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Searching for Aboriginal Languages: Memoirs of a Field Worker
In 1963 R. M. W. (Bob) Dixon set off for Australia, where he was to record, chart, and preserve several of the complex and nearly extinct Aboriginal languages. Beginning with his introduction to these languages while a graduate student at the University of Edinburgh and his difficulties in getting to the Australian bush, Dixon's fourteen-year tale is one of frustration and enlightenment, of setbacks and discoveries.
As he made his way through northern Australia, Dixon was dependent on rumors of Aboriginal speakers, the unreliable advice of white Australians, and the faulty memories of many of the remaining speakers of the languages. Suggestions of informants led him on a circuitous trail through the bush, to speakers such as the singer Willie Kelly in Ravenshoe, who wanted his recordings sent to the south, "where white people would pay big money to hear a genuine Aborigine sing" and Chloe Grant in Murray Upper, who told tales in four dialects of digging wild yams, of the blue-tongue lizard Banggara, and of the arrival of Captain Cook. Dixon tells of obtaining the trust of possible informants, of learning the customs and terrain of the country, and of growing understanding of the culture and tradition of his subjects. And he explains his surprise at his most unexpected that the rich oral tradition of the "primitive" Aborigines could yield a history of a people, as told by that people, that dates to almost ten millenia before.
As he made his way through northern Australia, Dixon was dependent on rumors of Aboriginal speakers, the unreliable advice of white Australians, and the faulty memories of many of the remaining speakers of the languages. Suggestions of informants led him on a circuitous trail through the bush, to speakers such as the singer Willie Kelly in Ravenshoe, who wanted his recordings sent to the south, "where white people would pay big money to hear a genuine Aborigine sing" and Chloe Grant in Murray Upper, who told tales in four dialects of digging wild yams, of the blue-tongue lizard Banggara, and of the arrival of Captain Cook. Dixon tells of obtaining the trust of possible informants, of learning the customs and terrain of the country, and of growing understanding of the culture and tradition of his subjects. And he explains his surprise at his most unexpected that the rich oral tradition of the "primitive" Aborigines could yield a history of a people, as told by that people, that dates to almost ten millenia before.
- GenresLinguisticsNonfiction
342 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1983
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About the author
R.M.W. Dixon
65 books16 followersRobert Malcolm Ward Dixon is a Professor of Linguistics in the College of Arts, Society, and Education and The Cairns Institute, James Cook University, Queensland. He is also Deputy Director of The Language and Culture Research Centre at JCU.
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews
July 29, 2017
4.5★
When I told one of my dearest old friends that I was migrating to Australia (back in the 60s), she said she could teach me an Aboriginal language if I wanted—but it was spoken by only about five old people. I should have taken her up on it just for the heck of it.
Having lived here since then (and knowing plenty of indigenous Aussies), I have been aware of the rich ancient culture, some of which is disappearing, but much of which is still respected today. Recently, she sent me this book because she had studied with Dixon but thought I should have it now. I love it!
This pale Englishman tackled the heat, the bugs, the steamy weather, the impassibly impossible bush tracks and loved it. He kept coming back for more, and ended up migrating permanently, now at James Cook University in Townsville, Qld.
You will itch and scratch and sweat along with him, enjoy the company of Chloe and others who help him on his linguistic travels, and feel sorry that he begins losing his new friends, since most of the speakers are elderly—many in their 80s and 90s.
It’s a terrific body of work with more linguistic dissection and discussion than I can hope to understand, but for those in the field, this should be even more interesting than it is to me.
Linguistics is like no other subject, (I offer as my unsubstantiated opinion). Trying to get someone to explain to you not only how they speak, but why they speak in a certain way seems impossible. It’s usually easy to identify most non-native speakers of your own native language, because they slightly misplace or stress the wrong word or phrase. Many, however, are well-educated in their own languages and have studied yours. They’ve learned the rules and the idioms.
In this case, Dixon wanted to study a complicated language and was considering an American Indian one when he was told to leave them to the Americans.
“’What you want is an Australian language.’
We had been taught at school that Australian Aborigines were the lowest type of man, scarcely better than animals, with no idea of property or work.; they were explicitly contrasted with Maoris who were said to be at the top of the blackman league, only a jump away from Europeans in their capacity to be civilised. I’d long since worked out my own views on such matters, but it was still a surprise to be told that Australian languages had complex grammars that could provide as strong an intellectual challenge as any linguistic system known.”
He was right. He travelled and interviewed and befriended and was adopted by many Aboriginal individuals and families in North Queensland between 1963 until 1977. The complex relationships between people, and the kinship and language rules, are in a completely different category from those of Europe.
The stories of his trips and conversations are testament not only to his own patience but to the patience and understanding of the many people he interviewed and recorded. There are seemingly countless indigenous languages, some with overlapping words, some for use only with specific people at specific times. Many of his ‘subjects’ spoke several languages (a far cry from most of us today). I have long been aware of the following taboo, but for those who aren’t, here’s a bit about the Jalnguy language.
“A special language that a man had to use when talking to—or even in the presence of--his mother-in-law, and the mother-in-law would use it back. Jalnguy was also used between a woman and her father-in-law, and between certain types of cousins. Every member of the Jirrbalngan and Girramaygan tribes would know Jalnguy, and had to use it with relatives from these particular kin categories. They were people who should be kept at arm’s length in social dealing—one would not normally look them in the eye or be left alone with them without a chaperon—and the use of a special language, Jalnguy, was an overt index of the avoidance behaviour.”
Think of the problems this must nip in the bud.
There is a taboo against speaking the name of a person who has died, and Australian television now has a warning to alert Aboriginal viewers before programs that may picture or speak of an Aboriginal person who has died.
Something that Dixon wondered was why so many foreign words had been adopted into Aboriginal languages, and they weren’t necessarily for words that described unfamiliar objects or concepts. Margaret Cunningham, then an AIAS Research Fellow at the University of Qld., suggested to Dixon that not only is the taboo against speaking the proper name of the deceased person, but that could include a taboo for a period of time against another common word that sounds the same as the person’s name. [I’d assume it’s like Roy and boy.] So, why not borrow a foreign word meaning the same thing? Sounds reasonable.
Terrific research, and the beginning of understanding that Australia’s Aborigines are far from primitive—they just had different priorities from those of Europeans. We would do well to learn from them, and so would today's Aboriginal youth who are a bit dismissive of the 'old' ways and less respectful of the Elders than previous generations.
More about Dixon:
https://research.jcu.edu.au/portfolio...
When I told one of my dearest old friends that I was migrating to Australia (back in the 60s), she said she could teach me an Aboriginal language if I wanted—but it was spoken by only about five old people. I should have taken her up on it just for the heck of it.
Having lived here since then (and knowing plenty of indigenous Aussies), I have been aware of the rich ancient culture, some of which is disappearing, but much of which is still respected today. Recently, she sent me this book because she had studied with Dixon but thought I should have it now. I love it!
This pale Englishman tackled the heat, the bugs, the steamy weather, the impassibly impossible bush tracks and loved it. He kept coming back for more, and ended up migrating permanently, now at James Cook University in Townsville, Qld.
You will itch and scratch and sweat along with him, enjoy the company of Chloe and others who help him on his linguistic travels, and feel sorry that he begins losing his new friends, since most of the speakers are elderly—many in their 80s and 90s.
It’s a terrific body of work with more linguistic dissection and discussion than I can hope to understand, but for those in the field, this should be even more interesting than it is to me.
Linguistics is like no other subject, (I offer as my unsubstantiated opinion). Trying to get someone to explain to you not only how they speak, but why they speak in a certain way seems impossible. It’s usually easy to identify most non-native speakers of your own native language, because they slightly misplace or stress the wrong word or phrase. Many, however, are well-educated in their own languages and have studied yours. They’ve learned the rules and the idioms.
In this case, Dixon wanted to study a complicated language and was considering an American Indian one when he was told to leave them to the Americans.
“’What you want is an Australian language.’
We had been taught at school that Australian Aborigines were the lowest type of man, scarcely better than animals, with no idea of property or work.; they were explicitly contrasted with Maoris who were said to be at the top of the blackman league, only a jump away from Europeans in their capacity to be civilised. I’d long since worked out my own views on such matters, but it was still a surprise to be told that Australian languages had complex grammars that could provide as strong an intellectual challenge as any linguistic system known.”
He was right. He travelled and interviewed and befriended and was adopted by many Aboriginal individuals and families in North Queensland between 1963 until 1977. The complex relationships between people, and the kinship and language rules, are in a completely different category from those of Europe.
The stories of his trips and conversations are testament not only to his own patience but to the patience and understanding of the many people he interviewed and recorded. There are seemingly countless indigenous languages, some with overlapping words, some for use only with specific people at specific times. Many of his ‘subjects’ spoke several languages (a far cry from most of us today). I have long been aware of the following taboo, but for those who aren’t, here’s a bit about the Jalnguy language.
“A special language that a man had to use when talking to—or even in the presence of--his mother-in-law, and the mother-in-law would use it back. Jalnguy was also used between a woman and her father-in-law, and between certain types of cousins. Every member of the Jirrbalngan and Girramaygan tribes would know Jalnguy, and had to use it with relatives from these particular kin categories. They were people who should be kept at arm’s length in social dealing—one would not normally look them in the eye or be left alone with them without a chaperon—and the use of a special language, Jalnguy, was an overt index of the avoidance behaviour.”
Think of the problems this must nip in the bud.
There is a taboo against speaking the name of a person who has died, and Australian television now has a warning to alert Aboriginal viewers before programs that may picture or speak of an Aboriginal person who has died.
Something that Dixon wondered was why so many foreign words had been adopted into Aboriginal languages, and they weren’t necessarily for words that described unfamiliar objects or concepts. Margaret Cunningham, then an AIAS Research Fellow at the University of Qld., suggested to Dixon that not only is the taboo against speaking the proper name of the deceased person, but that could include a taboo for a period of time against another common word that sounds the same as the person’s name. [I’d assume it’s like Roy and boy.] So, why not borrow a foreign word meaning the same thing? Sounds reasonable.
Terrific research, and the beginning of understanding that Australia’s Aborigines are far from primitive—they just had different priorities from those of Europeans. We would do well to learn from them, and so would today's Aboriginal youth who are a bit dismissive of the 'old' ways and less respectful of the Elders than previous generations.
More about Dixon:
https://research.jcu.edu.au/portfolio...
February 26, 2016
Giving the unlikelihood of my doing linguistic fieldwork, this was a satisfying substitute for documenting endangered languages myself. I travelled with Dixon from England to parts of northeast Australia , where he navigated the social landscape of the 1960s and 70s, startling colonial Australians by treating the Aborigines as intelligent and complex humans with a sophisticated variety of disappearing languages. I read the linguistic transcriptions in detail. You could gloss over these if they don't interest you, but risk missing insights into the Aboriginal perspective on the world. This would have been a five-star rating except for the repetition of certain passages, and the never-ending "just checked a few more details before I went to press"--which I'm sure was true but nevertheless got a bit tedious. Wry humour and self-deprecation!
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July 29, 2018Recommended in a Guardian
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Displaying 1 - 3 of 3 reviews