am not conducting this study to evaluate the quality or effectiveness of instruction in your school. I am only interested in how the focal child in my study learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. There are several potential benefits to the people who participate in this study. First, students will likely gain a better understanding of themselves as learners. Second, there is the possibility that what is learned in this study will impact changes in policies in the school, school district, etc. and this could result in positive benefits for all learners in Spanish bilingual programs. Relatedly, I intend to share the results of this study locally (e.g., at professional development events such as conferences; at parent information nights), so that teachers and parents of children in this program might benefit more directly from what I find. This study is not related to the Corvidell Public/Catholic School Board/s. It is being conducted by a doctoral student for the purpose of completing her degree requirements at the University of British Columbia. At no time before or during this study should you feel any pressure from anyone to participate. Your participation is voluntary. If you have any questions about your rights as a participant in this study, you can contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. The school’s identity and the identities of its staff and students will be kept strictly confidential. If you are interested in learning more about any aspect of this study, or would like to offer your school as a research site for my study, please contact Ava Becker-Zayas (co-investigator) by phone at xxx-xxx-xxxx, or by email at xxx@gmail.com. 239 Best regards, Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor (Supervisor) Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca 240 A.4 Focal Parents Dear Parents, My name is Ava Becker-Zayas. I am a PhD candidate in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. I am writing to invite you and your family to participate in an important research project. What are you researching? The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom. In order to gain such an understanding, I will need to spend a fair amount of time with young HLLs (your child/ren) as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their grandparents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). I talk more about what participation would entail below. Why are you doing this research? This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Why am I being contacted about this research? You and your family are being invited to participate in this research because your child/ren attend a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school and because at least one of their grandparents immigrated to Canada from a Latin American country due to social or political unrest in the 1970s or 1980s. What will happen if we agree to participate? If you and your family (your children and at least one of their grandparents) agree to participate in this study, with your permission, this is what will happen: • I (Ava) will meet with you at the time and place of your convenience to go over the consent forms with you and answer any questions you might have about the study. • Once you and at least one of your children’s Latin American grandparents have signed the consent form, and your child (who attends a Spanish bilingual program in their 241 • elementary school) has given their assent, I will contact your child’s school to request permission to observe your child in their classroom setting for 3-4 hours, twice a week. Aside from observations and audio recordings of your child’s interactions in the classroom, with your child’s permission I would take photographs of any drawings, pieces of writing, or other artistic creations that have to do with their identity or the ways in which they understand their heritage. • We will then discuss when would be convenient for me to come to your family home (or the home of your child’s grandparents) to make the first (and subsequent) observation(s). With your family’s permission, twice per month from September 2015-July 2016, I will come to your or the grandparents’ home to take notes and make audio and video recordings of your child completing homework (for example), and interacting with different family members. • I will interview your child’s parents (e.g., you and your spouse) and grandparents three times over the course of the research; I will interview your child/ren twice. • At different points throughout the research, I will involve your child (with your and their permission) in different arts-based activities that will help me to get a better understanding of how they understand their language abilities and cultural background. These activities will include photography (I will supply disposable cameras), drawings, and child-led interviews of their grandparents. (If you have children who are not in a Spanish bilingual program at elementary school but would like to participate in these activities, they will be welcome to join in.) • I am also interested in observing your child’s interactions at community events. If your family decides to attend a Latin American community event and wouldn’t mind my making observations there (without any audio or video recordings), please let me know. I will make every effort not to disrupt your dinnertime or homework routines, for instance. My aim is to observe your family’s interactions as they normally happen, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any home language policy you might have established (e.g., Only Spanish on Saturdays). I do not believe there is anything in this study that could harm you or your family members. The study does not present any other risks than what would be expected in daily life. Classroom marks will not be affected if your child participates in this study. There are several potential benefits to the families who participate in this study. First, the children will likely gain a better understanding of themselves as learners of their heritage language. Second, there is the possibility that what is learned in this study will impact changes in policies in the school, school district, etc. and this could result in positive benefits for all learners in Spanish bilingual programs. Relatedly, I intend to share the results of this study locally (e.g., an information night), so that teachers and parents of students in this study might benefit more directly from what I find. This study is not related to the Corvidell Public/Catholic School Board/s. It is being conducted by a doctoral student for the purpose of completing her degree requirements at the University of British Columbia. At no time before or during this study should you feel any pressure from anyone to participate. Your participation is voluntary. If you have any questions about your 242 rights as a participant in this study, you can contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. Over the course of the research, your family members’ identities as well as the names of any people or places you mention in interviews or in informal comments to me, the researcher, will be kept strictly confidential. If you are interested in learning more about any aspect of this study, or would like to express interest in involving your family in the research, please contact Ava Becker-Zayas (co-investigator) by phone at xxx-xxx-xxxx or by email at xxx@gmail.com. Best regards, Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor (Supervisor) Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca 243 A.5 Focal Grandparents Dear Grandparents, My name is Ava Becker-Zayas. I am a PhD candidate in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. I am writing to invite you to participate in an important research project. What are you researching? The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom. In order to gain such an understanding, I will need to spend a fair amount of time with young HLLs (your grandchild/ren) as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their parents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). I talk more about what participation would entail below. Why are you doing this research? This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. This research will also be of benefit to their classmates who are not of similar backgrounds. Why am I being contacted about this research? You are being invited to participate in this research because your grandchild/ren attend a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school and because at least one of their grandparents immigrated to Canada from a Latin American country due to social or political unrest in the 1970s or 1980s. What will happen if I agree to participate? If you and your family (your children and at least one of their parents) agree to participate in this study, with your permission, this is what will happen: • I (Ava) will meet with you and your family at the time and place of mutual convenience to go over the consent forms with you and answer any questions you might have about the study. 244 • We will then discuss when would be convenient for me to come to your or your grandchild’s family home to make the first (and subsequent) observation(s). With your family’s permission, twice per month from September 2015-July 2016, I will come to your or the child’s home (depending on the location of the child, as well as your availability and willingness) to take notes and make audio and video recordings of your grandchild completing homework (for example), and interacting with different family members. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will interview you three times over the course of the research in the language/s of your choice (English or Spanish). • At one point over the course of the research, I will involve your grandchild (with your and their permission) in different arts-based activities that will help me to get a better understanding of how they understand their language abilities and cultural background. You and your life experiences may be the subject of some of these activities. These activities will include taking photographs (I will supply disposable cameras), drawings, and, with everyone’s permission, an interview that your grandchild will conduct and record with you in the language of your choice. Afterwards, your grandchild and I will listen to the interview together, and they will retell your story in words and drawings. • I am also interested in observing your grandchild’s interactions at community events. If your family decides to attend a Latin American community event and wouldn’t mind my making observations there (without any audio or video recordings), please let me know. I will make every effort not to disrupt your time with your family. My aim is to observe your family’s interactions as they normally happen, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any home language policy you might have established (e.g., Only Spanish on Saturdays). My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate you as a grandparent or how “well” your grandchild is learning Spanish. I’m interested in how she or he learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. I do not believe there is anything in this study that could harm you or your family members. The study does not present any other risks than what would be expected in daily life. Classroom marks will not be affected if your child participates in this study. There are several potential benefits to the families who participate in this study. First, the children will likely gain a better understanding of themselves as learners of their heritage language. Second, there is the possibility that what is learned in this study will impact changes in policies in the school, school district, etc. and this could result in positive benefits for all learners in Spanish bilingual programs. Relatedly, I intend to share the results of this study locally (e.g., an information night), so that teachers and parents of students in this study might benefit more directly from what I find. This study is not related to the Corvidell Public/Catholic School Board/s. It is being conducted by a doctoral student for the purpose of completing her degree requirements at the University of British Columbia. At no time before or during this study should you feel any pressure from anyone to participate. Your participation is voluntary. If you have any questions about your 245 rights as a participant in this study, you can contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. Over the course of the research, your family members’ identities as well as the names of any people or places you mention in interviews or in informal comments to me, the researcher, will be kept strictly confidential. If you are interested in learning more about any aspect of this study, or would like to express interest in participating in the research, please contact Ava Becker-Zayas (co-investigator) by phone at xxx-xxx-xxxx or by email at xxx@gmail.com. Best regards, Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor (Supervisor) Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca 246 A.6 Classmate Parents Dear Parents, My name is Ava Becker-Zayas. I am a PhD candidate in the Department of Language and Literacy Education at the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. I am writing to you to let you know about a research study that I am conducting in your child’s classroom, and to invite your child to participate in it. The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. And ultimately, learning more about one “type” of language learner can lead to better pedagogy for all learners. This research has been approved by UBC, by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board, and the school principal, and your child’s classroom teacher. I am now asking all the parents in the class for permission to allow their children to participate in the study (even if your child is not a HLL). If you agree to allow your child to participate in this study, this is what will happen: • I will observe your child as s/he interacts with the teacher and his/her classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. I will always ask the teacher’s permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. Photographs of student works will not be appear in any reports of the research findings without prior consent from you and assent from your child. • With your consent and your child’s permission, I will interview your child on two occasions (once at the beginning of the school year, and again towards the end) about their thoughts and feelings about learning Spanish, their friends, their cultural identities, and their family migration stories. These interviews will be audio recorded so I can use them for data analysis. I will make every effort not to interrupt classroom instruction because I do not wish to be a burden or a distraction, and because I want to observe what the teacher and students usually do, 247 regardless of my presence. I will also respect any classroom language policy that may be in effect. I do not believe there is anything in this study that could harm your child. The study does not present any other risks than what would be expected in a daily classroom context. Classroom marks will not be affected if your child participates in this study or does not participate in this study. There are several potential benefits to the students who participate in this study. First, they will likely gain a better understanding of themselves as learners. Second, there is the possibility that what is learned in this study will impact changes in policies in the school, school district, etc. and this could result in positive benefits for all learners in Spanish bilingual programs. Relatedly, I intend to share the results of this study locally (e.g., an information night), so that teachers and parents of students in this program might benefit more directly from what I find. This study is not related to the Corvidell Public/Catholic School Board/s. It is being conducted by a doctoral student for the purpose of completing her degree requirements at the University of British Columbia. At no time before or during this study should you feel any pressure from anyone to participate. Your participation is voluntary. If you have any questions about your rights as a participant in this study, you can contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Services at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. Your child's identity, the school’s identity, and any names your child may mention will be kept strictly confidential. If you are interested in learning more about any aspect of this study, or would like to give consent for your child to participate, please contact Ava Becker-Zayas (co-investigator) by phone at xxx-xxx-xxxx or by email at xxx@gmail.com. Best regards, Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor (Supervisor) Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca 248 Appendix B: Consent Forms B.1 Consent of Schools (Administrator/Principal) (Date) Consent Form (Administrator/Principal) Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@gmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are you doing this study and why should I take part? The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom in Corvidell. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Also, learning more about one “type” of learner can lead to better pedagogy for all learners. A child in your school has agreed (with the consent of their parents) to be a focal child in this study. I am writing to ask for your permission to use your classroom as a research site for this study. This research has been approved by UBC, by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board, and the school principal. Parents of all children in the class will also be contacted to provide information about this study and to ask for their permission to allow their child’s participation. The children will also be asked for their permission to participate in this study. 249 IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I want to volunteer my school as a research site for the study”? • I will contact the classroom teachers of the focal child/ren in my study with a letter of invitation to allow me to use their classroom as a research site. • If the classroom teachers give their consent, parents of all children in the class will also be contacted and provided with information about this study, and asked for their permission to allow their child’s participation. The children will also be asked for their permission to participate in this study. (Consent to observe the focal child has already been obtained from his/her legal guardian, and from the child him/herself.) • I will observe the focal child/ren in my study as s/he interacts with their teacher and their classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe. I would negotiate with the teacher about when and how these observations are conducted to ensure that the times selected are acceptable to the teacher. • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. I will always ask the teacher’s permission before turning on the recording device. • I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. Photographs of student works will not be appear in any reports of the research findings without prior consent from the parents and assent from the child. • I will interview participating children about their thoughts and feelings about learning Spanish at school, their cultural identities, and their family migration stories. These interviews will be audio recorded so I can use them for data analysis. • With his/her consent, I will interview the classroom teacher, two-four times over the duration of the study for his/her perspectives on teaching HLLs. • I will ask the teacher to see curricular and teaching materials that s/he uses and has developed, and will ask him/her questions about how s/he uses these materials with HLLs. • I will photograph of public spaces in the school (e.g., hallways, libraries) for further analysis. These photographs will not include people and will not, at any time, during or after the research, be made public without your consent. I will make every effort not to interrupt classroom instruction because I do not wish to be a burden or a distraction, and because I want to observe what usually goes on in classrooms regardless of my presence. I will also respect any classroom or school language policy that may be in effect. My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate your teaching or how “well” your students are learning Spanish. I’m particularly interested in how the focal child in my study learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in Spanish-English bilingual program at school. As a school administrator, I would also like to interview you regarding the school vision, school goals and background knowledge about the school context. Interviews would be audio recorded. 250 V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, Ava will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect me or my students? We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm you or negatively affect you or your students. However, some of the questions we ask might upset you, or might touch on issues that you find sensitive. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, teachers may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on or share aspects of their pedagogy, culture, life experiences and/or identity that they had not previously thought or talked about. In the case of your students, this kind of reflection could positively affect their bilingual development. Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. My (Ava’s) PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your school’s participation will make a contribution to the creation of new knowledge of particular relevance to language teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my identity be protected? Protecting your school’s anonymity and your teachers’ and students’ identities is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses the identity of the school, its staff, or its students will not be released without your consent unless required by law. The audio recordings and any digital photographs taken for the purposes of the research will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. All names of places and people as well as professional, organizational, or 251 institutional affiliations that are recorded over the course of the research will all be protected by pseudonyms. Your staff and students should feel able to speak freely and behave naturally when being recorded in interviews or during classroom observations. Samples of the audio or video recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of people or places, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out) and voices will be altered. X. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. XI. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XII. PARTICIPANT CONSENT AND SIGNATURE PAGE Consenting to offer your school as a research site for this doctoral study is entirely up to you. You have the right to refuse to offer your school as a research site in this study. You also have the right to refuse to be interviewed for this study. If you decide to give consent, you may choose to withdraw your consent any time without giving a reason and without any negative impact on your employment or on your personal or professional relationships. • Your signature below indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. • Your signature indicates that you consent to offer your school as a site for research and to be interviewed about your role in the school. o Please check this box if you would like to be emailed the results of this study, or to be invited to public presentations where the results of this study will be shared. ____________________________________________________ Participant Signature Date ____________________________________________________ Printed Name of the Participant signing above 252 B.2 Consent of Teachers Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@gmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are you doing this study and why should I take part? The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom in Corvidell. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Also, learning more about one “type” of learner can lead to better pedagogy for all learners. In order to gain a fuller understanding of young HLLs’ language and identity development, Ava will need to spend a fair amount of time with them as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their grandparents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). A child in your class has agreed (with the consent of their parents) to be a focal child in this study. I am writing to ask for your permission to use your classroom as a research site for this study. This research has been approved by UBC, by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board, and the school principal. Parents of all children in the class will also be contacted to provide information about this study and to ask for their permission to allow their child’s participation. The children will also be asked for their permission to participate in this study. 253 IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I want to volunteer my classroom as a research site for the study”? • I will send out a letter to parents of students in your class with information about the study and inviting them to consent to their child’s participation. Their consent would allow me to record their child’s interactions in the classroom, to take photographs of their classwork, and to interview their child once or twice over the course of the school year. • I will observe the focal child in my study as s/he interacts with you and his/her classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe. I would negotiate with you about when and how these observations are conducted to ensure that the times selected are acceptable to you. • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. • I will interview participating children about their thoughts and feelings about learning Spanish at school, their cultural identities, and their family migration stories. These interviews will be audio recorded so I can use them for data analysis. • I will interview you, the classroom teacher, two to four times over the duration of the study for your perspectives on teaching HLLs. • I will ask to see curricular and teaching materials that you use and have developed, and will ask you questions about how you use these materials with your HLLs. I will make every effort not to interrupt classroom instruction because I do not wish to be a burden or a distraction, and because I want to observe what you and your students usually do regardless of my presence. I will also respect any classroom language policy you may have in effect. My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate your teaching or how “well” your students are learning Spanish. I’m particularly interested in how the focal child in my study learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, Ava will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. 254 If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect me or my students? We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm you or negatively affect you or your students. However, some of the questions we ask might upset you, or might touch on issues that you find sensitive. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, you may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on or share aspects of your pedagogy, culture, life experiences and identity that you had not previously thought or talked about. In the case of your students, this kind of reflection could positively affect their bilingual development. Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. My (Ava’s) PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your participation will make a contribution to the creation of new knowledge of particular relevance to Spanish teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my identity be protected? Protecting your and your students’ identity and anonymity is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses your or your students’ identities will not be released without your consent unless required by law. The audio recordings and any digital photographs taken for the purposes of the research will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. All names of places and people as well as professional, organizational, or institutional affiliations that are recorded over the course of the research will all be protected by pseudonyms. You and your students should feel able to speak freely and behave naturally when being recorded in interviews or during classroom observations. Samples of the audio or video recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of people or places, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out) and voices will be altered. X. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY 255 If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. XI. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XII. PARTICIPANT CONSENT AND SIGNATURE PAGE Taking part in this study is entirely up to you. You and your child have the right to refuse to participate in this study. If you decide to take part, you may choose to pull out of the study at any time without giving a reason and without any negative impact on your employment or on your personal or professional relationships. • Your signature below indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. • Your signature indicates that you consent to participate in this study and to offer your classroom as a site for research. o Please check this box if you would like to be emailed the results of this study, or to be invited to public presentations where the results of this study will be shared. ____________________________________________________ Participant Signature Date ____________________________________________________ Printed Name of the Participant signing above 256 B.3 Consent of Guardian for Classmate Consent Form (Parents of classmate) Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@gmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are we doing this study and why should you take part? The overarching purpose of my research is to better understand the Spanish language education and bilingual development of heritage language learners (HLLs), that is, students who have a family connection to the language even though they may not speak Spanish at home. I am particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in a diverse classroom in Corvidell. This research is needed because little is known about Spanish HLLs in Canada, as most of the research on this population has been conducted in the US. Because the political and historical position of Spanish in the US is rather unique, studies like this one can lend important insights into teaching students in Canada who have a family connection to Spanish and its associated cultures and histories. Also, learning more about one “type” of learner can lead to better pedagogy for all learners. I am conducting a year-long study with some families in Corvidell’s Latin American community, and one or more of the focal children is in your child’s class. I am asking your permission to analyze audio recordings of your child’s classroom interactions, and to interview him or her, and to take photographs of some of their classwork. I explain more about what your child’s involvement in the study would involve below. This research has been approved by UBC, by the Corvidell Public/ Corvidell Catholic School Board, and the school principal. 257 IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I consent to my child’s participation in the study”? If you say 'Yes’, this is what will happen: • I will observe the focal child in my study as s/he interacts with you and his/her classmates during regular classroom hours. I will do my observations two times a week (approximately 3 to 4 hours) and take notes about what I observe. • I will audio-record some class sessions for the purposes of more in-depth data analysis. I will always ask the teacher’s permission before turning on any recording equipment. • To understand how students in the class are learning about Latin American cultures, I will photograph classwork from students who have been allowed to participate and who also agree to participate in this study. This may include creative and/or school writing, artwork or models. • With your child’s assent, I will interview him or her 1-2 times over the course of the school year about their experiences learning Spanish in and out of school, the languages they speak, their friends, their cultural background, etc. V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, Ava will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect my child? We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm or negatively affect your child. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, your child may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on aspects of their language, culture and identity that they had not previously thought or talked about. Such reflections can support their bilingual development. Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. 258 My PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your child’s participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your child’s participation will make a contribution to the creation of new, locally relevant knowledge for Spanish teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my child’s identity be protected? Protecting your child’s identity and anonymity is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses their identity will not be released without your consent unless required by law. Their classroom interactions and interview/s will be audio-recorded. The recordings will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. Your child’s name, their school, and the names of any people, places or programs mentioned will all be protected by pseudonyms. Your child should feel able to speak freely in class and when answering the questions asked in the interview. Samples of the recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of students, family, friends, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out). IX. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. X. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XI. PARTICIPANT CONSENT AND SIGNATURE PAGE Your signature below indicates that you have read the information above. You understand that your child’s participation in this research is voluntary, and that you have freely and willingly consented for your child to participate in this research project. Your signature also indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. You may withdraw your consent at any time without any consequences. SIGNATURE 259 1.) I consent for my child to participate in this study. Parent’s/Guardian’s Name (please print): ____________________________________________________ Signature: ____________________________________________________ Date: ____________________________________________________ 2.) I consent to having my child’s voice to be used in connection with any sharing of the research findings in audio form. Parent’s/Guardian’s Name (please print): ___________________________________________________ Signature: ____________________________________________________ Date: ____________________________________________________ 260 B.4 Assent of Classmate Title of Study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Hi! My name is Ava. I am interested in coming to your classroom and doing some research on Spanish students whose grandparents came from Latin America. I want to learn about how they speak Spanish and English with you and your classmates, and how the students in your class learn about Latin American cultures. In order for me to do my research, I need to ask for your permission! So I would like to ask you if you would like to be in my research (I also have to ask your parents, so if you’re not sure about any of this, please talk about it with them). If you (and your parents!) say “yes” to being in my research, this is what will happen: • I will come and watch your class. For the whole school year, I will come to watch your class twice a week. When I come to watch your class, I will take notes on what everyone is doing when they communicate and especially when they talk about culture. I won’t interrupt your class, so it will be just like usual when I am there. • I will make an audio recording of some of your classes. This is so I can analyse what is happening in class more closely. I will always tell the class first when I am going to do an audio-recording. • I will ask to look at some of your classwork, like drawings or projects, and make take pictures of them. For example, your teacher might ask you to do a project about Latin American culture or something like that, and I would be interested in how you do that assignment. • I will interview you. I would like to hear what you think about learning English and Spanish at school, the languages you speak, your family, and stuff like that. I will audio-record these interviews, too. I will make sure these interviews do not happen when you are doing something important in class. HOW LONG WILL THE RESEARCH BE? I will watch your classroom two times a week for the whole school year (September 2015- July 2016). 261 CONFIDENTIALITY (YOUR PRIVACY) I will talk and write about this research, but whenever I do, your identity will be kept a secret. You and your school will not be named in anything I say or write about this study. IS THIS DANGEROUS? I do not think there is anything in this study that is dangerous or could hurt you. Being in this research will be a lot like being in class when I am not there. WILL THIS BE GOOD FOR ME? There are some good things that could happen for being in my research. You might learn more about yourself as a student. You might learn different things about ways you communicate. Other people might also learn from the experiences of you and your classmates. STUDY RESULTS I will share what I learn at national and international conferences (like meetings) and I will publish what I learn from you in professional and research magazines. I will also make a version of my results available for you! IF I SAY ‘NO’ You can decide to say ‘no’ to being in my research at any time. Your class marks will not change if you say ‘no’ to being in my research. Your class marks will not change if you say ‘yes’ either! CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you ever have questions about my research, contact me either in person, by email, or by telephone. I am happy to answer your questions any time. Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com CONCERNS If you have any concerns about your rights or treatment as a research subject, you may contact the UBC Office of Research Services and Administration at (604) 822-8598. If you have any questions about the study, contact the investigators: Ava Becker-Zayas, xxx-xxx-xxxx , xxx@gmail.com and/or Steven Talmy, xxx-xxx-xxxx , xxx@ubc.ca . ASSENT 262 Your signature below indicates that you have read the information above. You understand that your participation in this research is voluntary, and that you have freely and willingly assented to participate in this research project. Your signature also indicates that you have received a copy of this assent form for your own records. You may withdraw your assent at any time without any consequences. SIGNATURE 1.) I assent (say yes) to participate in this study. Name (please print): _____________________________________ Signature: _____________________________________ Date: _____________________________________ 2.) I assent (say yes) to having my voice used in connection with any sharing of the research findings in audio form. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: _____________________________________ Date: _____________________________________ 3.) I assent (say yes) to having photographs that I take or photographs that Ava takes of my artwork to be used in connection with any sharing of the research findings. Name (please print): _____________________________________ Signature: _____________________________________ Date: _____________________________________ ASSENT Your signature below indicates that you have read the information above. You understand that your participation in this research is voluntary, and that you have freely and willingly assented to participate in this research project. Your signature also indicates that you have received a copy of this assent form for your own records. You may withdraw your assent at any time without any consequences. 263 SIGNATURE 1.) I assent (say yes) to participate in this study. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 2.) I assent (say yes) to having my voice used in connection with any sharing of the research findings in audio form. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 264 B.5 Consent of Parents of Focal Children Consent Form (Parents of focal children) Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxxgmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are you doing this study and why should I take part? We are doing this research to better understand how language learners like your child/ren become bilingual in Spanish and English. We are particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in Corvidell. In order to gain such an understanding, one of us (Ava) will need to spend a fair amount of time with young HLLs (your child/ren) as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their grandparents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). I talk more about what participation would entail below. You are being invited to participate in this research because your child/ren attend a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school and because at least one of their grandparents immigrated to Canada from a Latin American country due to social or political unrest in the 1970s or 1980s. IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I want to be in the study”? If you and your family (your children and at least one of their grandparents) agree to participate in this study, with your permission, this is what will happen: • I (Ava) will meet with you and your family at the time and place of mutual convenience to go over the consent forms and answer any questions you might have about the study. • We will then discuss when would be convenient for me to come to your family home to begin observation(s). With your family’s permission, twice per month from September 265 2015-July 2016, I will come to your or the grandparents’ home to take notes and make audio and video recordings of your child completing homework (for example), and interacting with different family members. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will interview you three times over the course of the research. • I am also interested in observing your child’s interactions at community events. If your family decides to attend a Latin American community event and wouldn’t mind my making observations there (without any audio or video recordings), please let me know. I will make every effort not to disrupt your dinnertime or homework routines, for instance. My aim is to observe your family’s interactions as they normally happen, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any home language policy you might have established (e.g., Only Spanish on Saturdays). My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate your parenting or how “well” your child is learning Spanish. I’m interested in how she or he learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, I will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect me? We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm you or negatively affect you. However, some of the questions we ask might upset you, or might touch on issues that you find sensitive. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, you may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on or share aspects of your language, culture, life experiences and identity that you had not previously thought or talked about. 266 Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. My PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your participation will make a contribution to the creation of new knowledge of particular relevance to language teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my child’s identity be protected? Protecting your and your family’s identity and anonymity is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses your or your family members’ identities will not be released without your consent unless required by law. The audio and video recordings, as well as any digital photographs taken for the purposes of the research will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. All names of places and people as well as professional, organizational, or institutional affiliations that are recorded over the course of the research will all be protected by pseudonyms. You should feel able to speak freely and behave naturally when being recorded in interviews or during home observations. Samples of the audio or video recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of people or places, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out), faces will be blurred, and voices will be altered. X. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. XI. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XII. PARTICIPANT CONSENT Taking part in this study is entirely up to you. You have the right to refuse to participate in this study. If you decide to take part, you may choose to pull out of the study at any time without 267 giving a reason and without any negative impact on your employment or on your personal or professional relationships. • Your signature below indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. • Your signature indicates that you consent to participate in this study. o Please check this box if you would like to be emailed the results of this study, or to be invited to public presentations where the results of this study will be shared. ____________________________________________________ Participant Signature Date ____________________________________________________ Printed Name of the Participant signing above 268 B.6 Consent of Focal Grandparents Consent Form (Grandparents of focal children) Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@gmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are you doing this study and why should I take part? We are doing this research to better understand how language learners like your grandchild/ren become bilingual in Spanish and English. We are particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in Corvidell. In order to gain such an understanding, one of us (Ava) will need to spend a fair amount of time with young HLLs (your grandchild/ren) as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their parents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). I talk more about what your participation would entail below. You are being invited to participate in this research because your grandchild/ren attend a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school and because at least one of their grandparents immigrated to Canada from a Latin American country due to social or political unrest in the 1970s or 1980s. IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I want to be in the study”? If you agree to participate in this study, with your permission, this is what will happen: • I (Ava) will meet with you and your family at the time and place of mutual convenience to go over the consent forms with you and answer any questions you might have about the study. 269 • We will then discuss when would be convenient for me to come to your or your grandchild’s family home to make the first (and subsequent) observation(s). With your family’s permission, twice per month from September 2015-July 2016, I will come to your or the child’s home (depending on the location of the child, as well as your availability and willingness) to take notes and make audio and video recordings of your grandchild completing homework (for example), and interacting with different family members. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will interview you three times over the course of the research in the language/s of your choice (English or Spanish). • At one point over the course of the research, I will involve your grandchild (with your and their permission) in different arts-based activities that will help me to get a better understanding of how they understand their language abilities and cultural background. You and your life experiences may be the subject of some of these activities. These activities will include taking photographs (I will supply disposable cameras), drawings, and, with everyone’s permission, an interview that your grandchild will conduct and record with you in the language of your choice. Afterwards, your grandchild and I will listen to the interview together, and they will retell your story in words and drawings. • I am also interested in observing your grandchild’s interactions at community events. If your family decides to attend a Latin American community event and wouldn’t mind my making observations there (without any audio or video recordings), please let me know. I will make every effort not to disrupt your time with your family. My aim is to observe your family’s interactions as they normally happen, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any home language policy you might have established (e.g., Only Spanish on Saturdays). My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate you as a grandparent or how “well” your grandchild is learning Spanish. I’m interested in how she or he learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, Ava will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect me? 270 We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm you or negatively affect you or your family. However, some of the questions we ask might upset you, or might touch on issues that you find sensitive. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, you and your family may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on or share aspects of your language, culture, life experiences and identity that you had not previously thought or talked about. Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. My PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your participation will make a contribution to the creation of new knowledge of particular relevance to Spanish teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my identity be protected? Protecting your and your family’s identity and anonymity is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses your or your family members’ identities will not be released without your consent unless required by law. The audio and video recordings, as well as any digital photographs taken for the purposes of the research will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Any photographs your grandchildren take will be scanned into digital format and stored in the same way as the other digital files (mentioned above). Any original copies of the photographs your children take for the research will be given to their parents to keep. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. All names of places and people as well as professional, organizational, or institutional affiliations that are recorded over the course of the research will all be protected by pseudonyms. You and your family should feel able to speak freely and behave naturally when being recorded in interviews or during home observations. Samples of the audio or video recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of people or places, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out), faces will be blurred, and voices will be altered. X. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. 271 XI. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XII. PARTICIPANT CONSENT AND SIGNATURE PAGE Taking part in this study is entirely up to you. You have the right to refuse to participate in this study. If you decide to take part, you may choose to pull out of the study at any time without giving a reason and without any negative impact on your employment or on your personal or professional relationships. • Your signature below indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. • Your signature indicates that you consent to participate in this study. o Please check this box if you would like to be emailed the results of this study, or to be invited to public presentations where the results of this study will be shared. ____________________________________________________ Participant Signature Date __________________________________________ Printed Name of the Participant signing above 272 B.7 Consent of Parents for Focal Children Consent Form (Parents for focal children) Title of study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory I. STUDY TEAM Who is conducting this study? Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate professor. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@ubc.ca xxx-xxx-xxxx Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, Doctoral candidate. Department of Language and Literacy Education, University of British Columbia. xxx@gmail.com xxx-xxx-xxxx II. SPONSOR Who is funding this study? This study is being conducted with the support of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. III. INVITATION AND STUDY PURPOSE Why are you doing this study and why should I take part? We are doing this research to better understand how language learners like your child/ren become bilingual in Spanish and English. We are particularly interested in their identity development and how they come to understand their cultural and linguistic heritage in the process of becoming bilingual in English and Spanish in Corvidell. In order to gain such an understanding, one of us (Ava) will need to spend a fair amount of time with young HLLs (your child/ren) as they interact with different people (e.g., you, their siblings, their grandparents, their teachers) in different contexts (e.g., home, community events, school) over an extended period (September 2015-July 2016). I talk more about what participation would entail below. Your child being invited to participate in this research because your she or he attends a Spanish bilingual program at their elementary school and because at least one of their grandparents immigrated to Canada from a Latin American country due to social or political unrest in the 1970s or 1980s. IV. STUDY PROCEDURES What happens if you say “Yes, I consent to my child’s participation in the study”? If you and your family (your children and at least one of their grandparents) agree to participate in this study, with your permission, this is what will happen: • I (Ava) will meet with you and your family at the time and place of mutual convenience to go over the consent forms and answer any questions you might have about the study. 273 • Once you and at least one of your children’s Latin American grandparents have signed the consent form, and your child (who attends a Spanish bilingual program in their elementary school) has given their assent, I will contact your child’s school to request permission to observe your child in their classroom setting for 3-4 hours, twice a week. Aside from observations and audio recordings of your child’s interactions in the classroom, with your child’s permission I would take photographs of any drawings, pieces of writing, or other artistic creations that have to do with their identity or the ways in which they understand their heritage. • We will then discuss when would be convenient for me to come to your family home to begin observation(s). With your family’s permission, twice per month from September 2015-July 2016, I will come to your or the grandparents’ home to take notes and make audio and video recordings of your child playing or completing homework (for example), and interacting with different family members. I will always ask your permission before turning on any recording equipment. • I will interview your child twice over the course of the research. • At different points throughout the research, I will involve your child (with your and their permission) in different arts-based activities that will help me to get a better understanding of how they understand their language abilities and cultural background. These activities will include photography (I will supply disposable cameras), drawings, and child-led interviews of their grandparents. (If you have children who are not in a Spanish bilingual program at elementary school but would like to participate in these activities, they will be welcome to join in.) • I am also interested in observing your child’s interactions at community events. If your family decides to attend a Latin American community event and wouldn’t mind my making observations there (without any audio or video recordings), please let me know. I will make every effort not to disrupt your dinnertime or homework routines, for instance. My aim is to observe your family’s interactions as they normally happen, regardless of my presence. I will also respect any home language policy you might have established (e.g., Only Spanish on Saturdays). My purpose in doing this research is not to evaluate your parenting or how “well” your child is learning Spanish. I’m interested in how she or he learns about their family’s cultural background while they are learning the family’s heritage language in a Spanish-English bilingual program at school. V. STUDY RESULTS Who will have access to the results of this study? • The results of this study may be reported in departmental (university), teaching-related, or community newsletters. • The main findings from the study may be published in academic journal articles or books, and presented at academic or professional (teaching) conferences. • Following the conclusion of the research, I will organize public presentations of the results. Venues for such presentations might include: Public/Catholic schools, a branch of the Corvidell Public Library, the homes of community members, community events. 274 If you would like to be notified directly about any of the above points, please let us know at the bottom of this consent form. VI. POTENTIAL RISKS OF THE STUDY Is there any way being in this study could negatively affect my child? We do not think there is anything in this study that could harm your child or negatively affect him/her. However, some of the questions we ask might touch on issues that you find sensitive. Please let Dr. Talmy or Ava know if you have any concerns. VII. POTENTIAL BENEFITS OF THE STUDY What are the benefits of participating? By participating in this study, your child may benefit from the opportunity to reflect on or share aspects of their language, culture, life experiences and identity that they had not previously thought or talked about. This kind of reflection could positively affect their bilingual development and relationship to their heritage. Once the study results are made public, we hope that parents and teachers of Spanish heritage language learners in the context of Western Canada will benefit from what we learn in this study. My PhD research will also allow me to speak to decision makers more directly and advocate for bilingual education. Moreover, as a PhD candidate and future professor, I will eventually help prepare new teachers, so your participation in this study will contribute to helping future teachers understand their HLLs better, which will ultimately benefit all students. In other words, your child’s participation will make a contribution to the creation of new knowledge of particular relevance to language teachers in Canada. VIII. CONFIDENTIALITY How will my child’s identity be protected? Protecting your child’s and your family’s identity and anonymity is extremely important to us. Any information that discloses your child’s or your family members’ identities will not be released without your consent unless required by law. The audio and video recordings, as well as any digital photographs taken for the purposes of the research will be stored, securely and indefinitely, in a password-protected folder on the co-investigator’s (Ava’s) computer. Any photographs your child takes for the purposes of the research will be scanned into digital format and stored in the same way as the other digital files (mentioned above). Any original copies of the photographs your children take for the research will be given to you to keep. Aside from Ava, the only person who will have access to these files will be the principal investigator, Dr. Talmy. All names of places and people as well as professional, organizational, or institutional affiliations that are recorded over the course of the research will all be protected by pseudonyms. Your child should feel able to speak freely and behave naturally when being recorded in interviews or during home observations. Samples of the audio or video recordings might be played in small groups of graduate students for the purpose of analysis, or at academic conferences when discussing the findings. In this case, any identifying information that you might reveal in the recordings (e.g., names of people 275 or places, etc.) will be omitted (i.e., bleeped-out), faces will be blurred, and voices will be altered. X. CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you have any questions or concerns about what we are asking of you, please contact Dr. Steven Talmy or Ava Becker-Zayas. Their names and telephone numbers are listed at the top of the first page of this form. XI. CONTACT FOR COMPLAINTS If you have any concerns or complaints about your rights as a research participant and/or your experiences while participating in this study, contact the Research Participant Complaint Line in the UBC Office of Research Ethics at 604-822-8598 or if long distance, e-mail RSIL@ors.ubc.ca or call toll free 1-877-822-8598. XII. PARTICIPANT CONSENT Your signature below indicates that you have read the information above. You understand that your child’s participation in this research is voluntary, and that you have freely and willingly consented for your child to participate in this research project. Your signature also indicates that you have received a copy of this consent form for your own records. You may withdraw your consent at any time without any consequences. SIGNATURE 1.) I consent for my child to participate in this study. Parent’s/Guardian’s Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 2.) I consent to having my child’s voice to be used in connection with any sharing of the research findings in audio form. Parent’s/Guardian’s Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 276 B.8 Assent of Focal Children Title of Study: Spanish Heritage Language Socialization in Late Modernity: Translanguaging Social Identities and Social Memory Principal Investigator: Dr. Steven Talmy, Associate Professor Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@ubc.ca Co-Investigator: Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone: xxx-xxx-xxxx Email: xxx@gmail.com Hi! My name is Ava. I am interested in spending time with you at home and at school to learn about how you speak Spanish and English and how you understand and learn about your parents’ and grandparents’ life experiences and cultures. In order for me to do my research, I need to ask for your permission! So I would like to ask you if you would like to be in my research (I also have to ask your parents, so if you’re not sure about any of this, please talk about it with them). If you (and your parents!) say “yes” to being in my research, this is what will happen: • I will come to your house. Two times per month until next July, I will come to your house and spend time with you and your family. When I come to your house, I will take notes on what everyone is doing when they communicate and especially when they talk about culture or the country your grandparents immigrated from. I will also ask you to make drawings for me, to take pictures of people and places that are important to you, and to interview your grandparents about the country the immigrated from. • I will come and watch your class. For the whole school year, I will come to watch your class twice a week. When I come to watch your class, I will take notes on what everyone is doing when they communicate and especially when they talk about culture. I won’t interrupt your class, so it will be just like usual when I am there. • I will make an audio recording of some of your classes. This is so I can analyse what is happening in class more closely. I will always tell the class first when I am going to do an audio-recording. • I will make audio or video recordings at your house sometimes. This is so I can analyse how you communicate at home more closely. I will always tell everyone first when I am going to make an audio or video recording. • I will ask to look at some of your classwork, like drawings or projects, and make take pictures of them. For example, your teacher might ask you to do a project about Latin American culture or something like that, and I would be interested in how you do that assignment. 277 • I will interview you. I would like to hear what you think about learning English and Spanish at school, the languages you speak, your family, and stuff like that. I will audio-record these interviews, too. HOW LONG WILL THE RESEARCH BE? This research will last from September 2015 thru July 2016, so the next school year. CONFIDENTIALITY (YOUR PRIVACY) I will talk and write about this research, but whenever I do, your identity will be kept a secret. You and your school will not be named in anything I say or write about this study. IS THIS DANGEROUS? I do not think there is anything in this study that is dangerous or could hurt you. Being in this research will be a lot like being in class when I am not there. WILL THIS BE GOOD FOR ME? There are some good things that could happen for being in my research. You might learn more about yourself as a student. You might learn different things about ways you communicate. Other people might also learn from the experiences of you, your family, and your classmates. STUDY RESULTS I will share what I learn at national and international conferences (like meetings) and I will publish what I learn from you in professional and research magazines. I will also make a version of my results available for you! IF I SAY ‘NO’ You can decide to say ‘no’ to being in my research at any time. Your class marks will not change if you say ‘no’ to being in my research. Your class marks will not change if you say ‘yes’ either! CONTACT FOR INFORMATION ABOUT THE STUDY If you ever have questions about my research, contact me either in person, by email, or by telephone. I am happy to answer your questions any time. Ava Becker-Zayas, PhD Candidate Department of Language & Literacy Education, UBC Phone xxx-xxx-xxxx email: xxx@gmail.com CONCERNS 278 If you have any concerns about your rights or treatment as a research subject, you may contact the UBC Office of Research Services and Administration at (604) 822-8598. If you have any questions about the study, contact the investigators: Ava Becker-Zayas, xxx-xxx-xxxx xxx@gmail.com, and/or /or Steven Talmy, xxx-xxx-xxxx, xxx@ubc.ca . ASSENT Your signature below indicates that you have read the information above. You understand that your participation in this research is voluntary, and that you have freely and willingly assented to participate in this research project. Your signature also indicates that you have received a copy of this assent form for your own records. You may withdraw your assent at any time without any consequences. SIGNATURE 1.) I assent (say yes) to participate in this study. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 2.) I assent (say yes) to having my voice used in connection with any sharing of the research findings in audio form. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 3.) I assent (say yes) to having video of me (with my face blurred and voice altered) used in connection with any sharing of the research findings. Name (please print): __________________________________________ Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 4.) I assent (say yes) to having photographs that I take or photographs that Ava takes of my artwork to be used in connection with any sharing of the research findings. Name (please print): __________________________________________ 279 Signature: __________________________________________ Date: __________________________________________ 280 Appendix C: Interview Questions C.1 Teachers Background Personal • Where were you born? • What is your/ your family’s immigration story? • What is your first language? What languages do you speak? Teaching • Why did you get into teaching? How long have you been teaching? Where have you taught? What subjects have you taught? • What kinds of Spanish classes have you given? (To what kinds of learners? For what purposes?) In what settings have you taught Spanish? (e.g., in the community, in public schools, in other countries, etc.) • Please describe your teaching philosophy (i.e., What are your beliefs and values about teaching? What do you feel your role is as a teacher?) • How many of your students are heritage language learners (HLLs)? Tell me about them. • Please describe your approach to teaching HLLs. Do you approach HLLs differently than second language learners? In what ways? Why? • What do you consider to be the strengths and challenges of your HLLs, for HLLs in general and as you’ve noticed them for particular individuals? (These strengths and challenges can be language-related or not.) • Do you have any memorable moments teaching HLLs? In other words, experiences that stood out to you as exceptional learning moments or exceptionally challenging moments? (Linguistically, etc.) Please describe one or two of these moments. Content • What ‘content’ (topics) do you teach in your classes? How do you understand the relationship between teaching language and teaching culture? • What elements of culture do you focus on in your classroom? How do you “transmit” them? (Language, image, video, etc.) • How do you decide which elements or which cultures to highlight? How do you teach “Latin American” or “Hispanic culture”? • What topics do your HLLs seem to get excited about? • What variety/ies of Spanish do you teach? (e.g., “international” Spanish, local varieties, national varieties? Etc.) • Have you had much contact with your students’ parents? What are parents’ expectations for their children’s Spanish education, especially as regards cultural content? • Do your students do community outreach projects? (i.e., projects that require them to interview family or community members about a particular issue or topic?) What kinds of field trips do you do? 281 • Are there certain topics or historical events or cultural practices that you don’t feel comfortable teaching in your Spanish classes? • Are there topics or historical events that you feel might be relevant in a Latin American context but that you find unnecessary to teach in a Spanish class? • What are your thoughts on structuring learning around students’ (families’) migration stories or around students’ relationships to their ancestral/ home countries? • How do you understand the role of student identity in language learning? E.g., If students identify as Chilean or Chilean-Canadian etc. vs. if they identify as Canadian, do you think this impacts language learning? • At Chilean community events I’ve heard people talk about how important it is to remember, Allende, the struggle, the struggle of the viejos [the grandparents], el Once [September 11th, 1973]. Can you tell me a bit about what you think about what remembering that time means to you, to your family and to your community? What would it mean if your children didn’t carry that memory forward? How important is knowing both the good and bad parts of Chile’s recent history to having a Chilean identity? What do your grandchildren know of this time in Chile’s history? (About teaching materials) • Do you have to develop a lot of your own materials, or are the standard materials (e.g., textbooks) basically sufficient? • Do you have to develop separate materials for your HLLs? • Do you feel these materials were effective? How did students engage with them? What kinds of materials do you find to be most effective for engaging heritage learners? 282 C.2 Focal Families Grandparents Background • What was your occupation in Chile? In Canada? Language Education • What languages do you speak? • Did your children have any formal Spanish (bilingual) education growing up? In Chile? Canada? Tell me about it. (e.g., did you want them to have education in Spanish? Was it available in Canada at the time? Were there alternatives? What opportunities did they have to speak Spanish in their day-to-day life? To read/write, etc.?) • How do you feel about your grandchildren being in a Spanish bilingual program at school? • How do you feel about the program? • How does your grandchild feel about their Spanish bilingual education? • How is your grandchild’s Spanish? English? • What are your hopes for your grandchild’s language proficiency? o Cultural identity? o Cultural understanding? o Future (via Spanish-English bilingualism)? • Have you met your grandchild’s teacher? Have you heard much about their teacher? What are some things about your grandchild’s teacher that you’re impressed with? Things you wished they did differently? How important do you think your grandchild’s teacher is in their Spanish education? • What do you think your role is in your grandchild’s Spanish education? • What activities do you do with your grandchild in Spanish? (Or in a mix of Spanish and English?) • What do you think their parents’ role is in their Spanish education? • Who else plays a role in your child’s Spanish education? • Are your grandchildren in any other Spanish language or culture classes? Which? • What are your hopes for their language development? In English and in Spanish? Cultural Identity • Because I’m interested in learning about your grandchildren’s cultural identity, I’m also curious about how you identify culturally. How do you identify culturally? Migration and Cultural Memory Before I ask the questions in this section, I would like to remind you that you are free to not answer any of the questions—just say “pass” or “next question.” 283 • Can you tell me a bit about your family’s migration story? (Why did you leave Chile? What was it like when you first got here? Were you involved in the solidarity movement? Where were your children born? What was the experience of coming to Canada like?) o Did you talk much about Chile when your kids were growing up? Were there any particular stories that you retold or did not tell on purpose? o Did you ever talk about politics? Allende? The coup? Your political involvement? Why you left? o Do you remember how your children responded to hearing these stories? o Did you share these stories outside of the community (i.e., with workmates?) • Are there any artifacts in your home that remind you of Chile? Can you tell me about/show me some of them? When did you acquire them? Did any come with your family in the initial migration? What feelings do these artifacts bring about in you? • Are there any photographs of family members in Chile in your home? Of political leaders? Of Chilean landscapes or places? Can you tell me about/show me some of them? When did you acquire them? Did any come with your family in the initial migration? How did these photographs make you feel when you first came, and now? • Is there any music that reminds you of Chile or of the Chile your parents would tell you about? Which songs/artists? How did this music make you feel when you first immigrated, and now as an adult? Do you play it for your grandchildren? • You immigrated to Canada during a traumatic period of Chile’s history. Is it important to you that your grandchildren know about this time? What is important for them to know now and when they’re older? • Is important for them to know about how this time affected you and your children specifically? • At community events I’ve heard people talk about how important it is to remember, Allende, the struggle, the struggle of the viejos [your generation], el Once [September 11th, 1973]. Can you tell me a bit about what you think about what remembering that time means to you, to your family and to your community? What would it mean if your children or grandchildren didn’t carry that memory forward? How important is knowing both the good and bad parts of Chile’s recent history to having a Chilean identity? What do your grandchildren know of this time in Chile’s history? • Have you been back to Chile? Tell me about that experience. • What do you tell your grandchildren about the Chile you left? About Chile today? • How important is it to you that your children and grandchildren be involved in the community here? • How important is it to you that they travel to Chile? To Latin America? Parents Background • Where did you grow up in Corvidell? Language Education • Did you have any formal Spanish (bilingual) education growing up? 284 o In Chile? Canada? Tell me about it. • Why did you decide on Spanish Bilingual for your child/ren? o How do you feel about the program? o How does your child feel about their Spanish bilingual education? o How is your child’s Spanish? English? • What are your hopes for your child’s language proficiency? o Cultural identity? o Cultural understanding? o Future (via Spanish-English bilingualism)? • Tell me about your child’s teacher. What are some things about your child’s teacher that you’re impressed with? Things you wished they did differently? How important do you think your child’s teacher is in their Spanish education? • What do you think your role is in your child’s Spanish education? o What activities do you do with your child in Spanish? (Or in a mix of Spanish and English?) • Who else plays a role in your child’s Spanish education? • Are your children in any other Spanish language or culture classes? Which? • What are your hopes for their language development? In English and in Spanish? Cultural Identity • Because I’m interested in learning about your children’s cultural identity, I’m also curious about how you identify culturally. How do you identify culturally? • Tell me about your child/ren’s cultural identity as you understand it. • Where do/es your child/ren learn about their Chilean culture? Migration and Cultural Memory Before I ask the questions in this section, I would like to remind you that you are free to not answer any of the questions—just say “pass” or “next question.” • Can you tell me a bit about your family’s migration story? (Why did they leave Chile? What was it like when they first got here? Were they involved in the solidarity movement? Were you born here? Do you remember coming to Canada? What was that experience like?) o Did your parents talk about Chile growing up? Were there any particular stories that you heard often? o Did they ever talk about politics? Allende? The coup? Their political involvement? Why they left? o Do you remember how you felt listening to these stories? o Did you share these stories outside of the community (i.e., with schoolmates?) • Are there any artifacts in your home that remind you of Chile? Can you tell me about/show me some of them? When did you acquire them? Did any come with your family in the initial migration? How did these artifacts make you feel growing up, and now as an adult? • Are there any photographs of family members in Chile in your home? Of political leaders? Of Chilean landscapes or places? Can you tell me about/show me some of them? When did 285 you acquire them? Did any come with your family in the initial migration? How did these photographs make you feel growing up, and now as an adult? • Is there any music that reminds you of Chile or of the Chile your parents would tell you about? Which songs/artists? How did this music make you feel growing up, and now as an adult? Do you play it for your children? • Your family immigrated to Canada during a traumatic period of Chile’s history. Is it important to you that your children know about this time? What is important for them to know now and when they’re older? o Is important for them to know about how this time affected you and your parents specifically? • At community events I’ve heard people talk about how important it is to remember, Allende, the struggle, the struggle of the viejos [the grandparents], el Once [September 11th, 1973]. Can you tell me a bit about what you think about what remembering that time means to you, to your family and to your community? What would it mean if your children didn’t carry that memory forward? How important is knowing both the good and bad parts of Chile’s recent history to having a Chilean identity? What do your grandchildren know of this time in Chile’s history? • Have you been back to Chile? Tell me about that experience. • What do you tell your children about the Chile your parents left? About Chile today? • How important is it to you that your children be involved in the community here? • How important is it to you that they travel to Chile? To Latin America? Children Language Education • Can you tell me about your class? o Do you like your class? Do you like your teacher? o What languages do you speak there? o Do you like speaking Spanish? How about English? o Do you like reading and writing in Spanish? How about English? o What’s your favourite subject? o What’s your favourite thing about your Spanish-English classes? • What language do you speak at home? With your parents? Grandparents? Siblings? Tíos? • Do you have friends who speak other languages at home? • Do you have any friends who are in French immersion? • Do you know why you’re in Spanish-English bilingual school? • Do you go to Spanish school on the weekends? Do you like it? • Do you watch TV in Spanish? Do you watch Dora? • Do you read books in Spanish for fun? • Do you have any ipad apps in Spanish? Do you go to any Spanish websites? • Can you speak Spanish? [draw language portrait] Cultural Identity • Are you Canadian? Are you Chilean? 286 • Tell me about your friends. Were they all born in Canada? Do they speak other languages at home? Migration and Cultural Memory • Do your grandparents speak English? Do they speak Spanish? • What country were they born in? • Do you know why they came to Canada? • Do they talk to you about Chile sometimes? • Do you have pictures in your house of your grandparents? Do you ever draw them pictures? Do you draw pictures of them? • Have you ever gone to Chile? Who did you go with?/ Who do you want to take you? 287 Appendix D: Transcription Conventions ( ) My descriptions of non-verbal communication [ ] My clarifications (( )) Translation [xxx] Indecipherable /xxx/ Phonetic transcription of utterance “xxx ” Text being read bold Speaker emphasis italics Spanish [ [ Indicates the beginning of an overlapping turn = Turn starts immediately following the previous turn : Drawn-out syllables (more colons signify greater drawing out) word. word Short yet noticeable pause between words … Voice trails off, resulting in a short pause between thoughts or phrases — Someone’s turn was cut short .h In-breath Notes: Question marks, exclamation marks, periods at the end of a line, and commas are used conventionally, as they are in regular prose. Proper names are also capitalized. I include my 288 participation in the talk, even when the content of what went before satisfied the thematic needs of the section, in order to give a more transparent account of my participation in the interaction.
Thesis/Dissertation
eng
Language and Literacy Education
Vancouver : University of British Columbia Library
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International
Graduate
After exile : heritage language and literacy socialization across three generations in one Chilean-Canadian family
Text