Multilingual Brazil

This book brings together cutting edge work by Brazilian researchers on plurilingualism in Brazil for an English-speaking readership in one comprehensive volume. Divided into four sections, each with its own introduction tying together the themes of the book, the volume charts a course for a new sociolinguistics of multilingualism, challenging long-held perceptions about a monolingual Brazil by exploring the different policies, language resources, ideologies, and social identities that have emerged in the country’s contemporary plurilingual landscape. The book elucidates the country’s linguistic history to demonstrate its evolution to its present state, a country shaped by political, economic, and cultural forces both locally and globally, and explores different facets of today’s plurilingual Brazil, including youth on the margins and their cultural and linguistic practices; the educational challenges of socially marginalized groups; and minority groups’ efforts to strengthen languages of identity and belonging. In addition to assembling linguistic research done in Brazil previously little known to an English- speaking readership, the book incorporates theoretical frameworks from other disciplines to provide a comprehensive picture of the social, political, and cultural dynamics at play in multilingual Brazil. This volume is key reading for researchers in linguistic anthropology, sociolinguistics, applied linguistics, cultural studies, and Latin American studies.

Marilda C. Cavalcanti is Professor at the Department of Applied Linguistics at the Universidade Estadual de Campinas (UNICAMP) in Brazil, where she is also a CNPq/Brazil researcher.

Terezinha M. Maher is Associate Professor at the Department of Applied Linguistics at the Universidade Estadual de Campinas (UNICAMP) in Brazil, where she teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in bilingual education and language and diversity. Routledge Critical Studies in Multilingualism Edited by Marilyn Martin-Jones, MOSAIC Centre for Research on Multilingualism, University of Birmingham, UK and Joan Pujolar Cos, Universitat Oberta de Catalunya, Spain

6 A Sociolinguistics of Diaspora Latino Practices, Identities, and Ideologies Edited by Rosina Márquez Reiter and Luisa Martín Rojo

7 Language, Literacy and Diversity Moving Words Edited by Christopher Stroud and Mastin Prinsloo

8 Global Portuguese Linguistic Ideologies in Late Modernity Edited by Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes

9 Language and Learning in a Post-Colonial Context A Critical Ethnographic Study in Schools in Haiti Marky Jean-Pierre

10 Multilingualism in the Chinese Diaspora Worldwide Transnational Connections and Local Social Realities Edited by Li Wei

11 Navigating Languages, Literacies and Identities Religion in Young Lives Edited by Vally Lytra, Dinah Volk and Eve Gregory

12 Entangled Discourses South-North Orders of Visibility Edited by Caroline Kerfoot and Kenneth Hyltenstam

13 Standardizing Minority Languages Competing Ideologies of Authority and Authenticity in the Global Periphery Edited by Pia Lane, James Costa, and Haley De Korne

14 Multilingual Brazil Language Resources, Identities and Ideologies in a Globalized World Edited by Marilda C. Cavalcanti and Terezinha M. Maher Multilingual Brazil Language Resources, Identities and Ideologies in a Globalized World

Edited by Marilda C. Cavalcanti and Terezinha M. Maher First published 2018 by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 and by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Taylor & Francis The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-138-65297-2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-62387-0 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC Contents

List of illustrations ix Acknowledgments xi

1 Contemporary Brazilian Perspectives on Multilingualism: An Introduction 1 MARILDA C. CAVALCANTI AND TEREZINHA M. MAHER

SECTION I Politics, Language Ideologies and the Changing Shape of Language Policy Processes 19

Introduction: Distinctive and Common Features of Brazilian Language and Education Policy in the Latin American Context 21 RAINER ENRIQUE HAMEL

2 Changing Policies and Language Ideologies With Regard to Indigenous Languages in Brazil 27 JOSÉ RIBAMAR BESSA FREIRE

3 Shifting Discourses About Language and Identity Among Indigenous Teachers in Western Amazonia in the Wake of Policy Change 41 TEREZINHA M. MAHER

4 From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages, From One-Language-One-Nation Ideology to Inclusive Co-officialization Policy: The Case of Hunsrückisch and Pommersch 57 GILVAN MÜLLER DE OLIVEIRA vi Contents SECTION II Language-In-Education: A Dominant Monolingual Ideology in Tension With Multilingual Practices 69

Introduction: Political-Ideological Issues Within Brazilian Debates and Policies on Multilingual and Multicultural Education 71 INÊS SIGNORINI

5 Representations of Deaf Identities and Communicative Repertoires: Conversations With Deaf Teachers 75 IVANI RODRIGUES SILVA AND WILMA FAVORITO

6 The Languages on the Brazilian Borders: Documenting Urban Diversity, Researching School and Classroom Practice, Working Towards Change 89 ROSÂNGELA MORELLO

7 A Multilingual Life in Transit Between Two Monolingual Orders: A ‘Braziguayan’ Student, Her Linguistic Repertoire and Her Translingual Practices 105 MARIA ELENA PIRES-SANTOS

SECTION III Local/Global Trajectories 121

Introduction: Local/Global Trajectories: Historical and Ethnographic Perspectives 123 MARILYN MARTIN-JONES

8 The Ongoing Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians: Language Ideology, Identities and Language Education 129 LEIKO MATSUBARA MORALES, AYAKO AKAMINE AND MARIA EMIKO SUZUKI

9 Language, Literacy and Religion in the Shaping of the Identities and Social Networks of Ukrainians in Brazil 141 NEIVA M. JUNG AND JAKELINE A. SEMECHECHEM

10 Diverse Migration Trajectories, Diverse Linguistic Repertoires, Local and Transnational Ties: Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 157 REGINA COELI MACHADO E SILVA Contents vii SECTION IV Representation/Performance of Diversities 169

Introduction: Representation/Performance of Diversities: Reflections on the ‘Multi’ 171 LYNN MARIO T. MENEZES DE SOUZA

11 Guarani/Portuguese/ Castellano Rap on the Borderland: Transidiomaticity, Indexicalities and Text Spectacularity 175 LUIZ PAULO MOITA-LOPES

12 Multiliteracies and Multilingualism in Brazilian Youth Culture: The Case of Anime Music Video Editing 189 ROXANE ROJO AND EDUARDO DE MOURA ALMEIDA

SECTION V Internationalization and New Diversities in Higher Education: Policies and Practices ‘On the Ground’ 205

Introduction: Affordances and Consequences of Internationalization in Higher Education: Lessons from Brazilian Case Studies 207 FELICIANO CHIMBUTANE

13 Portuguese as an Additional Language: Global Trends in Local Actions 211 MARGARETE SCHLATTER AND PEDRO DE MORAES GARCEZ

14 Narrating Lived Experiences from the Margins: The Voices of Two Undergraduate Students from the Democratic Republic of Congo at a Brazilian University 225 ANA CECÍLIA C. BIZON AND MARILDA C. CAVALCANTI

Afterword: Policies, Identities, Trajectories and Practices of Multilingual Brazil 241 NANCY H. HORNBERGER

Contributors 249 Index 255

Illustrations

Tables 4.1 Data from the IBGE Demographic Census of 1940 60 6.1 Schools taking part in the OBEDF with corresponding location and abbreviations 95 6.2 OBDEF school-based sociolinguistic research (2011) 98 13.1 PLLN teachers by year of participation and teaching level 217 13.2 PLLN teachers by country of origin and subject matter (2008–2013) 217

Figures 4.1 Brazil: Municipalities with Co-officialized languages in 2016 64 6.1 Map of the cities participating in the OBEDF project 91 9.1 Geographic Location of Prudentópolis 143 9.2 Excerpts from Місіонар/Missionário [Missionary] 150 10.1 Map of South America showing the Triple Frontier 159 10.2 Two statements in Arabic sent via WhatsApp with Portuguese translations 165 11.1 Triple border map 177 12.1 Frame extracted from Aqua Satellite 192 12.2 Frame extracted from Aqua Satellite 192 12.3 Frame extracted from Aqua Satellite 193 12.4 Frame extracted from Aqua Satellite 193 12.5 Synchrony between lyrics and images in Around the World 194 12.6 Synchrony between lyrics and images in Around the World 194 13.1 Celpe-Bras applicants yearly 1998–2015 212

Acknowledgments

This volume would not have been accomplished without the support of many people. Among these we would like to, first of all, express our heartfelt gratitude to Marilyn Martin-Jones and Joan Pujolar, the editors of the series “Routledge Critical Studies in Multilingualism”, for having been incredibly supportive not only during the conceptual elaboration and organization of the book proposal, but also during the preparation of the manuscript. We are also grateful to all of our contributors: each one of the authors of the chapters and also Feliciano Chibutane, Inês Signorini, Lynn Mario Menezes de Souza, Marilyn Martin-Jones, and Rainer Enrique Hamel who kindly agreed to write the introductions to the volume sections. Special thanks are due to Nancy Hornberger for generously having made time in her busy agenda to write the Afterword for the volume. We cannot thank Marilyn Martin-Jones enough for her thorough and meticulous revision of all the texts here included. Her comments and valuable suggestions certainly added value to the volume. We also express our indebtedness to Luciana Fernandes who translated seven of the chapters here presented and to Denise Maher for her assistance with the artwork. Thanks are also due to the three anonymous reviewers of the proposal submitted to Routledge. Their attentive reading and insightful comments/suggestions were of utmost importance for the development of the manuscript. Finally, our deep appreciation goes to Elysse Preposi, Editor, Routledge Research, and to Alexandra Simmons, Editorial Assistant. We also grate- fully acknowledge the assistance of Renata Corbani, Project Manager, and of the copyediting staff in the production stage of this volume. We are also thankful to Margo Irvin and Christina Kowalski with whom we worked in the early stages of the proposal submission.

1 Contemporary Brazilian Perspectives on Multilingualism An Introduction

Marilda C. Cavalcanti and Terezinha M. Maher

The development of postmodern and poststructuralist thought has led us to reflect more closely upon a number of key concepts that have guided our research agendas in the past. The impact of these epistemological shifts has been felt in the field of critical applied linguistics (Pennycook, 2001; Moita Lopes, 2006) and in critical sociolinguistic research on multilingualism (Martin-Jones et al., 2012:1). The very notion of ‘language’ has also been interrogated in both these fields. Once thought of as an abstract, ready-made entity, made up of fixed structures and clear boundaries, it is now viewed as a resource that people draw on and constantly recreate, together with other semiotic resources, in order to achieve their communicative purposes. This view was first put forward by Makoni and Pennycook (2007, 2012) and it is one that guides many of the contributions to this volume. Languages do not preexist human actions and interactions; they are generated and shaped by them. Fluid, dynamic forms of communication have been created over the millennia of human experience, and have then been shaped and reshaped through the communicative practices that people engage in (Hanks, 1996; Jacquemet, 2005; Blackledge et al., 2014). Put another way, it is not that we are capable of communicating because we have languages, it is because people interact socially that languages end up coming into being, that languages were, and still are, being ‘invented’ (Severo and Makoni, 2015). As May (2014:9) has pointed out, adopting this anti-essentialist notion of language means viewing multilingualism as a significantly “complex, dynamic and porous phenomenon”, involving “multiple discursive practices”, in different modalities. From this perspective, multilingualism can no longer be construed as the simple coexistence of a set of languages, in a static, harmonious and homogeneous locus. Instead, as Heller (2012:32) has put it, multilingualism is “a set of ideologically-loaded communicative resources, always unequally distributed, on an always uneven playing field”. This means that it is potentially a site of turbulence and conflicting identities. As Blackledge et al. (2014:191) have noted, the core concepts in the study of language in social life should be “mobility, mixing, political dynamics, and historical embedding”. In contrast to views of language that predominate in national and regional language policies and in institutions, such as education (e.g. the distinction 2 Cavalcanti and Maher between good, appropriate or legitimate language), we see language as multifaceted and, following Cesar and Cavalcanti (2007), as a kaleidoscope of resources. Even ‘single languages’ can be thought of as comprising multiple resources, including styles, genres and registers and diverse ways of speaking and writing. In this volume, we see examples of sociolinguistic situations where a range of styles and language resources are in play in local actions and interactions (see, for instance, the chapters by Moita-Lopes, Rojo and Almeida, and Pires-Santos, this volume). Our main purposes in putting together this volume were to present to a wide international readership the wealth of recent research on multilingualism in Brazil and to make more visible the voices and viewpoints of Brazilian researchers. A significant proportion of the chapters in the volume incorporate poststructuralist and/or postmodern perspectives and research of an ethnographic nature predominates. The volume also brings together researchers working in a range of different research sites, in the north, northeast, south and southeast of the country and on the western frontiers with Argentina, Paraguay and Bolivia. It includes research with Indigenous peoples; with users of Língua Brasileira de Sinais (Libras), the Brazilian Sign Language; with groups of immigrant origin who have now been established for generations in the southern states of Brazil; and with people whose life trajectories have involved border crossing between Paraguay and Brazil, the so-called Brasiguaios (Braziguayans).1 It also includes research on multilingualism online and in rap music lyrics. And, taking account of globalization and contemporary mobilities, the volume includes two chapters relating to the internationalization and cooperation policies of universities in Brazil and to research with different participants in these programs. Together, the chapters provide rich insights into contemporary linguistic diversities in Brazil, into situated uses of different constellations of language resources, into local identity politics, into the histories of different linguistic minority groups and into ongoing changes specific to each group, e.g. rapidly developing transnational connectedness. At the same time, the chapters build a broad picture of the ways in which national language ideologies and language policies, and now globalized ideologies, have shaped the sociolinguistic trajectories of different groups. In the next three sections of the Introduction to the volume, we provide an account of the political and ideological contexts in which different national language policies have been forged. We trace three broad historical periods, from the colonial period to the present, and we chart the significant ideological shifts that have taken place. Further details regarding the impact of different language policies on particular populations in Brazil are then given in some of the individual chapters that follow. In the fourth and final section of this Introduction, we chart out the overall organization of the volume and we introduce each of the chapters in turn, pointing to the theoretical framing of each one and the specific nature of the research being presented. Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 3 Brazilian Language Policies, Identity Politics and an Enduring Monolingual Ideology Brazil has always been a multilingual country although, throughout its history, it has systematically attempted to eradicate the linguistic diversity within the population or make it invisible (Cavalcanti, 1999; Oliveira, 2003). Over the centuries, three types of repressive language policies have contributed, in significant ways, to the embedding of a grand narrative about Brazil being monolingual, in the collective memory of its citizens. We turn first to the Portuguese colonial era. In 1758, the Marquis de Pombal decreed that all Indigenous languages, including the Tupi-based lingua franca, Nheengatu, were to be replaced by Portuguese in all public domains (see Freire, this volume).2 Nheengatu was spoken by a significant number of Indigenous peoples and by a substantial proportion of the non- Indigenous population of the Portuguese Colony of Brazil. During this same period of Brazilian history, the Portuguese colonialists also adopted repressive approaches to the languages spoken by enslaved Africans who were brought to the colony from different regions of the African continent to work in sugar and coffee plantations. Members of the same family were separated and measures were taken to avoid the concentration of Africans with same regional origins in the same area (Petters, 2006). This strictly enforced strategy amounted to a language eradication policy although it was never written into law. The second type of policy emerged during the post-independence period— the period of the history of Brazil known as the Estado Novo.3 This was a period of populism and nationalist politics and there were increasing concerns about securing the border with Argentina (another rising power in Latin America). The then President of the Republic, Getúlio Vargas, sought closer alliance with the United States. Thus, during the Second World War, Brazil played a role in the international conflict of the times and, in 1942, Vargas proclaimed that the national languages of ‘enemy countries’— Germany, Japan and Italy—should be forbidden in schools and banned everywhere else in society. These were languages that were still being widely used in immigrant communities in southern Brazil (see Oliveira, this volume; see Morales, Akamine and Suzuki, this volume).4 Once again, legislation was introduced to ensure that Portuguese would be the only legitimate language of Brazilian institutions. The third policy was in place from the colonial period onwards, until the late 1980s, although it never had official legislative status. It took the form of an educational policy, related to Deaf groups in Brazil, which promoted monolingualism in Portuguese. For almost two centuries, the schooling of Deaf students in the country was guided by the view that the Deaf had to learn to communicate in oral Portuguese. This policy forbade the use of Sign Languages at school arguing that this practice would hinder 4 Cavalcanti and Maher the development of speaking ability or the ability to write in Portuguese (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2007). Along with previous repressive language-related legislation and language eradication strategies, this policy contributed to the reinforcement of the status of Portuguese and the symbolic ‘invention’ of a Brazilian national language (Berenblum, 2003). All three of the repressive language policies we have outlined here were informed by specific language ideologies, that is, by particular “sets of beliefs used to rationalize and justify the way languages are perceived” (Silverstein, 1979:193). They all had a lasting legacy. They not only shaped the landscape of sociolinguistic diversity in Brazil, but also the ways in which the individual and collective identities of speakers of immigrant languages, Indigenous languages and Sign Language were represented in the country. As Silva (2000) has indicated, identities only gain meaning within the particular signifying or representational systems in which they are constructed. Thus, in this volume, language policy-making is not viewed as a neutral, apolitical or conflict-free process. Decisions regarding language policies are seen as being embedded in power relations, symbolic domina- tion and language ideologies and these aspects of the social context need to be taken into account in research narratives (Tollefson, 2006; Hornberger, 2006; Maher, 2010; McCarty, 2011, Johnson, 2013; Tollefson and Pérez- Milans, 2017, among many others). At the same time, we acknowledge that language policies that deny legal protection to linguistic minorities do not necessarily prevent these languages from being used or reproduced. As Stroud and Heugh (2004:191) have put it, national language policies rarely succeed in preventing languages from being “productively appropriated by minority speakers into local multilingual repertoires to serve a range of local functions”.

A Shift in Language Ideologies with the Advent of More Democratic Processes Major official changes in the way that Brazil thought of and dealt with its minority languages only began to occur with the introduction of a new Constitution, in 1988, after the end of a military dictatorship that had lasted for 20 years (1964–1984). In this Constitution, the Indigenous peoples’ languages and cultures were finally acknowledgedand valued as part of the national patrimony. This strengthened the position of existing bilingual education programs that were sponsored by Non-Governmental Organiza- tions (NGOs) and encouraged the development of new bilingual education programs and language revitalization5 projects in Indigenous communities. At the same time, bilingual education programs were also established by various communities of immigrant origin (German, Italian, Polish, Ukrai- nian and others) in the southern region of the country, although they were not explicitly endorsed by the new Constitution. The aim of these programs was to support the learning of heritage languages by the descendants of the Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 5 original migrants.6 Demand for bilingual education programs for Deaf people (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2007) also emerged alongside an already existing movement in favor of Brazilian Sign Language (Libras). This movement then gathered strength and succeeded in getting approval for new laws, including the acknowledgement of Libras as a second official Brazilian language and its inclusion as part of the syllabus of university teacher education courses. The significant changes in language policies and educational practices described above were only possible because of a broader shift that had taken place in the country towards greater awareness of its cultural diversity. This shift had started with the opening up to democracy but it was also the outcome of sustained pressure from activists from several fields. The ripple effect was still being felt in the first decade of the new millennium. For example, in 2003, a significant new law called for the mandatory inclusion of Afro-Brazilian History and Culture in school syllabuses. A similar law concerning the Indigenous peoples of Brazil was passed in 2008. However, while social and cultural diversities are now being foregrounded in public policies, the country’s linguistic diversities have not received the same kind of attention. Moreover, the ideological shift towards a more positive view of minority languages in Brazil has not been fully translated into school language policies and educational practices. In fact, the National Curricular Guidelines (PCNs—Parâmetros Curricu- lares Nacionais) (Brazil, 1998a) for middle and secondary schooling, published in 1998, did not pay much attention to Brazil’s linguistic diversity, although it did make mention of the country’s cultural diversity, suggesting it should be reflected in the teaching of all curriculum subjects. One key exception to this trend can be found in the Indigenous Schools’ Curricular Guidelines (RCNEI—Referencial Curricular Nacional para as Escolas Indí- genas) also published that same year (Brazil, 1998). For the very first time, the languages and cultures of Indigenous peoples were made visible in an official curricular guideline. Thus, at least in theory, both legislation and pedagogical guidelines have given some favorable consideration to linguistic and cultural diversity in Indigenous contexts.

Multilingualism in the Context of Change: Globalization and Contemporary Mobilities To understand the multilingual nature of contemporary Brazil, we must take account of its recent history and of the fact that the country has been embedded in complex and changing global relations of a political, economic and cultural nature. In this section, we address Brazil’s history and its embedding in the increasingly multi-polar world of the 21st century. How- ever, before we begin this part of our narrative, we need to point out that the country is particularly vulnerable to the contradictions that capitalism generates, including increases in social-economic inequality. Brazil is seen as having a tendency to be economically unstable, while at the same time 6 Cavalcanti and Maher being perceived as particularly open to social change and experimentation (Santos, 1995). In fact, during the decade from 2000 to 2010, the country was open to more progressive policies. However, this now seems to be over due to recent political and ideological changes, which have resulted in severe cuts in the budget for social services, with a focus on education (and also health and safety). Right now, there is no way to foresee what awaits Brazil- ians in the near or distant future. In fact, since the 1970s, Brazil has gone in and out of global/local economic crises. As different economic shifts took place, from the 1970s onwards, we witnessed a number of significant migration movements in and out of the country: firstly, some 30 years ago, there was outward migration, mainly to Japan and to the US (Margolis, 2013). Secondly, in the 1970s and the 1980s, there was a steady flow of inward migration, from China and South Korea. In the first decade of the 21st centuryand in the early part of the second decade, while the major economies in the world were undergoing a severe economic crisis, Brazil—one of the so-called BRICS—experienced a brief economic boom, along with other countries such as Russia, India, China and South Africa. Due to this 21st century economic boom there were new transnational migration flows to Brazil from neighboring South American countries (mainly from Bolivia, but also from Peru and Ecua- dor) and, to a lesser extent, from countries such as Angola, Bangladesh, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Nigeria, Senegal and Sierra Leone (Lesser, 2013, 2015). This favorable economic condition also led to the return of some Brazilians who had migrated to Japan and to the US in the 1990s (See Morales, Akamine and Suzuki, this volume). Another form of transnational mobility associated with globalization is that of the intermittent return to Brazil of the Brasiguaios (Braziguayans). Finally, there has also been a significant movement of migrants/refugees to Brazil in the wake of the earthquake in Haiti and the civil war in Syria. From 2010 onwards, Syrians have been received as refugees and Haitians have been granted residence on humanitarian grounds (Lesser, 2015).7 However, Brazil has no official bilingual educational policies for the migrants and refugees who have arrived most recently. They have, for the most part, been welcomed by a few NGOs and universities, which have developed different forms of support and have been offering courses in Portuguese as an Additional Language (Amado, 2011; Torquato, 2014; Barbosa and Ruano, 2016). In-depth research projects that focus on the educational and sociolinguistic experiences of these migrants and refugees are still few in number. However, we do already have some evidence that some groups of adult migrants and refugees contest the ways in which some educational programs position them as second-class linguistic citizens or as students with little prior knowledge (Maher, 2013). Like other researchers who focus on linguistic and cultural change in the context of globalization (e.g. Blackledge and Creese, 2010; Blommaert, 2010; Heller, 2011; Martin-Jones et al., 2012; Hamel, 2013; Pietkäinen Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 7 and Kelly-Holmes, 2013), we take the view that we need new conceptual frames for the study of contemporary multilingualism, language ideologies and local/translocal practices. We also argue, as stated before, that we need to take account of the history of Brazil in order to provide a situated view of the specific nature and significance of the diversities evident in different sites in the country. In addition, we are mindful of the fact that the impact of globalization is harder on vulnerable groups, such as the groups who are the focus of most of the studies in this volume. This aspect of globalization is what Santos (2000) called “perverse globalization”. And now, as the second decade of the 21st century comes to a close and as we witness some of the consequences of de-globalization (Bello, 2013), we anticipate growing vulnerability among minorities in Brazil and in other regions of the world.

Content and Organization of the Volume Given the increasing awareness of the complex and rapidly changing nature of the sociolinguistic landscape in Brazil, research on multilingualism and sociocultural diversity is blossoming all over the country and is being taken in new directions by a number of Brazilian scholars. The focus of most of the chapters in the volume is on people on the margins of society, in sites of multilingualism that are in some way bound up with globalization processes. Like Pietkäinen and Kelly-Holmes (2013:8), we view these sites as particularly promising ones for the study of the processes involved in the shaping of language resources, communicative repertoires, individual and group identities and language ideologies, and “for examining the evolving notions of language, multilingualism and other related concepts”. For instance, some contributions give accounts of the efforts made by minority groups, in different regions of Brazil, to strengthen what they perceive as languages of identity and belonging. Others focus on the educational challenges faced by socially marginalized groups— particularly those learning Portuguese as an Additional Language in different contexts, whether it be in multilingual educational programs, in schools and universities in Brazil’s largest cities or whether it be in more peripheral spaces such as on the country’s borders. Yet other contributions present research conducted with groups of young people who are situated on the margins, focusing on their cultural practices and on the ways in which language resources are drawn upon in these practices. The concern in these particular chapters is with the use of new technologies and the emergence of new forms of popular culture and new practices that are translingual and transcultural in nature. The volume has been organized into five sections, grouping together chapters that address similar research issues or research sites. The first section is entitled “Politics, Language Ideologies and the Changing Shape of Lan- guage Policy Processes”. It is introduced by Rainier Enrique Hamel. This 8 Cavalcanti and Maher section brings together three texts that discuss the impact of the changing language ideologies, discourses and actions of different governmental and non-governmental institutions. The second section is entitled: “Language- in-Education: A Dominant Monolingual Ideology in Tension with Multi- lingual Practices”. It is introduced by Inês Signorini. It incorporates three chapters that focus on policy and practice in different educational contexts. They examine ongoing language and identity conflicts stemming from the monolingual perspectives on bilingualism adopted by educational practitioners in these contexts, and point to directions for change. The third section is introduced by Marilyn Martin-Jones and is entitled: “Local/Global Tra- jectories”. Here, the chapters foreground mobilities across space and time, and they consider the impact of enduring language ideologies and specific language policies on the language repertoires and practices of three different groups of migrant origin. The fourth section is entitled: “Representation/ Performance of Diversities”. This is introduced by Lynn Mario Menezes de Souza. The chapters here present recent research into translingual practices online and transidiomaticity in rap lyrics. The last section of the volume is introduced by Feliciano Salvador Chimbutane and is entitled “Internation- alization and New Diversities in Higher Education: Policies and Practices ‘On the Ground’ ”. Both chapters in this section relate to research connected with the internationalization and cooperation policies of Brazilian universities and to African students and teachers who participate in such programs.

Section I: Politics, Language Ideologies and the Changing Shape of Language Policy Processes In Chapter 2, José Ribamar Bessa Freire, a historian, provides us with a well-documented overview of the history of Indigenous languages in Brazil, focusing on significant language ideological shifts over time. The author details the way three models of language-in-education policies (“Civilizing monolingualism”, “Civilizing bilingualism” and “Bilingualism as an identity marker”) have been instrumental in either eradicating Indigenous languages or promoting and legitimizing their usage. In the final section of the chapter, Freire examines recent State-sanctioned policies devised to attribute positive value to Indigenous languages both in Indigenous and non-Indigenous school curricula. Despite the major difficulties involved in implementing these policies, he argues that they index a significant shift in the way that the linguistic rights of Indigenous peoples are now viewed in Brazil. The chapter by Terezinha Machado Maher (Chapter 3) is grounded in two decades of ethnographic research in western Amazonia. It tackles issues that lie at the heart of contemporary language revitalization programs, namely: (1.) the emergence of ideologies about who counts as an authentic speaker and, hence, as a legitimate Indigenous teacher, and (2.) the implications of these ideologies for those who have had limited access to their ancestral languages, but who are committed to their revitalization. Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 9 Illustrating these issues with reference to the words of Indigenous teachers engaged in a bilingual teacher education program sponsored by an NGO, Comissão Pró-índio do Acre (The Commission for the Indigenous Peoples of Acre), Maher emphasizes the need for greater critical understanding of the often essentialized relationship between language and identity, so that more realistic expectations can be set in language revitalization programs. Chapter 4, by Gilvan Müller de Oliveira, offers a detailed account of the changing fortunes of settlements of immigrants from Germany, who arrived in the south of Brazil from the 19th century onwards. The main focus of the chapter is on the changing status of speakers of two regional languages, Hunsrückisch and Pommersch, during different phases of Brazilian political history. The fortunes of these particular linguistic groups are also set in the wider context of immigration and changing language policy processes. Whereas they were once considered to be ‘foreign languages’, they are now represented as part of the national Brazilian patrimony. The final section provides insightful discussion of some of the complexities that have arisen as a result of the language policy processes set in train by the 1988 Brazil- ian Constitution. The discussion focuses specifically on the right of local municipalities to assign co-official status (with Portuguese) to languages spoken locally.

Section II: Language-in-Education: A Dominant Monolingual Ideology in Tension with Multilingual Practices Chapter 5, by Ivani Rodrigues Silva and Wilma Favorito, presents recent research with seven Deaf teachers in Brazil. The research project was designed around focus group discussions relating to language and identity, particularly professional identities. These teachers had been appointed by the National Institute for Deaf People’s Education (Instituto Nacional para a Educação de Surdos—INES) in Rio de Janeiro. Their role was to teach Bra- zilian Sign Language (Libras) in higher education courses offered by INES. The teachers had diverse backgrounds and different experiences of learning Libras. The analysis of the focus group data concentrated on: (1.) the range of communicative resources they drew on in face-to-face interactions with each other; (2.) the ways in which their communicative repertoires had been shaped by their trajectories and (3.) the diverse ways in which they represented the links between Deaf identity and the use of Libras. Chapter 6, by Rosângela Morello, is based on an action research project that was linked to a broader educational project entitled: Observatório da Educação na Fronteira—OBEDF (Observatory of Education at the Border). The project was carried out, from 2011 to 2013, in three municipalities within the Central Arc of the Brazilian border, which includes the Brazil/ Paraguay and Brazil/Bolivia border. The project focused on five schools in these municipalities. It combined school-wide research (a survey, observation and interviews) with an educational intervention that involved local 10 Cavalcanti and Maher teachers and school supervisors. Each of these research sites for the project was characterized by a different constellation of linguistic diversity. The broad aims of the project included: (1.) building a sociolinguistic profile of the schools and (2.) working with school staff to shift the monolingual ethos and to identify ways of changing pedagogic practice, local language curricula and classroom language use so as to provide more support for students speaking languages other than Portuguese at home. Chapter 7, by Maria Elena Pires-Santos, presents a detailed and illuminat- ing case study of one Braziguayan student, Natalia, who was perceived by her Brazilian teachers as incapable of writing ‘adequate’ academic texts in Portuguese. This case study formed part of a wider ethnographic research project that Pires-Santos has been conducting in cross-border educational settings in Southern Brazil since the 1990s. The ethnographic and textual data for this case study consisted of Natalia’s own accounts of her lived experience of literacy, in her academic life (as a graduate and undergraduate student) and in different life world settings. In Chapter 7, we are given fine-grained insights into the complexity and creativityof Natalia’s translingual practices and into her developing metalinguistic awareness. And, at the same time, we see the negative ways in which her writing practices were evaluated in academic settings. Drawing on the insights gleaned in this close research collaboration with Natalia, Pires-Santos argues that Brazilian educators need to take into account the complex multilingual repertoires of Braziguayan students, and teacher training courses should provide future teachers with an orientation to the specific dimensions of diversity on the Brazilian frontier with Paraguay.

Section III: Local/Global Trajectories In Chapter 8, Leiko Matsubara Morales, Ayako Akamine and Maria Emiko Suzuki give us a well-documented account of the social and sociolinguistic history of Japanese-Brazilians. It first traces the different waves of labor migration from Japan to Brazil and subsequent settlement of Japanese people in rural and urban areas. It then turns to the recent patterns of out- migration to Japan and return migration to Brazil. At each stage of this historical account, we see: (1.) how and why shifts in language ideologies occurred and how processes of identification were bound up with these ideological shifts; (2.) how the trajectories of migrants and of their descendants, across time and space, were shaped by wider political and economic developments and (3.) the consequences of particular migration moves or patterns of settlement for subsequent generations (e.g. in terms of their language education and chances of entering higher education). The chapter is also grounded in a critique of essentialist views of identity and culture and in the anthropological tradition of research on language ideologies. Chapter 9, by Neiva Jung and Jakeline Semechechem, presents ethnographic work by Semechechem (2016) related to bilingual literacy practices Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 11 in a Ukrainian community in Paraná, Southern Brazil. This research was located at the interface between sociolinguistic research on multilingualism and the new literacy studies. The chapter covers the whole range of communicative resources that the Ukrainian-Brazilians in this community have in their repertoires e.g. the local spoken variety of Ukrainian (blended with Portuguese), ‘Brasilero’ (the local term for Brazilian Portuguese), standard Ukrainian written in different genres (with or without the Cyrillic alphabet), and specialized literacies and uses of texts e.g. liturgical literacies and academic literacies and language and literacy online (using different language and literacy resources). The key role of the Ukrainian Greek Catho- lic church in the establishment of the Ukrainian community is documented in some detail. We also see how local sociolinguistic repertoires have been shaped by the history of this community. Towards the end of this chapter, Jung and Semechechem also touch on changes in local practices that are bound up with different dimensions of globalization. They include a new trend towards online writing of Ukrainian, greater transnational connectedness and the increased transnational mobility (e.g. to and from Ukraine) of those who are associated with local religious bodies and those who have academic aspirations. In Chapter 10, the anthropologist Regina C. Machado e Silva focuses on Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu—a city on the border with both Para- guay and Argentina—on the so-called Triple Frontier. The chapter opens with a historical overview of migration to the city, drawing attention to the wider political and economic processes that shaped the specific patterns of migration and settlement that took place in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It also shows how and why Arabic speakers moved into specific niches within the local economy, notably the business sector and cross-border trade. In addition, we see how language and cultural diversity within the city is characterized today, in local official and commercial discourses, and the ways in which Os Árabes (The Arabs) are represented locally as a ‘homogeneous group’. In the second part of the chapter, Silva provides insights into the diversity within this specific ‘community’, by drawing on her own ethnographic research in the city. In this section, she makes reference to bilingual signage in the local linguistic landscape, and considers different kinds of online texts.

Section IV: Representation/Performance of Diversities In the first chapter of this last section (Chapter 11), Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes gives us keen insights into the ways in which transidiomaticity is employed in a rap lyric written by Group Payé. This is a rap group based on the Triple Frontier, with Argentina and Paraguay. Their lyrics serve as transidiomatic acts of resistance to prevailing discourses about this borderland region. Drawing on different communicative resources (from Guarani, Portu- guese and Castellano), as well as other semiotic resources that index global 12 Cavalcanti and Maher popular culture and global political discourse, we see how Group Payé engage in fluid identity performances that challenge ready-made hegemonic presuppositions about the region. Moita-Lopes’ analysis of the Group Payé lyrics is grounded in theory-building around language, culture and globalization, ways of knowing on the borderlands, and recent literature on performativity, indexicality and text spectacularity. He closes the chapter with the observation that a monoglossic view of ‘language’ renders invisible the specific transidiomatic ways in which people on the margins are voicing new meanings to confront social exclusion. In Chapter 12, Roxane Rojo and Eduardo de Moura Almeida contribute to the rapidly growing ethnographic and multimodal research into communication, creativity and heteroglossia on the Internet, bringing this important new perspective into the volume. Their chapter presents detailed research into a specific practice—that of creating Anime Music Videos (AMV). The research was carried out with a leading Brazilian practitioner (Shinzo). The ethnographic and audiovisual data for the study included extended interviews with Shinzo and Anime Music Videos, produced by Shinzo, which involved hybridization of cultural references (Japanese animation and West- ern pop music, in English and Portuguese). The analysis of these different types of data provide intriguing insights into Shinzo’s understandings of the practice of Anime Music Video editing, along with his beliefs and values (e.g. around the use of different languages) and his reflections on how AMV practices have shaped his own life trajectory. Rojo and Almeida also examine a multilingual interaction that took place in an online AMV editors’ discussion forum and show how editors around the world negotiated the role of English as a lingua franca in this community.

Section V: Internationalization and New Diversities in Higher Education: Policies and Practices ‘On the Ground’ In chapter 13, Margarete Schlatter and Pedro Garcez describe developments in the field of Portuguese as an Additional Language (PAL) in Brazil. Their account sets PAL in the wider context of globalization, increased transnational mobility, the internationalization programs of universities worldwide and the increasing commodification of languages. It also provides an analysis of the development of a global PAL network, with the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) as its hub. The final part of the chapter, with its detailed focus on the challenges of running specialized teacher education programs for Portuguese and Mathematics teachers from countries in Africa where Portuguese is an official language, gives us a close-up view of the workings of one particular program, designed for teachers in Cape Verde. Here, Schlatter and Garcez focus on the pedagogic and sociolinguistic concerns guiding the work with the teachers participating in this program. Chapter 14, by Ana Cecília C. Bizon and Marilda C. Cavalcanti, is based on detailed ethnographic research by Bizon (2013) in a university context in Brazilian Perspectives on Multiligualism 13 Brazil. The focus is on an international cooperation program entitled Pro- grama de Estudantes Convênio de Graduação—PEC-G (Exchange Program for Undergraduate Students), which provides a pathway into undergraduate education in Brazil for students from other countries in the global south. The study was carried out with students from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC). The research combined participant observation with the audio-recording of extended conversations with the research participants. The analytic focus was on the students’ narratives of lived experience in the different spaces they traversed in their daily lives in Brazil—on and off campus. The students focused on their experience of exclusion and othering in different spaces. Bizon and Cavalcanti argue that the insights gleaned from this research point to the need to rethink the forms of support for international students such as these. Their chapter demonstrates the value of ethnographic research and narrative analysis in building an understanding of the ways in which such international cooperation programs actually work ‘on the ground’. The specific nature and significance of Brazilian university programs of internationalization and cooperation are also illustrated with reference to the ways in which nation-states, and their higher education institutions, are positioned within the current global political and economic order. The volume closes with an Afterword by Nancy Hornberger. She points out that it focuses on different dimensions of multilingualism in contemporary Brazil and on the ideological shifts that have taken place over time. She describes the volume as a rich compilation of “historical, ethnographic and narrative perspectives on the ever-expanding acknowledgement of multilingual Indigenous, immigrant and transnational Brazil”. Hornberger draws out the similarities and differences between the Brazilian research presented here and research in other sociolinguistic settings in the Americas, and in other continents she knows so well. Hornberger emphasizes that the issues emerging across the volume resonate with those addressed in research in other contact zones (Pratt, 1987). For Hornberger, the nature and significance of the empirical work and the lines of theory-building presented in the volume are also clearly aligned with recent moves towards the forging of a new sociolinguistics of multilingualism, one that takes account of voices and experience from the global south.

Notes 1 The term ‘Braziguayans’ refer to those Brazilians who had been initially attracted by Paraguay’s promising migration policy in the 1960s and 1970s (see Pires-Santos, this volume). 2 Due to repression of Indigenous Brazilian languages in the Colonial Period, it is estimated that fewer than 15% of the Indigenous languages were able to ‘survive’. 3 The Estado Novo [the New State] was a Brazilian dictatorial regime, instituted by Vargas in 1937, that lasted until 1945. This period, in which economic reforms were carried out to foster the country’s industrial growth, was characterized by strong nationalistic and anticommunist ideology (D’Araujo, 2000). 14 Cavalcanti and Maher 4 Throughout its history, Brazil has seen the arrival of different groups of immigrants. The first groups consisted mainly of Portuguese, Spanish, Italian, German and Japanese workers who entered the country after slavery had been abolished in 1888. They originally came to work in rural areas (Lesser, 2013). 5 As we understand it, minority language revitalization projects should aim, not at ‘preserving’ these languages in their supposed ‘original and pure’ forms, but at devising favorable conditions for their continuity taking into account their ever- changing structural, lexical and discursive configurations. 6 In the 1990s, circa 30 languages were spoken among groups of migrant origin in Brazil (Oliveira, 2003). 7 Changes on the movement of migrants and refugees seem to be already taking place. In the last year and a half, the press has reported that, due to the ongoing economic recession and rising unemployment rates, some Haitian migrants have started leaving the country, seeking employment in other countries e.g. Chile and the US.

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Section I Politics, Language Ideologies and the Changing Shape of Language Policy Processes

Introduction Distinctive and Common Features of Brazilian Language and Education Policy in the Latin American Context

Rainer Enrique Hamel

1. Brazil’s Significant Linguistic Diversity and its Management Just three chapters compose this section, but they cover a wide kaleidoscope of Brazil’s wealth of cultural and linguistic diversity. Freire (Chap- ter 2) traces the impact of language policy in three school models prominent in three periods of history. They range from civilizing monolingualism (fast transition or submersion), through civilizing bilingualism (still transition) to reach the identity bilingualism of our times. The ideological shift that nurtures a new language policy moves away from traditional orientations of diversity as a threat to national unity towards an enrichment perspective, which regards identity bilingualism as a positive option to promote Indig- enous languages and cultures. Maher (Chapter 3) focuses in on some effects of the new language policy at the micro level of local Indigenous teacher training events among members of several Indigenous peoples in western Amazonia. The new positive status of Indigenous languages bestows legitimacy on fluent speakers as competent bilingual teachers, whereas non-fluent or non-speakers do not qualify as authentic members or proficient teachers. Maher takes sides in a highly controversial topic debated across countries and disciplines today— namely the relationship between language and ethnic identity. She dismisses the notion that Indigenous language competence is a necessary prerequi- site to claim Indigenous identities which, as she shows, can just as well be enacted in hegemonic Portuguese. Thus, Indigenous peoples have the right, but not the obligation to speak a native language in order to be recognized as authentic ‘Índios’. However, if language revitalization is an objective of some Indigenous peoples, then, I would add, they also have the right as a community to define membership in relation to native language proficiency. The pressure exer- cised on non-proficient indigenous teachers, in Maher’s example, to learn and improve their native language may be a strong motivation to make revitalization succeed, as we have seen in a number of other cases all over Latin America. Freire’s text seems to point into this direction when he emphasizes 22 Rainer Enrique Hamel that “strategies which (. . .) promote and legitimize Indigenous bilingualism as a marker of identity” (pp. 27–28) are a goal of present day language policy in Brazil. Oliveira (Chapter 4) describes the extension of the new language rights and policies, granted under the 1988 Constitution, to Brazil’s large heritage language communities. Initially, these language rights were only granted to Indigenous peoples. Oliveira exemplifies this process of policy extension with reference to two German dialects: Hunsrückisch and Pommersch. These dialects were spoken by immigrants who arrived in Brazil around the mid-19th century and were preserved in semi-autarchic territories. They evolved into recognized Brazilian languages, registered today in the National Inventory of Linguistic Diversity. Hence, their speakers identify themselves today as Brazilians who speak Brazilian languages. They are no longer branded as the languages of foreign powers but are co-official with Portuguese in several municipalities. These authors describe in various ways Brazil’s transition from a predominantly monolingual and monocultural orientation and ideology in the past to a more plurilingual and pluricultural perspective at present, which considers diversity as an asset. In synchrony with the editors’ introductory chapter, the three authors coincide in stressing two landmarks: the history of the construction of a homogeneous nation-state that has attempted to assimilate and thus render invisible Indigenous and immigrant diversity; and the move towards Indigenous rights recognized in the 1988 Constitution that, in turn, triggered a broader change in ideological orientations towards diversity. However, the question remains open as to what extent the policy inno- vations represent a profound transformation of Brazilian society itself, encompassing its mainstream majority. For many observers, the changes have primarily involved policy shifts by state institutions on paper (e.g. the drafting of laws and the design and funding of programs). Implementation and profound social transformation seem to lag behind, as happens in Latin America as a whole.

2. Brazil’s Language and Education Policies, Viewed in the Latin American Context My own involvement in building comparative perspectives on Brazil and Mexico dates back to the late 1980s when I worked as a visiting professor at Universidade Estadual de Campinas [State University of Campinas] (UNICAMP). Marilda Cavalcanti and Terezinha (Teca) Maher, the volume editors, generously opened their door to me, enabling me to participate in their adventure of setting up a research unit and a program on Indigenous bilingualism and language education in their thriving Institute of Language Studies (Instituto de Estudos da Linguagem—IEL), probably the best place for the social study of language in any Brazilian university. Their academic Section I: Introduction 23 work and their research agenda have grown over time to become landmarks within applied linguistics in Brazil and far beyond. This book is a testimony to this. I experienced an Indigenous world where everything seemed extremely different from my Mexican experience. When I tried to sketch Latin Ameri- can language policies (Hamel, 1994a) and Indigenous education (Hamel, 1994b) shortly after this period, Brazil and Mexico appeared to me as two polar cases that had differed historically in most aspects: the divergent presence of Indigenous populations in sheer quantitative terms; the two countries’ contrasting histories of colonization (Mexican mestizage and assimilation vs. Brazilian extermination and segregation); the different types of legislation (full citizen status in Mexico vs. paternalistic legal tutelage in Brazil before the 1988 Constitution); and different forms of educational interventions (Mexican governmental monopoly policies vs. Brazilian inat- tention and non-governmental initiatives). Mexico represents one out of two macro-ethnoses (Mesoamerica and the Andean space) which comprise well over 80 per cent of the continent’s Indigenous population who live in areas where highly complex societies existed before the European conquest: the Mayas, Aztecs and Incas. In contrast, the ensemble of Amerindian micro-ethnoses, typical for Brazil, are characterized by low demographic density, high linguistic diversity, but less complex social organization, and a much lower degree of socioeconomic and cultural assimilation or integration compared to the macro-ethnoses. Given the significant demographic and socioeconomic weight of Indigenous populations in the macro-ethnos areas, their governments have traditionally opted for far more vertical, widespread and intrusive strategies of assimilation, including educational programs, as compared with the micro-ethnoses. From a comparative perspective, then, Brazil’s history of Indigenous policies exhibits repression, then a degree of laissez-faire in the past and, today, a trend towards the granting of levels of autonomy and diversity as regards cultural content, language and the curriculum, that would still be difficult to imagine in the macro-ethnos regions. Given the profound diversity of ethnicities even within each country, we need to ‘decolonize’ our own pervasive ideological tradition of homogenizing Indigenous peoples in Latin America as being similar. Such categoriza- tions led to harmful common policies and programs for very diverse realities in the past. This prevalent orientation among researchers, decision makers and some Indigenous leaders represents in itself an ideology and colonialist praxis in discourse and intervention. No doubt some of my initial comparative observations in the late 1980s still remain relevant, but a lot has changed over the past 30 years (Hamel, 2013). Brazil has moved from being a country characterized by a lack of state attention, segregation and even violent oppression of Indigenous peoples until the 1970s, to a nation that is now developing unique leadership in Latin America. It has induced ideological changes and policies of 24 Rainer Enrique Hamel recognition that embrace both the Indigenous and the immigrant communities and put them on an equal footing—a unique case in the continent. As Oliveira reports in this section, there are even more municipalities that have co-officialized immigrant languages than Indigenous languages. And, unlike the era when Portuguese was the only instrument for the ‘integration’ of immigrant ‘nationalization’, now their languages have been ‘Brazilianized’. This allows immigrant descendants to identify themselves as Brazilians in different languages. Moreover, different groups, within the much larger population of African-Brazilian descent, are now moving from the margins of exclusion towards the center of Brazilian identity construction and nation building. Two processes relate Brazil to Latin America and, at the same time, distinguish it from the Hispanic countries. In past centuries, Hispanic America and Brazil lived back to back and essentially ignored each other. However, over the past 50 years or so, the traditional pre-eminence of Argentina over Brazil, in terms of development and wealth, has been turned around and Brazil has become the leading country in South America. Accordingly, the asymmetry in the prestige of Spanish and Portuguese has been inverted on most parameters, and Portuguese has become the language associated with progress and higher living standards, especially on the borders. This has, in turn, affected the programs of bilingual borderland schools (see Morello, chapter 7). The countries of the southern cone of Latin America have now opened up and promoted linguistic integration through Mercosur, the free trade agreement between Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay and Venezu- ela. Portuguese and Spanish are co-official languages (Hamel, 2003). Beyond its leading role in South America, Brazil has steadily taken over leadership in the Lusophone community from Portugal, which is resisting this process, in the promotion of Portuguese as an international, super-central language. In contrast, in the Hispanic language sphere, Spain is still hegemonic outside Latin America in the international field of Spanish language promotion and teaching.

3. Commonalities between Brazil and Other Latin American Countries Brazil shares a number of specific characteristics with the Amazonian regions of Colombia, Venezuela, Peru, Ecuador and Bolivia. I cannot comment on all of these here due to space constraints. However, the main similarities lie in the fact that, in practically all countries, advanced legislation and innovative programs for Indigenous peoples are accompanied by poor enactment. Given the widespread nature of the mismatch between policies and actual practices, this can hardly be understood as mere shortcomings in ‘implementation’; rather, hidden agendas and covert language policies are at work which are bound up with dominant class reluctance to engage in any empowerment of minorities. Section I: Introduction 25 Another characteristic that exhibits astonishing similarity across countries, and across diverse contexts, is the growing divergence between the linguistic (bilingual) and the cultural (intercultural) component of Indigenous community life and education. Increasingly, the discourses of intercultural- ism are driving the debate away from bilingualism and the language question. As Maher argues forcefully in her chapter, individuals should not be required to speak an Indigenous language in order to be recognized as true ‘Índios’. This tendency can be observed all over Latin America where the number of citizens self-reporting as Indigenous, while not reporting knowledge of an Indigenous language, has doubled, from one census to the next, in countries like Brazil, Chile or Mexico. Sociolinguistics has traditionally identified minority language shift as part and parcel of a reorientation of identity, as a move away from a minority identity toward mainstream society. This relation no longer holds in the same way it did before, due to increasing identity politics and Indigenous movements, but also to the creation of social, economic and legal programs that provide advantages for recognized members of an Indigenous people, as occurs in the US and Canada. A pervasive feature of the neo-liberal era is that the advancement of Indig- enous movements, policies and legal frameworks for recognition, including bilingual education, turns out to be compatible with the progression of neo-liberal economics. While, on the one hand, the state grants cultural and linguistic concessions, on the other hand the neo-liberal model dispos- sesses peasants including Indians, destroying the territorial base of Indig- enous communities through the devastation of their local economies and the persistent invasion of their territories. These are certainly common characteristics across Latin America, and beyond that help to explain some of the contradictions dealt with in the different chapters of this section.

References Hamel, R. E. (1994a) Linguistic rights for Indian peoples in Latin America, in: Skutnabb-Kangas, T. and Phillipson, R. (eds.) Linguistic human rights: Overcom- ing linguistic discrimination. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. ———. (1994b) Indigenous education in Latin America: policies and legal frameworks, in: Skutnabb-Kangas, T. and Phillipson, R. (eds.) Linguistic human rights: Overcoming linguistic discrimination. Berlin and New York: Mouton de Gruyter. ———. (2003) Regional blocs as a barrier against English hegemony? The language policy of Mercosur in South America, in: Maurais, J. and Morris, M. A. (eds.) Languages in a globalising world. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. (2013) Language policy and ideology in Latin America, in: Bayley, R., Cam- eron, R. and Lucas, C. (eds.) The Oxford handbook of sociolinguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

2 Changing Policies and Language Ideologies With Regard to Indigenous Languages in Brazil

José Ribamar Bessa Freire

The image of Brazil, as a monolingual country with Portuguese as its official language, has already been naturalized among its citizens. This image still circulates widely, and predominantly in schools and in the media. The very construction of a national identity relies on the notion of ‘one nation, one language’. Despite the fact that the idea of ‘language’ itself has been increasingly questioned (see Moita Lopes, this volume), it is worthy of note that the 2010 official census of the IBGE—Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics]—registered, for the first time, a total of 274 Indigenous languages. Linguists bring this number down to 188, considering that several of these self-denominated languages may in fact be varieties of the same language. These languages are spoken by most of the Indigenous people (circa 896,900) who either live on Indigenous lands or inhabit towns and cities in 5,565 municipalities in Brazil (IBGE, 2015). I begin this essay by contextualizing, in general lines, the historical background of language and educational policies up to the Brazilian Constitu- tion of 1988, drawing on documentation found in Brazilian and European archives that are listed in the Guia de Fontes para História Indígena [Survey of Sources for a History of Indigenous Peoples], and focusing, in particular, on archives found in Rio de Janeiro (Freire, 1995, 1996). A historical perspective on language policies will help us understand the formulation of the ‘national unity’ ideology, and the discrimination imposed on minoritized languages. This approach is theoretically informed by research in the social history of language, which has placed an emphasis on language ideologies, i.e. on discourses that are elaborated and deconstructed with regard to languages (Woolard, 1998). Adopting this perspective enables us to understand how and why, over time, some languages were successfully imposed and spread geographically or socially in Brazil, while others receded or even disappeared. Next, I call attention to the strategies which, in the past three decades, have been devised in order to make visible the diversity of Indigenous languages in Brazil, not only in an attempt to strengthen those languages that are endangered, ‘anemic’ or ‘dying’, but also in order to help promote and 28 José Ribamar Bessa Freire legitimize Indigenous bilingualism as a marker of identity. I close this chapter pondering on recent State-sanctioned policies that try to place greater emphasis on Indigenous language and culture, not only in Indigenous schools, but also across the Brazilian educational system as a whole. My reflections regarding the position of these languages in Indigenous schools—strategic spaces for the implementation of language policies—are based on three broad language ideologies underpinning models of language- in-education policy over three different periods in history, identified by Queixalós and Renault-Lescure (2000:9–11): civilizing monolingualism, civilizing bilingualism, and bilingualism as an identity marker.1 These stages must not be understood, however, as necessarily being sequential in time, but rather as traits which last through time and are able to coexist, with alternating dominance, one over the other.

Civilizing Monolingualism Supported by historical documentation, Rodrigues (2002) identified over 1,300 languages, belonging to different language families, which were spoken in the 16th century all over what is now designated as Brazilian territory. Those in power gradually acknowledged their existence as Portu- guese troops explored the sertões [remote hinterland] and came in contact with (often, clashed with) their speakers. The great difficulty encountered in administrating and controlling territories which were so linguistically diverse led to the view that diversity constituted an obstacle to the implementation of the Portuguese colonization project and, some centuries later, to the project of constructing national unity. Historical documents reveal the ways in which these languages and their speakers were represented. They were described as: “deficient,” “inferior,” “rudimentary,” “rustic,” “inarticulate,” “horrendous,” “irrational,” “broken,” “incomprehensible” and “incapable of abstract reasoning” (Freire, 2011:33). These highly negative, common-sense evaluations contrast sharply with the ideological framework currently in place today. Take for example, the words of Antonio Vieira, a Jesuit based in Brazil in the 17th century, whose works have recently been published: “They were the barbaric and extremely barbaric languages of a people from a place where there was never anyone who could read or write”. The same author added that they were “brutal languages and the languages of brutes who lacked books, professors or guidance” (Vieira, 2001:338). The predominance of such highly negative attitudes at the time may account for the absence of an inventory of these languages during the colonial period. What information we have about them has been gathered from fragmented, scattered documentation produced mainly by missionaries and, to a lesser extent, from chronicles and voyagers’ accounts. Many of the languages are already extinct. The language policies of the Portuguese Crown, mostly formulated by the Jesuits, were implemented to ‘solve’ the issues arising from the linguistic Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 29 diversity in the colony. They chose, at first, an Indigenous-based language which was already working as a language of wider communication, and which came to be known, along the coast, as LGP—Língua Geral Paulista [General Language of São Paulo] and, in Grão-Pará [Greater Pará], LGA— Língua Geral Amazônica [General Language of the Amazonia] (Rodrigues, 2002). So as to deal with communication in such multilingual circumstances, these languages were adopted and formal decisions were made to determine their function and delimit their scope of usage. For this purpose, missionaries developed didactic grammars, dictionaries, and lexical inventories, elaborating metadiscourse on the languages employed in their area of influence. The use of LGP and LGA in the catechism and in the conversion of Indigenous peoples to Catholicism within missionary settlements, and in work contexts, eventually led to the disappearance of many “particular languages” (as the Indigenous languages were called at the time). Many disappeared leaving almost no trace, after having coexisted with the General Languages for a long while (Alfaro and Freire, 2014). In the second half of the 18th century, after the Jesuits had been expelled (from Portugal and its colonies), LGP and LGA came to be referred to as ‘diabolical’ languages in official documents. From then onwards, they were formally prohibited, as were the so-called ‘particular languages’. The Por- tuguese Crown adopted measures to encourage the use of the Portuguese language, both in catechism and in the school system. The educational model of civilizing monolingualism was, at first, predom- inant in the colonial period, with both General Languages being used—as stepping stones to the Lusophonization later consolidated in Imperial Brazil (19th century) and Republican Brazil (20th century).2 Its aim was to bring about a coercive process of language shift by imposing the Portuguese language. The Jesuit João Daniel, who spent 17 years in Grão-Pará, describes how, in the 18th century, the palmatória3 was used for punishment, and to force Indigenous people, especially Indigenous women, to abandon their native languages. He details the principles of such policy: “If we intend to civilize the Indians, and turn them into human beings, this aim will only, or more rapidly and more easily, be achieved with the Portuguese language, rather than with the language of the Indians” (Daniel, 1976:T.II, 227). One document that provides revealing insights into the workings of the civilizing monolingualism ideology was an assessment of Amazonian schools dating from 1861. This is the only eyewitness account of classrooms from this period to have remained. The poet Gonçalves Dias, who wrote it, having been designated Visitador das Escolas Públicas de Primeiras Letras [Inspector of Public Elementary Schools] at the time, traveled the Solimões River (another name for the Amazon River) and its tributary, the Rio Negro, visiting schools in every village in the region. What he found was a mostly Indigenous population and people of mixed background, who did not speak Portuguese, the sole language of instruction in the schools. On completing 30 José Ribamar Bessa Freire his travels, he put together two reports in which he came to the conclusion that schools were ineffectual because students spoke one language—the LGA—sometimes along with a particular Indigenous language, and could not understand Portuguese, the language spoken by the teachers. Despite providing an accurate account of the sociolinguistic realities of these classrooms, the Inspector’s advice was that Portuguese should continue to be used for the sake of national unity (This was already some 40 years after the Independence of Brazil). As he put it: “The benefit of school attendance lies mainly in breaking the habit of using the General Language, which is spoken at home, in the streets, all around” (Dias, 2002:16). In this context, the role of schools was not to spread knowledge and values in a language inaccessible to students, but to impose upon them the dominant language. The learning of Portuguese was represented in the discourse of the Inspector as being of considerable value, particularly for boys from local Indigenous populations. In his words:

In speaking the Portuguese language there is already such an advantage, that, if for no other reason, it would still be worth sending boys to school at present, and would continue to be so for a long time, which justifies the government establishing and maintaining the Solimões elementary schools for this purpose. (Dias, 2002:16)

Recommendations such as these served as the groundwork for ‘reforms’ passed later, in 1864, by the President of the Province, Adolfo Lacerda, to ensure the teaching of Portuguese and instruction in Portuguese, in all Indigenous schools.

Civilizing Bilingualism During the Republic, proclaimed in 1889, official discourse continued to emphasize the need to do away with the diversity of Indigenous cultures and languages, this time in the name of ‘national unity’. Paulo de Frontin, president of the Commission for Brazil’s 4th Centennial, in his commemorative opening speech, on May 4, 1900, was emphatic on the issue of the assimilation of Indigenous populations. His speech was not contested or criticized in any way, at the time:

Brazil is not the Indian; this element, which civilization has not reached, holds on to his primitive ways, with no advancement or progress. The savages, dispersed, still abound in our majestic forests and are in no way different from their ascendants of 400 years ago; they are not, nor can they be considered to be, an integral part of our nationality, whose role is to assimilate them, and in failing to do so, eliminate them. (Frontin, 1910:187) Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 31 Halfway through the 20th century, the educational model of civilizing bilingualism, or transitional bilingualism, began to take hold. As this model was implemented, the use of Indigenous languages in education began to contribute to their own extinction. The procedure consisted of introducing, with the help of the native languages, content that was foreign to the local cultures, and using them to facilitate the transition to the official, national language. The process envisaged in this educational model was a gradual shift towards monolingualism in Portuguese or, “unilingualism”, according to Meliá (2010:87). The historical contextualization of public policies and their repressive nature enables us to comprehend how, over a period of five centuries, more than 1,100 Indigenous languages were wiped out and how those that persisted were made invisible. Most Brazilians simply ignore the fact that there are Indigenous languages in the country—languages that are restricted in the number of speakers and with limited social use. Only 11 of the remaining Indigenous languages have more than 5,000 speakers.4 All of them run the risk of extinction, to a greater or lesser extent. Current language statistics do not augur well for the future. The 2010 Census showed that only 37.4% of Indigenous people over the age of five spoke an Indigenous language, and 76.9% spoke Portuguese (IBGE, 2015:14).

Bilingualism as an Identity Marker While, in the past, official discourse in Brazil excluded Indigenous populations and their languages, in the ways I have described above, significant changes were made in the 1990s, with the drafting of a new Constitution in 1988. Bilingualism in Indigenous contexts came to be seen as a way to promote a positive discourse about Indigenousness. For the very first time in five centuries, after extended debate with Indigenous movements and their allies, the State displayed the political will to acknowledge Indigenous peoples’ “social organization, customs, languages, creeds and traditions . . . as well as their original rights to the lands they traditionally occupy” (Art. 231). Over the past two decades, the State started paying attention to the demands of its Indigenous peoples and referring to legal instruments published by supranational organizations such as the European Charter for Regional or Minority Languages (1992), the Universal Declaration of Linguistic Rights (1996) of Barcelona (an initiative of minority language communities), Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization (ILO) (ratified by Brazil in 2003), and the Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity (UNESCO, 2002). The discourse of the Brazilian State regarding the promotion of Indig- enous languages, as well as the policies put in place for that specific purpose and the process of language policy implementation, can be assessed at different levels: at a political level and at an educational level. In the first section below, I discuss developments at the political level; and, in the following section, I turn to the expansion of provision at the educational level. 32 José Ribamar Bessa Freire The Political Level: Documentation and Co-Officialization of Indigenous Languages At the political level, there has been a major shift in the ideology of language orienting the language policies of the Brazilian State. Since 1988, it has been the responsibility of the federal government to delimit and protect the land of the Indigenous peoples within the territory of Brazil, and also to enforce respect for all their cultural resources and practices, including their languages. Linguistic diversity, which had always been considered to be a threat to national unity, has now become a constitutional right. In current official discourse, over 180 Indigenous languages in the country are not only to be protected, but also promoted. It is not merely a question of ‘tolerating’ diversity. Indigenous languages are to be protected and promoted because they are seen as an integral part of the nation’s cultural heritage. Since 1988, there has been a well-documented concern with establishing measures and instruments, in the fields of culture and education that are, in the first instance, capable of producing knowledge about languages previously ignored by the State, and of widening their scope and social use. In 2006, due to an initiative taken by certain areas of government and civil society, the GTDL—Grupo de Trabalho da Diversidade Linguísticas [Workgroup on Linguistic Diversity] was formed. Following the work of the GTDL, the Brazilian State established the Registro de Bens Culturais de Natureza Imaterial [Registry of Cultural Assets of an Intangible Nature]. The aim was to document the range of languages and cultural resources and practices that constitute Brazil’s cultural heritage. A national institute was created to carry this work forward. This was the IPHAN—Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional [Institute for National Historical and Artistic Patrimony]. A national project was also established as a result of legislation, through Decree No. 7,387 of 9 December 2000. This project is called the INDL—Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística [The National Inventory of Linguistic Diversity]. It has proved to be essential for the management of linguistic diversity in the country. It is important to note here that the documentation of all aspects of linguistic and cultural heritage across Brazil goes beyond the documentation of Indigenous languages and cultural resources. It also includes the languages of groups of immigrant origin, sign languages, creole languages and Afro-Brazilian language varieties. The intended outcome is that the federal government will forward the data inventories to state governments and municipalities, so that they too may implement public policies to acknowledge and promote these languages, whenever deemed appropriate. In order to meet its policy obligations, in June 2012 the INDL instituted a Technical Commission. The working goal of the Commission was to provide a profile, of the following nature, for each of the languages identified, building on existing research (i.e. bibliographic research and empirical work involving fieldwork). The profiles were to include: a linguistic, historical and Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 33 cultural depiction of the users of each language; a demographic estimate of the number of speakers and their territorial distribution; the observable uses of the language in daily social life; any concrete undertakings at the judicial, cultural and educational levels of public life with regard to each language; and, finally, details of any existing oral and/or written literature, or audiovisual products. Regarding Indigenous languages, it is important to say that the only previously existing inventory was the Mapa Etno-histórico [Ethno-historical Map] organized by Curt Nimuendaju between 1942 and 1944 (Nim- uendaju, 1981). This publication has become a referential milestone. It includes meticulous linguistic cartography, classifying Indigenous languages and linguistic varieties across Brazil, locating them territorially in terms of areas occupied by their speakers at different points in time, using as reference the mapping of bodies of water and the courses of rivers. The Mapa Etno-histórico accounts for around 1,400 Indigenous groups on and near more than 500 rivers, and is accompanied by 972 bibliographical references. Besides registering the dates and direction of the migratory movements of these Indigenous populations, it also provides a record of the languages that were still being spoken at the time of its publication and which were considered to be extinct. It is really a map in motion, posing relevant questions concerning the future of languages. The president of Fundação Nacional Pró-Memória [National Foundation for the Preservation of Cultural Heri- tage], Aloisio Magalhães, who was in charge of its publication, called it “the greatest Brazilian ethnographic document”. (Magalhães, 1981:11). Published in partnership between this institution and IBGE in 1981, it has provided the foundation of current efforts of to build a fuller picture of the Indigenous languages spoken within the territory of Brazil at different points in time. Although the INDL has only recently been instituted, a few pilot projects involving sociolinguistic research relating to specific Indigenous languages are already well under way or have already been completed. One of these is the Inventário da Língua Guarani Mbya [Inventory of the Mbya Guar- aní Language] that has already been completed and its findings have been published (Morello and Seiffert, 2011). The study covered 69 Indigenous villages in over six Brazilian states (Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina, Paraná, São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro and Espírito Santo). It included an analysis of responses to a total of 928 questionnaires, along with complementary information drawn from a variety of archives and databases. The underlying principles and the actions of the INDL have also been reflected in projects carried out in other research centers such as the Museu Goeldi [the Goeldi Museum in Belém] and the INPA—Instituto Nacional de Pesquisas da Amazônia [National Research Institute of Amazonia], as well as in centers of linguistic research in several public universities in Brazil. In particular, I would like to focus on the PRODOCLIN project— Projeto de Documentação de Línguas e Culturas Indígenas [Project for the 34 José Ribamar Bessa Freire Documentation of Indigenous Languages and Cultures], a program instituted by the Museu do Índio [Indian Museum] in 2008, in Rio de Janeiro, in partnership with a variety of research institutes and with the support of UNESCO. Out of 35 Indigenous languages believed to be the most highly endangered, 13 were chosen for documentation by this ambitious project. The project team comprised Indigenous and non-Indigenous researchers, who were trained in workshops to collect data and to document these languages, including with the use of video and photographic techniques (Franchetto, 2010). Multimedia digital files were created with recordings transcribed and translated into Portuguese: there were 5,612 sound files, 493 hours of video material, and over 50,000 photographs. The videos and images document daily activities, rituals, interviews and aspects deemed relevant by the Indig- enous communities for the valuing of memory, of their cultural heritage and their language. All of this information, after being collated and categorized, was then deposited in the appropriate database or collection. Once clas- sified, part of the material was taken to Indigenous villages and all of the documentation is preserved in the Museu do Índio. This cultural documentation and sociolinguistic survey work has made it possible to develop and publish educational and pedagogic material (Franchetto, 2010). As a result of the major language ideological shift that culminated in the drafting of the Brazilian Federal Constitution of 1988, five Indigenous languages have been declared co-official in their respective municipalities, something unprecedented in Brazilian linguistic historiography. The languages and the dates of the declarations were as follows: in 2002, Nheen- gatu, Tukano and Baniwa, in São Gabriel da Cachoeira (state of Amazonas); in 2010, Guarani, in the municipalities of Tacuru and Paranhos (state of Mato Grosso do Sul); and, in 2011, the Akwê Xerente language, in Tocantí- nia (state of Tocantins). The granting of co-official status to these languages implies new local governmental obligations, such as making provision for basic public services (for instance, medical assistance and education) in two, or more, languages. Although local governments have pledged to promote and support policies aimed at implementing these actions, it must be said that implementation has been somewhat precarious in nature. Together with the establishment of the INDL, the granting of co-official status represents a significant advance, in terms of language policies in defense of linguistic diversity and in terms of the documentation of Indig- enous languages in Brazil. These moves are in keeping with UNESCO’s goal of safeguarding the linguistic heritage of humanity and preventing the rapid disappearance of endangered languages. However, a long road remains ahead of us. Paradoxically, there is a significant gap between, on the one hand, the relevance of such diversity for the country’s historical heritage, and on the other, how it is represented in our collective memory. Indigenous languages have not only been silenced, but the collective memory regarding them has also been erased. It is generally absent from the media and from educational curricula. Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 35 Indigenous Languages and Cultures in the Brazilian Educational System One cannot begin to discuss language policies to promote Indigenous languages without discussing policies at the educational level. In this section, I draw attention to some of the legal landmarks related to the development of educational provision for children in Indigenous populations over the past 20 years in Brazil. I also comment on some of the implications of these developments. The inclusion of an Indigenous language in a school program was first mentioned in the LDB—Lei de Diretrizes e Bases da Educação Nacional [Law of Guidelines and Bases for National Education] (Brasil, 1996). This law states that literacy should be taught to Indigenous children in their first language, thereby proposing these languages should be used as languages of instruction, at least in the first years of schooling. Thus, for the first time in the history of the country, the Indigenous languages, which were limited to domestic environments, gained an opportunity to conquer new ground: that of the classroom. However, that legislative move alone was not sufficient. The exclusion of the Indigenous language from school curricula over centuries, as students were learning how to read and write, meant that the acquisition of literacy in Portuguese was still the overall objective of the educational process, and a transitional bilingualism approach still persisted. A good deal of work needed to be done to carry this initiative forward, including the development of teacher education programs. The LDB, in its General Provisions—in Article 78—called for the implementation of bilingual and intercultural educational programs. The RCNEI—Referencial Curricular Nacional para as Escolas Indígenas [National Curricular Guidelines for Indigenous Schools] was a document published in 1998 which stated that:

The inclusion of an Indigenous language in school curricula is intended as a way of attributing these languages the status of legitimate language and placing them on equal footing with the Portuguese language, at least in educational contexts, one of the rights upheld by the Brazilian Constitution. (Brasil, 1998:118)

It also recommended that “Indigenous Bilingual, Intercultural and Spe- cific School Programs” should be developed at all educational stages, levels and modalities, in accordance with the sociolinguistic realities of each group of Indigenous people. However, in order to achieve this, Indigenous teachers had to obtain college certificates in the fields in which they were to be employed (previously, they had been qualified to teach only in the early stages of elementary school). As a result of this requirement, Intercultural Indigenous Teacher Training Courses are now being offered in over 30 universities throughout the country. 36 José Ribamar Bessa Freire At the moment there is no data to estimate the number of Indigenous schools currently functioning around the country. However, according to the Schools Census carried out by INEP—Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisas Educacionais [National Institute for Educational Studies and Research], the Brazilian agency officially responsible for conducting research in the field of education, in 2008 there were 2,689 Indigenous schools, 1,783 of these were bilingual, 128 were monolingual in Indigenous languages and 787 were monolingual in Portuguese, with provision catering for Indige- nous students whose languages had already become extinct. Approximately 205,871 students went to these schools to study with 11,000 teachers, and more than 10,000 teachers were of Indigenous background (INEP, 2009). In 2009, more than 700 Indigenous teachers, speakers of dozens of different languages, participated in the Primeira Conferência Nacional de Educação Escolar Indígena [1st National Conference of Indigenous School Education], which took place in Luziânia, in the state of Goiás. The aim was to assess the quality of teaching practice in the schools of those participating. At the end of the conference they put together a document (Brasil, 2009) in which they revealed the following:

(i) instead of “teaching in Indigenous languages,” many Indigenous schools spent a short amount of time “teaching the Indigenous languages”. This was largely due, in the first place, to the shortage of qualified teachers to put in place a fully-fledged bilingual education program. And secondly, it was due to the lack of adequate textbooks and other school materials (such as literature books, for example) that would allow classroom practice in Indigenous languages; (ii) the curricula guiding the work in these schools were only very rarely intercultural, since they did not make reference to the traditional knowledge transmitted orally within the communities; and (iii) radio and television programs for Indigenous villages were broadcast exclusively in Portuguese. Besides strengthening the asymmetry between the official language of the country and the traditional languages of the communities, this factor discouraged the learning of Indigenous languages by students in village schools.

Furthermore, in the same document, Indigenous teachers reinforced two demands. The first one pertained to the need to broaden the social range of Indigenous language use, by incorporating into the classroom activities based on the use of new information and communication technologies and various media (computers, videos, video-cameras, etc.). The teaching of written registers of these languages by producing them on paper, although important, no longer seemed sufficient to them. The second had to do with the desire to have greater control of their schools. The words of Leonardo Werá Tupã, a Guaraní bilingual teacher at the Massiambu village in Pal- hoça, Santa Catarina state, summarizes his opinion, and that of his fellow Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 37 teachers, who speak other Indigenous languages (my English translation of his statement is given in square brackets after the original transcript in Portuguese):

A escola dentro da aldeia é como se fosse uma embaixada de outro país. Ela está em território Guarani, faz parte do nosso contexto, mas quem reina soberano sobre ela não é a comunidade na qual está inserida: o estado brasileiro é o verdadeiro ‘dono’ da nossa escola. (Freire, 2008:145)

[The village school is like an embassy of a foreign country. It is on Guarani territory, it is part of our context, but its Sovereign is not the community of which it is part: the Brazilian State is the true ‘master’ of our school].

The control and management by Indigenous communities of their educational institutions and the right to make curricular decisions is viewed as essential, as implied in the words of the Indigenous leader Ailton Krenak, as he remembers his own schooling experience: Quando aceitei aprender a ler e escrever, encarei a alfabetização como quem compra um peixe que tem espinhas. Retirei as espinhas e escolhi só o que eu queria [When I accepted learning how to read and write, I faced literacy as one who buys a fish full of fish bones. I took out the fish bones and chose only what I wanted (to learn)] (Freire, 2008:144). Finally, there are now moves within Brazil to raise awareness of the cultural and linguistic heritage of its Indigenous populations, since the enactment of Law 11,645 of 2008. All non-Indigenous schools are obliged to incorporate discussion of Indigenous issues into their curriculum. Even though the mere existence of a piece of legislation does not mean, necessarily, that its provisions are being followed to the letter of the law in schools all over the country, even so, the notion that the country’s children and youngsters may come to have the chance to reflect on the Brazilian cultural and linguistic diversity is itself worthy of praise.

Final Remarks In this chapter I have tried to provide a historical panorama of how language and educational policies regarding the Indigenous languages in Brazil were shaped in the past and how they are still being shaped today. I have also traced the far-reaching shifts in language ideologies underpinning these developments. In addition, I have explored some of the implications of these policy changes. Although we may yet be far from the desired outcome, we have come a long way towards valuing the Indigenous languages that are part of our national heritage and towards respecting the linguistic rights of their speakers. 38 José Ribamar Bessa Freire Notes 1 The terminology I use here differs slightly from the original volume by these authors. 2 Brazil became an independent nation-state in 1822. 3 This was a wooden implement (often with an uneven surface) used for beating the palms of students’ hand. This form of punishment has been reported in histories of education in different Portuguese colonies. 4 These 11 languages are: Tikuna, Guarani, Kaingang, Xavante, Yanomami, Guaja- jara, Sateré-mawé, Terena, Tukano, Kayapó and Makuxi. Nheengatu, or Língua Geral Amazônica [General Language of the Amazonia], is also spoken today by more than 5,000 speakers.

References Alfaro, C. and Freire, J. R. B. (2014) Aryon Rodrigues e as Línguas Gerais na His- toriografia Linguística [Aryon Rodrigues and the general languages in linguistic historiography]. DELTA- Documentação de Estudos em Linguística Teórica e Aplicada [Documentation of Studies in Theoretical and Applied Linguistics], 30, special issue: 571-589. Brasil. (1996) Lei de Diretrizes e Bases da Educação Nacional [Law of Guidelines and Bases for National Education]. Brasília: MEC. Brasil. (1998) Referencial Curricular Nacional para as Escolas Indígenas [National Curriculum Guidelines for Indigenous Schools]. Brasília: MEC. Brasil. (2009) Documento Final da I Conferência de Educação Escolar Indígena [Final Document of the First National Conference of Indigenous School Educa- tion]. Brasília: MEC/CONEEI. Daniel, J. (1976) Tesouro Descoberto no Rio Amazonas [A discovered treasure in the Amazon River]. Anais da Biblioteca Nacional do Rio de Janeiro [Proceedings of the National Library of Rio de Janeiro], 95, vol. I e II. Dias, G. (2002) Relatório: Visita às escolas públicas de primeiras letras das fregue- sias do Solimões [Reports: Visit to elementary public schools in the District of the Solimões River]. Rio de Janeiro: ABL. Franchetto, B. (2010) Relatórios do PRODOCLIN [Project for the Documentation of In- digenous Languages and Cultures Reports]. Rio de Janeiro: The Indigenous Museum. Freire, J. R. B. (ed.) (1995/1996) Os Índios em Arquivos do Rio de Janeiro [Indig- enous peoples in the Rio de Janeiro archives]. Rio de Janeiro: UERJ (volumes I and II). ———. (2008) Nheengatu: a outra língua brasileira [Nheengatu: the other Brazilian Language], in: Stolze Lima, I. and Carmo, L. do (eds.) História Social da língua Nacional [The social history of the national language]. Rio de Janeiro: Casa de Rui Barbosa. ———. (2011) Rio Babel: A história das línguas na Amazônia [The Babel River: The history of Amazonian languages]. 2nd ed. Rio de Janeiro: Eduerj. Frontin, P. (1910) Sessão Magna do Centenário no dia 4 de Maio de 1900 [The centennial Magna assembly on May 4th, 1900], in: Associação do Quarto Centenário do Descobrimento do Brasil (eds.) Livro do Centenário (1500–1900) [The association of the fourth centennial of Brazil discovery]. Rio de Janeiro: National Press. IBGE‑ Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geog- raphy and Statistics]. (2015) Censo Demográfico 2010 [The 2010 demographic census]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Changing Policies, Indigenous Languages 39 INEP‑ Instituto Nacional de Estudos e Pesquisas Educacionais Anísio Teixeira [Na- tional Institute of Educational Studies and Research Anísio Teixeira]. (2009) Um olhar sobre a Educação Indígena com base no Censo Escolar de 2008 [A look at indigenous education considering the school census of 2008]. Brasília: MEC. LDB-Brasil. (1996) Lei de Diretrizes e Bases da Educação Nacional [Law of Guide- lines and Bases for National Education]. Brasília: MEC. Magalhães, A. (1981) Introdução [Introduction], in: Nimuendaju, C. Mapa Etno- Histórico [Ethno-Historic Map]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Meliá, B. (2010) Pasado, Presente y Futuro de la Lengua Guarani [Past, present and future of the Guarani language]. Asunción: CEADU. Morello, R. and Seiffert, A. P. (eds.) (2011) Inventário da Língua Guarani Mbya— Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística [Inventory of the Guarani Mbya language: The national survey of the languages of Brazil]. Florianópolis: IPOL/ Garapuvu. Nimuendaju, C. (1981) Mapa Etno-Histórico [Ethno-historic map]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Queixalós, F. and Renault-Lescure, O. (eds.) (2000) As Línguas Amazônicas Hoje [The Amazonian languages today]. São Paulo: Social-Environmental Institute of Brazil. Rodrigues, A. D. (2002) As Outras Línguas da Colonização do Brasil [The other languages of Brazilian colonization], in: Cardoso, S., Mota, J.A. and Silva, R. V. M. (eds.) 500 anos de História Linguística do Brasil [500 years of the linguistic history of Brazil]. Salvador: EDUFBa. UNESCO. (2002) Universal Declaration on Cultural Diversity. Paris: UNESCO. http:// unesdoc.unesco.org/images/0012/001271/127162e.pdf. (accessed 21 June 2016). Vieira, A. (2001) Sermões [Homilies]. (ed. Pécora, A.). São Paulo: Hedra, 2. Woolard, K. (1998) Introduction: language ideology as a field of inquiry, in: Schief- felin, B., Woolard, K. and Kroskrity, P. (eds.) Language ideologies. New York: Oxford University.

3 Shifting Discourses About Language and Identity Among Indigenous Teachers in Western Amazonia in the Wake of Policy Change

Terezinha M. Maher

Historically, language policies in Brazil have been implemented in order to eradicate multilingualism in the country, in general, and its Indigenous languages, in particular. Of the estimated 1,300 Indigenous languages that existed in 1500, the beginning of the colonial era, fewer than 20% are now left and most of them are in a state of extreme vulnerability. However, the new Brazilian Constitution promulgated in 1988 brought about an important change: it stated that all Indigenous peoples residing in Brazilian territory have the right to use their heritage languages in every social domain. As a consequence, we have been witnessing ever since a strong social mobilization towards the implementation of language revitalization policies in the country, especially in schools. Guaranteeing the continuation of these languages has become one of the most important political aims of current Brazilian Indigenous bilingual education programs (see Freire, this volume). The coercive schooling of the past, with its linguistic and epistemic violence, was one of the primary causes of language shift in Indigenous contexts, not only in Brazil (Monserrat, 2006), but in Latin America (Hamel, 1997; López, 2013) and in North America as well (Patrick, 2012; McCarty, 2013). Today, most Indigenous schools in Brazil are seen as key sites for linguistic and cultural self-determination, despite their limitations (Maher, 2011, 2013). This chapter draws on ethnographic data gathered during field visits made over a 20-year period (1990 to 2010) to Acre, one of the Brazilian states in western Amazonia. My purpose is to examine the ways this new ideological landscape has reshaped local Indigenous discourses and practices. Specifi- cally, I will describe and discuss the impact of linguistic revitalization efforts on a group of Indigenous teachers whose own communicative capabilities in their Indigenous languages is still limited, and on their own sense of identity and linguistic allegiances. These teachers are members of three distinct Indigenous peoples (Huni Kuin, Shawãdawa and Apurinã).1 They have been engaged in a bilingual teacher education program sponsored by a non-religious, non-governmental organization (NGO) in Brazil, the Comissão Pró- Índio do Acre [Pro-Indigenous Commission of Acre], known as CPI-Ac. Facing enormous pressure from other Indigenous teachers in this program 42 Terezinha M. Maher who are fluent in their heritage languages, as well as from non-Indigenous members of this NGO, they have been trying to adjust to the new sociolinguistic order. In their childhood, speaking the traditional language of their communities was discouraged or even forbidden, however, they are now expected to be able to speak their language with a degree of fluency.

Some Theoretical and Methodological Considerations From the outset, this research was guided by the view that identities are always under construction and emerge in and through discourse in situated social interactions. At the same time, day-to-day discourse and interactional practices need to be seen as shaped by the particular ideologies that circulate in particular social and historical contexts. As Bucholtz and Hall (2005) have argued, people indexically position themselves and others in discourse, as they interact with each other and create discursive representations of the social world. In the words of Stuart Hall (1997:61): “things—objects, people, events in the world—do not have in themselves any fixed, final or true meaning. It is us—in society, within human cultures—who make things mean, who signify”. So, in this study of an Indigenous teacher education program in Acre, my main focus was on the ways in which teachers with different Indigenous backgrounds participating in the program drew on the resources in their communicative repertoires as they negotiated, represented and performed their own cultural identities or engaged in the discursive positioning of others. Another underlying assumption in this research was the belief that language policy processes and identity politics are intimately intertwined because, more often than not, denigrating or legitimating any given language means demeaning or positively valuing its speakers. Previous Brazil- ian language policies, designed with a view to force Indigenous peoples to ‘abandon’ their heritage languages, were part of a wider political and ideological process aimed at repression (or even obliteration) of their distinctive Indigenous cultures and identities (Maher, 2011). Therefore, as McCarty (2013:xx) has observed, what is at stake in Indigenous language revitalization programs “is not merely or even primarily (. . .) language per se— that is, it is not about ‘saving’ an abstraction called language—but is rather about self-determination”. Finally, it is important to note that my reflections are grounded on the premise that no language can be considered, in and of itself, to be an identity ‘repository’. This is because, as indicated earlier, identities are not merely bound to linguistic codes, but are produced in and through discourse, and as argued by Cardoso de Oliveira (2006), within particular orders of discourse. Therefore, Indigenous identities, contrary to widespread common- sense assumptions, do not, necessarily, have to be enunciated or performed in Indigenous languages. Indigenous identities can also be enacted in hegemonic languages, such as Portuguese (Maher, 1998). Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 43 My choice of an ethnographic approach to research, in this and other studies, is based on the conviction that, as pointed out by Martin-Jones (2011:3), ethnography enables researchers to build a richer understanding of language policies and practices from the perspective of local actors, “because of its emphasis on interpretative processes and on the situated nature of such processes”. Greater depth can also be achieved in ethnographic work of longue durée (Franceschini, 2013), including insights into changes over time. Since the research that I carried out in Acre was based on regular field visits over two decades, I was able to observe change over time and to engage in dialogue, over the long term, with the research participants about the significance of the changes. The ethnographic data analyzed in this chapter was generated through interviews and through participant observation in teacher education classrooms. I also audio- and video-recorded interactions that occurred in different CPI-Ac teacher education courses held in Rio Branco, the capital of Acre. Pseudonyms have been used to replace the real names of the Indig- enous teachers mentioned here in order to protect their privacy. I do this despite the fact that many of them have told me, on different occasions, this was not necessary, because becoming truly visible in Brazilian society, as citizens with a distinctive cultural identity, is an important dimension of these teachers’ political agendas. They want their peleja [struggle],2 that is, their efforts to engage in cultural resistance, to be documented and dis- seminated. As they have stated on several different occasions, they are tired of being romantically depicted as ‘fictional characters’ of the past. In the words of one of my interviewees: “Os brancos da cidade têm que conhecer a gente como a gente é de verdade, não como tá lá no livro didático deles” [The white men in the cities have to know us as we really are today, not as we are portrayed in their school textbooks]. In the sections that follow, I present some of the findings of the research that I conducted with the Indigenous teachers in Acre between 1990 and 2010. I focus in particular on the discursive shifts that took place over these two decades in relation to language and Indigenous identity, and on the implications of these shifts for those teachers who are still reclaiming their ancestral languages and learning them in adulthood.

Identity and the ‘Loss’ of ‘The Language’ The starting point for the pro-Indigenous languages movement orchestrated by the Indigenous teachers of CPI-Ac was their efforts to reassert the value of these languages and to give them new prestige in the minds of their speakers. These efforts soon started to bear fruit, according to Pedro, a Huni Kuin teacher and one of the leaders of this movement:3

Antes tinha aquela GRANde discriminação por causa do jeito do Índio falar, num sabe? Os brancos começavam logo a mangar a gente: “Ei, 44 Terezinha M. Maher deixa de ‘tá cortando essa gíria aí de vocês! Fala direito, fala portu- guês!” Mas agora as pessoas nas nossas comunidades que tinham vergonha de falar sua própria língua estão comeÇANDO a achar que tudo bem, que podem falar. [We have always been VERY discriminated against because of the way we talked, you know? White people used to mock us all the time: “Hey, stop speaking this gíria [patois] of yours. Speak correctly, speak Portu- guese!” But now, people in our communities who were embarrassed to speak their languages are beGINNING to feel more comfortable doing so.] However, he went on to point out that, in order for their revitalization project to achieve more than just increasing the linguistic self-esteem of Indigenous language speakers, further steps were needed. These languages needed to occupy a prominent place in local school curricula, that is, they should become both objects of study and languages of instruction. However, the leaders of the movement still had a major issue to face: although most of the Indigenous teachers linked to CPI-Ac in the 1990s were fluent in their traditional languages, some were not and therefore would not be able to teach the heritage languages of their peoples, let alone teach academic contents in these languages. Their language capabilities varied a great deal. Some of them understood much of what was said to them, but were not able to express themselves in these languages or could do it only partially, with difficulty. Others only knew a few words or only understood routine commands in their heritage languages. When I conducted interviews with some of these teachers and asked why they were not fluent in the ancestral languages of their communities, some of them simply reported that their parents had had no interest in passing the language on to them. However, most of them put the ‘loss’ of their heritage language down to broader social factors, such as the aggressive disruption of traditional settlement patterns by rubber plantation owners who had invaded their territories, the rapid growth of urban centers in the proximity of their villages or the repressive monolingual schooling imposed by missionaries or governmental agents. They all indicated that they felt compelled to reverse this situation, but several of those I interviewed also said that they experienced an uncomfort- able sense of embarrassment at not having ‘fully mastered’ these languages.4 When I started recording my interviews, some teachers expressed their pride in being fluent in their own languages, as, for example, did Gabriel, a young Huni Kuin teacher:

Gabriel: Dar aula em português é difícil . . . Não dá pra falar assim aquilo que eu ‘tou pensando mesmo . . . É MUITO difícil! TM: Em Hãtcha Kuin você consegue? Gabriel: (sorrindo) Na minha língua não tem problema porque eu SOU (um professor) Huni Kuin, né? Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 45 [Gabriel: Teaching in Portuguese is hard . . . I can never come out and say exactly what is on my mind . . . It’s VERY difficult. TM: Can you do it in Hãtcha Kuin? Gabriel: (smiling) In my language I have no problem because I AM a Huni Kuin (teacher), right?]

In his brief metanarrative about the ways in which he was able to draw on different language resources in his teaching, Gabriel clearly represented his identity as being tied to language. On the one hand, he represented himself as being constrained by Portuguese and, on the other hand, he represented himself as a fluent speaker of Huni Kuin whose ease of communication in class was rooted in his Huni Kuin identity. In the early stages of the Indigenous movement in Acre and within the bilingual teacher education program, there was an emerging ideology about who counted as authentic speakers of Indigenous languages and, by extension, who counted as legitimate Indigenous teachers. Legitimacy was seen as being linked to ‘competence in the code’. Sometimes this led individual participants to feel an acute sense of embarrassment, or even exclusion, as we see in the following short story told in my interview with Luís, an Apu- rinã teacher:

Luís: Eu tinha vergonha . . . todo mundo falando na língua (em suas próprias línguas), e eu ali, tipo assim um branco, né?, como o pessoal (os outros professores indígenas) dizia o tempo todo . . . TM: O pessoal dizia isso? Luís: DiZIa . . . “Você não é mais Índio, você não fala a sua própria língua!” [Luís: I was embarrassed . . . everyone was speaking in the language (in their own languages) and I was standing there “like a white man”, as the guys (the other Indigenous teachers) said all the time . . . TM: They said that? Luís: They DID. . . “You’re no longer an Índio,5 you don’t speak your own language!”]

Perhaps because of the symbolic importance attributed to Indigenous languages in this context at that time, they tended to be reified and each language was represented as one abstract bounded entity: the language. This ideology still surfaces from time to time today. As we see in Luís’ account of his experiences, this way of thinking had serious consequences for those individuals who were committed to learning their heritage languages through participation in the teacher education program. The participating teachers were positioned in different ways vis-à-vis this linguistic ideology that established an indissoluble link between collective cultural/national identities and linguistic ‘codes’. This perverse logic—a legacy of modernity and ultimately of European nation-building—had begun to manifest itself 46 Terezinha M. Maher in the Acre context. Researchers in other language revitalization contexts have also reported the circulation of similar modernist ideologies. Take, for example, the work of Jaffe (2001) on the intense debates about what it means to speak Corsican, or the comparative insights on language ideologies in both minority language and Indigenous contexts provided in Lane, Costa and De Korne (forthcoming). The surfacing of this particular ideology about language and identity in the 1990s in Acre represented a new challenge for the Indigenous language movement. In the past, Indigenous peoples were led to believe that, in order to be considered ‘legitimate Brazilians’, they had to speak Portuguese, now, they were being told that they had to speak Indigenous languages if they were to be thought of as ‘authentic’ Índios. This language ideology manifested itself in my corpus of recorded interviews in different ways. It generated expressions not only of embarrassment, but also anguish. Take, for example, the anguish expressed by Valter, another Huni Kuin teacher, when I interviewed him in 1994:

Porque eu acho que . . . eu . . . eu QUERO SER mesmo um Huni Kuin . . . e também eu . . . eu fico . . .tem vez que eu penso e dá uma vontade de endoiDAR, né? Porque eu . . . gostaria MAIS é de falar na minha língua, sabe? . . . Eu SOU um Huni Kuin (rindo um riso ner- voso), mas eu não . . . Eu sou mesmo um Huni Kuin, mas . . . (abaix- ando a cabeça) éh . . . (ele sinaliza com as mãos que é melhor pararmos de falar sobre esse assunto). [The thing is . . . I. . . I WANT TO BE a real Huni Kuin . . . and I also . . . I am . . . every time I think about it I feel like I’m going NUTS, you know? Because I. . . I WOULD like to be able to speak the language, you see? . . . I AM a Huni Kuin . . . (with a nervous grin), but I don’t . . . I’m really a Huni Kuin, but . . . (putting his head down) yeah . . . (he signals with his hands that we should ‘drop the subject’)]

In this interview, Valter’s discourse style was faltering but also emphatic. He revealed the tension between his strong allegiance to a Huni Kuin identity (I WANT TO BE a real Huni Kuin/ I AM a Hyni Kuin) and the painful process of trying to deal with the ‘absence’ of ‘the language’ in his communicative repertoire. In employing the words ‘the language’, he echoes the dominant view of language as a discrete bounded entity. The pressure felt by some Indigenous teachers of CPI-Ac—a pressure generated by the new status of Indigenous languages—also came into play, although in more subtle ways, in the discourse of some of the non-Indige- nous participants of this NGO teacher-education project. I will illustrate this point with reference to a teacher education class that I observed and audio- recorded. I also draw here on my field notes as well as on the transcript of the class. In this class, the Indigenous teachers were being introduced to new Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 47 methodologies for the teaching of mathematics. The university professor in charge of this class emphasized the importance of presenting math problems in culturally sensitive ways for Indigenous students. He then asked the teachers to write on the blackboard a term in their own languages which, from their perspectives, would be a good equivalent to the Portuguese expression problema matemático [math problem]. This professor was aware that two of the teachers attending his class that day would not be able to do this because of their limited knowledge of their ancestral languages. However, he turned to them teasingly and said:

Francisco Apurinã e o Júlio Shawãdawa, vocês vão ficar devendo isso pra gente . . . (sorrindo, em tom de brincadeira) mas o ano que vem, quando vocês voltarem pra Rio Branco, vocês vão dar conta disso, né? [Francisco Apurinã and Júlio Shawãndawa, you owe this to us . . . (smiling mischievously) but next year, when you come back to Rio Branco again, you will be able to do it, won’t you?]

Right after his statement, a linguist who was doing voluntary work for CPI- Ac at that time and who was sitting in the back of the class, called Francisco and Júlio’s attention and, while pretending she was writing something in her notebook, said: Olha aí, gente! Eu ‘tou escrevendo . . . no PRÓXIMO ano! [Watch it you two! I’m writing this down . . . NEXT year!]. Although these statements were delivered in a lighthearted way, they clearly indexed two things. The first was that Francisco and Júlio were different from their peers in that they were still ‘inadequate speakers’ of their ancestral languages. The second was that they were expected to increase their ‘command’ of these languages so as not to also disappoint people who had proven to be important ‘white’ allies, people who were committed to helping them in their political struggles. This is indexed in the use of the words “you owe this to us”. Tollefson (2006) argues that critical policy-makers, who are working for change, should endeavor to formulate language policies and engage in policy-making processes that promote the use and revitalization of minority languages in order to reduce social inequality. But, as I see it, in their efforts to do this, policymakers and educators also have to be careful not to create opportunities for new forms of social and linguistic discrimination to arise through discourses that establish expectations that are difficult to meet. Júlio Shawãdawa probably had such expectations in mind when he later said the following to me:

Porque a primeira vez que eu vim prá cá prá Rio Branco, TOdos os companheiros indígenas falavam tudo NA LÍNGUA, né? Escreviam problemas de matemática no quadro de giz na língua . . . Aí eu não sabia . . . Aí eu fiquei tão TRISte com aquilo, num sabe? Eu digo, “Agora ONDE É que eu aprendo?” 48 Terezinha M. Maher [Because the first time I came here to Rio Branco, ALL of my colleagues talked about everything IN THE language, you know? Wrote math problems on the blackboard in the language . . . And I couldn’t do it . . . That made me so SAD, you see? I kept asking myself “Now, WHERE do I learn it?”]

Júlio’s “WHERE do I learn it?” was not a rhetorical question. At the beginning of the 1990s, there were only seven people left in his community who were fluent in Shawãdawa. Besides being quite old, they were all scattered along the margins of the different rivers that cut through the Shawãdawa territory. Although there were still some adults in Júlio’s village who could understand their traditional language, they could no longer speak it (Cunha, 1993:10). So Júlio literally had nowhere to go to broaden his knowledge of his ancestral language. No matter how hard he tried, it was very unlikely that he would ever become fluent enough in the language to be able to teach his students how to solve math problems, or any other academic content, for that matter, in the language.

Managing the Gaps in One’s Linguistic Repertoire: Some Compensatory Strategies The need to perform in their languages at a level beyond their capacity placed some of the Indigenous teachers in delicate situations. In this section, I will provide some examples of such situations. In 1995, during the 15th Indigenous Teacher Education Course organized by CPI-Ac, a visit by three Wajãpi teachers from Amapá was arranged, as part of an interchange program. (Amapá is a Brazilian state located in the far northern part of the country.) We were in a Portuguese class when they arrived. The class was interrupted so that everyone could introduce themselves. The Wajãpi teachers, dressed in their traditional garments, told everyone, in quite hesitant Portuguese, about their people and their limited experience with formal schooling. The Wajãpi had had very little contact with Portuguese speakers at that time. The CPI-Ac Indigenous teachers asked the Wajãpi to say something in their own language and one of them proceeded to make a short speech. When he had finished, he went towards the blackboard, and wrote ejimorypa and explained that this word meant ‘friend’ in his language. In response to this gesture, as each of the local Indigenous teachers introduced themselves, they also went to the blackboard and wrote the equivalent of the word ‘friend’ in their own languages. I was sitting next to Júlio Shawãdawa and I could feel his growing unease. But, to my surprise, when his turn came to introduce himself, Júlio, an articulate and outgoing person, did so in an assertive manner. The extract below is from a transcript of an audio-recording of this event. It shows what happened after Júlio had Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 49 introduced himself to the Wajãpi visitors and indicated to them where his people lived in Acre:

Júlio: (dirigindo-se a classe toda). Então . . . ‘amigo’ . . . Um amigo é uma pessoa que a gente tem no peito, é uma pessoa que a gente muito gosta, né? IT?: ‘Tá certo. Júlio: Então tá . . . Nós gostamos dos nossos amigos do mesmo jeito que a gente gosta das pessoas da nossa família, não é verdade? E pra mim . . . Eu tenho certeza que o meu melhor amigo é o meu pai. Eu não tenho dúvida disso. Um amigo é uma pessoa da gente . . . Uma pessoa que pensa igual a gente é nosso amigo. Então o melhor amigo da gente É o nosso pai . . . certo? Eu acho que foi por isso que quando eu perguntei pro meu avô “Como é que chama ‘amigo’ (em Shawãdawa)?” ele respondeu: “Quando a gente quer dizer ‘amigo’ ou ‘pai’ na nossa língua, a gente usa a mesma palavra: ‘epa’ ”. TM: ‘Epa’? Júlio: ‘Epa’. Eu vou escrever no quadro de giz. [Júlio: (turning to the whole class) Well, then . . . ‘friend’ . . . A friend is a person we keep in our heart, it’s someone we really like a lot, isn’t it? IT?: You’re right. Júlio: Ok, then . . . We like our friends as much as we like people in our families, isn’t that so? And to me . . . I’m sure that my best friend is my father. I have no doubt about it. A friend is a person that we are very close to . . . A person who sees eye to eye with you is a friend. So, our best friends ARE our fathers . . . right? I believe that that’s why when I asked my grandfather “What’s is the word for ‘friend’ (in Shawãdawa)?”, he answered, “When we want to say ‘friend’ or ‘father’ in our language we use the same word: ‘epa’ ”. TM: ‘Epa’? Júlio: ‘Epa’. I’ll write it on the blackboard.]

As he told me later, Júlio had no idea how to say ‘friend’ in Shawãdawa, but in order to avoid the embarrassment of having to admit this in front of everybody, he searched for a way out, using the linguistic resources he had at his disposal. A bit later it was Francisco Apurinã’s turn to introduce himself. Fran- cisco, a reserved, shy person, started to explain to the Wayãpi that, as a result of the traumatic ways his people were contacted by ‘the white men’, many Apurinã, himself included, had ‘forgotten’ their traditional language. He then apologized for not knowing the word for ‘friend’ in Apurinã. It was then that Carlos, another Apurinã teacher in the classroom, perhaps 50 Terezinha M. Maher motivated by Júlio Shawãdawa’s performance, intervened and came to Francisco’s rescue:

Carlos: Ô Francisco . . . Eu acho que lá pra gente qualquer um que é Índio, qualquer um que é parente é amigo. Francisco: (em tom hesitante) É . . . pode ser. Carlos: E nós temos uma palavra pra parente na língua. É ‘puPU- GANE’ . . . (voltando-se para os professores Wajãpi) Pra nós, Apurinã, todo ‘pupugane’ é nosso amigo. Então é a mesma palavra. IT?: ‘Pupugane’? Carlos: ‘Pupugane’. TM: Vamo’bora escrever no quadro? Francisco: Você vai, Carlos? Carlos: Vou tentar (Francisco e Carlos negociam a grafia de ‘pupugane’, enquanto Carlos tenta escrever a palavra no quadro-negro). [Carlos: Hey, Francisco . . . I think that for us anyone who is Indig- enous, anyone who is a parente6 is a friend. Francisco: (hesitantly) Yes . . . maybe. Carlos: And we do have a word for parente in the language. It’s ‘puPU- GANE’ . . . (turning to the Wajãpi teachers) For us, Apurinã, all ‘pupugane’ are our friends. So it’s the same word. IT?: ‘Pupugane’? Carlos: ‘Pupugane’. TM: Shall we write it on the blackboard? Francisco: Will you do it, Carlos? Carlos: I’ll try (Francisco and Carlos negotiate the spelling of ‘pupugane’, as Carlos tries to write it on the blackboard)].

If we consider the larger context in which these interactions occurred, it seems reasonable to interpret these two episodes as follows: rather than passively accepting their positioning as ‘inadequate’ or ‘non-speakers’ of Shawãdawa and Apurinã—and therefore as outsiders to the local teaching culture—Júlio and Carlos were clearly asserting their identities as authentic Indigenous language speakers, as legitimate Indigenous teachers. On some occasions, they were clearly able to challenge the constraints imposed upon them by the ideology of language and identity still prevalent at that time. And, in the specific actions illustrated here, they were also defying the notion that languages are fixed, bounded entities. They were creating new meanings for lexical items that were available to them, or ‘disinventing their languages’, as Makoni and Pennycook (2007) would put it.

Some Necessary Adjustments in Expectations Writing about Indigenous teachers in the Andes, Hornberger (2014) has noted that it is during their professional training and development that Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 51 many Indigenous teachers have been able to critically reflect upon their own Indigenousness. Her remarks resonate clearly with what I have been witnessing in Acre, Brazil, over the last two decades. Through their teacher education and pedagogical experiences, the Indigenous teachers enrolled in the CPI-Ac linguistic revitalization program have had a chance to reflect on and rethink what it means to be Índio in the contemporary worlds they inhabit. By the beginning of 2000, for example, there was already evidence that many of them had started questioning essentialist thinking about language and culture. As Patrick (2012:45) has pointed out in relation to her work with Indigenous peoples in Canada, one of the dangers triggered by “linguistic human rights” discourses related to endangered languages is that of linking “Indigenous languages to reified ways of being Indigenous”. For the Indigenous teachers in Acre, Brazil, valuing their heritage languages continues to be their goal, but many of them now explicitly reject the assumption that in order to be ‘authentically’ Indigenous one must be fluent in the traditional language. This is also the position now adopted by some of the leaders of the revitalization movement. For instance, Pedro Huni Kuin, had the following to say in 2003:

Os professores agora ‘tão entendendo que as nossas línguas são tão importantes como o português, o inglês, o espanhol . . . Aqueles que não sabiam falar na língua da primeira vez que vieram pra Rio Branco já aprenderam muita coisa . . . E agora eles sabem falar . . . NÃO como nós (os professores fluentes), claro. Eles têm um sotaque diferente e tem muitas coisas que eles ainda não sabem falar . . . mas eles se esforçam. O Valter, o Júlio, o Francisco . . . o Alberto também. Eu tenho muito orgulho deles porque eles mostraram que TÃO COM A GENTE, que são BONS professores indígenas, sabe? Porque os bons professores indígenas são aqueles que NÃO ABANDONAM a nossa causa, que NÃO viram AS COSTAS pra nossa causa e vão embora. Aqueles que ficam, que continuam tentando, mesmo que eles falam só um pouquinho . . . eles são tão bons como os outros (professores indígenas). [The teachers now realize that our languages are just as important as Portuguese, as English, as Spanish . . . Those who couldn’t speak the language when they first came to RioBranco have learnt a lot . . . and now they can speak it . . . NOT like us (the fluent teachers), of course. They have an accent and there are many things they still don’t know how to say . . . but they are trying hard. Valter, Júlio, Francisco . . . so is Alberto. I’m very proud of them because they have shown that THEY ARE LOYAL, GOOD Indigenous teachers, you see? Because good Indigenous teachers are those who DO NOT ABANDON our cause, who DON’T turn their BACK to our cause and leave. Those who stay, who keep on trying, even if they speak just a little . . . they are as good as anyone (as any Indigenous teacher).] 52 Terezinha M. Maher Pedro’s account reflects the gradual shift over time in discourses about language and identity. In the teacher education program in Acre, there seems to be now more realistic expectations with regard to those teachers in the CPI-Ac program who are still developing their knowledge of their heritage language. Almost 12 years after Júlio first expressed his grief anddespair to me, with the words, “Now, WHERE do I learn it?”, this Shawãdawa teacher seemed relatively at ease with his accomplishments in 2005, when he proudly told me:

Agora eu sei que não dá pra trazer a minha língua TODA de volta, mas dá pra recuperar um POUCO dela . . . Meus alunos agora já sabem os nomes dos animais na língua, onça, anta, macaco . . . Eles sabem o nome das plantas, sabem cantar algumas músicas na língua . . . como a música que um Shawãdawa canta pra espantar a dor de dente . . . (sorrindo) Nós ‘tamo indo bem, não ‘tamo? [I now realize I can’t bring my WHOLE language back, but I can bring back SOME of it . . . My students can now name animals in the language, jaguar, tapir, monkey . . . They can name plants, sing a few songs in the language . . . like the one a Shawãdawa sings to get rid of a tooth ache . . . (smiling) We are doing all right, aren’t we?]

Some Final Remarks My goal in this chapter has been to show how Indigenous language resources were mobilized by some Indigenous teachers in the state of Acre, western Amazonia, as they revitalized their linguistic heritage and endeavored to represent it in a new and positive light, in response to the new circumstances ushered in by the Brazilian Constitution of 1988. I have also endeavored to illustrate, as far as possible in their own words, the ways in which they were reflecting on and challenging the legacies of colonialism and nation- building, along with enduring discourses about Portuguese being the prestigious emblem of citizenship and power and Indigenous languages being no more than mere gíria [patois]. The Indigenous language movement was reasserting the symbolic value of Indigenous languages by working with a local NGO (CPI-Ac) to introduce these languages into local schools and by participating in the CPI-Ac teacher education program. However, as I have shown, not all the recruits to the teacher education program had had the same access to their ancestral languages. In the early stages of this program, in the 1990s, this gave rise to questions about who counted as an authentic speaker and, hence, as a legitimate Indigenous teacher. The debates about these questions were entangled with a reified discourse about language—one in which language was represented as a fixed and bounded entity—and with a modernist discourse about the close link between ‘codes’ and nations, and between Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 53 Indigenous languages and Indigenous identities. At the time, those who were still reclaiming the linguistic resources associated with their cultural heritage were not always acknowledged to be authentic speakers of that language. However, by the later stages of the teacher education program, there had been a discursive shift among participants, among ‘new speakers’ and established speakers of Indigenous languages alike, and there had been a general adjustment of expectations as to what could actually be accomplished within the context of the program and a relaxation of earlier discourses about language and identity. In the meantime, Indigenous teachers such as Luís, Júlio, Valter and Francisco suffered considerable embarrassment and anguish about the ways in which they were viewed by other Indigenous teachers. There are, no doubt, many other indigenous teachers in Brazil who have also been discursively positioned in this way, at different points in time. Almost 20 years ago, Hamel (1997:107) made a significant observation that still holds true today: “a language can hardly ever be defended or protected appropriately as an abstract system or commodity, but only as a specific communicative resourceand referent of identity”. In order to make it possible for Indigenous languages to gain new status, “in the conscience and mouths” of Indigenous peoples, as López (2013:140) puts it, language revitalization programs must take account of the personal challenges faced by some Indigenous teachers such as the ones described here, as well as doing the crucial work of laying the educational foundations for future generations of Indigenous language speakers.

Notes 1 Although the Apurinã people’s territory is located in the state of Amazonas, some of their teachers attend professional training courses in the neighboring state of Acre. 2 My translation of words, extracts and interactions from the original Portuguese transcripts to English were inserted within square brackets in this chapter. 3 The following conventions were used to transcribe the data included in this chapter: . . .—pause of more than 2 seconds; “xxx”—indirect speech; ‘xxx’—word in an Indigenous language; ()—comments related to utterance; CAPITALS—emphasis; IT? non-identified Indigenous teacher. TM refers to me, the interviewer. 4 A more detailed analysis of this feeling of embarrassment can be seen in Maher, 2010. 5 The term Índio was initially used, in colonial times, to attribute, indistinctly, a homogeneous identity to members of different populations of pre-Colombian origins with specific cultural traditions. It has gained legal status at the end of the 20th century and is now used by Indigenous peoples in Brazil to signal a collective identity and the political cause and rights they all have in common (Cardoso de Oliveira, 2006). 6 Parente [relative] is the word in Portuguese used locally to refer to any Indigenous person. 54 Terezinha M. Maher References Bucholtz, M. and Hall, K. (2005) Identity and Interaction: A sociocultural linguistic approach. Discourse Studies, 7(4–5): 585–614. Cardoso de Oliveira, R. (2006) Caminhos da Identidade—ensaios sobre etnicidade e multiculturalismo [Paths of identity: Essays on ethnicity and multiculturalism]. São Paulo: UNESP; Brasília: Paralelo. Cunha, C. M. (1993) A Morfosintaxe da Língua Arara (Pano) do Acre [The Morph syntax of the Arara language (Pano) of Acre]. Unpublished Master Thesis. Federal University of Pernambuco, Brazil. Franceschini, R. (2013) History of multilingualism, in: Chapelle, C. (ed.) The encyclopedia of applied linguistics. Oxford: John Wiley and Sons. Hall, S. (1997) The work of representation, in: Hall, S. (ed.) Representation: Cul- tural representations and signifying practices. London: Thousand Oaks; New Deli: Sage/Open University. Hamel, R. E. (1997) Language conflict and language shift: a sociolinguistic framework for linguistic human rights. International Journal of the Sociology of Lan- guage, 127: 105–134. Hornberger, N. H. (2014) “Until I became a professional, I was not, consciously, indigenous”: one intercultural bilingual educator’s trajectory in Indigenous language revitalization. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 13(4): 283–299. Jaffe, A. (2001) Authority and authenticity: Corsican discourse on bilingual education, in: Heller, M. and Martin-Jones, M. (eds.) Voices of authority‑ Education and linguistic difference. Westport: Ablex. Lane, P., Costa, J. and De Korne, H. (eds.) (forthcoming) Standardizing minoritized languages: Competing ideologies of authority and authenticity. New York: Routledge. López, L. E. (2013) Desconexiones entre retórica y práctica en la educación intercultural bilingüe indígena en Latinoamérica [Disconnections between rhetoric and practice in intercultural bilingual Indigenous education in Latin America], in: Nicolaides, C., Silva, K. M., Tílio, R. and Rocha, C. H. (eds.) Política e Políticas Linguísticas [Politics and language policies]. Campinas, SP: Pontes. McCarty, T. L. (2013) Language planning and policy in Native America‑ History, Theory and Praxis. New York: Multilingual Matters. Maher, T. M. (1998) Sendo Índio em Português [Being indigenous in Portuguese], in: Signorini, I. (ed.) Língua(gem) e Identidade: elementos para uma discussão no campo aplicado [Language, discourse and identity: Elements for discussion in applied fields]. Campinas: Editora Mercado das Letras. ———. (2010) O Desejo de Retorno da Língua (Quase) Perdida: professores indíge- nas e identidades linguísticas [Wishing for the return of the (almost) lost language: indigenous teachers and linguistic identities]. Revista da FAEEBA‑ Educação e Contemporaneidade [FAEEBA‑ Education and Contemporaneity], 19(33): 147–158. ———. (2011) Políticas linguísticas e Políticas de Identidade: currículo e represen- tações de professores indígenas na Amazônia Ocidental brasileira [Linguistic and identity policies: curriculum and Brazilian Western Amazonia Indigenous teachers’ representations]. Currículo sem Fronteiras [Curriculum Without Frontiers], Lisbon, Portugal, 10(1): 33–48. Shifting Discourses, Indigenous Teachers 55 ———. (2013) Ecos de resistência: políticas linguísticas e línguas minoritárias no Brasil [Echoes of resistance: linguistic policies and minority languages in Brazil], in: Nicolaides, C., Silva, K. M., Tílio, R. and Rocha, C. H. (eds.) Política e Políti- cas Linguísticas [Politics and linguistic policies]. Campinas, SP: Pontes. Makoni, S. and Pennycook, A. (eds.) (2007) Disinventing and reconstituting languages. Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Martin-Jones, M. (2011) Language policies, multilingual classrooms: resonances across continents, in: Hult, F. A. and King, K. A. (eds.) Educational linguistics in practice: Applying the local globally and the global locally. Bristol: Multilingual Matters. Monserrat, R. M. F. (2006) Política e Planejamento Linguístico nas Sociedades Indí- genas do Brasil Hoje: o espaço e o futuro das línguas indígenas [Language policy and planning in Brazilian indigenous societies today: the place and the future of Indigenous languages], in: Grupioni, L. D. B. (ed.) Formação de Professores Indígenas: repensando trajetórias [Indigenous teachers education: Rethinking trajectories]. Brasília: MEC/SECAD. Patrick, D. (2012) Indigenous contexts, in: Martin-Jones, M., Blackledge, A. and Creese, A. (eds.) The Routledge handbook of multilingualism. New York: Routledge. Tollefson, J. W. (2006) Critical theory in language policy, in: Ricento, T. (ed.) An introduction to language policy‑ Theory and method. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing.

4 From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages, From One- Language-One-Nation Ideology to Inclusive Co-officialization Policy The Case of Hunsrückisch and Pommersch

Gilvan Müller de Oliveira

Introduction This chapter discusses the consequences of introducing laws of language co-officialization (with Portuguese) for the immigration languages to Brazil, at the municipal level, especially the German languages.1 It also traces the sociolinguistic history of these languages showing that they are now spoken primarily in Brazil, as what one might call ‘Brazilian languages’. They originated from migratory flows from Europe in the 19th century, but their speakers have become increasingly distant from the norms of the original languages as they have evolved in the European context. The policies of the Brazilian government on linguistic diversity, developed since the Constitution of 1988, have made language officialization at the municipal level possible. Moreover, the INDL—Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística [National Inventory of Linguistic Diversity] (see Freire, this volume), a federal language policy established through new legislation in 2010, documents the heritage languages of different groups in Brazil, including German-Brazilian communities. In the 19th century, German-Brazilians proposed a model of governance that would recognize them as Brazilian citizens with specific German cultural characteristics. The Brazilian government of the time did not accept this. At the same time, the German-Brazilians refused to embrace proposals from Germany, according to which they would be considered to be German citizens, loyal to the German State. One effect of these historical developments was a change in the status of German languages, like Hunsrückisch and Pommersch, in the Brazilian context, and a redefinition (or rebranding) of these languages as emblems of identity. These ‘Brazilian languages’ are known as Hunsriquiano and Pomerano in Portuguese.

Migration to Brazil: A Brief Overview There have been two significant periods of immigration to Brazil. The first major period was in the 19th century and the early 20th century. The 58 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira migration movements in this period were at their height between 1890 and 1910 and then decreased steadily during the 1930s, coming to an end in the 1950s. The second significant period of immigration began at the end of the 20th century and continues into the 21st century. The movements in this period have been more diverse and complex and have been ushered in by globalization, by increased global population movements and by the brief upturn in the Brazilian economy. They have involved inward migration to Brazil, from a much wider range of places of origin and have involved migration from nations with few prior historical ties with Brazil or even the Portuguese empire (e.g. from Bolivia, Haiti and Korea). They have also involved outward migration of Brazilians and the formation of significant diasporic communities in Europe and in the United States. There were two distinct strands of early 19th century migrations to Bra- zil, from 1824 onwards. The first was primarily labor migration that was directed primarily into agricultural work in the State of São Paulo, notably into the coffee plantations. A new labor force was needed due to the demise of the slave trade and its eventual prohibition by the independent nation of Brazil in the Eusébio de Queiroz law of 1850. The second migratory movement was related to occupation and colonization of the southern territories of Brazil. Migration to these territories was seen as a means of containing possible invasions from the south by Argen- tina. It involved distribution of forested land, which was not already occupied by Brazilians of Portuguese origin. Some of this land was quite isolated from existing urban centers and some of it already included settlements of Indigenous people. This kind of ‘colonization migration’ was directed at the states of Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina and Espírito Santo. In these states, different settler societies (colonos) were established, first by speakers of German languages, then by speakers of Italian languages and, after 1890, by speakers of Polish, Ukrainian and Russian. The migration trajectories and sociolinguistic histories of the immigrant groups caught up in these two broad strands of migration differed considerably. Many of those who came, as labor migrants, to work in the agricultural sector and in the coffee plantations of the State of São Paulo eventually moved on to urban areas and experienced language shift to Portuguese, whereas, those who became settlers (or colonos) in the southern states of Brazil (and in Espírito Santo) tended to remain in or around their original settlements, alongside others who spoke the same language. For this reason, they demonstrated a strong pattern of language maintenance across the first generations.

Migration from German States to Brazil The migratory flows from German states to Brazil started around 1824 and led to the influx of speakers of several German languages, which were considered to be ‘dialects’ in Europe at that time. There were two main From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages 59 outcomes of these ‘colonizing’ migrations: first, several very small linguistic islands of German language speakers were formed in southern Brazil. These included speakers of languages such as Westfälisch (or Sapato-de-Pau, in Portuguese) or Schwäbisch. Second, three large settlements of German language speakers were created, with substantial populations spread out over a wide geographic area. These populations included: speakers of standard German (or Hochdeutsch) who settled in the Itajaí Valley, Santa Catarina; speakers of Husrückisch, who settled in the Jacuí River basin, Rio Grande do Sul; and speakers of Pommersch, who settled across broad stretches of the State of Espírito Santo. The Hunsrückisch speakers came from the current Germany-France border area, mainly the Rheinland-Pfalz. In southern Brazil, their language spread to speakers of other German languages and became a vehicular variety. It began to be spoken in the Jacuí River basin in Rio Grande do Sul and in areas near Porto Alegre (the state capital). From there, it expanded to other regions of the state, to other Brazilian states, and even to neighboring countries such as Argentina and Paraguay. It is very difficult to estimate the number of speakers, due to the fact that there have been no questions about language in the national census (with the exception of those in 1940 and 1950), but the total population of Hunsrückisch speakers could be almost 1 million people. The language has co-official status with Portuguese in Antônio Carlos, Santa Catarina; and in Santa Maria do Herval, Rio Grande do Sul. The Pommersch speakers came from the ancient kingdom of Pomerania. Nowadays, it is the border region between Germany and Poland. Its speakers arrived in Brazil between 1848 and 1852. They first settled mainly in the central areas of the state of Espírito Santo, and then, in the north of the same state. Pommersch is also spoken in a meridional area of Rio Grande do Sul, and in a small area of Rondônia State. It is estimated that there are around 120,000 speakers. Pommersch is co-official with Portuguese in towns like Santa Maria de Jetibá, Domingos Martins, Vila Pavão, Laranja da Terra, and Pancas, in the State of Espírito Santo, and in Canguçu, Rio Grande do Sul, where the process of co-officialization was initiated in 2009.

German Colonization: Social, Political and Linguistic History The German colonization of southern and southeastern Brazil covered vast regions. Partially autarchic social units were developed, with original institutions such as community schools and churches. The German speakers in these settlements only received Brazilian citizenship 70 years after the colonizing process had started. As noted earlier, they were isolated from their German ‘homeland’, and German institutions did not seek contact with them or act in favor of them until the beginning of the 20th century. The 60 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira nature of the rural communities that were established are described in a recent paper by Rambo (2003):

In Rio Grande do Sul, and (. . .) Santa Catarina, the trend toward small property [ownership] and an economy based upon polyculture made the Sinos, Caí, Taquari, Pardo, Jacuí valleys, the area of Missões, the higher regions [of the river] Uruguay, into a distinct landscape. The land was divided according to the same plan. A river, a stream, a hill or an elevation helped to align the plots. [What began as] a trail in the beginning, [then became] a thoroughfare and eventually a road facilitated the circulation of people, animals and products. The dwelling places were near the road, each one on its respective plot. In the center of this geographical area, the church, the school, the shop, and the grave yard occupied private spaces. This way, one can have a fairly good idea of the physical-geographic scenario of the German-Brazilian community unit. (Rambo, 2003:65)2

It is now known that these close-knit, culturally distinct ‘German-speaking’ communities achieved a high rate of language maintenance and intergenera- tional language reproduction. Mortara (1950a, 1950b), an Italian statisti- cian, coordinated the 1940 national demographic census for the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE).3 He had introduced a question related to the language spoken at home and then did a retrospective analysis of the 1940 data. Table 4.1 below shows a striking contrast in the self-reports relating to habitual language use of ‘German’ between the settlements in Rio Grande do Sul in 1940 and those in São Paulo. There is now ample evidence that German immigrants in the southern settlements formed a distinctive semi-autarchic society during the 19th century. In the research literature, this identity is called teutobrasilidade in Por- tuguese (or Deutschbrasilianertum in German) and it incorporated elements of both German and Brazilian cultural characteristics. German-Brazilians showed commitment to the Brazilian State and took on Brazilian citizenship and, at the same time, developed their own linguistic and cultural specificity within the Brazilian nation. Distinctive German-Brazilian identities were

Table 4.1 Data from the IBGE Demographic Census of 1940

State of Federation IMMIGRANTS, NATIONALS OR Over 100 EX-NATIONALS From Germany and immigrants, used Austria, Present in the state to speak German

In total Habitual German speakers Rio Grande do Sul 18,520 18,171 97.59% São Paulo 35,214 19,402 55.10% From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages 61 forged in the south of Brazil and in the state of Espírito Santo during the early period when the settlements enjoyed economic and cultural autonomy. The people in these local settlements shunned attempts by the German State to intervene in the political life of local communities and to foster loyalty to the German State. At the same time, while they were citizens of Brazil, they did not tolerate any political moves that did not take into account their specific cultural and linguistic identities. For this reason, initiatives like the Pan-Germanic League (Alldeutsche Verband) had little adherence in the colonies prior to the First World War. Likewise, the initiatives of Hitler’s government, from 1933 onwards, aimed at creating local nuclei of the Nazi party (NSDAP-AO) were unsuccessful. These initiatives were widely discussed in the German press in Brazil. The initiatives were designed to mobilize German-Brazilians as ‘Germans’, and to interfere with their relationship with the Brazilian State. Brazil was represented, in Nazi propaganda, as Gastland (i.e. the land of provisional settlement). It was argued that the settlers’ sense of their ‘German’ identity should be associated with a movement such as Zurück ins Reich, (i.e. return to the Reich), where they could put themselves at the service of German State interests. At the same time, the settlers were also having to repel an increase in ‘nationalizing’ initiatives by the Brazilian State—initiatives designed to create a Portuguese-Brazilian majority society. The seeds of this movement were sown from 1911 onwards. It was a movement that projected a unitary national identity, based upon the Portuguese language. For the Portuguese- Brazilian majority, being Brazilian meant speaking Portuguese. Adopting any other point of view challenged the foundations of the so-called ‘national culture’. This view was articulated by Gilberto Freyre, in his 1942 book, Uma cultura ameaçada: a luso-brasileira, where he discussed a visit that he had made to Santa Catarina (Freyre, 1980). The German-Brazilians learned Portuguese and, to make clear that it was possible to be Brazilian and speak other languages and have different cultural backgrounds, they also made concerted efforts to maintain their language. The tension between two models of the Brazilian nation deepened over the years. The one-language-one-nation ideology peaked during the First World War. It was then relaxed in-between the wars, but it was at its height during the Estado Novo (1937–1945) (see Cavalcanti and Maher, this volume). This was the worst period of repression with regard to the languages of groups of immigrant origin (aloctone languages). A policy process known as Nacionalização do Ensino [Nationalization of Education] was introduced and underpinned by the juridical concept of crime idiomático [idiomatic crime]. Between 1941 and 1945, the government occupied the community schools4 and expropriated them, closed the publishing houses of newspapers produced in German or Italian, and arrested and tortured individuals just because they spoke their heritage languages in public and privately in their 62 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira homes. These actions instituted an atmosphere of terror and shame that was to have an immense impact on the reproduction of these languages by future generations (De Marco, 2009). According to the IBGE census data cited above, taken from 1940 census (Mortara, 1950a), 644,458 individuals (out of an estimated total national population of 50 million inhabitants) spoke German languages in their homes on a daily basis. Most of them were Brazilian citizens. As a result of the Nationalization of Education policy, there had been a very sharp decline in literacy in German and in other languages in use in urban areas in the southern regions of Brazil. From the mid-1940s onwards, only spoken language use persisted and only in rural areas, in restricted domains (Oliveira, 1996, 2004). Falcão (1998) describes the threatening nature of the cam- paigns triggered by this Nationalization policy as follows:

Protected by strict censorship of the press, which allowed the immediate imprisonment of those who published any kind of call for restrictions on the campaign [of nationalization], military people started to assume power in the towns in colonial zones, sitting on new boards of direc- tors in schools and in recreational societies (such as Ginástica Jahn, in Canoinhas). They changed the names of well-known cultural centers (the Musical-Theatrical Society Frohsinn, in Blumenau, was renamed as the Carlos Gomes Theatre), and they interfered with different aspects of daily life. Their zealousness was such that, in Jaraguá do Sul, the mayor who was appointed prohibited tombstones and mausoleums in the local graveyard with inscriptions in ‘foreign languages’. (This prohibition was extended to the whole of the State). He did not accept the makeshift solu- tion adopted by a man called Godofredo Guitherm Lutz, who covered his family’s mausoleum inscriptions with a bronze plaque. To support actions like this, an army battalion was especially created and sent to Blumenau, where it camped in the old Rifle Association. The 32nd BC arrived on a rainy day, and was received by the authorities, by boy scouts, and del- egations from the main industries, while two military planes [flew over] dispensing confetti with the colors of the Brazilian flag. To mark their arrival, the soldiers had a fight with civilians during a ball in the Buerger Ball Center and, some days after this, their commander in chief issued an edict abolishing ‘the usage of any foreign language in public acts” (A Gazeta, 24 e 25 May, 1939) (Falcão, 1998:171 and 200).

One of the most tragic aspects of this episode in Brazilian history is that there were too few voices among Portuguese-Brazilians, even among the intellectuals, who opposed this and many other acts of symbolic violence. As Schwartzman et al. (1984:72) have remarked: “The fact that there never was any political body of any importance in Brazilian history, which defended the constitution of a culturally pluralistic society, is a source of considerable perplexity”. From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages 63 The repression during the period completely disrupted the consolidation of the public German-Brazilian institutions (schools, churches, local press and community associations) that had been developed in earlier years. The “era of fear” described above was followed by an “era of shame” as future generations distanced themselves from the language and culture of their parents and grandparents (De Marco, 2009).

The New Language Visibility in Brazil This panorama began to change in the 1970s, with the celebration of the sesquicentennial (or 150 years) of German immigration, in 1974, and the centennial of Italian immigration, in 1975. Eventually, the 1988 Constitu- tion, called the “Citizen’s Constitution”, inaugurated a democratic regime, that accelerated the movement towards inclusion of different groups in Bra- zil, including groups with different cultural, linguistic or sexual identities. As De Marco (2009) has put, a new “era of pride” began when, little by little, different language communities began to organize themselves to assert their different linguistic identities, despite the contradictions and backlashes of the past. However, only the Indigenous people were granted the specific right to use their languages in the educational system, within the so-called differentiated, bilingual and intercultural schools.5 Nevertheless, the 1988 Constitution opened up a new historical era with respect to cultural and linguistic diversity in Brazil. The policy process initiated in the 1988 Constitution included many affirmative actions, such as the recognition, and later on, the officialization of Brazilian Sign Language (Libras), at a federal level,6 and the recognition of the languages of Indigenous peoples or groups of immigrant origin, at the municipal level, with the co-officialization of Baniwa, Nheengatu and Tukano languages in São Gabriel da Cachoeira, State of Amazonas, in 2002. It is not the aim of this chapter to present a detailed description of co- officialization policies in Brazil, since this has been done by other authors, such as Morello (2012). Instead, my aim here is to highlight the need to explore the unexpected effects of the policy processes that were set in train in 1988, and to show how the officialization of minority languages came up against complex issues, as the Brazilian constitutional process has unfolded. One of the greatest impacts of this policy process has been on the immigration languages. The processes have laid the foundations for the independence of some immigrant languages, such as Hunsrückisch and Pommersch, vis-à-vis standard German, i.e. Hochdeutsch. It is important to recall here that they were considered to be ‘dialects’ during the European process of linguistic codification and expansion, associated with the formation of the German nation and later of the German State. The communities where the immigrant languages were spoken were among the first to plunge themselves into the officialization processes. As shown in Figure 4.1, in 2016 there were 13 towns, in the southern and 64 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira

Figure 4.1 Brazil: Municipalities with co-officialized languages in 20169 southeastern regions of Brazil,7 with languages co-officialized (with Portu- guese): six towns where Pommersch is spoken, two where Hunsrückisch is spoken, four where Talian (an Italian language) is spoken and one where Ger- man (Hochdeutsch) is spoken. In contrast, only five towns had introduced co-officializatoin of Indigenous languages. Seven Indigenous languages had official status—Baniwa, Nheengatu, Tukano, Guarani, Akwê-Xerente, Wapixana and Macuxi—8in the North and Center-West regions of Brazil. Officialization reflects the traditional geographic and social division between speakers of Indigenous languages and languages brought to Bra- zil by immigrant groups: all officialization of Indigenous languages has occurred in the north and center-west regions, while officialization of immigrant languages has occurred in the southern and southeastern regions, despite the fact that Indigenous languages are also spoken in the southern and southeastern regions and immigrant languages are spoken in the north and center-west regions. In both the northern and southern regions, some languages remain invisible. The officialization process has also revealed another significant difference: while three towns have co-officialized more than one Indigenous language in their area, like São Gabriel da Cachoeira, in the State of Amazonas; Bonfim and Cantá, in the State of Roraima, the same has not happened with From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages 65 immigrant languages. In the southern and southeastern towns, only one language has been co-officialized with Portuguese in each town. This suggests that there is less diversity in the southern and southeastern towns. This contrast between the northern and southern towns merits closer investigation. Certainly, the creation of settlements made up of immigrants of the same origin in the 19th century allowed particular regions to keep a distinctive linguistic and cultural identity, even though many new towns were established in these regions, as was the case of the cities that split from the former colony of Blumenau, in the State of Santa Catarina, in the 1930s. In contrast, the municipalities in the northern and center-west regions of Brazil, where most of the co-officialization of indigenous languages has occurred, are very large, and are therefore able to accommodate more than one Indig- enous group within their territory. The process of language co-officialization for languages like Hunsrückisch and Pommersch has been a novelty: those citizens proposing co-officialization have explicitly discussed the historical processes underpinning the representation of their languages, in Europe, as ‘dialects’—processes that had deval- ued them in relation to a language like German (Hochdeutsch), which had acquired official and national status. For example, the Pommersch speakers’ indicated, during the public audiences in the city halls of Santa Maria de Jetibá, Pancas, Domingos Martins, Vila Pavão and Laranja da Terra, in the State of Espírito Santo, that they had historically felt a lack of a clear sense of belonging, while being pressured by the Brazilian State to speak Portuguese, and by German institutions, like the Lutheran Church, to speak German instead of Pommersch. The same feeling was reported by Talian speakers in relation to italiano grammaticale (Standard Italian, literally ‘grammatical Italian’). They indicated that they had no allegiance to those languages, and felt that their language had been continuously diminished and deval- ued by the discourse of ‘language versus dialect’, which had first emerged in Europe and had been reinforced during the construction of European nation-states—a process which occurred in both Germany and Italy in the latter part of the 19th century (1870s). This discourse was brought to Bra- zil. For this reason, Darci Luzzato, writer, specialist in grammar and Talian language activist, refers to italiano grammaticale as a foreign language for Talian speakers in Rio Grande do Sul (personal communication). The public discussions, organized as part of the co-officialization process for the languages referred to above, took place in city halls and beyond. These discussions facilitated reflection within the German-Brazilian population about their language, their identity and their relationship to the federal and state governments. As always occurs in political debates, opposing views were aired during the process. Some thought that it was important for standard German to be considered as the official language to facilitate communication in an amplified global context and to make relations with Germany much easier. In this case, it was argued that the value of the language as a means of international communication should take precedence over its potential as an identity resource 66 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira for individuals and communities. Others stressed the linguistic differences between the local language and German, and their perception that German, as a foreign language, conveyed different values and forms of allegiance from the local language. Hunsrückisch and Pommersch were, for example, seen as means of conveying conviviality and friendliness in the daily rounds of local life. By choosing to give official status to languages that differ from Portu- guese, that have no official status in Europe, and that are associated with a specifically Brazilian historical process, German-Brazilians are giving a double response to the ways in which they have been positioned in the past by both nation-states. They are asserting that they are Brazilian citizens, that they do not want German institutions to impinge on their lives or their communities, and that they do not wish to aim at upscaling to Hochdeutsch and abandoning their languages. At least, they are now able to represent themselves, on their own terms, in a nation that no longer considers only those who speak Portuguese to be Brazilians, and that is starting to learn how to embrace the idea of diversity. In the struggle between the German-Brazilians and the Brazilian government to define their place in terms of citizenship and nationality, the German- Brazilian vision has proved to be the most realistic one in the long run, since the ability of the federal state to govern depends, nowadays, more and more on the inclusion of the increasing range of social and cultural groups which are now represented within the population. The language co-officialization laws allow speakers of Hunsrückisch or in Pommersch to say that they are Brazilian in their own languages, and that this may continue to be so for future generations. The construction of a distinctive German-Brazilian identity—the Deutschbrasilianer—and the historical conflicts around its recognition by the Brazilian state have given additional meaning to the debates about the options involved in the introduction of language co-officialization policies. Nevertheless, the process has not been straightforward. For example, German (Hochdeutsch) has been adopted as the co-official language in Pomerode, in the State of Santa Catarina, a town where Pommersch was originally spoken. Pomerode is located in the Itajaí River Valley, the only large area where standard German came to be a home language and within which there has been a language shift from Pommersch to Hochdeutsch. In recent years, the community has opted to officialize German, therefore posing new challenges for the process of policy reform, and for the representation of German-Brazilian culture.

Concluding Remarks As I have shown in this chapter, the processes involved in local officialization of languages in Brazil has thrown up some complex and sometimes sensitive issues relating to the management of linguistic and cultural diversity, identity politics and the protection of the linguistic and cultural rights of From Foreign Languages to Brazilian Languages 67 Brazilian citizens. However, this particular policy process has made it possible for different groups within the wider population to discuss their history and their relationship with the State, to take an active part in the reform of language policy and to contribute to the charting of new directions towards the construction of a pluralist ethos in the 21st century—one that makes space for speakers of all Brazilian languages. Instead of having Portuguese as the sole emblem of nationhood, other languages are being incorporated into a new pluralistic vision of Brazil. They are being reimagined as ‘Brazil- ian languages’, allowing their speakers to give expression to a multitude of meanings using diverse linguistic and cultural resources.

Notes 1 The use of the term ‘German languages’ here foregrounds the processes of language construction and naming (or language branding) that have taken place in Europe and in the Brazilian context—processes that led to the selection and standardization of one form of German (Hochdeutsch) and its adoption as the national language and, at the same time, to the redefinition of Hunsrückisch and Pommersch—the languages brought to Brazil—as mere ‘dialects’. 2 All citations in this chapter were translated from the original Portuguese by its author. 3 IBGE—Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geog- raphy and Statistics], the body responsible for the demographic census in Brazil. www.ibge.gov.br (accessed 28 November 2016). 4 “From 1932, a set of measures against the use of German language took place in the German-Brazilian schools. This was, on the one hand, a response to demands from nationalist politicians and intellectuals, who entered the government in 1937, and, on the other hand, a response to the recommendations of liberal politicians, who saw instruction in and use of only one idiom in the whole country as a sine qua non condition for the exercise of citizenship” (Brepohl de Magalhães, 1998:48). 5 The cultural and linguistic rights of the Indigenous peoples were granted by articles 210, 231 and 232 of the 1988 Federal Constitution. 6 “In Brazil, Brazilian Sign Language—Libras—was recognized by Federal Law 10.436, on 24th of April, 2002, and regulated by the Decree 5.626, on 22nd of December, 2005. It establishes the following (among other things): ‘The federal educational system, as well as the state and municipal one and those from the Federal District must guarantee the inclusion in their bachelor programs of Special Education, Phonoaudiology and Teaching, no matter what their level is, the teaching of Brazilian Sign Language—Libras—as a constitutive part of National Curric- ular Parameters—PCNs, in accordance with current legislation” (Silva, 2011:2). 7 Pommersch in Santa Maria de Jetibá, Domingos Martins, Pancas, Laranja da Terra e Vila Pavão, in Espírito Santo State and in Canguçu in Rio Grande do Sul; Talian, in Serafina Corrêa, Antônio Prado and Nova Roma do Sul in Rio Grande do Sul and in Nova Erechim, in Santa Catarina; Hunsrükisch, in Antônio Carlos, Santa Catarina and Santa Maria do Herval, Rio Grande do Sul; and German in Pomerode, Santa Catarina. 8 Baniwa, Nheengatu and Tukano in São Gabriel da Cachoeira, Amazonas; Gua- rani in Tacuru, Mato Grosso do Sul; Akwê-Xerente in Tocantínia, Tocantins; and Wapixana and Macuxi in Bonfim and Cantá, Roraima. 9 Reproduced with permission given by IPOL—Institute for Research and Develop- ment on Language Policy, Florianópolis, Brazil. 68 Gilvan Müller de Oliveira References Brepohl de Magalhães, M. (1998) Pangermanismo e Nazismo: A trajetória alemã rumo ao Brasil [Pangermanism and Nazism: The German trajectory towards Bra- zil]. Campinas: Editora da UNICAMP; FAPESP. De Marco, E. A. (2009) A trajetória e presença do talian e do dialeto trentino em Santa Catarina: por uma educação intercultural [The trajectory and the presence of Talian and of the Trentino dialect in Santa Catarina: An intercultural education project]. Unpublished Master Thesis. Federal University of Santa Catarina (UFSC). Falcão, L. P. (1998) Entre ontem e amanhã: diversidade cultural, tensões sociais e separatismo em Santa Catarina no século XX [Between yesterday and tomorrow: Cultural diversity, social tension and separatism in Santa Catarina in the 20th century]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. University of São Paulo (USP). Freyre, G. (1980) Uma cultura ameaçada: a luso-brasileira [A threatened culture: Luso-Brazilian culture]. Recife: Editora da UFPE [Federal University of Pernam- buco Press]. Morello, R. (2012) A política de cooficialização de línguas no Brasil[The coofficial- ization of languages policy in Brazil]. Revista Platô, n. 1, v. 1: Maputo Interna- tional Colloquium on Linguistic Diversity in the CPLP‑ Community of Portuguese Language Countries. Mortara, G. (1950a) Estudo sobre as Línguas Estrangeiras e Aborígenes Faladas no Brasil [A study on foreign and indigenous languages spoken in Brazil]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE‑ Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics, n. 2. ———. (1950b) Línguas Estrangeiras e Aborígenes faladas no Lar, no Estado de Santa Catarina [Foreign and Indigenous languages spoken at home in Santa Cata- rina], Revista Brasileira dos Municípios, 3, n. 11: 673–704. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Oliveira, G. M. de. (1996) Os censos linguísticos e as políticas linguísticas no Brasil Meridional [Linguistic census and language policy in Southern Brazil]. http://e-ipol.org/wpcontent/uploads/2013/06/Censos_Linguisticos_no_Brasil_Po- liticas_Linguisticas_no_Brasil_Meridional.pdf (accessed 16 May 2015). ———. (2004) Política linguística, política historiográfica: epistemologia e escrita da história da(s) língua(s) a propósito da língua portuguesa no Brasil Meridi- onal (1754–1830) [Language policy, historiographic policy: Epistemology of the history of language(s), the case of Portuguese in Southern Brazil (1754–1830)]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. State University of Campinas (UNICAMP). Rambo, A. B. (2003) O teuto-brasileiro e sua identidade [German-Brazilians and their identities], in: Fiori, N. A. (ed.) Etnia e Educação: a escola “alemã” do Brasil e estudos congêneres [Ethinicity and education; the Brazilian “German” School and related studies]. Florianópolis: Ed. da UFSC; Tubarão: Ed. da Unisul. Schwartzman, S., Bomeny, H. B. and Costa, V. M. R. (1984) Tempos de Capanema [In times of Capanema]. São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro: University of São Paulo Press and Editora Paz e Terra. Silva, R. F. da. Língua Brasileira de Sinais [Brazilian sign language]. http://sia.fead. br/informativo/html/pdf/003_6_0.pdf (accessed 22 May 2015). Section II Language-In-Education A Dominant Monolingual Ideology in Tension With Multilingual Practices

Introduction Political-Ideological Issues Within Brazilian Debates and Policies on Multilingual and Multicultural Education

Inês Signorini

The chapters in this section build bridges and bring together facts and arguments that have often been described or formulated separately in local and national contexts, by exploring three kinds of multilingual educational settings—those involving Deaf, migrant and cross-border populations. Through a shared focus on language ideologies, and through finely-tuned research lenses, the three chapters shed light on how specific practices within power-laden state institutions give value to different languages and to different ways of using and evaluating linguistic repertoires. The focus on the political nature of linguistic issues in specific Brazilian educational settings explores and clarifies the critical role that language ideologies, particularly monolingual nationalist ideology (Silverstein, 1996), can play in the reproduction of the ideological hegemony of a centralized state in specific local and national debates and policies. The theoretical and practical implications of the results of the studies presented in this section are consistent with some fundamental findings and claims of previous research in contemporary multicultural and multilingual Western contexts, particularly with the general principle formulated by Blommaert and Verschueren at the end of the 1990s: “Language creates identity and discontinuity. It unites and it divides” (1998:202). This seems to be the most challenging principle to be dealt with at local or national levels—that is, the issue of “language as a battlefield”, in the terms of the authors (Ibid). In fact, it encapsulates the conflictual and complex character of the processes involved in the political and administrative management of linguistic and cultural heterogeneity within the broader context of the relations between populations and the national state.1 It should be noted, however, that Brazil’s postcolonial and ‘semiperipheral’ condition (see Bizon and Cavalcanti, this volume) informs and directs how all these issues are framed and developed within each particular context, just as it produces multiple mismatches between local, national and global space-time scales. And the most flagrant consequence of these scale mismatches is the disarticulation between social actors’ local demands and practices, and their reflection on and contribution to a common knowledge 72 Inês Signorini base regarding multilingual issues across different contexts in the country. In this way, a movement that operates at the local level ends up reproducing totally or partially the same dynamics of other older or contemporary movements, but in a different rhythm, order and/or direction, even when they are very different from one another. In Foucaultian terms, a cross-fertilization of local problematizations should represent a fundamental challenge to established approaches, inherited models and borrowed analogies, and it should problematize the ways in which these approaches, models and borrowed analogies deal with marginal or ‘minor’ social actors operating primarily within delimited sets like groups, communities or nations. And the results should be a cumulative process of engaging with the dynamics of creating multilinear social realities, a disarticulation between mobilization cycles and increases in theoretical and practical resources. This disarticulation does not cause the difficulties that state institutions have to respond in a coherent and unified manner, but it actually reinforces them. This is clear from the three studies that make up this section. This line of reasoning also explains why different stages of the discussion, which have been developed in different European and North American multilingual and multicultural societies since the 1970s, have begun to unfold in Brazil. As proposed by Máiz and Requejo (2005) in a critical review of the debate on liberal nationalism, at the turn of the century the political discussion on multilingual issues within multicultural states was developed in the following stages:

At the end of the 1970s, the conception of the state as a nation-state began to undergo a profound revision. (. . .) An initial stage, in the 1980s, centred on the liberalism/communitarianism debate and cri- tiques of the work of Rawls by those who (. . .) demanded the normative insertion of the individual into the collective as the possessor of a specific idea of the good life. (. . .) The second stage, in the 1990s, saw the theoretical debate shift within liberalism itself (. . .). Hence the new question: how is it possible to approach collective rights from the perspective of liberal theory? (. . .) A third stage, which began at the end of the 1990s, is characterized by greater theoretical attention being given to legitimate and illegitimate processes of nation-building, by the need to adapt the concept of citizenship to modern plural societies and to think profoundly about the articulation of nationalist and multicultural demands with the requirements of the theory of democracy (. . .). (Máiz and Requejo, 2005:1–2)

Returning to the contemporary Brazilian scenario, just like in the past, polarized discussions about individualism and collectivism still influence current approaches to notions of identity and citizenship in relation to Section II: Introduction 73 linguistic and cultural minorities. More recently, tensions between essentialist and anti-essentialist conceptions of identity, culture and community have further intensified the need to critically review the concept of citizenship in the light of the radical heterogeneity, or “superdiversity” as meshing and interweaving of diversities, in and beyond the confines of the Brazilian state (see Cavalcanti and Maher, this volume). In fact, as suggested by Máiz and Requejo (2005), if nations, communities and cultural groups come to be seen as the result of “processes of political construction”—and hence not as substantial and objective “pre- political” entities—a democratic theory of nationhood and culture acquires new dimensions. However, only a normative Habermasian dimension is emphasized by the authors: “belonging to a cultural or national community also includes active participation in the discussions that create it” (2005:4; emphasis added). Actually, the idea of creating sociopolitical realities, instead of dealing with disrupted or distorted pre-existing ones, points to the necessity of taking into account a performative and relational dimension of nationhood and cultural identification processes, generally put aside by the liberal tradition. Regarding the applied domain of language studies, this idea highlights the necessity of accurately apprehending that, as argued by researchers in the applied sociolinguistic studies of globalization (e.g. Pennycook, 2005; Jac- quemet, 2005; Blommaert and Rampton, 2012, among others), multilingual practices and repertoires have effectively exhausted the most established analytical categories of multilingual and multi-intercultural socio-anthropological studies. From this perspective, citizenship takes on a performative and relational dimension, since social actors are seen as active, communicative and sensual beings. In the context of debates regarding Brazilian citizenship, I argue that multilingual educational contexts, such as those focused on the present section, can potentially trigger processes that are fundamentally antagonistic to the hierarchical dynamics of nationalist ideologies of language and are synergistic with other transformative flows. The country is always being shaken by transformative flows. As I have pointed out elsewhere (Signorini, 2016:176–177), Brazilian society is known as a “seething cauldron of races and cultures”, because of its energetic and sometimes violent capacity to produce fluid, shifting and complex social and political realities. The question that arises, therefore, relates to the degree of convergence/divergence regarding the political-ideological orientations within these flows.

Note 1 For a discussion of this topic within the North American context, see Wodak (2013) and Skutnabb-Kangas, Nicholas and Reyhner (2017), among others. For a discussion of the development of this topic within the European context, see Jørgensen (2012) and Mar-Molinero and Stevenson (2006), among others. 74 Inês Signorini References Blommaert, J. and Rampton, B. (2012) Language and superdiversity. Max Planck Institute for the Study of Religious and Ethnic Diversity, Götingen. Working Pa- pers 12–05. Blommaert, J. and Verschueren, J. (1998) The role of language in European nationalist ideologies, in: Schieffelin, B. B., Woolard, K. A. and Kroskrity, P. V. (eds.) Language ideologies: Practice and theory. New York: Oxford University Press. Jacquemet, M. (2005) Transidiomatic practices: language and power in the age of globalization. Language and Communication, 25: 257–277. Jørgensen, J. N. (2012) Ideologies and norms in language and education policies in Europe and their relationship with everyday language behaviours. Language, Culture and Curriculum, 25: 57–71. Máiz, R. and Requejo, F. (eds.) (2005) Democracy, nationalism and multiculturalism. London and New York: Routledge. Mar-Molinero, C. and Stevenson, P. (2006) Language ideologies, policies and practices: Language and the future of Europe. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Pennycook, A. (2005) Teaching with the flow: fixity and fluidity in education. Asia Pacific Journal of Education, 25(1): 29–43. Signorini, I. (2016) Othering processes among Brazilian interactants on the internet. Revista da Anpoll, 1(40): 165–179. Silverstein, M. (1996) Monoglot “standard” in America Standardization and meta- phors of linguistic hegemony, in: Brenneis, D. and Macaulay, R. K. S. (eds.) The matrix of language: Contemporary linguistic anthropology. Boulder, CO: West- view Press. Skutnabb-Kangas, T., Nicholas, A. B. and Reyhner, J. (2017) Linguistic human rights and language revitalization in the USA and Canada, in: Skutnabb-Kangas, T. and Phillipson, R. (eds.) Language endangerment and revitalization; language rights, charters and declarations London and New York: Routledge. Wodak, R. (2013) Dis-citizenship and migration: a critical discourse-analytical perspective. Journal of Language, Identity & Education, 12(3): 173–178. 5 Representations of Deaf Identities and Communicative Repertoires Conversations With Deaf Teachers

Ivani Rodrigues Silva and Wilma Favorito

Deafness has been traditionally defined in terms of ‘deficiency’or ‘abnor- mality’ and as a physical condition. We reject this hegemonic model of representation, taking into account the contribution of Cultural Studies and, following Skliar’s (1998) problematization of such representations in the area of Deaf Studies. Deafness is understood here as a process (Ladd, 2003; Hauser et al., 2010), as the result of experiences that contribute to the construction of Deafhood. Deafhood is seen as a distinct dimension of the processes of identification at work in the context of contemporary diversities. At the same time, it is acknowledged that there is considerable linguistic and cultural diversity among Deaf people themselves. In previous studies (Favorito, 2006; Silva, 2005), we have focused on the representations forged by hearing teachers, Deaf students and their parents with regard to Libras—Língua Brasileira de Sinais [Brazilian Sign Lan- guage]—and we have thrown light on the educational processes at work in the context of mainstream schools and within a specific school for the Deaf in Brazil. In this chapter, our interest turns to a new angle of this complex scenario: the representations engendered by seven Deaf teachers regarding their identities and the resources within their communicative repertoires that they set in motion in their social interactions. These teachers are members of the first Deaf professional group (specialized in teaching Libras), which became part of INES—Instituto Nacional de Educação de Surdos [National Institute for Deaf People’s Education] in 2013. Founded in 1857 in Rio de Janeiro, INES is the most widely recognized institution relating to the education of Deaf people in Brazil. As part of its language policy and in accordance to Brazilian legislation, INES has adopted Libras as the language of schooling and Portuguese as a second language. Libras is thus favored in this bilingual institution designed for a linguistic minority group. Libras has been the institution’s language of schooling since the mid-1990s.1 We should point out that university-level training of these teachers resulted from the official recognition of Libras by the Brazilian government through the enactment of Decree-law No. 5626 (Brasil, 2005), which, among other provisions, gave leeway to the establishment of a Portuguese- Libras Language Studies2 university degree. The decree was the outcome of 76 Silva and Favorito a long struggle involving Deaf groups (and hearing people) fighting for Deaf people’s rights in Brazil. We are interested in these Deaf teachers’ voices and views on Deaf issues so, in 2016, we planned a series of focus group sessions (Krueger, 1994) on Deaf issues, and the seven teachers we focus on here volunteered to take part in them. In this chapter we report on one of these sessions that focused on Deaf identities. The chapter is organized into three sections, followed by some final remarks. In the first, we draw a brief overview of the Deaf scenario and the situation involving Deaf education in Brazil. In section two, we present the theoretical concepts used in the data analysis, focusing in particular on the following notions: representation (Woodward, 2000), identities (Hall, 1996) and communicative repertoire (Rymes, 2014a). Finally, in the third section, we present our data analysis.

The Deaf Scenario in Brazil: Linguistic and Educational Perspectives Following a familiar pattern of Sign language representations worldwide, Libras was, for a long time, taken to be a mere set of improvised, unsys- tematic gestures. It lacked the legitimacy of other languages. Consequently, the use of Libras in educational contexts was discouraged or even banned. Since the 1960s, with the establishment of the linguistic status of American Sign Language (Stokoe, 1960), numerous studies of different Sign languages have been carried out all around the world, including Brazil. Libras studies started in the 1990s (Ferreira-Brito, 1995; Quadros and Karnopp, 2004) and they have been developed amidst ongoing debates about representations of deafness and Deaf people. From the 1980s onwards, and especially throughout the 1990s, disputes regarding different representations gained visibility. On the one hand, there was an already established medical model, with its pathological approach to the condition of deafness, which saw Deaf people as ‘deficient’ in some way. On the other hand, there was a cultural perspective on Deafness (Pad- den and Humphries, 1988). To this day, the discourse of those promoting this perspective aims at unpacking established meanings and working towards political recognition of Deaf differences (both in linguistic terms and in terms of identity). Naturally, these disputes have echoes in the educational domain. On the one hand, the medicalized view of deafness disregards Sign languages. Such languages are perceived as simplified communicative codes rather than as languages in their own right. Taking this view to its extreme, the teaching of ‘gestures’ is not advised because it is argued that it would delay a Deaf child’s cognitive development. This view provides a basis for arguments in favor of the teaching of the dominant language thus reinforcing the ideology of monolingualism in (Brazilian) Portuguese. On the other hand, those adopting the cultural perspective, articulated by Skliar (1998) as the Representations of Deaf Identities 77 socio-anthropological approach to Deafness, contend that Sign language should be the school language of instruction, whereas Portuguese should be taught as a second language. This understanding provides the foundation for the bilingual education of Deaf students. It is a vision shared by researchers in the field of Deaf Studies, as well by members of Deaf com- munities3 and it underpins their social demands. These disputes regarding conceptualizations of Deaf people and deafness also surface in the legislative arena. Despite the status of Libras as a language that is a co-official with Portuguese in the country, it continues to exhibit minority status in relation to the majority language. The very decree (Brasil, 2005) legitimizing Libras determines that the language should not replace Portuguese. And with reference to school planning, a current inclusive educational policy stipulates that Deaf students be placed in hearing class groups. Since the 1990s, however, this educational model has been strongly contested by Deaf groups and by researchers specialized in Deaf bilingual education. Those against it argue that the existing legal provisions are not suited to the linguistic and identity requirements of Deaf people, who continue to fight for either specific Deaf class groups within mainstream schools, or bilingual Deaf schools.

Representations, Identities and Communicative Repertoires In Cultural Studies (Hall, 1997) and in Foucauldian theory (Foucault, 1980), representation of ‘reality’ is conceived of as the work of discourse, that is, an active process of meaning ascription. Dominant discourse practices that represent the ‘other’ in hegemonic ways are underpinned by naturalizations that are legitimized as regimes of truth. As a signifying system, representation operates by establishing differences that are continuously categorized in a binary meaning-making system, in which the second element of each pair is defined in relation to the first, which is, in turn, constituted as a normative reference (man/woman; white/black; hearing/Deaf, etc.). Systems of representation have a close bearing on identities. It is through such forms of representation that identities acquire meaning (Hall, 1997). As meanings are neither rigid nor durable, there is always room for struggle, questioning, deconstruction and reconfiguration. In this arena, social movements involving Deaf communities, as well as researchers in the field of bilingual education for the Deaf, come together to fight in favor of a representation of deafness as Deafhood, as a legitimate instance of diversity, and for the adoption of Sign language as the school language of instruction. This arena has, of late, been characterized by a discursive polarization between Libras and Portuguese. In educational practice, Portuguese is the dominant language in current curricula and assessment processes. As a counterpoint to this linguistic hegemony, many Deaf people claim provision for schooling that takes place fully in Libras, minimizing the need for literacy practices in Portuguese. Ironically, both polarized positions seem to be based on a monolingual language ideology: it is either a matter of using only Libras or only Portuguese. 78 Silva and Favorito However, in real life social environments, it is rare to find interactions where only one language is used to convey meanings. Rather what is commonly seen is the presence of several languages in action. In the case of Deaf communities in Brazil, people are exposed to the two official languages. However, the scenario is not that simple. To begin with, we have to have in mind that Libras is a language with visual-spatial modality (Ferreira- Brito, 1995), whose description has yet to go beyond models based on spoken language. In addition, there are other multimodal resources available (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2016) in Deaf people’s communicative repertoires that are not usually acknowledged as part of legitimate languages or as part of verbal interaction. Therefore to deal with this complex scenario, our own approach is in close alignment with that of Rymes (2014b): we use her concept of communicative repertoire to account for the multiplicity of resources that are used in Deaf interactions. For Rymes (2014b:1), communicative repertoires refer to “communicative resources humans deploy daily, but rarely think about”. She focuses on the need to replace a monolithic view of language to be able to accommodate the complexity of speakers’ communicative repertoires. Speakers often transcend languages and draw on other resources “beyond any particular language” (Ibid). ‘Language’ is thus viewed as one of a series of resources individuals have at hand in order to communicate in their daily lives. The concept of communicative repertoire reinforces our conviction that Deaf scenarios should be perceived as multilingual. It is not only Portuguese and Libras that are used, but also other resources characteristic of Deaf people’s communicative repertoire (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2016), including Sign- supported speech (simultaneous communication: Libras and Portuguese); oral Portuguese; fingerspelling (using the manual alphabet to spell out words in Portuguese) with or without simultaneous speech in Portuguese; and speech reading in Portuguese. In alignment with Cesar and Cavalcanti (2007), we should also add that we do not take the ‘languages’ in multilingual contexts as separate entities. Neither do we make a distinction between what is considered legitimate or illegitimate language: for us they are all resources for communication. Having incorporated this broad approach to multilingualism into our argumentation, we now move on to data analysis.

“Eu Sinto que a Minha Identidade é Composta de Vários Caminhos” [4 “I Feel That My Identity is Constructed in Several Ways”]: Representations of Deaf Identities and Communicative Repertoires The teachers taking part in the focus group discussions, in 2016, were between the ages of 30 and 49. Three of them (Hugo, Elis and Anita)5 have Deaf parents and acquired Libras in childhood. The other four (Regina, Representations of Deaf Identities 79 Rita, Pedro and João) come from hearing families and, like the majority of Deaf people in Brazil, acquired Libras later in life, usually in their teens. We should point out that Hugo, Pedro and Elis were the teachers who participated most actively in the focus group session. The first two are respected for their leadership at INES and in the Deaf communities in which they participate. And Elis has a peculiar feature in her background: she comes from a family of three generations of Deaf people. The focus session, facilitated by one of the authors of this chapter, took place predominantly in Libras, with most members of the focus group engaging in a few instances of oralizing in Portuguese. The session was aided by two (hearing) interpreters, familiar to the group, who translated Libras into oral Portuguese simultaneously. The discussion was videotaped and, timewise, amounted to two hours and thirty minutes. It had, as point of departure, the question: “What do Deaf identities mean to you?” When we started analyzing the data, we noticed that, despite showing an apparent ease in the context of the focus group, the teachers’ initial reac- tion to the question was limited to statements such as Eu sou surda, essa é minha identidade [I am Deaf, that is my identity] or É, eu sou surdo. Pronto. [Yeah, I am Deaf . . . Period]. In sequence, when they were asked to build on the topic, Hugo came up with an utterance that seemed to us to underline the debate throughout, i.e. Eu sinto que a minha identidade é composta de vários caminhos [I feel my identity is constructed in several ways]. We have thus decided to use it in the sub-heading for this section. As we see below, Hugo stressed that it is hard to provide a definition of identity.

A minha família usa a língua de sinais o tempo todo. Mas num outro grupo de pessoas, como um grupo de ouvintes, eu acabo mudando a minha identidade, a ação da minha identidade. Para estar num grupo de ouvintes, eu falo oralmente com eles, sinalizo um pouco. Já na asso- ciação muda um pouco. A gente usa a língua de sinais de acordo com as pessoas que estão ali porque há idades variadas. Na minha família há muitos surdos idosos, a sinalização é muito diferente, muito antiga, e aí a sinalização usada atualmente já mudou muito. Quando estou no uni- verso jovem eu sinalizo não da forma que eu sinalizo quando estou com meus pais. Eu como professor ensino crianças e aí eu tenho que ter uma sinalização de acordo com a idade delas. E aí vou pegando o modo de sinalizar da família dos alunos. Minha esposa é ouvinte. Eu tenho filhos ouvintes. Então é impossível eu permanecer num único viés da minha identidade. Eu tenho uma identidade bilíngue. Essa é minha opinião, minha definição de identidade. E isso faz parte da minha cultura. Se não há cultura, não há identidade. Então a identidade está intimamente ligada à cultura que tem vários vieses/aspectos. Não posso definir apenas com uma palavra aqui. (Hugo). 80 Silva and Favorito [My family uses Sign language all the time. But among a different group of people, such as hearing people, I end up changing my identity. To take part in a hearing group, I use oral language with them, I don’t Sign very much. At the association6 things change a little. We use Sign language according to the people there, since there are different age groups. In my family there are many elderly Deaf people . . . (their) Signing is really different, really outdated, so Signing nowadays has really changed. When I am among young people, I Sign differently from when I am with my parents. I’m a teacher, I teach children of different ages, so I have to Sign accordingly. Then I start picking up the way students’ families Sign. I have a hearing wife. My children are hearing. So it’s impossible for me to have a single aspect to my identity. I have a bilingual identity. That’s my opinion, my definition of identity. And it’s part of my culture. If there is no culture, there is no identity. So identity is intimately linked to culture, which has different aspects. I can’t define it in just one word here.] (Hugo)

For Hugo, identity is intrinsically tied to his varied uses of Sign language, (depending on the age of those he is interacting with, on household Signing conventions, etc.). It is also tied to what he describes as the ‘culture’ of two different worlds. In his opinion, his language practices configure his diverse identities, as he is often in transit, at times moving towards the hearing world, in the use of oral Portuguese, and at other times, towards the Deaf signing world. In adjusting his practices in these diverse ways, he makes evident the different barriers crossed and the tensions and demands of each of these spaces. His language practices are based on a communicative repertoire that includes Deaf/hearing resources. Despite referring to his identity as ‘bilingual’, Hugo is actually exhib- iting his use of a multilingual communicative repertoire. He says that, when interacting with hearing people, he uses a língua oral, (. . .) sinalizo um pouco [oral language, (. . .) I don’t Sign very much], and in exchanges with Deaf people he uses Sign language de acordo com as pessoas que estão ali porque há idades variadas [according to the people there, since there are differences (depending on) age groups]. He points to his multiple ways of speaking the ‘same’ (Libras) language and to his multiple use of language resources, which include not only Libras and oral Portuguese, but also a variety of resources which are looked down upon, such as Household Signing. Hugo’s discourse can be explained according to Rymes (2014a:3) as having

multiple languages, multiple ways of speaking the ‘same’ language, and many other features beyond language [that] can serve as part of an individual’s communicative repertoire with the potential to create communicative alignment or crosstalk in any interaction. Representations of Deaf Identities 81 At a different moment in his participation, he briefly elaborates on his idea of ‘culture’: Eu tenho que saber transitar nas duas culturas. Se eu não transitasse na cultura ouvinte, ficasse apenas na cultura surda, esses entraves na comunicação iam acontecer muito mais [I have to know how to move through both cultures. If I weren’t able to find my way through hearing culture, and stuck to Deaf culture, these communication breakdowns would come up much more often]. Despite showing that he must move across the boundaries of both worlds (hearing and Deaf) and between languages, in Hugo’s statement, there is a clear indication that these are worlds apart. In other words, once the imaginary borders are crossed, between the hearing world and the Deaf world, he may have to leave behind his language to take on (an)other language(s), but in compartmentalized fashion (Rymes, 2014a). Besides this, in Hugo’s account, the terms ‘language’ and ‘culture’ are clearly being treated as monolithic entities, stable and immutable (Rymes, 2014b; Cesar and Cavalcanti, 2007). Moving on from Hugo to Pedro we see that, in Pedro’s case; Deaf identity construction seems fundamentally centered on Sign language:

A identidade é construída no convívio social. Eu nasci ouvinte. (. . .) Eu oralizo muito bem, mas eu me sinto muito bem mesmo, muito confor- tável, no meio dos surdos. É muito confortável essa comunicação com a língua de sinais. Com o ouvinte (a comunicação) demanda um esforço (maior), mas com os surdos flui muito melhor. Temos mais identidade nesse convívio, temos uma língua em comum, um espaço livre para comunicação, cultura, identidade. (Pedro)

[Identity is constructed in social interaction. I was born hearing. (. . .) I use oral language very well, but I feel very well indeed, very comfortable, among Deaf people. This type of communication with Sign language is very comfortable. With hearing people (communication) demands a greater effort, but with the Deaf (it) flows much more easily. We do share an identity in this context, we share a language, it is a space with freedom for communication, culture and identity.] (Pedro)

Despite his proficiency in oral Portuguese, acquired before loss of hearing, Pedro states that com o ouvinte (a comunicação) demanda um esforço (maior), mas com os surdos flui muito melhor [with hearing people (communication) demands a greater effort, but with the Deaf (it) flows much more easily]. As he was among Deaf colleagues he may have felt the need to align himself with the “imagined community”. His membership of this “imagined community” was indexed by his use of Sign language as he said: Temos mais identidade nesse convívio, temos uma língua em comum [We share an identity in this context, we share a language]. 82 Silva and Favorito Further delimiting the boundaries of what, within the group, might have been seen as a legitimate Deaf identity, Pedro establishes a comparison between gays and supposedly “closet cases” of Deaf people.

Tem muitos surdos com a identidade “presa” e não aceitam; na verdade acabam disfarçando, oralizam, usam aparelho, mas se ele conviver com surdos, com a língua de sinais, ele vai longe (. . .). Sabe o gay que não sai do armário? Estou comparando. Mas depois acaba saindo do armário. A identidade surda está ali nele, mas parece que tem vergonha de mostrar para a sociedade. (. . .) tem muito surdos com a identidade presa no armário. Tem demais! (Pedro)

[There are many Deaf people with a ‘closeted’ identity, that don’t accept [it]; actually they end up disguising [it], they use oral language, have hearing-aids, but if they have a chance to socialize with Deaf people, with Sign language, they can go a long way (. . .). You know gays who are closet cases? It’s just a comparison. But after some time they come out of the closet. Deaf identity is within them, but it seems they are ashamed to flag it. (. . .) there are many Deaf people with closeted identities. Way too many!] (Pedro)

In Pedro’s discourse, there seems to be an expectation that Deaf people are exclusively those who openly flaunt their Sign language. He sees others, who use oral language or have hearing-aids, as having a ‘closeted’ identity, as they have not yet ‘accepted’ Sign language. According to this teacher, this aspect of Deaf identity is better represented in Sign language—a language that has now been attributed greater value within the national arena. Despite recognizing that there are different Deaf identities, there was a tendency, in the discourse of some of the teachers, to essentialize the representation of Deaf people. As Rita, one of the four remaining teachers in the focus group, put it: partilhamos de uma mesma identidade [we share the same identity]. Actually, this collective “we the Deaf” orientation recurred in Rita’s discourse, even as she repeated Pedro’s reference to the existence of different Deaf people, such as those who are oralized, Signing, implanted or those who have hearing aids. She said: mas ao mesmo tempo somos iguais, temos a nossa identidade como surdos, partilhamos de uma mesma identidade [but at the same time we are (all) equal, we have our identity as Deaf (individuals), we share the same identity]. In this part of her contribution to the focus group discussion, Rita associated a uniform and totalizing identity with the condition of Deafness, overlooking Pedro’s account of diversity in the use of Libras. Thus, for her, non-hearing was the trait that defined the group. The identity politics that surfaced in these data excerpts revolved around affirmation of the existence of shared cultural attributes. As Woodward has Representations of Deaf Identities 83 shown, similar politicized processes of identification occur among other minorities, in the assertion of “the cultural identity of people belonging to a certain oppressed or marginalized group” (Woodward, 2000:34). This kind of politics has become a crucial factor in the mobilization of Deaf people in Brazil. And, as Woodward (2000:34) has also noted: “the celebration of a group’s singularity” can also translate into essentialist beliefs, despite being strategic for building political solidarity. Another aspect of Deaf identity emerged during the focus group session. This aspect of identity was evoked when the group was discussing Deaf people who are born into Deaf families. With great emphasis, two Deaf teachers who came from Deaf families themselves commented on this. Hugo is the one who brought this point up by mentioning a Deaf foreigner who, in his visit to Brazil, had stopped by at INES:

(. . .) a gente bateu papo, foi muito bom. E aí perguntei: “você tem família surda?” SABIA!!!!!! (que a resposta seria afirmativa.) Porque eu percebi o jeito dele sinalizar. Nossas experiências de vida são muito parecidas, a sinalização, nossas famílias, é uma energia diferente, a gente se conectou ali pelas nossas histórias muito parecidas, é questão de identidade surda, é muito forte, essa presença (da identidade surda) é muito perceptível. (Hugo)

[(. . .) we were talking, it was great. Then I asked: “do you come from a Deaf family?” I KNEW IT!!!!!! (that the answer would be affirmative). Cause I noticed the way he Signed. Our life experiences are very similar, our Signing, our families, it’s a different vibe, there was a connection right away because of our similar backgrounds, it’s a Deaf identity thing, it’s really strong, this presence (of Deaf identity) is really noticeable.] (Hugo)

In this excerpt, Hugo seemed to be engaging in a celebration of a ‘native’ identity. In fact, later on, he made this quite explicit, saying: Eu estou falando da questão de ser nativo nessa língua (língua de sinais) [I mean the fact of being native in this language (Sign language)]. In this part of the discussion, Deaf identity seemed to be essentialized, in a representation of ‘genuine’, ‘pure’ Deaf people. As Woodward (2000) has noted, an appeal to fundamental truths and the essentialization of identity is a common response among minorities whose existence is not recognized by the dominant majority. To oppose the dominant group denial of Deaf people’s identities, here we see Hugo choosing to invest in affirming a coherent and cohesive identity, namely that of a ‘native Deaf’ person, drawing an analogy with the idealized and hotly debated notion of the ‘native speaker’ of a standard language. At the same time, on several occasions during the focus group session, all the teachers acknowledged that there are different Deaf identities. This 84 Silva and Favorito apparent contradiction in their discourses about Deafhood simply reflects the complexity of their everyday lives. In fact, these contradictions were characteristic of practically the whole of the interaction within the focus group. Like the people in the “new social movements” of the early 2000s described by Woodward (2000), the Deaf also have to deal with the fluid nature of the processes of identification that they engage in. In fact, these teachers were all aware that they were not immovable essences, and that they were not tied to permanent dimensions of difference. This understanding comes through clearly in João’s contribution to the discussion, when he says: não posso ligar a identidade a uma única cultura, porque ela se consti- tui de vários elementos a partir do meu movimento no mundo [I can’t link identity to just one culture, because it is constituted of a variety of elements based on my trajectory in the world]. As the teachers in this focus group took part in these discussions about processes of identification, they drew on a range of resources within their communicative repertoires, punctuating their contributions here and there with oral Portuguese and finger-spelling and engaging in complex “transidiomatic practices”7 (Jacquemet, 2005). They also made simultaneous use of different resources, such as Signing and vocalization. The fluid nature of their communicative practices resonated with the fluidity of the processes of identification they engaged in. In addition, they made explicit reference to the communicative resources available to them in different domains of their lives, showing considerable reflexivity. One example of these simultaneous and transidiomatic practices came in a contribution from Pedro. As we saw above, he mentioned that, in his opinion, there were “closet case” Deaf people. He was referring to Deaf people who do not use or do not know Sign language. In Libras, this idea is expressed through a Sign suggesting someone imprisoned in subjectivity. To emphasize his representation of Deaf identity strictly associated to Libras usage, Pedro resorted to a hybrid usage, enunciating this meaning in both languages, Libras and Portuguese, simultaneously. This communicative strategy is not at all uncommon in communicative settings such as this. If we consider the hybrid, transidiomatic practices that the teachers were engaging in during this focus group discussion, and the range of resources they drew on from their communicative repertoires, and if we consider the multiple, and sometimes contradictory ways in which they represented Deaf identities, we see the inadequacy of binary representations. In fact, Elis drew attention to the negative consequence of binary thinking in her contribution to the focus group discussion. She was talking about how oralized Deaf are frequently excluded among the Signing Deaf.

Nas escolas de surdos eles sempre menosprezam e falam mal e agem com preconceito com surdos oralizados. Mas a gente precisa ter bom relacionamento, até porque eles sabem a língua portuguesa e é pos- sível esse relacionamento se fortalecer. Antigamente essa exclusão era Representations of Deaf Identities 85 muito mais forte nas associações. Era demais!, mas agora as políticas linguísticas têm aberto novos caminhos, a gente tem compreendido me‑ lhor a importância do relacionamento mútuo com essas diversas identidades, demonstrando respeito. (Elis)

[At Deaf schools (people) always speak disparagingly about, criticize and discriminate against oralized Deaf. But we should keep a good relationship (with them), if for no other reason, because they know Portuguese and this relationship can grow stronger. In the past the discrimination was much worse at (Deaf) associations. It was awful! But nowadays language policies have opened up new pathways, we have a better understanding of the importance of a reciprocal relationship (between people) with different identities, showing respect.] (Elis)

Elis is part of a Deaf school. Her statement reveals a shift in such contexts towards acceptance of non-Signing Deaf people. Elis’ views about them seem to have moved to a point where the use of oral Portuguese is now being accepted. This suggests that the boundaries between different Deaf people may now be represented in less rigid terms. Moreover, as Elis puts it, in some places, the Portuguese language may no longer be seen as a threat to the Deaf world, but instead, as something that can ‘strengthen’ the bonds between the Deaf and hearing worlds, between the Signing and the oralized Deaf. The building of an understanding of language as social phenomenon may have contributed to moves towards overcoming these barriers, leading Deaf teachers to re-signify the languages in their environments and see them not as threats, but as resources for communication.

Final Remarks Throughout this chapter we have focused on issues related to the construction of Deaf identities and to the use of the diverse resources within the communicative repertoires of different Deaf people. Our analysis of the teachers’ discourses about language-identity interdependence has suggested that, on the one hand, there is a legitimation of Deaf people as users of a visual- spatial modality language linked to their struggle for political acknowledgement of their linguistic and cultural diversity. On the other hand, we see that there are pitfalls related to the adoption of essentialist notions (Hall, 1996; Cesar and Cavalcanti, 2007). The politics of identity in Deaf movements has given rise to a single possibility for being Deaf, namely, being a Libras- Signing Deaf person who actively takes part in the sociocultural experiences of Deaf communities. In this scenario, monolingualism in Libras is configured in ways that resonate with the regimes of language that characterize the dominant society, i.e. Portuguese monolingualism. In turn, this results 86 Silva and Favorito in intolerance to forms of communication outside the confines of “distinctly bounded languages, with no room/consent for hybridization” (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2016: 35). The celebration of Libras as a single trait of Deaf identity can be explained, in Spivak’s (1988) terms, as a case of “strategic essentialism”. It aims to achieve visibility and to gain ground for the political agenda and the demands of Signing Deaf groups. Nowadays, this agenda is largely linked to the struggle for bilingual schools in Brazil and for greater participation by Deaf communities in public policy/language policy decisions affecting them. However, essentialism can also serve to legitimate the dangerous notion of ‘purity’ of identity. It is now widely acknowledged that identity harbors no essence. Instead, it is a constant process of construction, fraught with contradictions, as we saw in the analysis of the teachers’ discourses above. The representations of Deaf identities are in perpetual movement: at times, Deaf teachers, such as those in this study, take on a range of identities and, at other times, they are entrapped by the dominant monolingual ideology underlying the demand for the use of Libras, and are thus constrained by a view of language as something rigid and bounded. This conceptualization of language, which still commands much authority in the field of Libras Stud- ies, attributes considerable relevance to structural features. But, as we have already mentioned, Libras presents characteristics which escape the confines of formal linguistic description since, in their day-to-day communicative practices, Deaf people make use of a wealth of transidiomatic (Jacquemet, 2005) and multimodal/semiotic resources8 (Cavalcanti and Silva, 2016), as they negotiate multifaceted Deaf identities. Taking these issues into account, we would argue that discussion of bilingual education for the Deaf needs to move away from the ideologies of monolingualism surrounding both Libras and Portuguese. It is time to consider Deaf education within the broader purview of educational linguistics, keeping in mind the heteroglossic potential in communicative practices that are intertwined with ongoing processes of representation and identification.

Notes 1 It is important to add that the change to Libras as the language of schooling at INES happened slowly, as part of a long process of internal discussion. This process led to the elaboration of the first institutional project for Deaf bilingual education late in the 1990s. 2 The course provides qualifications for teachers of Libras as a first and a second language. It was the first higher education degree established in Brazil with Libras (and Portuguese) as the language of instruction. In its initial years (2006– 2012), most of those enrolled were Deaf students. 3 The term is used throughout the chapter in the sense defined by Anderson (1991), that is, as imagined communities. 4 We use brackets to indicate the English translation of the data excerpts, originally in Portuguese. 5 All of the teachers’ names were changed in order to preserve their identities. Representations of Deaf Identities 87 6 Hugo was referring here to a Deaf association. These associations are usually part of FENEIS—Federação Nacional de Educação e Integração de Surdos [National Federation for Deaf Education and Integration]. FENEIS, in turn, is a member of WFD—The World Federation of the Deaf. 7 Jacquemet (2005:264) coined the expression transidiomatic practices “to describe communicative practices (Hanks, 1996) of transnational groups that interact using different languages and communicative codes present in a range of communicative channels, both local and distant”. The author’s interest is in migrant scenarios in a globalized and interconnected world. At first sight Deaf scenarios may seem very different from migrant scenarios, but both show a complexity that encompasses hybridity and unpredictability. 8 This is an issue that deserves further investigation in Deaf Studies.

References Anderson, B. (1991) Imagined communities. London: Verso. Brasil. (2005) Decreto [Decree] 5.626. Diário Oficial da União, Brasília, 23 December. Cavalcanti, M. C. and Silva, I. R. (2016) Transidiomatic practices in a deaf-hearing scenario and language ideologies. Revista da ANPOLL, 40: 33–45. Cesar, A. L. and Cavalcanti, M. C. (2007) Do singular para o multifacetado: o conceito de língua como caleidoscópio [From the singular to the multifaceted: the concept of language as a kaleidoscope], in: Cavalcanti, M. C. and Bortoni- Ricardo, S. M. (eds.) Transculturalidade, Linguagem e Educação [Transcultural- ity, language and education]. Campinas: Mercado das Letras. Favorito, W. (2006) O difícil são as palavras: representações sobre estabelecidos e outsiders na escolarização de jovens e adultos [Words are difficult: Representa- tions of established individuals and outsiders in the schooling of teenagers and adults]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. Universidade Estadual de Campinas. Ferreira-Brito, L. (1995) Por uma gramática de línguas de sinais [For a grammar of Sign languages]. Rio de Janeiro: Tempo Brasileiro/UFRJ. Foucault, M. (1980) Power/knowledge: Selected interviews and other writings, 1971–1977. New York: Pantheon. Hall, S. (1996) Who needs ‘identity’? in: Hall, S. and du Gay, P. (eds.) Questions of identity. London: Sage Publications. ———. (1997) The work of representation, in: Hall, S. (ed.) Representation‑ Cutural representations and signifying practices. London: Sage. Hanks, W. F. (1996) Language and communicative practices. Boulder: Westview, 1996. Hauser, P. C., O’Hearn, A., McKee, M. and Steider, A. (2010) Deaf epistemology: Deafhood and deafness. American Annals of the Deaf, 154(5): 486–491. Jacquemet, M. (2005) Transidiomatic practices: language and power in the age of globalization. Language & Communication, 25: 257–277. Krueger, R. A. (1994) Focus group: A practical guide for applied research. Thousand Oaks: Sage. Ladd, P. (2003) Understanding deaf culture: In search of deafhood. Bristol: Multi- lingual Matters. Padden, C. and Humphries, T. (1988) Deaf in America‑ Voices from a culture. Cam- bridge: Harvard University Press. 88 Silva and Favorito

Quadros, R. M. and Karnopp, L. B. (2004) Língua de Sinais Brasileira—Estudos Linguísticos [Brazilian sign language‑ Linguistic studies]. Porto Alegre: Artmed. Rymes, B. (2014a) Communicative repertoire, in: Street, B. and Leung, C. (eds.) Routledge companion to English language studies. New York and London: Routledge. ———. (2014b) Communicating beyond language: Everyday encounters with diversity. New York: Routledge. Silva, I. R. (2005) As representações do surdo na escola e na família: entre a (in) visibilização da diferença e da “deficiência” [Representations of deaf children at school and in the family; between the (in)visibilization of difference and “deficiency”]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. Universidade Estadual de Campinas. Skliar, C. (1998) Os Estudos Surdos em educação: problematizando a normalidade [Deaf studies in education: questioning normality, in: Skliar, C. (ed.) A surdez: um olhar sobre as diferenças [Deafness: A view on differences]. Porto Alegre: Mediação. Spivak, G. C. (1988) Can the subaltern speak? in: Nelson, C. and Grossberg, L. (eds.) Marxism and the interpretation of culture. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Stokoe, W. C. (1960) Sign language structure: An outline of the visual communication systems of the American Deaf. New York: University of Buffalo Press. Woodward, K. (2000) Identidade e diferença: uma introdução teórica e conceitual [Identity and difference: a theoretical and conceptual introduction], in: Silva, T. T. (ed.) Identidade e diferença: a perspectiva dos Estudos Culturais [Identity and difference: The perspective from cultural studies]. Petrópolis: Vozes. 6 The Languages on the Brazilian Borders Documenting Urban Diversity, Researching School and Classroom Practice, Working Towards Change

Rosângela Morello

Introduction Brazil is thought to be one of the most linguistically diverse countries in the world. It has been officially bilingual since 2005, with Portuguese and Libras (Brazilian Sign Language) as national, official languages. During the 2010 demographic census, the IBGE—Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [1Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics] identified around 274 Indigenous languages in the country. Furthermore, research groups (Alma-H2 and IPOL3) have mapped the existence of around 50 allochtho- nous languages linked to immigration processes dating back to the 1830s, such as Talian, Pommersch or Pomerano, Hunsrückisch or Hunsriqueano, Polish, Ukrainian and Russian, among others, which are still spoken by a good number of citizens in small municipalities across the country. According to the same census (IBGE, 2010), 528 municipalities are located directly on the border with other South American nations. (Brazil has borders4 with all South American nations, except for Chile and Ecua- dor). Together, these 528 municipalities have an approximate population of 10 million people. Out of this total border population, 1,141,429 people inhabit 30 Brazilian cities with matching cross-border counterparts in neighboring countries. These twin cities are characterized by intense cross- border relations, and by a scenario in which several languages coexist. However, achieving official acknowledgement of linguistic diversity has been problematic, particularly at the regional and municipal level. It has generated constant struggle in the context of public education policies, as these tend to be oriented toward a monolingual ideology centered on the Portuguese language (Oliveira, 2003; Morello, 2009, 2011). With the exception of Indigenous education, officially recognized in its specificity, this ideology has engendered invisibility and a devaluing of minority languages in school scenarios (Altenhofen and Broch, 2011). Either directly or indi- rectly, this ideology can be linked to: (1.) a lack of guidelines in legislation at the federal-level dealing specifically with bilingual or multilingual education within the public school system (Sagaz, 2013; Berger, 2015; Morello and 90 Rosângela Morello Martins, 2016), (2.) the limited research, the paucity of educational projects and limited moves towards implementation of public policies focusing on the border regions, and (3.) the absence of a core curriculum for teacher education in order to qualify professionals for work in multilingual education contexts. This chapter focuses on one educational research initiative carried out in border regions, between 2011 and 2013. This was the OBEDF project— Observatório da Educação de Fronteira [Observatory of Education at the Border]. The project proposed interventions related to language and educational policy and practice and alternatives to traditional school practices. These interventions were conceived as part of an action research project (Berger, 2015), which was accompanied by the sociolinguistic profiling of the schools involved. The aim of this chapter is to discuss some of the findings of the research conducted in five schools located on the Brazilian side of the border in three cidades gêmeas [twin cities]. These cities are situated in the Central Arc5 border region (see Fig. 6.1). They are Epitaciolândia-Brazil/Cobija-Bolivia; Guajará Mirim-Brazil/ Guayarámerin-Bolivia; and Ponta Porã-Brazil /San Juan Caballero-Paraguay. The chapter is divided into four sections followed by some final remarks. First, I briefly consider the challenges involved in implementing inclusive language-in-education policies that take account of the current linguistic diversity in Brazil, most particularly, along its borders. I note that the main challenges stem from the enduring monolingual ethos in the education system and the linking of the Portuguese language to the construction of a national Brazilian identity. In the second section, I illustrate some of the dimensions of linguistic diversity in the border regions and I give an overview of the languages involved. In the third section, I introduce two educational initiatives in the border regions that have been undertaken in the last two decades—one of these is the OBEDF project that provides the main focus for this chapter. In the fourth section, I present the OBEDF project. Here, I describe the research design of the project and the research approaches adopted. I also present some of the outcomes of the research that was conducted. In my final remarks I reflect on the potential that research of this kind can have as a means of working toward change and defining future directions for local language policy-making.

Multilingualism, Language Policies and Education in Brazil It was only towards the end of the 1980s that the conditions of multilingualism in the country began gaining visibility. In 1988, the Brazilian Con- stitution granted linguistic and cultural rights to Indigenous populations. In 2002, the Deaf were granted the right to have Sign language as their language of instruction (see Silva and Favorito, this volume). Since 2000, in addition to the indigenous languages, other Brazilian languages, such as creoles and Afro-Brazilian languages and the languages of groups of Figure 6.1 Map of the cities participating in the OBEDF project Adapted from Morello and Sagaz (2014) 92 Rosângela Morello immigrant origin (perceived as cultural resources by their speakers) have been discussed and recognized as ‘Brazilian Languages’ (see Oliveira, this volume) in the ambit of the INDL—Inventário Nacional da Diversidade Linguística6 [National Inventory of Linguistic Diversity] (see Freire, this volume). Besides that, with the law of co-official language, several municipalities began to grant co-official7 status with Portuguese to particular languages, and to incorporate these local languages into bilingual education programs aimed at specific situations, such as the border context. However, within the framework of public education, the issue of incorporating the first language of many Brazilian citizens into teaching and learning processes still generates heated debates, especially in discussions of the nature and scope of the core curriculum. The prospect of introducing a bilingual, or multilingual, curriculum, which could guide educational policies in public schools in Brazil, stems from the notion of linguistic rights that has been debated internationally. It challenges the still dominant view that Portuguese should be the only language used in institutional settings in the country, and the view that it is the most suitable means of orienting students to ‘national’, ‘shared’ values and practices. This pervasive monolingual ideology delimits the concept of a national identity, tying it to Portuguese. This ideology operates, in the manner described by Pêcheux (1990), as a set of assumptions and practices that corroborate wider discourses and meaning-making processes. The ideological effects are wide ranging. The apparatus of the Brazilian state continues to function in a monolingual fashion, on different political and administrative scales, ignoring the linguistic diversity within different local populations. One consequence of the state monolingualism, which lasted up to the late 1980s, is that thousands of Brazilian citizens, speakers of languages other than Portuguese, experienced linguistic marginalization (Morello, 2012). Many still do—despite recent legislation, there is still a lack of recognition, across Brazilian institutions, of the language needs of different groups of Brazilian citizens. Moreover, there are few state-level or municipal level language policies catering to their needs and their history and identity is dis- regarded. The conditions for adopting such languages as media of instruction are not yet in place and the prospects for bilingual and/or multilingual education in Brazil continue to be undermined by these historical processes of marginalization and silencing.

The Borderlands and the Languages From a demographic point of view, some Brazilian regions present a greater multilingual profile than others. This is definitely the case in the borderland regions where the official languages of neighboring countries are spoken (e.g. Spanish or Guarani, English and French), and where both Indigenous languages and the languages of people of immigrant origin are also spoken. Languages on the Brazilian Borders 93 Along this very long stretch of land, there is also evidence of a dynamic process of code-mixing and creolization. Take, for example, the case of Galibi- Marworno and Karipuna in the north, Palikur, spoken on the Brazil-French Guyana border, and Portunhol,8 on the border between Brazil and countries where Spanish is the official language. The specific nature of the linguistic diversity also varies at different points along the border. Thus, in the northern and central-western regions of Bra- zil, there is a significant presence of speakers of Indigenous languages. In contrast, in the southern and southeastern regions, the languages of people of immigrant origin are spoken more widely. The demographic and sociolinguistic patterns in the south of Brazil result from migratory movements, which took place from the 19th century onward (see Oliveira, this volume). In this chapter, my main focus is on the multilingualism of the Central Arc of the borderland, extending from the state of Mato Grosso do Sul all the way to Acre. This is a section where there are five official languages on either side of the border—Portuguese in Brazil; Spanish and Guaraní in Paraguay; and Spanish, Quechua and Aymara in Bolivia. Apart from these official languages, there are several other Indigenous languages9 spoken by the peoples living on the Brazil-Bolivia and Brazil-Paraguay borders. Population movement and intense cross-border trade constitute the day- to-day realities of those dwelling in twin cities along this border. The cross- border movement also impacts on the schools. Paraguayan and Bolivian children often attend school on the Brazilian side of the border. There is also a significant presence of ‘Braziguayans’—that is, children whose families have, historically, moved back and forth across the border. Today, these people include those whose parents had migrated to Paraguay in search of work in the 1960s and 1970s and who had then been obliged to return to Brazil as a result of political upheavals in Paraguay (see Pires-Santos, this volume). In addition, increasing numbers of children from Indigenous families are enrolling in local public schools. Many of these children began their education in an Indigenous school and are now continuing their schooling in mainstream schools. In recent years, Indigenous families have been settling in these urban areas on the border, especially on the outskirts of cities. According to the IBGE (2010), approximately 50% of the border population of school age attend school in Brazil. The local Brazilian school populations are thus multilingual in nature.

Two Educational Initiatives This was the broad context in which two educational initiatives were taken, within the last two decades. The aim, in both cases, was to acknowledge the existence of different languages in particular border regions, to demonstrate the potential they offer for professional and academic education and to identify pathways to multilingual provision in local schools. The first initiative, in 2005, was the PEIBF—Programa das Escolas Interculturais 94 Rosângela Morello Bilíngues de Fronteira [Bilingual, Intercultural Border Schools Program].10 This established a network of partner schools in twin cities along the border and the adoption of a common curriculum. The second initiative was launched in 2011. With the support of CAPES—11Coordenação de Aper- feiçoamento de Pessoal de Nível Superior [Coordination for the Improve- ment of Higher Education Personnel], a network of universities and public schools started implementing the OBEDF project. This was the project that I mentioned in the Introduction to this chapter, namely the Observatório da Educação de Fronteira [Observatory of Education at the Border]. The aims of this research project were to: (a.) put together a sociolinguistic profile of the participating schools and the sociolinguistic contexts in which they were situated; and (b.) to promote debate about language-related pedagogic practices. I should note here that I took part in the design and implementation of both projects. Both initiatives were guided by relevant research on language policies (e.g. Oliveira, 2004; Calvet, 2007). As Calvet (2007) has observed, language policies constitute interventions with regard to particular languages. With this in mind, our project aimed at laying the groundwork for such interventions, and at the development of educational programs tailored to the multilingualism of specific border regions.

The OBEDF Project: Research Design and Research Approaches The Observatory of Education at the Border was an interdisciplinary project which drew on landmark studies in education, language policy and linguistic diversity, and on recent research in anthropology, sociology, history and geography. The research was conducted on different, inter-related scales as follows: First, on a regional scale, three regions were included in the project: Mato Grosso do Sul, on the border with Paraguay, and two regions in the north- west, on the border with Bolivia: Rondônia and Acre. On this scale, account was taken of each specific border region, including its history, its contemporary demographic configuration and the processes of regional integration shaping local politics and local educational policies. Second, we carried out research on the scale of local municipalities, building a broad-based account of the different languages spoken in different neighborhoods. Three twin cities were included in the project: Ponta Porã in Mato Grosso do Sul, Guajará Mirim in Rondônia and Epitaciolândia in Acre. Third, we conducted sociolinguistic research on the scale of local schools. Five schools were involved in the research we carried out on this scale. They are listed in Table 6.1 below. The degree of diversity in these five local schools motivated their participation in the project. The school staff wanted to develop a better understanding of the role of language in learning and discuss the possibility of Languages on the Brazilian Borders 95 Table 6.1 Schools taking part in the OBEDF with corresponding location and abbreviations

School Designation (Abbreviation) City State

Escola Polo Municipal Ramiro de Ponta Porã Mato Grosso do Sul Noronha (RN) Escola Municipal Maria Lígia Borges Ponta Porã Mato Grosso do Sul Garcia (ML) Escola Estadual de Ensino Guajará Mirim Rondônia Fundamental Durvalina Estilbem de Oliveira (DUR) Escola Municipal de Ensino Guajará Mirim Rondônia Fundamental Floriza Bouez (FLO) Escola Municipal de Ensino Epitaciolândia Acre Fundamental Bela Flor (BF)

incorporating the languages of their students into school and classroom practice and into the development of curricular frameworks, didactic materials and teacher training. In each of these schools, the aim was to build a sociolinguistic profile of the whole school community, including students, teachers, other school staff and, where possible, parents. Fourth, the research on the scale of the school was complemented by research on the scale of the classroom, in each of the five schools. The research on a school-wide scale and on the scale of local classrooms constituted the core dimensions of the research methodology of the project. I describe below the ways in which we conducted research on the two scales, starting with the research on the scale of local classrooms.

An Educational Intervention with a Focus on Classroom Practice On the scale of local classrooms, the research was designed as follows, as a form of educational intervention: classroom observations were carried out in each of the five schools. Two teachers from elementary groups were involved, along with one school supervisor. This was the procedure at all stages of the research. In each school, the participating teachers spent one day a week observing a colleague’s class, while the activities of their own groups were led by a school supervisor. The teachers then traded places, and it was the observer’s turn to be observed. The school supervisor then moved on to lead the second teacher’s class. Every week, the three educational practitioners got together with the OBEDF research staff, to compare notes, to discuss the insights gleaned from the observations and to deal with queries. This collaboration and networking between teacher observers, supervisors and researchers followed a work plan consisting of three periods of approximately four months. During each period, the goals were: (a.) to identify, in the classes being observed, any language-related issues related to students’ 96 Rosângela Morello needs and any pedagogic actions worthy of note; (b.) to observe interactions between students outside the classroom context and (c.) to discuss ways of influencing some of the practices observed, both inside and outside the class, in a positive manner. Finally, suggestions for changes in educational practice were made and some of these actions were implemented throughout the schools in order to cater to the needs of those students who did not speak Portuguese as their first language. Three face-to-face seminars were held, along with several online conferences. Thorough analyses of these school- based interventions can be found in Berger (2015). Since our purpose was to anticipate the main policy challenges and to contribute to the planning of language-in-education policies, we carried out sociolinguistic profiling that took account of the specific local linguistic diversity. Considered a key element of identifying ways of contributing to change in local educational practice, this profiling was conceived of as a form of local political action, as demonstrated by Seiffert (2015).

The Outcome of the Classroom-Based Work At the start of the project, staff in the participating schools made no mention of students speaking a language other than Portuguese in class. Although they showed a general understanding of the range of languages spoken in each specific border region, and broad acknowledgement of the principle that one should promote respect for cultural difference, staff still carried on with their activities, in all areas, entirely in Portuguese. Initially, unconvinc- ing justifications were put forward for students’ poor academic results, and teachers appeared to be unaware of the ways in which their approach to teaching only in Portuguese could be contributing to the poor performance of their students. This extract from the field notes of one of the researchers conducting school and classroom observations provides insights into the nature of the teaching/learning environment and the language awareness of the teachers, at the beginning of the project.12

Pode-se perceber, também, que a dificuldade do aluno Jaminawa para se desvencilhar do uso dos recursos da modalidade oral em seus tex- tos escritos, se deve ao fato do professor não refletir junto com seus alunos sobre as diferenças existentes entre a modalidade oral e escrita. De fato, percebeu-se quase que um total desconhecimento da realidade linguística brasileira por parte dos docentes que foram entrevistados, pois muitos afirmaram que só conhecem três línguas faladas no Bra- sil: português, inglês e espanhol. De tal modo, o professor das escolas brasileiras, notadamente da Escola A, não está preparado para rece- ber alunos falantes de línguas diferentes do português, especialmente falantes de uma língua indígena, que é ao mesmo tempo absolutamente desconhecida e desvalorizada. O professor assim, não compreendendo Languages on the Brazilian Borders 97 o aluno bilíngue a ponto de valorizar esse conhecimento, não vai usá-lo metodologicamente para o ensino e aprendizagem do português. (Relato de pesquisadora observadora em uma das escolas).

[It is also clear, that in Jaminawa’s case, this particular student’s difficulty in moving on from using oral language style in his written work was due to the fact that his teachers had failed to call students’ attention to the differences between oral and written language (in Portuguese). In fact, the teachers who were interviewed showed an almost complete lack of awareness about Brazilian sociolinguistic realities, as many of them acknowledged that they knew of only three languages spoken in Brazil: Portuguese, English and Spanish. Therefore, Brazilian school teachers, and specifically those of School X, are not adequately prepared to deal with students who speak languages other than Portuguese, particularly if these students speak an Indigenous language, since these are completely unfamiliar and highly stigmatized (languages). The teachers are thus unable to understand a student’s bilingual condition, and some even devalue this knowledge, (so they) will not incorporate it into their methodology for teaching the Portuguese language.] (Statement by a researcher carrying out initial observations at one of the schools)

As the project progressed, the teachers participating in the project began to tell us that they had “found out” that “the problem was not that students were underachievers, or had limited intellectual capacity”, but rather that they “simply couldn’t understand what the teacher was saying”. They also came to realize that particular students never answered in class “because they didn’t speak Portuguese”. These shifts in understanding were reported in all schools, and are very well illustrated in the following excerpt:

Antes da chegada do OBEDF na escola, nunca se havia pensado sobre o que acontecia com os alunos, por não se dar o devido valor à sua origem, cultura e língua. Nem mesmo os professores que também têm fluência nas três línguas (espanhol, guarani e português) tinham a ini- ciativa de realizar as explicações na L1 (Língua Materna) dos alunos. Essa sensibilidade de olhar cada caso com mais minúcia passou a ocor- rer somente após o início das atividades do projeto na escola. Assim, como consequência das atividades do projeto, as professoras bolsistas conseguiram muitos avanços com seus alunos, pois passaram a valorizar a língua materna do aluno e a utilizá-la para facilitar a interpretação e os procedimentos no processo ensino-aprendizagem. (Relato da coordenadora pesquisadora de uma das escolas)

[Prior to the arrival of the OBEDF (project) at the school, we had never given much thought to the students’ situation, as we did not attribute great importance to their background, culture or language. 98 Rosângela Morello Even teachers who were also fluent in these three languages (Span- ish, Guarani and Portuguese) took no initiative to teach their groups in the students’ first language (their native language). This awareness of looking at each case closely came with the implementation of the project. As an outcome of the activities implemented, the teachers on a study grant managed to make great advances with their groups, since they started attributing value to students’ first language and using it to enhance understanding and the procedures involved in the teaching- learning process.] (Statement by a supervisor involved in the research at one of the schools)

Building a Sociolinguistic Profile of Each Municipality and Each School Through sociolinguistic profiling, the research included a mapping of the languages represented in particular urban areas and in local school populations, along with documentation of the conditions of use for the languages, as well as the attitudes towards them. We also endeavored to gauge the degree to which speakers of the languages moved in and out of the borderland areas. In the research on the scale of each school, teams of counselors, school management and teachers participated in establishing the research tools and in gathering data. A questionnaire-based survey was conducted among students in the fourth, fifth and final grades, and semi-structured interviews were carried out with teachers, members of school management, students and parents (cf. Table 6.2 below): This research was also conceptualized as a form of educational intervention and policy action, and was aligned with the work on the scale of local classrooms. The purpose was to raise the awareness of each school community regarding the place of different languages in the school context, to draw attention to their relevance for teaching/learning, and to foreground the need to question the bias and discrimination generated by long-standing sociocultural and pedagogic practices. At the same time, the research provided information that contributed to local debates, to the development of pedagogic strategies for dealing with language issues and to efforts to intervene in classrooms where classroom practice was still aligned with a monolingual perspective. Moreover, the entire process of developing research

Table 6.2 OBDEF school-based sociolinguistic research (2011)

Technique Participants Total

Audio interviews Parents, students teachers and school management 25 Video interviews Parents, students, teachers and school management 291 1st to 3rd grade 683 Questionnaires 4th to 5th grade 380 Final grades (8th-9th) 107 Languages on the Brazilian Borders 99 tools, applying them, and organizing and sorting the data that had been generated had a transformative effect on school praxis. It also had a ripple effect on teachers’ evaluations of their own work as well as their assessment of teaching conditions in the schools.

Selected Findings from the Research Based in Local Municipalities and Schools Through the research outside the schools, in local community contexts, we found that there were distinct constellations of diversity in each of the three municipalities in the project. I list below the main languages that were documented for each municipality:

Ponta Porã: Portuguese; Spanish/Castellano13/Paraguayan; Jopará; English; Korean; German; Italian; Guarani. Epitaciolândia: Portuguese; Spanish/Castellano; Libras; French; Japanese. Guajará Mirim: Portuguese; English; Spanish/Castellano; Bolivian; Indig- enous languages (Macurap, Zoró, Wari, Oro-win, Jaboti, Djeromitxi, Kanoê, Tupari).

The markedly different sociolinguistic landscapes of each of the three municipalities were not reflected in the findings of the school-based surveys. Three broad patterns emerged from the school-based survey work. First, in the two schools (RN and ML) in Ponta Porã (Mato Grosso) on the border with Paraguay, students reported home use of both Span- ish and Guarani, the two official languages of Paraguay. Second, in the other three schools, schools DUR and FLO in Guajará Mirim (Rondônia), and BF school in Epitaciolândia (Acre), on the border with Bolivia, there was a broader trend toward reporting of monolingual use of Portuguese at home, with the pattern being most marked in Epitaciolândia. Third, no mention was made of any of the other languages documented in the research in urban contexts beyond the school: none of the languages of groups of immigrant origin were mentioned and no Indigenous language, apart from Guarani. The invisibility of these other languages in the school-based survey and the marked trend towards reporting of monolingual use of Portuguese merits closer investigation. It could be that, in the two schools in Guajará Mirim and in the school in Epitaciolândia, a stronger monolingual ideology predominates, it could be that parents’ desire to invest in Portuguese for their children has led locally to a trend towards use of the school language at home. In contrast, the reporting of bilingual home use in the two schools in Ponta Porã appears to reflect a greater ‘pride’ in reporting the use of Guarani at home, perhaps due to the historic investment in Guarani/ 100 Rosângela Morello Spanish bilingual education within the Paraguayan educational system. More detailed local studies with local families in all three urban contexts are clearly needed to throw more light on the values and beliefs guiding the students’ patterns of responses and on the language ideologies shaping these patterns. The school-based research with teachers was also revealing. For example, Spanish was the first language (L1) of two teachers at one of the schools in Guajará Mirim (FLO) and in the school in Epitaciolândia (BF). It was the first language of five teachers at one of the schools in Ponta Porã (ML), and for seven teachers at the other school in Ponta Porã (RN). Guarani was the first language of seven teachers at RN school, and for ten teachers at ML school. The teachers were also asked about their use of languages at school and in social interaction outside school. Here, there was a clear contrast between language use at school and outside school. Most teachers indicated that only Portuguese was used at school. Even Spanish, a language that could be easily incorporated into the school curriculum as a second language, was seldom used as shown below:

RN: 12 teachers reported using Spanish in social interaction outside school; only 5 reported using it at school. ML: 9 teachers reported using Spanish in social interaction outside school; only 3 reported using it at school. DUR: 1 teacher reported using Spanish in social interaction outside school, but not at school. FLO: 3 teachers reported using Spanish in social interaction outside school, but not at school. BF: 2 teachers reported using Spanish in social interaction outside school, but not at school.

Final Remarks: Raising Awareness of Linguistic Diversity and the Challenges Ahead The statement that I included above—the one that was made by the supervisor at ML school—was similar to many that were documented by the OBEDF project. They revealed the potential of research such as this for raising awareness and promoting change in local educational practice, particularly when it is designed as a form of educational intervention and which involves extended engagement with educational practitioners. If they are not ignored, the languages of the school populations within border regions such as these can feature as educational resources, rather than as ‘problems’ (Ruíz, 1984; Berger, 2015). The languages need to be seen as valuable tools for articulating knowledge and also as sources of knowledge in and of themselves. In addition, their functions vis-à-vis foreign Languages on the Brazilian Borders 101 language learning need to be better understood. The teaching and learning of different languages constitutes a chance to ponder on the significance of language in social life, to break down barriers between speakers of different languages and to heighten awareness of the ways in which languages are bound up with the construction of identities and relationships. The two full years of work with Brazilian schools in these border regions have clearly demonstrated that there is a pressing need for educational policies and programs that make space for students’ home languages. However, there is still insufficient commitment and a lack of a sense of urgency among those who have the power to introduce and develop such policies and programs. The advancement of appropriate policies would be a key means of overcoming the enduring monolingual ethos of the Brazilian education system and of reimagining education for citizenship that embraces multiple identities and voices.

Notes 1 In this chapter, I use brackets to present the English translation of names of Bra- zilian institutions and titles of research projects as well as of the two extracts of field notes, originally in Portuguese. 2 The Alma H Research Group is based at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil. www.ufrgs.br/projalma/oqueeh/subprojetos.html (accessed 9 November 2016) 3 IPOL. Instituto de Investigação e Desenvolvimento em Política Linguística [Insti- tute for Research and Development in Linguistic Policy]. e-ipol.org (accessed 15 November 2016). 4 Brazilian borders run over a stretch of 15,789 km, comprising 27% of national territory. 5 The geoeconomic management of the Brazilian borders breaks them down into three Arcs—the Northern Arc, the Central Arc—where the OBEDF project was developed, and the Southern Arc. 6 The INDL promotes policies towards future recognition of all Brazilian languages as an intangible cultural heritage. 7 The co-officialization policy acknowledges and promotes languages spoken by a significant part of the population. In 2015 there were 11 languages (7 Indig- enous and 4 immigrant languages) that had co-official status in 18 municipalities (cf. Morello, 2015). 8 The expression Portunhol is a portmanteau term used to designate a mixed code, blending resources from Portuguese (Português) and Spanish (Espanhol). 9 Oro Waramxijein, Oro-Mon, Oro-Dao, Oro-Bone, Oro-Ai. Besides these, Oro- Eu and Oro-Wari, Macurap, Jabuti, Tupari, Canoé, Arua, Massaká, Ajuru and Cujubim, Japaú, Amondawa, Oro-Win and Karipuna on the Brazil-Bolivia border; the Guarani languages Pãi-Tavyterã, Avá-Guaraní, Mbyá, Aché-Guayakí, Guaraní Occidentales (Áva—Chiriguano—Mbía), Ñandeva (Tapieté), as well as speakers of the Chaco region languages (Meliá, 2010), on the Brazil-Paraguay border. 10 Implemented in 2005, in the context of a bilateral agreement between Brazil and Argentina, the PEIBF was incorporated into the educational cooperation associated with the political and economic cooperation around Mercosul in 2007, with the adherence of Paraguay, Uruguay and Venezuela in 2008. In 2010, 14 Brazilian schools and 14 foreign schools out of the 24 twin cities on the Brazilian 102 Rosângela Morello border, comprising around 4,500 students, were taking part in the program. The PEIBF encompassed a Common Education Model, of research-based learning, and of teachers switching schools weekly and teaching a colleagues’ class group across the border. 11 A Brazilian research-funding agency which plays an important part in the expansion and consolidation of post-graduate programs all across the country. 12 My English translation of the statements given originally in Portuguese by research participants are presented in square brackets in this chapter. 13 Castellano (see Pires-Santos, this volume) is an alternative term often used to refer to Spanish in some South American countries. Literally, it means the language of the Castille region of Spain.

References Altenhofen, C. V. and Broch, I. K. (2011) Fundamentos para uma “pedagogia do plurilinguismo” baseada no modelo de conscientização linguística (language awareness) [Foundations for a “pedagogy of plurilingualism” based on the language awareness model], in: Behares, Luis (ed.) V Encuentro Internacional de Investigadores de Políticas Lingüísticas. Montevideo: Universidad de la República e Asociación de Universidades Grupo Montevideo/ Núcleo Educación para la Integración. Berger, I. R. (2015) Gestão do Multi/Plurilinguismo em Escolas Brasileiras na Fron- teira Brasil-Paraguai: um olhar a partir do Observatório da Educação na Fronteira [Management of multi/plurilingualism in Brazilian schools on the Brazil-Paraguay border: A view from the Observatory of Education on the Border]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. Federal University of Santa Catarina (UFSC). Calvet, L-J. (2007) As políticas linguísticas [Language policies]. São Paulo: Parábola Editorial/ IPOL. IBGE‑ Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geogra- phy and Statistics]. (2010) Censo Demográfico 2010 [The 2010 Demographic Census]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Meliá, B. (2010) Lenguas Indígenas en el Paraguay y Políticas Linguísticas [Indig- enous languages in Paraguay and linguistic policies]. Currículo sem Fronteiras, 10(1): 12-32. Morello, R. (2009) Diversidade no Brasil: Línguas e Políticas Sociais [Diversities in Brazil: languages and social policies]. Synergies Brésil, 7: 27–36. ———. (2011) Educação linguística: compartilhar a gestão, promover as línguas, qualificar as políticas—desafios e novos protagonismos [Linguistic education: sharing management, promoting languages, qualifying policies‑ challenges and new protagonisms]. Ideação, 13: 1–20. ———. (2012) A Política de Cooficialização de Línguas no Brasil [Co-officialization language policy in Brazil]. Platô-Revista do Instituto Internacional da Língua Portuguesa, 1: 8–17. ———. (ed.) (2015) Leis e Línguas no Brasil: o processo de cooficialização e suas potencialidades [Laws and languages in Brazil: The potential of the co-officialization language process]. Florianópolis: IPOL. Morello, R. and Martins, M. F. (eds.) (2016) OBEDF—Política linguística em contextos plurilíngues: desafios e perspectivas para a escola [OBEDF‑ Linguistic policy in plurilingual contexts: Challenges and perspectives for schools]. Flori- anópolis: Garapuvu. Languages on the Brazilian Borders 103 Morello, R. and Sagaz, M. R. (2014) OBEDF—Observatório da Educação na Fron- teira: Mapas Linguísticos [OBEDF‑ Observatory of Education on the Border: Lin- guistic Maps]. Florianópolis: IPOL/Editora Garapuvu. Oliveira, G. M. (ed.) (2003) Declaração Universal dos Direitos Linguísticos [Uni- versal Declaration of linguistic rights]. Florianópolis, SC; Campinas, SP: IPOL, Mercado das Letras e ALB. ———. (2004) Política Linguística, Política Historiográfica—Epistemologia e escrita da História da(s) Língua(s) a propósito da língua portuguesa no Brasil Me- ridional [Linguistic policy, historiographical policy: Epistemology and the writing of the history of language(s) in Meridional Brazil]. Unpublished Doctoral Disser- tation. State University of Campinas (UNICAMP). Pêcheux, M. (1990) Análise Automática do Discurso (AAD-69) [Automatic analysis of discourse], in: Gadet, F. and Hak, T. (eds.) Por uma análise automática do discurso [For an automatic analysis of discourse]. Campinas: Editora Unicamp. Ruíz, R. (1984) Orientations in language planning. NABE Journal, 8(2): 15–34. Sagaz, M. R. (2013) Projeto escolas (interculturais) bilíngues de fronteira: análise de uma ação político-linguística [Project Bilingual (Intercultural) Schools on the border: Analysis of a political-linguistic action]. Unpublished Masters Thesis. Uni- versidade Federal de Santa Catarina (UFSC). Seiffert, A. P. (2015) Censo, Diagnóstico, Inventário e Observatório: aspectos metodológicos e papel político-linguístico [Census, diagnosis, inventory and observatory: Methodological aspects and political-linguistic role]. Unpublished Doc- toral Dissertation. Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina (UFSC).

7 A Multilingual Life in Transit Between Two Monolingual Orders A ‘Braziguayan’ Student, Her Linguistic Repertoire and Her Translingual Practices

Maria Elena Pires-Santos

In our deepest natures, we are frontier-crossing beings. (. . .) The journey creates us. We become the frontiers we cross. (Rushdie, 2002:76, 77)

The ambivalence that characterizes the postcolonial world also underlies the notion of ‘frontier’. It is often defined in diffuse terms. In this chapter, the term ‘frontier’ is understood as a borderline dividing spaces, people, things, cultures and languages, and as a place of opportunities and encounters, in which people, languages and cultures are interwoven. In other words, it irons out boundaries, although those who seek to cross them may be liable to inspection and punishment. If on the one hand the frontier is likely to submit those who attempt a crossing to scrutinizing and sanctions, on the other, it comprises spaces of encounters and exchanges, enabling transnationalization. On the so-called Triple Frontier (see Silva, this volume; see Moita-Lopes, this volume), where Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay meet, transnationalization can be observed, for instance, in the trivial manner in which vehicles from these three countries come and go. Among them are buses and coaches announcing—to no one’s bewilderment—“international urban transporta- tion” in both Portuguese1 and Spanish.2 Apart from that, it is common enough, in commercial establishments, to find sales slips issued in four international currencies—(Brazilian) real, (Paraguayan) guaraní, (US) dollar, and (Argen- tinian) peso. Needless to say, on the Triple Frontier there is intense transit of people from all three countries, among them are the so-called Brasiguaios (Braziguayans), whom I will be looking at more closely in this chapter. According to Sprandel (1992), the term Brasiguaio (Braziguayan) was coined in 1985 by Brazilian rural workers who had migrated to Paraguay, in the 1960s and 1970s, and who, in time, found themselves having to return to Brazil due to violent political outbreaks in the neighboring country. The migration flows of these working populations, between both countries, have continued on and off, up to the present. The designation itself is reductionist and homogenizing, as it presumes there is such a group with common, 106 Maria Elena Pires-Santos shared traits, which is not the case. Among the Braziguayans there are those, of Brazilian origin, who, to a certain extent, achieved economic success and/ or were able to legalize their land ownership, and settled down in the neighboring country. And, in turn, there are those who are more economically vulnerable, who either remain in Paraguay, or have returned to Brazil, or even carry on their lives, in transit, back and forth between the two countries. But if, however, some Braziguayans have faced resistance and conflict in Paraguay, on the Brazilian side of the border, it has not been very different because, particularly in the border region, Braziguayans are seen as responsible for the aggravation of social issues such as lack of job opportunities, access to housing, to social benefits and to education. The latter set of issues have generated a good deal of public debate, as their children are often labeled as problematic students in Brazilian public schools. In the ethnographic research I have been carrying out since the 1990s on cross-border cultural diversity and on the construction of linguistic repertoires and identities in Brazilian educational settings, I have heard constant complaints from schoolteachers, and more recently, from university professors, that Braziguayan students are unable to write in Portuguese. In this chapter, I present selected findings from a case study focusing on a Braziguayan student whom I am calling Natalia.3 The data that I draw on here includes feedback from one of her professors on an undergraduate coursework paper, her commentary on this feedback, texts on paper and digital texts produced out of class, in local life world settings and, lastly, audio-recorded interviews and informal conversations with Natalia. I have been working with Natalia since 2010, building an account of her past and present writing practices. The data on her academic literacies was generated during the time she was an undergraduate and later when she was a graduate student reflecting back on her experience in university in Brazil. My aim has been to build an understanding of why Natalia’s writing is perceived as problematic in the context of the educational system in the Brazilian border region. The chapter is organized into three sections: (1.) a contextualization of the multilingual and multicultural settings of the Triple Frontier and a presentation of the theoretical framework grounding the study; and (2.) data analysis focused on the ways in which Natalia draws on the resources in her language and literacy repertoire. In the final section, I point to the implications of the present study for the initial and continuing education of teachers who work in schools and universities in multilingual and multicultural border districts, such as those on the Triple Frontier.

The Triple Frontier’s Transnational Setting: Solid Barriers vs. Fluid Frontiers in the Spatiotemporal Frame of Everyday Life The cities on the Triple Frontier—Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil (256,088 inhabitants);4 Puerto Iguazu, Argentina (42,849 inhabitants);5 and Ciudad del Este, Paraguay (312,652 inhabitants)6—are separated by two rivers and A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 107 connected by two bridges. The Fraternity Bridge is on the Iguaçu River, which runs between Brazil and Argentina; and The Friendship Bridge is on the Paraná River, between Brazil and Paraguay. Binding these cities is the immense cross-border trade and tourism.7 Mobility is intense in all directions causing the boundaries to become attenuated. Foz do Iguaçu’s linguistic and cultural diversities are publicly praised (see Silva, this volume). In fact, in the city, there are Brazilians, Paraguayans, Argentinians, Chinese, Koreans, Arabs, Indians, Germans and Italians, among others of different national origin. This gives the Brazilian city a cosmopolitan feel. However, within different institutional settings, the Bra- zilian myth of a monolingual and monocultural society remains relatively unchallenged. This is an entrenched position in many institutions, such as the educational sector, which is a central site for the representation (Hall, 1997) and (re)configuring of identities (Hall, 2009). Moreover, in the educational sector, we find a linguistic homogenization oriented towards the national ideal, leaving no room for students like the Braziguayans, whose language practices are far from what is expected in the context of an ideology of monolingualism. Their practices are best conceived of as translingual (García and Leiva, 2014; Canagarajah, 2013) and as drawing on a linguistic repertoire of diverse resources (Busch, 2012). According to Busch (2012:505),“[Gumperz’s original] concept of (. . .) linguistic repertoire is gaining in relevance as it allows a move away from imagining languages as clear cut entities”. Since it has been taken up by scholars in the field of multilingualism, theconcept has been “enrich[ed] by taking up historical, ideological, and biographical dimensions in particular”. In this study, I align myself with the critical strand of research on multilingualism (e.g. Martin-Jones et al., 2012) and with the view of language as kaleidoscope (Cesar and Cavalcanti, 2007). According to Martin-Jones et al. (2012:1), “[t]he last two decades have (. . .) seen the emergence of new strands of multilingualism, which have incorporated critical and poststructuralist perspectives from social theory and embraced new epistemologies and research methods”. And as the authors point out, “recent research has contributed in a significant way to “the forging of [a new] sociolinguistics of multilingualism for our times”. Cesar and Cavalcanti (2007) question the imprecise, controversial and totalizing category of (standard) languages and propose, instead, the metaphor of language as a kaleidoscope, in an expanded view of multilingualism encompassing not only different languages, but also the language resources (the styles, registers and genres) associated with each language. For that purpose, they challenge the use of the term ‘varieties’, which lacks the status assigned to the expression ‘standard languages’. In Brazil, for instance, the Portuguese ‘varieties’ are regarded as illegitimate. Thus, they are not perceived as an ‘appropriate’ set of linguistic resources to be drawn upon in public institutional life. Instead, Cesar and Cavalcanti (2007:62) argue that languages need to be seen as being constituted of a “set of variables, 108 Maria Elena Pires-Santos intersections, disputes and contradictions”. They distance themselves from a conceptualization of language as homogenous, rigid and durable and align themselves with the idea of languages as multifaceted and hybrid (see Moita-Lopes, this volume). At the same time, in view of the complexity, fluidity, speed and com- pression of spatiotemporal frames in the contemporary world, I argue that we need to abandon the definition of identities as bounded, rigid, durable objects—a definition that has endured ever sincethe invention of the Carte- sian subject of the Enlightenment. In keeping with Hall (1997, 2009), I adopt the notion of subject that has been developed in postmodern thought—one that emphasizes the fluidity of identities, and which sees them as coming and going in the representational games engendered by the expectations, values and beliefs manifested in discourse practices.

Moving Across Different Worlds of Literacy, Encountering Different Language Values: The Lived Experience of a Multilingual Braziguayan Student In 1970, Natalia’s parents moved to Paraguay, where they remain today, along with some of her brothers and sisters. Natalia was born there in 1980 and was registered as Paraguayan. Right up until her graduation from high school, Natalia’s schooling took place in the neighboring country, in public schools in a rural area. In 2008, she came to Brazil and became a Brazilian citizen. As she stated in an interview, she came back in order to go to university. However, she decided to take the final year of high school again in Brazil. In her own words, this was “due to the [Portuguese] language” and due to the fact that a teacher had warned her of the difficulties she would encounter. As she put it: “the teacher kept saying that it was gonna be hard for me”. In one of my interviews with her, she spoke in detail about the ‘languages’ in her linguistic repertoire, and about the communicative resources she had developed during her years of schooling, and about the ways in which she lived her life in transit between Paraguay and Brazil (members of her extended family live in Brazil). For example, she said: “I spoke Portuguese only at home, but I didn’t know how to write it because I was taught to read and write in Guarani and Castellano. She went on to explain that in interacting with her classmates and friends in Paraguay, the language of interaction was Jopará.8 Her problems with writing in Portuguese came up later in the same interview, with specific reference to an undergraduate program in Portuguese Studies. One of the professors on the program made the following remark: “Natalia, how do you expect to become a teacher if you can’t write proper Portuguese? This way you’ll never be able to graduate”. I met Natalia in 2010—she was twenty at the time. She was in the junior year of her university course in Portuguese and Spanish Studies at A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 109 a university on the Brazilian side of the Triple Frontier. At that university, where I am a lecturer, I once gave a talk on the representations of Bra- zilian elementary school teachers concerning the Braziguayans. After the lecture, Natalia came up to me, and introduced herself as a Braziguayan which is rather unusual as Braziguayan students normally seek invisibility in the classroom (Pires-Santos, 2004). I then invited her to participate in a project being developed in my research group. Since then, as a member of the project group, Natalia has collaborated on several research projects. She has also developed her own research project, under my supervision, as part of the requirements of a postgraduate program.

Natalia’s Academic Literacies9 Throughout these years of close contact, during research group meetings, she gave us several insights into her ordeal as a student at university. These insights came in the form of texts which were written at the time when she was an undergraduate student, and which she managed to retrieve from her archives. I have selected one of these texts by way of illustration here. This was a coursework paper and I consider here two excerpts of it. Excerpt 1a shows the words that were highlighted (in bold and italics here) by Natalia’s professor and Excerpt 1b shows the list of comments made by the same professor. I use Excerpt 1a to start forging an interpretation of her professor’s perceptions of Natalia’s writing difficulties. There are similar occurrences to those shown in Excerpt 1a in the rest of the text.

Excerpt 1a—Academic Work Based on a Literary Text (2009) Excerpt 1a shows four items highlighted by the professor and shown in bold and italics here. Two of them exhibit traces of Castellano in Portuguese: espanholes (instead of espanhóis) and mantia-se (instead of mantinha-se). The other two are definite articles and what is actually signaled is the lack of a preposition after the verb predominar (predominated in the country),

Manuel se recusou a todo instante aos poderes espanholes que predomi- navam o país, pretendia uma disputa pela sucessão do império, Manuel mantia-se em uma confiança progressiva de um fiel patriota, pelo desafio a tradição . . . [At all times, Manuel, resisted the Spanish powers which predominated in the country, he intended to mount opposition to succession within the empire, Manuel maintained the increasing self-assurance of a faithful patriot, by posing a challenge to the tradition . . .] 110 Maria Elena Pires-Santos and the lack of a preposition following the noun desafio (challenge to). In Excerpt 1b, we see the list of comments, made by the professor, all over the margins of the pages of her paper. No direct reference was actually made to the items that had been highlighted in Natalia’s text. The comments, originally in red, read as follows:

Excerpt 1b—Professor’s Comments (2009) Although brief, this excerpt is representative of the professor’s exclusive focus on standard Portuguese as the object of study. Students are clearly expected to engage in compulsory display of resources from an idealized monolingual repertoire. No account is taken of the resources within Nata- lia’s linguistic repertoire, which include Guaraní, Castellano, Portuguese and Jopará. The instances of spelling variation and the missing prepositions in Natalia’s text were merely regarded as ‘mistakes’, as ‘deviations’ from the norm. Underlying these disparaging representations of this Braziguayan student’s writing is the myth of monolingualism in Portuguese, which predominates in Brazil—north and south, east and west—and the common sense notions about language that surface in official documents and, especially, in teacher training/development courses. Portuguese and Castellano are languages that are closely related historically. What often appears in Natalia’s writing is the use of Castellano spelling for lexical items that are pronounced in a similar way in Portuguese. These spelling strategies are especially stigmatized in the border region, by Portuguese (as well as Spanish) teachers/professors, as they are considered

Não posso aceitar erros (de ortografia, acentuação) de NORMA PADRÃO! Você precisa estudar Gramática Normativa, isto é, as regras da Língua Por- tuguesa!!!! Regular. Muitos erros de desconhecimento da norma padrão da linguagem escrita. Precisa estudar acentuação. Você precisa estudar ortografia da Língua Portuguesa com muito cuidado! [I cannot overlook mistakes involving the STANDARD NORM (spelling, diacritical markings)! You must study the Normative Grammar, that is, the grammar rules of the Portuguese Language!!!! Average. Several mistakes showing no knowledge of both the standard language and written language. You must study diacritical marks. You must study the spelling of the Portuguese Language very carefully!] A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 111 to be ‘mistakes’ rather than part of the linguistic repertoire of bi/multilingual students. As Maher (2007) has argued, we need to question idealized representations of bilingual subjects. Instead, we need to provide fine-grained accounts of the ways in which people with complex communicative repertoires draw on the communicative resources available to them, in a variety of social contexts.

Natalia Transcribing and Practicing Portuguese Out of Class As there were no classroom recordings available to illustrate how oral Castellano influenced her written Portuguese, Natalia recovered from her archives a transcription she had done of some song lyrics that she had audio-recorded. She said this was an activity she used to engage in after class, while still in Paraguay, to practice writing in Portuguese. At the time, she could speak Portuguese but she was not certain about how to write it. The transcription was rather long, but for the purposes of the analysis I present here just a few of its lines (Excerpt 2a). This should suffice to show some of Natalia’s writing in an out-of-class context before looking at her own comments on it (Excerpt 2b).

Excerpt 2a—Transcription of the lyrics (2009) Before presenting Excerpt 2b, showing Natalia’s comments on the transcript (preceded by a note to the author of this chapter), it is important to stress that Natalia was already a graduate student when she wrote the note and the comments, and when she reflected on her earlier transcription practices. In the note, we see that she made use of standard Portuguese. She then provided explanations of her spelling of words in Portuguese and drew attention to the fact that her spelling was based on her knowledge of Castellano and Guarani.

“Si a minha boca morre de vontaji du seus beijus “Mais nunca consegui chira voçe du pensamento” “u meu ♡ mi dis chi queru y nau tei jeito “Eu sempre fis ji tudo pra mi apaichona/a te (até) un dia auguei (alguém) deicha saudaji nu meu peito” [“If my mouth longs for you kisses”] [“But I could never take you out of my mind”] [“My ♡ tells me there’s no way out”] [“I’ve always tried to fall in love/ until one day someone left and broke my heart”] 112 Maria Elena Pires-Santos Excerpt 2b—Natalia’s explanations of Her Spelling of Particular Words in Portuguese (2009) As we see in Excerpt 2b, Natalia made comments specifically about spelling and grammar. Her comments focused, for example, on ‘deviations’ from standard Brazilian Portuguese. She explained these with reference to particular sound-symbol correspondences between spoken Portuguese and orthographic resources in Guarani, Castellano and Portuguese. Take, for example, the different ways in which the sound [tʃ] is mapped orthographi- cally in Castellano and in Portuguese. She had particular difficulty with the palatization of [t] and [d] when followed by an [i]. In making these comments, Natalia reveals considerable metalinguistic awareness. Nevertheless, her focus on spelling and grammar echoes her teachers’ complaints about the problems that Braziguayans have when writing in Portuguese.

Natalia’s note: Bom, como tinha dito, fui transcrevendo a música de acordo com a sonor- idade que o cantor pronunciava as palavras, pois não tinha conhecimento da escrita do português; para mim, a escrita era a transcrição da fala, pois o castelhano e o guarani quase não variam a fala em relação à escrita: [Well, as I mentioned before, I transcribed the lyrics following the way the singer pronounced the words, as I didn’t have any idea of how to write in Portuguese: for me, writing was a transcription of speech, since in Castellano and Guarani there are almost no variations between oral and written language]:

Natalia’s comments: • Nas palavras vontaji (vontade), saudaji (saudade), ji (de), o som da letra -d provoca o mesmo som do -j do guarani e a letra -i foi motivada por causa da tonicidade do cantor. [In the words vontaji (vontade), saudaji (saudade), ji (de), the sound of the letter -d is similar to the letter -j in Guarani and the letter -i was motivated by the singer’s stress.] • Chira (tira): o -ch do castelhano tem o mesmo som do ti do português, como foi pronunciado nessa música [the Castellano -ch sounds like ti in Portuguese, as was pronounced in the song] • Dis chi (diz te): nessa questão, além de errar a ortografia na palavra dis (por não saber mesmo), há também o problema que mostrei acima, da troca do -t pelo -ch do castelhano. [here, besides getting wrong the spelling of the word dis (I really couldn’t spell it), there’s the problem I mentioned before, of using the Castellano -ch for the -t] • Chinha (tinha): troca do -t do português pelo som do -ch do castelhano [replacing the Portuguese -t by the Castellano -ch] • Apaichona (apaixonar): o -x do português tem o som do -ch no guarani, por isso fiz uma adaptação . . . [the Portuguese -x sounds the same as the Guarani -ch, so I adopted it . . .] A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 113 In an earlier conversation that she and I had audio-recorded, Natalia had commented specifically on the feedback she had received on one of her university assignments (the written remarks shown in Excerpt 1b above). Natalia surmised that the professor’s remarks might have been motivated by the nature of her oral contributions in class and by her occasional use of resources from Guarani, Castellano and Jopará and from a stigmatized local variety of spoken Portuguese. So, to illustrate this blending and mixing of different communicative resources in her speech, with friends and family members who had a similar background, Natalia took the initiative of bringing a sample of her text-messaging on WhatsApp to share with the members of the research group. This sample is shown in Excerpt 3 below.

The Digital Literacy Practices of Natalia and Her Family Natalia’ sister and her sister’s husband lived in Paraguay. Excerpt 3 shows a conversation that took place via text messaging between Natalia, her sister and her brother-in-law. The extract opens with a comment by Natalia about a photograph of her niece (her sister’s daughter aged two). The photograph showed her niece eating cooked beans and spilling the thick bean broth all over her clothes, especially her pants. As we see in the first line of Excerpt 3, Natalia empathizes with her sister who has the task of washing her daughter’s pants. Her sister responds, with humor, saying that “they” (Paraguayans) have already “found out” that her daughter is Brazilian since she eats beans. (Brazilians living in Paraguay are identified as “those who eat beans”). Natalia’s brother-in-law then joins the conversation to invite her, and other family members, to their home in Paraguay to celebrate his birthday. Natalia replies by saying that she feels spoiled by them. In this final remark, she refers to her role as godmother to her niece. The text-messaging was written in a regular font, however, anticipat- ing the readers’ task, I use the following conventions10 in Excerpt 3 below: italics for Portuguese, bold and italics for Vernacular Portuguese, capital letters for Guarani, regular font for Castellano, and underlining in two instances of hybrid words.

Excerpt 3—Jopará text messaging between family members (2016) This excerpt shows the family members drawing on all the language resources in their communicative repertoires as they engage in routine, jocular communication with each other, via mobile technology. When I discussed this extract with Natalia, she called attention to the use of carsa instead of calça [pants]. Carsa is a vernacular form of Portuguese that is highly stigmatized in urban areas, especially in educational contexts. Moreover, it is written in the text message as if it were a Castellano lexical item, rather than a Portu- guese one. The language resources drawn upon in this brief conversational exchange include: Portuguese (the home language for all those participating); Castellano (the official language of Paraguay and Natalia’s language 114 Maria Elena Pires-Santos

Natalia: Coitada da mãe pa esfrega a carsa. (Coitada da mãe para esfregar a calça) [Poor Mother, she´s the one who´ll do the hard work of washing the child´s pants.] Sister: Tadinha OJEPILLAPA la AVILLANTE HOUHA. (Coita- da, foi descoberto que só come feijão) [Poor thing, they have found out she only eats beans.] Sister’s husband: Obrigado pesual gracias por el karinho/Cualquier cosa JAUTA PEJUMAGUIVE, PEJUTAIKO JAU? (Obrigado pessoal; obrigado pelo carinho/ Qualquer coisa vamos comer, desde que venham. Vocês vêm?). [Thanks folks. Thank you for your kindness./We´ll have something to eat if you come along. Will you come over to eat with us?] Natalia: HÁ UPEI madrina orreclama ILAJAVAIMA NDAJE. (Depois a madrinha reclama que está mal acostumada) [That´s why the godmother here complains she´s been spoiled by you all.]

of schooling); Guarani (the other official language in schools in Paraguay), and a colloquial variety of Guarani which is commonly used in conversations that take place in local life worlds. The use of these different language resources in the extract in Excerpt 3 is detailed below. Natalia described these hybrid language and literacy practices as “using Jopará”.

The Specific Language Resources Used in Excerpt 3

Natalia: Coitada da mãe pa esfrega a carsa: —coitada da mãe: Standard Portuguese —pa esfrega a carsa: Non-prestigious vernacular form of Portuguese Sister: Tadinha ojepillapa la avillante houha —tadinha: Portuguese —OJEPILLAPA AVILLANTE HOUHA: Guarani —la: Castellano Sister’s husband: Obrigado pesual gracias por el karinho/Cualquier cosa jauta pejumaguive, pejutaiko jau —obrigado pesual: Portuguese —gracias por el: Castellano —karinho: Guarani and Portuguese —cualquier cosa: Castellano —JAUTA PEJUMAGUIVE, PEJUTAIKO JAU: Guarani Natalia: Há upei madrina orreclama ilajavaima ndaje —HÁ UPEI: Guarani —madrina: Castellano —orreclama: Guaraní, Castellano, Portuguese —ILAJAVAIMA NDAJE: Guarani A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 115

O -o trazido do guarani e anexado no início da palavra tem como função recuperar como referente madrina; a palavra reclama tem o mesmo significado em português e em espanhol. Nessa junção do prefixo à palavra, o -r foi do- brado, característica comum também às duas línguas, embora não faça parte da grafia dereclama , quando escrita separadamente. [The -o, drawn from Guarani, when used as a prefix, performs the function of retrieving the referent, in this case, madrina. The word reclama has the same spelling in Portuguese and Castellano. By adding the prefix to the word, the -r was doubled, a common feature in both languages, though it is not in the spelling of the word reclama.]

This brief moment of interaction via text messaging reveals the translanguaging, the hybridization and the creativity that characterize day-today communication in this extended Braziguayan family. It also shows the fluid and playful ways in which their multiple identities are represented in online communication as well as in face-to-face interaction. An instance of the creativity at work in this particular interaction is the use of the hybrid term orreclama (complain), in the last turn in the conversation shown in Excerpt 3. Natalia explained as follows how the term is formed.

Final Considerations In my analysis of the data presented above, my aim has been to throw light on the tension between the dominant monolingual ideology in Brazil and the multilingual practices of people, such as the Braziguayans, who live on the Triple Frontier. In this context, only ‘legitimate languages’ (Bourdieu, 1991) are acknowledged, while the use of vernacular forms and translingual practices, like those of Natalia and her family, are stigmatized. As colleagues and I have noted elsewhere (Pires-Santos et al., 2015), there is a persistent belief in the existence of an idealized, homogeneous Brazilian Portuguese. Moreover, in Brazil as a whole, access to standard Portuguese is regulated by a hierarchical education system that represents other varieties of Portu- guese as “deviations to be respected”.11 The language ideological landscape is similar in Paraguay. While standard Castellano and standard Guarani are legitimized within the educational system, other ways of speaking, such as colloquial Guarani and Jopará are not acknowledged. This reductionist approach (Busch, 2012), which overlooks the full range of learners’ communicative repertoires, is wholly inappropriate in language education in contexts such as the one I have described here. A strict monolingual order in education, with an exclusive focus on a national language, imagined as a fixed and homogeneous entity, renders invisible the creativity and translingual practices (García, 2009; Canagarajah, 2013) of learners who draw on the diverse language resources available to them as they move in and out of different identities. 116 Maria Elena Pires-Santos Natalia’s case is, of course, specific, but it points to the need to give visibility to the lived experience of schooling on the border for Braziguayans. Like many others, Natalia’s life had been lived in transit—both physically and virtually—between Brazil and Paraguay. Her undergraduate experience had been haunted by the ghost of ‘incorrectly’ written Portuguese. In her audio-recorded recollections and comments, she mentioned having felt considerable pressure with regard to the development of her writing capabilities and she emphasized that the same happened in relation to her oral performance. This pressure was manifested in scribbled comments of the kind made by a professor who was proofreading her coursework (Excerpt 2b)—comments that were firmly grounded in the ideology of monolingualism in standard Portuguese. Her teachers repeatedly threatened her with not being able to complete her undergraduate course, and hence failing to become an accredited teacher. Fortunately, Natalia managed to overcome these obstacles and graduate, thereby defying the statistics that point to high failure and course dropout rates on the part of Braziguayans. She even went on to obtain a postgraduate degree. For her Masters dissertation, she developed an ethnographic research project at the school where she had received her elementary and high school education in Paraguay. She currently teaches Portuguese and Spanish at the high school level in a public school in Brazil. Understanding the translingual practices of Braziguayan students as an integral part of their multilingual language repertoires is essential to the development of initial and continuing education of language teachers, particularly those who, like Natalia herself, are immersed in the multilingual and multicultural context of border regions. There needs to be a national debate about the complex language repertoires and practices of students such as the Braziguayans and about the implications of these sociolinguistic realities for language education. First of all, there is a need to include reference to sociolinguistic realities such as these in undergraduate curricula, so that students, who will go on to become teachers, can broaden their outlook on language teaching (Cavalcanti, 2013), build an understanding of the local realities and develop appropriate strategies to deal with students whose practices are translingual. Debate about these issues is crucial if we are to guarantee that future teachers will not reproduce teaching/learning practices that lead to prejudice, student stigmatization, school failure and, ultimately, high school dropout rates. Taking into account the social and historical issues faced by Braziguayans would allow teachers to turn away from forms of assessment that penalize students for translanguaging and to challenge the widely held belief that these students are incapable of communicating in either standard Portuguese or standard Castellano. Second, those who are training to be language teachers need to be aware that idealized views of monolingualism are incompatible with the actual A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 117 language practices emerging in everyday life (particularly within local life worlds) These include practices in which creative and agentive communicative strategies, involving the use of different linguistic and semiotic resources, represent diverse voices and subjectivities. Moreover, these practices should not be viewed in purely linguistic, or stylistic terms, as language varieties, or as correct or incorrect forms, since they are social and cultural practices that are bound up with complex emotional, historical, political and social processes. Finally, there needs to be debate about purist and elitist views of language. These views not only dismiss the hybridized language practices of everyday life, but also fail to acknowledge the diverse ways in which Portuguese is spoken in Brazil (Cesar and Cavalcanti, 2007). They render invisible the complex range of linguistic diversities present in Brazilian society. These diversities are still viewed as threats to an idealized homogeneity and this, in turn, leads to stigmatization and exclusion of those who do not speak the ‘legitimate’ language. We need to move toward forms of educational practice that are based on an understanding of students’ capacity to employ the linguistic resources within their communicative repertoires in a flexible manner so as to configure specific meanings and make sense of their world. This approach to language education is best suited to working with minoritized groups, and can serve as a means of achieving greater social justice.

Notes 1 Portuguese/Portuguese language, as employed here, always refers to Brazilian Portuguese. 2 In Paraguay, one of its official languages is locally designated Castellano and not Spanish. In Brazil such distinction is ignored and the preference is for the use of Spanish. Throughout this chapter, I use Castellano, following the local designation in the neighboring country. The only instances of Spanish in the text are related to uses in Portuguese (such as in the name of the undergraduate course). 3 The name Natalia is an alias. 4 IBGE (2010). 5 Ministerio del Interior. Argentina, 2010. www.mininterior.gov.ar/municipios/ masinfo.php?municipio=MIS059 (accessed 15 February 2015). 6 Municipality of Ciudad del Este. www.mcde.gov.py/vistas/historia.php (accessed 15 February 2015). 7 The biggest tourist destination in the region, the Cataratas do Iguaçu (Iguaçu Waterfalls), drew over 1.5 million visitors from Brazil and worldwide in 2014. 8 Jopará, as explained by its speakers, is the colloquial language of interaction among Paraguayans, developed from a mix of Guarani and Castellano. In Para- guay, it is considered to be ‘incorrect’ Guarani or ‘incorrect’ Castellano. 9 Brackets are used in the fragments to indicate the beginning and end of the translation into English of data excerpts originally in Portuguese. 10 This fragmentation is done just for analytic purposes, since, aligned with Cesar and Cavalcanti (2007), I do not believe it is possible to establish a borderline between or within languages. 11 This is a common argument seen in official documents. 118 Maria Elena Pires-Santos References Bourdieu, P. (1991) Language and symbolic power. Cambridge: Polity Press. Busch, B. (2012) The linguistic repertoire revisited. Applied Linguistics, 35(5): 503–523. Canagarajah, S. (2013) Translingual practice: Global Englishes and cosmopolitan relations. London and New York: Routledge. Cavalcanti, M. C. (2013) Educação linguística na formação de professores de lín- guas [Linguistic education in language teacher education], in: Moita-Lopes, L. P. (ed.) Linguística Aplicada na modernidade recente [Applied linguistics in late modernity]. São Paulo: Parábola. Cesar, A. L. and Cavalcanti, M. C. (2007) Do singular para o multifacetado: o conceito de língua como caleidoscópio [From the singular to the multifaceted: the concept of language as a kaleidoscope], in: Cavalcanti, M. C. and Bortoni- Ricardo, S. M. (eds.) Transculturalidade, linguagem e educação [Transculturality, language and education]. Campinas: Mercado de Letras. García, O. (2009) Bilingual education in the 21st century: A global perspective. Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. García, O. and Leiva, C. (2014) Theorizing and enacting translanguaging for social justice, in: Blackledge, A. and Creese, A. (eds.) Heteroglossia as practice and pedagogy. New York and London: Springer Dordrecht Heidelberg. Hall, S. (1997) The work of representation, in: Hall, S. (ed.) Representation‑ Cul- tural representations and signifying practices. London: Sage. ———. (2009) Da diáspora [On diaspora]. Belo Horizonte: Editora UFMG. IBGE‑ Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geogra- phy and Statistics]. (2010) Censo Demográfico 2010 [The 2010 Demographic Census]. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Maher, T. M. (2007) Do casulo ao movimento: a suspensão das certezas na educação bilíngue e intercultural [From theoretical “cocoons” to movement: suspending certainties in bilingual and intercultural education], in: Cavalcanti, M. C. and Bortoni-Ricardo, S. M. (eds.) Transculturalidade, linguagem e educação [Trans- culturality, language and education]. Campinas: Mercado de Letras. Martin-Jones, M., Blackledge, A. and Creese, A. (eds.) (2012) Introduction‑ A sociolinguistics of our times, in: Martin-Jones, M., Blackledge, A., and Creese, A. (eds.) The Routledge handbook of multilingualism. London and New York: Routledge. Moita-Lopes, L. P. (2013) Linguística Aplicada na modernidade recente [Applied linguistics in late modernity]. São Paulo: Parábola. Pires-Santos, M. E. (2004) O cenário multilíngue/multidialetal/multicultural de fronteira e o processo identitário “brasiguaio” na escola e no entorno social [The multilingual/multidialectal/multicultural scenario at the frontier and the “Bra- ziguayan” identity process at school and in the surroundings]. Unpublished Doc- toral Dissertation. Campinas: Universidade Estadual de Campinas. Pires-Santos, M. E., Lunardelli, M. G., Jung, N. M. and Silva, R. C. M. (2015) “Vendo o que não se enxergava”: condições epistemológicas para construção de conhecimento coletivo e reflexivo da língua(gem) em contexto escolar. [“Seeing the unseen”: epistemological conditions for the construction of collective knowledge and language reflection in a school context]. DELTA, 31: 36–66. A Multilingual Life, a ‘Braziguayan’ Student 119 Rushdie, S. (2002) Step across this line. The Tanner Lectures on Human Values. De- livered at Yale University, 25–26 February. tannerlectures.utah.edu/_. . . /a-to. . . / rushdie_2002.pdf (accessed 25 September 2016). Sprandel, M. A. (1992) Brasiguaios: conflitos e identidades em fronteiras internacionais [Braziguayans: Conflicts andidentities on international borders]. Unpub- lished Master Thesis. Rio de Janeiro: Museu Nacional [National Museum].

Section III Local/Global Trajectories

Introduction Local/Global Trajectories: Historical and Ethnographic Perspectives

Marilyn Martin-Jones

The three chapters in this section (Chapters 8, 9 and 10) clearly illustrate the value of transdisciplinary approaches to the study of migration, language and identity. Each chapter combines historical and demographic detail with ethnographic, sociolinguistic and textual insights from recent research. Combining these different, yet overlapping approaches, enables the authors to build a fuller, multiscalar account, linking language practices and ideologies in particular local settings with broader social and historical processes. In this introduction to the section, I illustrate some of the insights we glean, as readers, from the three individual chapters and, in particular, what we learn from reading them together.

Migration Trajectories: The Historical Perspective Reading each chapter in turn, we are introduced to the specific migration history of those in each local population—those from Japan who settled in the states of São Paulo and Paraná (Chapter 8), those from Ukraine who settled in the municipality of Prudentópolis, Paraná (Chapter 9) and those from the Middle East who settled in Foz do Iguaçu, Paraná (Chapter 10). We also learn about the specific conditions of settlement in each area. Reading the chapters together draws our attention to the broader political and economic processes that shaped the migration trajectories of all three groups. We come to see how the borderlands of southern Brazil were ‘col- onized’, from the 19th century onwards, by means of politically planned settlement projects. We also see how some groups acquired land for cultivation and specialized in agriculture, while others moved into the commercial sector in urban areas. In addition, we see the sociolinguistic consequences of these initial (or subsequent) moves into particular niches in the local economy, including the consequences for the acquisition of Portuguese and the reproduction of the heritage language across generations. Reading across the chapters also allows us to perceive resonances in terms of the role of religious institutions in the establishment and consolidation of local communities of immigrant origin. As we see in Chapters 9 and 10, these institutions not only created places for religious observance (such as 124 Marilyn Martin-Jones churches and mosques), they also served as sources of welfare and support and they organized different forms of educational provision. The forms of provision included schools, with particular religious affiliations, which combined the teaching of the national curriculum of Brazil and the teaching of Portuguese, with the teaching of the heritage language. They also included complementary schools and classes that focused on the teaching of specialized liturgical literacies. Both types of educational provision were still in existence when the research presented in these two chapters was carried out. They have left particular legacies and they have contributed, in specific ways to the construction of particular religious identities and affiliations. For example, in Chapter 9, we see how engaging in ritual chanting in Ukrai- nian in the local Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church in Prudentópolis (in the state of Paraná), and employing texts written in the Cyrillic alphabet, is still commonly viewed as a way of performing Ukrainian-ness. Again, reading across the historical sections of the chapters, we get a keen sense of the language ideological impact of the nationalist fervor that surfaced in Brazil in the years of the Estado Novo (1937–1945) and the nation-wide ban that was imposed on the teaching of all heritage languages. Chapters 8 and 9 provide insights into the specific impact of these legal restrictions on the Japanese and Ukrainian communities, respectively. (We see also see reference to the impact of this period on speakers of other languages in Chapter 4, by Gilvan Müller de Oliveira). According to the authors of these chapters, many heritage language classes continued to be run clandestinely, but the legacy of these years of intense intolerance to minorities of immigrant origin was, inevitably, a shift towards the valuing of Portuguese over the heritage language among subsequent generations. Lastly, the historical sections of all three chapters reveal for us the diversity within each local population of immigrant origin, and the specific ways in which this diversity increased over time. In Chapter 8, for example, we see how diversity increased with the second wave of postwar migration to Brazil from Japan and, then, in the late 1980s and 1990s, with the out-migration of Japanese-Brazilians to Japan and with ongoing mobility between the two countries. The ethnographic detail in this chapter shows how a new vocabulary has emerged, over the years, to designate different Japanese identities. In Chapter 10, we see the significant diversity that characterizes the Arab population in Foz do Iguaçu. From the 1940s onwards, it has included people from different regions of the Middle East—from Leba- non, Palestine, Jordan and Syria—and people with different religious affiliations (Sunni Muslim, Shia Muslim, Christian and Druze).

The Development of Language Resources and Repertoires: Ethnographic Perspectives The ethnographic detail in all three chapters draws our attention to the diverse voices, literacies and sociolinguistic repertoires of people in these Section III: Introduction 125 local populations today. Through the extracts from ethnographic interviews, through textual data and through field notes, we encounter their perspectives on the sociolinguistic situations in which they find themselves: we see how they value the different language and literacy resources within their communicative repertoires and how they understand the social significance of the different language and literacy practices that they engage in. The broad contours of the sociolinguistic history of each local population have been quite distinct, since they have been bound up with the migration history of each population, and with ongoing mobilities. However, none of the local populations could be described as ‘homogeneous speech communities’. People within each local population have differing language and linguistic resources, they engage in different language and literacy practices and have differing language values. Moreover, we encounter similar dimensions of diversity in language and literacy practices and language ideologies as we read across the chapters. I will focus here on six of these dimensions:

1. The original migrants brought different voices, accents and ways of speaking to their new lives in Brazil. For example, in Chapter 10, we read that different regional varieties of Arabic are spoken in Foz do Iguaçu and that these differences reflect the regional origins of different families. Also, some people came from rural areas and had had little access to education, while others came from urban areas. They had had some schooling and were familiar with the standard language in the country of origin. Chapter 10 introduces us to one research participant whose Brazil-based family had their roots in a rural setting in Lebanon. He recalls that his first encounter with relatives in Lebanon, who had been brought up in an urban context and had had an education in Ara- bic, had left him feeling like a “backwoods hick”. 2. Ways of speaking the heritage language also changed over time in the country of origin, so those moving to Brazil as part of new waves of migration brought these new ways of speaking with them. As a consequence, they evaluated the spoken language resources of the original migrants to Brazil, and their descendants, in negative terms. For example, Chapter 8 describes the attitudes of the postwar migrants from Japan towards the spoken language resources of those who moved to Brazil during earlier waves of migration. The term used by postwar migrants to describe the speech of earlier migrants was: burajiru-bokê (the outdated of Brazil). In a later period, in the late 1980s, when Japanese- Brazilian migrant workers moved to Japan, their Japanese language resources were also negatively evaluated by Japanese people and referred to as koroniago (literally, low prestige variety). 3. A further dimension of diversity that is mentioned in each chapter is that related to new ways of speaking that have emerged across the generations in Brazil. The blending and intertwining of resources from Portuguese and from the heritage language is now quite common in 126 Marilyn Martin-Jones everyday conversation. However, there are differences between younger and older people in local populations. 4. Across the chapters, we also read about the increasing diversity in literacy practices and the emergence of new ways of producing texts, on paper and online. For instance, in Chapter 9 the authors tell us about the shift towards the production of bilingual (Portuguese/Ukrainian) texts for religious purposes, or towards texts that are only in Portu- guese. These include bilingual publications by the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, texts in Ukrainian that are written in the Roman alphabet (rather than the Cyrillic alphabet) and a Portuguese-only version of the liturgy. Chapter 10 also documents a shift among some young Arabic speakers in Brazil towards the writing of Arabic in the Roman script, particularly when using social media. It also indicates that some of those producing online texts, that are oriented to people in the local Arab population, are opting to write in Portuguese. The author of this chapter mentions two journalists, one based in Brazil and one based in Lebanon, who have both chosen to use Portuguese on their news web sites. 5. There is also some evidence of diversity across chapters, in the degree to which people are investing in the development of academic literacies in their heritage language. For example, Chapter 9 portrays the aspirations of two research participants to pursue further study in Ukraine. Their own efforts to develop their own academic literacies in Ukrai- nian have opened up opportunities of this kind for them. They have clearly come to see their heritage language as a valuable form of cultural capital. 6. Lastly, two of the chapters (Chapters 9 and 10) provide ethnographic insights pertaining to diversity in the use of language online. Both chapters reveal the affordances of the Internet and social media for communicating across diasporic spaces, for extending social networks and for using the heritage language in the reading and writing of online texts. Chapter 9 shows us how some Ukrainian-Brazilians are embracing digital literacies as a means of engaging in translocal and transnational communication. We see evidence of similar patterns in Chapter 10 with respect to Arabic speakers. However, in both populations, there are generational differences in the use of digital literacies and there are also differences in writing practices, e.g. in choice of language resources and writing systems. These two chapters provide brief and intriguing glimpses into online uses of heritage languages. These digital literacy practices certainly merit further study.

Concluding Comments As I have shown above, the strength of the research presented in the three chapters in this section lies in the ways in which historical and ethnographic Section III: Introduction 127 perspectives on migration, language and identity are brought together. Adopting a transdisciplinary approach and working across scales allows us to see how local language practices and ideologies are bound up with much wider political, economic and ideological processes. It also enables us to identify commonalities and differences in migration trajectories, in local conditions of settlement and in moves within local populations to reproduce, reimagine or reinvest in their linguistic, cultural or spiritual heritage. I have also drawn attention to the different dimensions of diversity that characterize local populations of immigrant origin, such as those depicted in the three chapters in this section. As the authors of these chapters show us, these populations are often represented in official and popular discourse in Brazil as ‘homogeneous’ groups, as japoneses, or arabes or ukranianos. Terms like these also index ‘foreignness’ and, as we see in Chapter 8, are explicitly rejected by local people. However, the complex dimensions of diversity captured in both the historical and ethnographic detail presented in this section present a clear challenge to such essentialist discourses and to the discursive positioning of people of immigrant origin in Brazil as ‘foreign’. Moreover, the dimensions of sociolinguistic diversity revealed in the ethnographic detail pose a significantchallenge to the notion that language is a fixed and bounded entity. Language is always ‘on the move’, especially in the new times in which we live, in the context of globalization, transnational connectedness and 21st century mobilities.

8 The Ongoing Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians Language Ideology, Identities and Language Education

Leiko Matsubara Morales, Ayako Akamine and Maria Emiko Suzuki

Taking account of the need to approach multilingualism as diverse and dynamic social practices which are bound up with different temporal and spatial trajectories (Heller, 2012), the aim of this chapter is to present an overview of: (1.) the way the local and international mobilities of Japanese immigrants to Brazil, and their descendants, have contributed to changes in linguistic ideology and identity configurations; and (2.) some of the consequences of these changes for language education and the shaping of sociolinguistic repertoires. Our reflections are based on two assumptions: first, that identities are to be understood not as “unitary and enduring psychological states or social categories”, but as products of situated social action, which “may shift and recombine to meet new circumstances” (Bucholtz and Hall, 2004:376); and, second, that identity processes are often related to different language ideologies, that is, to different “representations, whether explicit or implicit, that construe the intersection of language and human beings in a social world” (Woolard,1998:3). It is also important to emphasize that, although we will be referring to ‘Japanese immigrants to Brazil and their descendants’, hereafter, we will be foregrounding the diversity among them. There are important differences in the way they interpret their identities and express themselves (De Carvalho, 2003; Sakamoto and Morales, 2015). We have structured this chapter as follows: in the first section, we will start with a brief history of early Japanese immigration to rural areas of Bra- zil, highlighting the fact that, in the years that preceded World War II, the teaching of Japanese to the children of these immigrants was seen as one of the most important ways of assuring their offspring’s ‘Japaneseness’ in the new country (Maeyama, 2002). In the second section, we will then draw on different studies to argue that a significant proportion of Japanese descendants, after having moved to urban settings, no longer viewed themselves as ‘Japanese’, but rather as ‘Japanese-Brazilians’ (Handa, 1987; Lesser, 2001; De Carvalho, 2003). This brought about changes in the language ideology of many people within this population. In order to guarantee their children social mobility and educational opportunities, the emphasis on the learning of their heritage language gave way, in the 1980s, to an emphasis on 130 Morales, Akamine and Suzuki the learning of Portuguese (Moriwaki, 2008). We will point out here that a significant consequence of this change can be seen in the profile of the students who have been attending Japanese language courses in some Brazilian universities (Morales, 2015). In the third section, we turn to the outward migration of Brazilian workers of Japanese origin (dekasegis) to Japan in the 1990s. Here, we will consider the impact of this migratory movement on their language ideologies, their cultural allegiances and their sense of identity. We show that heavy emphasis was again placed, by these workers, on the learning of the heritage language by their children and that, after having spent a few years in Japan, many of them started seeing themselves as Japanese rather than Brazilian (Kawamura, 2003; Ishikawa, 2012). However, as we will also indicate in the fourth section, a reversal of this language ideology and identity configuration occurred after 2008, upon the return of some of these dekasegi families to Brazil. The learning of Portuguese was again perceived to be fundamental, not only because it could facilitate the re-entry of their children into the Brazilian educational system, but also because it would help them ‘become Brazilian’ again.1

The First Phase of Japanese Immigration to Brazil The migration of Japanese people to Brazil began in 1908. The push factor was overpopulation in Japan and the social problems stemming from this. The pull factor was the demand for labor in the coffee plantations in Brazil after the abolition of slavery. The immigrants in the first wave of migration, who were not always “genuine farmers” (Handa, 1987:41), were hired to work on farms in the Brazilian states of São Paulo and Paraná. Their ambi- tion was to amass a fortune and eventually return to their homeland “in brocade garments” (Moriwaki, 2008:21). However, life on the coffee plantations was characterized by great difficulties, due not only to the hard labor that was required, but also to the immigrants’ lack of knowledge of the Portuguese language and of Brazil- ian cultural habits and customs. These difficulties made those in this first wave of immigrants keenly aware of their distinctiveness, of their Japanese identity (Handa, 1987:13). Once their contracts with Brazilian farm owners had expired, the first immigrants jointly acquired small tracts of land, with savings that they had put aside. In this way, they formed colônias (immigrant settlements) in different areas, in the southern states of Brazil (e.g. São Paulo and Paraná). In these colônias, they set up associations to organize community affairs and their children’s education. The first schools, or nihongakkō, began to function according to Japanese precepts, and imperial edicts regarding morality and civic responsibility. These precepts and edicts had originally been designed to create loyal, disciplined and honor- able subjects. Children learned the Japanese language, in both its oral and written modalities. To facilitate the learning of the Japanese writing system, Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians 131 storybooks were made available to children in these community-run classrooms. Students also learned drawing, calligraphy with brushes, and Jap- anese songs and dances. The nihongakkō schools became the hub for all social and cultural events of the colônias. Annual activities were organized, such as artistic presentations, multisport tournaments and competitions in Japanese oratory. Thus, the first generations of Japanese immigrants to Brazil attempted to raise their children, from early childhood, in accordance with the bushidô, the samurai code of conduct, and the yamato damashii, the Japanese spirit. The idea of yamato damashii was based on an imagined cultural homogeneity that had been kindled by the nationalist policies of the Meiji Era (1868– 1912). This homogeneity was deemed to be necessary for the development of a Modern Japanese State, after the country’s 220 years of isolation, with no economic or political exchanges with the West (1639–1854) (Moriwaki, 2008:22). Shibata (2012) states that the schools in the Japanese colônias played a key role in the configuration of an identity based on cultural and linguistic practices associated with Japaneseness, on traditions and on the worship of Japanese symbols and heroes. The reassertion of a distinct identity by these immigrants served as a means of distinguishing themselves from other people who inhabited the region where they had settled, the so-called Caboclos (people of mixed Indigenous Brazilian and European ancestry). The Cabo- clos had had no access to literacy and were perceived as ineligible to work. The Japanese-Brazilians also considered their stay in Brazil to be temporary (Handa, 1987). This justified their efforts to maintain the Japanese language across generations, along with the values of their ancestors, thus preserving the ‘Japanese spirit’. However, by the 1930s, a nationalist ideology was also emerging in Bra- zil. A new politics found expression in the slogan “one nation, one flag, one language” (Moriwaki, 2008:44). Under the dictatorship of Getúlio Vargas, a whole set of legal provisions were imposed with the explicit aim of sup- pressing the voices of immigrants of all national origins, forcing them to rapidly integrate into Brazilian society and eradicating multilingualism (see Oliveira, this volume). In December 1938, a nationwide ban was imposed on the teaching of all immigrant languages, and many schools in immigrant communities were shut down. The schools in the Japanese settlements were not spared: of the 294 Japanese schools officially registered at that time, 219 were prohibited from operating. Nevertheless, according to Moriwaki (2008:46), Japanese schools started operating clandestinely in the colô- nias and the numbers of students continued to grow. In this way, contrary to the intentions of the nationalist Brazilian government of the time, the great majority of Japanese immigrants, along with their descendants, kept on investing in the acquisition and usage of the Japanese language, and exercising their Japaneseness as a way of showing their refusal to be seen as Brazilians or Caboclos. Given that they lived in relatively isolated rural 132 Morales, Akamine and Suzuki settlements, this reassertion of a Japanese identity did not represent a real threat to the population around them. However, in 1942, diplomatic relations between Brazil and Japan were halted, and the Japanese immigrants came to be regarded by other Brazil- ians as representatives of an enemy people, as the ‘yellow threat’. This way of representing Japanese people circulated widely across Brazilian society through various media, including the printed press (Lesser, 2001). These were difficult years for this group of immigrants.

Urbanization and the New Waves of Japanese Immigrants With Japan’s defeat in World War II, the Japanese immigrants were forced to reassess their life plans. They backed down on the initial idea of returning to their homeland and, instead, decide to settle down in Brazil. Convinced that the inclusion of their children in the Brazilian educational system was essential for their descendants to achieve the much desired financial stability and social mobility (Moriwaki, 2008), many families decided to leave the colônias behind and head towards the city of São Paulo and neighboring towns. The acquisition of the Portuguese language now became a priority. Even those families with limited financial resources started sending their children to the metropolis, at least their youngest ones if not all of them, so they could get an education, and eventually, ‘become somebody’. In order to lodge and shelter the youngsters who were dispatched to the city on their own, in a collective effort, the immigrants set up ‘student houses’ in the city of São Paulo. But still, life in the city was by no means easy for these students. A lady, now 84 years old, described her experiences as a student in the following way during an interview by Maria Emiko Suzuki in 2016 (our translation from the original Portuguese transcription to English is inserted below within square brackets):

Saí do aconchego da colônia aos 17 anos para fazer o primeiro ano do ginásio em São Paulo. Foram dias de solidão, sofrimento e desespero. Eu me sentia infeliz, com vergonha e complexo de inferioridade por estudar junto com as outras crianças daquela escola. Eu sempre me senti um peixe fora d’água. [I left the coziness of the colônia when I was 17 to do my first high school year in São Paulo. Those were times of solitude, suffering and despair. I felt unhappy, embarrassed, inferior, as I interacted with the other kids in school. I always felt like I didn’t belong.]

Although Japanese immigration to Brazil had been interrupted due to World War II, it resumed in 1953, and continued from then onwards, in a constant flow, up to the 1970s (Moriwaki, 2008). The arrival of these new immigrants was to have implications for the configuration of ideologies Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians 133 about language and identity among the Japanese immigrants already in the country, as well as those of their descendants, as we will show below. The postwar influx of immigrants was instrumental in the deconstruction of beliefs about ‘Japanese homogeneity’. During this period, the first wave of Japanese immigrants and their descendants become aware of the huge cultural, ideological and linguistic differences between them and the newcomers from Japan. Handa (1987:716) recounts that “the former immigrants were labeled burajiru-bokê” by the newcomers (in literal translation, this means ‘the outdated’ of Brazil). One characteristic of those long established in Brazil that was often cited by the newcomers was their flexible approach to punctuality or to observing appointments and arrangements. At the same time, the newcomers, who were associated with the ‘new-Japan’, were not understood by those already well-established in Brazil, since the former adhered to social and political principles embraced by a postwar Japan, such as democracy, respect for human rights, labor laws and equality. These were values that were incompatible with the rigid features of Japaneseness laid down by the Meiji Era, with which many first wave immigrants were most familiar. They saw themselves as steadfastly adhering to the highly disciplined samurai tradition, and understood Japaneseness in this way. Language issues also contributed to the unease in the relationship between members of both migratory waves: the former immigrants spoke and wrote a variety of Japanese that had come to be considered to be ‘archaic.’ They also blended expressions from their original Japanese variety with Portu- guese ones. In contrast, the newcomers made use of loanwords borrowed from English. The consequence of this encounter between Japanese migrants arriving in Brazil at different points in time was that the first group of immigrants became aware of the ways in which they had adapted to Brazilian life and cultural practices. This period witnessed a significant shift in the ways in which they represented their identities, especially in the urban areas: they and their descendants began to configure a new identity for themselves, this time around one that was explicitly hybrid: that of Japanese-Brazilians. By the 1970s, there was also an increase in the trend toward marriages outside the ‘Japanese community’. The presence of nikkei (Japanese immigrants and their descendants) also became more visible in Brazilian public and institutional life. Individuals became local council members, state and federal representatives, prosecutors and even teachers. This move into the mainstream of Brazilian life was made possible by the increase in the numbers of those who were entering higher education and being awarded degrees. According to Moriwaki (2008:106), while the number of nikkei students enrolled at the University of São Paulo (USP) in 1949 was only 98, by 1978 that figure had already risen to 5,250. In the 1970s, Maeyama (2002), an anthropologist, conducted a study of Japanese-Brazilian university students, focusing on the ways in which they represented their identities in their interactions with other Brazilians at university. The study included nisei and sansei college students (respectively, 134 Morales, Akamine and Suzuki children and grandchildren of Japanese immigrants born outside of Japan). Maeyama reports that they drew on all the linguistic resources in their communicative repertoires in representing their identities and employed the Japanese term nihonjin, which literally means ‘Japanese’, as a means of self- designation, despite their lack of actual cultural, social or political experiences in Japan. The Portuguese term japonês (Japanese) was unacceptable to them: they considered themselves to be nihonjin, but not japoneses. According to Maeyama, the word japonês bore the overtones of ‘foreignness’ but this younger generation did not wish to be regarded as foreigners but rather as Japanese-Brazilians, who had creatively amalgamated aspects of the local culture with elements of their ancestors’ culture. At the same time, they maintained their allegiance to their Brazilian nationality. They were, in effect, challenging essentialist notions of culture and identity that underpinned the way they were often defined. With the demise of the colônias, a highly conducive environment for the reproduction of the Japanese language across generations ceased to exist. In urban settings, some of the descendants of the early immigrants completely abandoned the study of their heritage language, while others continued to attend both a Brazilian school, and a ‘Japanese school’. These ‘Japanese schools’ were formed and fostered by the parents of the students. But, there is now evidence, from the personal accounts of those grew up in Japanese- Brazilian families, that, already in the 1980s, even in households where the Japanese cultural pattern of socialization was maintained, there was an accelerated process of language shift taking place among the children. Although the parents spoke predominantly in Japanese to each other, the language used in interactions with their children was already Portuguese (Moriwaki, 2008). A study, conducted with students enrolled in Japanese Language Courses at the Center for Language Learning at the State University of Campinas (UNICAMP)—a city located some 100 km from the city of São Paulo— found that each new generation, grandchildren and great-grandchildren, moved farther and farther away from the formal study of their ancestors’ language. In 1995, 77% of the students enrolled in this course were nikkei seeking to increase their knowledge of their heritage language (Doi, Suzuki and Takasu, 2004). It is significant, however, that data collected more recently, in 2010 and 2016, showed that the percentage of nikkei enrolled in Japanese language courses dropped to only 50% in 2010, and 36% in 2016. And when we consider that, among those registered in 2016, 84% of them declared, in interviews, that they had little or no knowledge of the Japa- nese language, we can see that, for these nikkei, the Japanese language had become a foreign language, rather than as a heritage language. The same type of survey, conducted in 2016, with students enrolled in the Univer- sity of São Paulo Japanese Language Undergraduate Course, showed that while the city of São Paulo had the highest concentration of nikkei in Brazil, descendants of Japanese immigrants represented only 23% of all students Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians 135 enrolled in this course (Morales, 2015). What has become evident is that, in two of the leading Brazilian universities, the majority of students interested in taking Japanese language courses are not Japanese-Brazilians. The new interest in Japanese among young people in the broader Brazilian society can perhaps be explained by the current fascination for certain aspects of Japanese popular culture among young people throughout the country (see Rojo and Almeida, this volume). The shift in language ideology that took place among the first wave of Japanese immigrants and their descendants after their relocation to urban centers in the state of São Paulo, and the espousal of the new identity—Jap- anese-Brazilians—led to a significant language shift. The Japanese language came to be seen as less prestigious as a symbolic resource than Portuguese. However, a further language shift occurred among Japanese-Brazilians who migrated to Japan, in the late 1980s and early 1990s. We turn to this new pattern of out-migration in the next section.

The Departure of Brazilian Nikkei to Japan as Dekasegi Between the late 1980s and early 1990s, Brazil experienced a severe economic crisis that motivated many Japanese and their descendants to seek work in Japan as dekasegi (migrant workers). Given its previous problematic experiences of having to deal with illegal immigrants and clandestine workers from other countries, Japan decided to prioritize the admission of Japanese descendants born in Latin America. This helps to explain why, in 1988, according to the Japanese Ministry of Justice, 4,159 Brazilian nikkei arrived in the country, reversing the path once taken by their parents and grandparents. In 1990, that number rose to 56,429, reaching 316,967 in 2007 (Van Rompay-Bartels, 2015). The extraordinary rationale behind the immigration policy of the Japanese State was that the shared cultural background of ‘consanguineous’ people would promote seamless integration into Japanese society, since they would not actually be ‘foreigners’. This reasoning was, of course, totally ill-founded: the presence of these Japanese-Brazilian workers in Japan resulted in considerable cultural clashes. Rather than facilitating their integration into the new country, the physical resemblance of the nikkei to the wider population was, instead, the cause of misunderstandings: although they were phenotypi- cally similar to the local population, they did not behave in accordance with the social and moral codes of contemporary Japan. Moreover, the Japanese language abilities of these workers fell well short of what was expected. The Japanese language variety spoken by these nikkei did not correspond to modern, standardized Japanese. They spoke koroniago (a low prestige variety) characteristic of Japanese-Brazilian communities (Sakamoto and Morales, 2015). Even those who were able to communicate fluently in everyday situations had some difficulties in reading and writing in Japanese. From the viewpoint of those brought up and educated in Japan, this was unacceptable. 136 Morales, Akamine and Suzuki To deal with the many challenges they faced when settling in Japan, the first Japanese-Brazilian dekasegi consolidated a social support network. Most of them had experienced a shift away from the Japanese language and the Japanese way of life during their lives in Brazil, even though most of them were nisei (children of Japanese immigrants). Nevertheless, the difficulties they had in adapting to the new country continued. The Brazilian nikkei workers in Japan were perceived to be as ‘foreign’ as any other immigrant group. As Lesser (2001:297) wrote in the early part of the 21st century: “The dekasegi are treated as Brazilians, whose only purpose is to provide temporary labor and nothing else.” As a result of this societal positioning as ‘foreigners’, the dekasegi felt increasing allegiance to their Brazilian identity. This was, in effect, a reversal of the historical process experienced by the very first Japanese immigrants to arrive in Brazil. As De Carvalho (2003:xiv) has remarked, “Japanese culture is not completely alien to them, at the same time they may not fully identify with Japan”. Many of the dekasegis ended up living in areas with a high concentration of foreigners, maintaining little contact with the local population. And, as Ishikawa (2012) explains, even though a shift has now taken place in their language ideology, with greater importance being given to learning the Japanese language instead of Portu- guese, it is not hard to find cases of adult dekasegis who, despite living in Japan for many years, can barely speak Japanese. Upon arriving in Japan, the younger children of immigrants from Brazil are enrolled in the first years of primary education in public schools. These schools are free of tuition and are usually the only ones geographically accessible. These children tend to become fluent both in oral and written Japanese, and display relatively little proficiency in oral Portuguese. Most of these children adapt well to school life and the local culture. Many even begin to deny their own Brazilian identity, often becoming ashamed of their parents, who, besides continuing to speak Portuguese, still lead a Brazilian way of life. While valuing an education in Japanese schools, their parents also express fears about the cultural schism that is gradually being created between them and their children (Kawamura, 2003:198). However, the language education of the dekasegi children depends largely on the age at which they arrive in Japan and on the financial situation of their families. The older children of the Brazilian dekasegi enrolled in Japanese public schools develop good proficiency in oral Japanese, but not in its written form, which means that they have slim chances of passing the entrance examinations for universities. At the same time, their abilities in Portuguese have tended to recede, since its use has become restricted to oral interactions in the household. Moreover, according to Ishikawa (2012), their parents do not usually attend school meetings and activities, since they face a language barrier, they have long working hours and are often not allowed to miss work or they are forced to move to other cities in search of better jobs, leaving behind their older children who have to fend for themselves when it comes to schooling. Teachers and local authorities Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians 137 interpret this parental absence as negligence: in Japan, intense participation in the education of children is expected of parents, and mothers in particular. Despite the existence of major Japanese institutional initiatives to alleviate these problems,2 according to Kawamura (2003), there are high rates of truancy among many Japanese-Brazilian adolescents enrolled in public schools in Japan. This is due to the fact that they are often the targets of bullying and are perceived as failing to meet linguistic norms and behavioral standards. The children of dekasegi families with greater financial stability can study in bilingual schools, which were introduced in Japan in the mid-1990s. In these schools, classes are taught in Portuguese and courses follow the Bra- zilian curriculum. However, the cost of tuition is high and several of these schools have administrative problems and lack human resources. This con- strains students’ educational achievements. According to Ishikawa (2012), students from these schools do not master Japanese so, once they join the labor market, they end up working as unskilled laborers, just like their parents. Those who master conversation skills in both languages tend to enjoy greater stability, often acting as interpreters in construction companies or factories. However, as pointed out by De Carvalho (2003:122), “no matter how long foreigners reside in Japan, how well they speak the language, and how much they know about Japanese culture, they are always perceived as outsiders”. Consequently, for Japanese-Brazilian workers, the complex process of constructing a Japanese identity in the country of their ancestors is nearly always accompanied by frustration.

The Return of the Dekasegi According to data from Japan’s Ministry of Justice, about 139,000 Brazil- ians left the country between 2007 and 2014. It is estimated that about 90,000 of them returned to Brazil due to the global economic crisis triggered mainly by the Lehman Brothers bankruptcy (Van Rompay-Bartels, 2015). Upon their return, the children of former dekasegi were again con- fronted with the need to undergo another adjustment process, starting with the learning of the Portuguese language. In the case of children who came back while they were still in their early childhood, the process unfolded without major difficulties. But many of those who had spent a considerable time in Japan, had problems in expressing themselves orally in Por- tuguese and many of them have little or no familiarity with reading and writing in Portuguese. In addition, back in Brazil, many of the children of former dekasegi experienced cultural challenges, since they identified primarily with a “Japanese way of life”. They found themselves compelled to embrace new values and practices and having to learn once again how to be “Brazilian” (Kawamura, 2003:214). Although the life story of each of these Japanese-Brazilian youngsters is unique, in most cases, their return to Brazil has generated feelings of insecurity, a situation which is compounded by the 138 Morales, Akamine and Suzuki fact that many parents have difficulty finding employment, even when they have college degrees.3 There are two more issues worth pointing out in relation to the language education of the children of former dekasegi who return to Brazil. The first is that there are no public policies whatsoever designed to accommodate the language needs of these youngsters in Brazilian schools. Their teachers are not trained to help them to achieve the same proficiency level in Portuguese as their classmates. However, there is now evidence that many of these youngsters are gaining entry to prestigious Brazilian universities. They are managing to achieve the goal of entering higher education through their own efforts and with the support of their families. At the same time, a collective support network for children of former dekasegi has also been established within the Japanese-Brazilian community, in order to ensure that they do not lose the proficiency in the Japanese language that they acquired while in Japan. Bilingualism is increasingly being perceived as a resource for young people in this Brazilian community.

Concluding Remarks In this historical account of the different mobilities, to and from Japan, that have been experienced by successive generations of Japanese-Brazilians, we have endeavored to show how different notions of cultural identity and Japaneseness have come into play at different points in time and in different national contexts. Most of the time, individuals and families have encountered essentialized notions of language and identity which have their origins in nationalist discourses about identity, such as those circulating in imperial Japan, in Brazil in the 1930s or in Japan in the late 1980s and early 1990s. Essentialist ideas about language and identity were brought to Brazil by the first Japanese immigrants and were reproduced within the early colônias. However, in the postwar period, there was a significant move away from this early essentialized notion of Japaneseness and a significant shift in identification involving the espousal of a hybrid Japanese-Brazilian identity and the emergence of a new vocabulary for self-designation. This shift coincided with the trend to relocation to urban areas and the arrival of newcomers from Japan. The lived experiences of Japanese-Brazilians and the Brazilian-Japanese, at different points in history, remind us of the futility of defining individuals or groups of people with reference to their birth or their ancestry. As Otsuji and Pennycook (2014) have pointed out, there are no ‘pure’ identities. Hybridity has long been part of the human condition, especially among groups with a significant history of mobility. As De Carvalho (2003:xx) has rightly observed, the identities of people of Japanese origin in Brazil can only be seen “as a social and cultural construction, changeable, invented and re-invented in response to the changing realities”. Mobilities of Japanese-Brazilians 139 Notes 1 Some of the data discussed in this chapter derives from the ongoing unfunded research project Bilingualism and the Teaching and Learning of Japanese and Por- tuguese as Second/Foreign Languages in Brazil and Japan, coordinated by Leiko Matsubara Morales. 2 Such initiatives included: the introduction of additional activities specifically designed for the children of Brazilian immigrants, so as to facilitate their integration in school activities; and the hiring of Brazilian teachers, in order to advise their parents during pedagogical meetings. 3 This challenging situation has led some of these families to travel repeatedly, back and forth, between Japan and Brazil.

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Neiva M. Jung and Jakeline A. Semechechem

This chapter provides an account of the social history of Ukrainian immigrants to Brazil and shows how the communicative repertoires of different groups have been shaped by this history. The focus is on the people within one municipality in the south of Brazil, the municipality of Prudentópolis, which became the main migration destination for many Ukrainians. The chapter also takes a close look at the ways in which different varieties of the Ukrainian language, different literacies and different uses of texts traverse the lives of those who live in this municipality today. The chapter draws on two qualitative-interpretative research projects developed and carried out by Semechechem (2010, 2016). Both of them were ethnographically oriented. The data was generated by triangulating different research approaches, including participant observation (accompanied by field notes), interviews, questionnaires, participant diaries and diary-based interviews. This research was developed at the interface between two fields of research, the Sociolinguistics of Multilingualism and the New Literacy Studies, and it was grounded in the interpretive and ethnographic traditions within both fields. As Barton (2000:xxiii) has pointed out: “Our understanding of literacies can be furthered by examining multilingual contexts, and (. . .) the study of multilingual communication can be enhanced by examining the significance of reading and writing”. Widening our research lenses, and moving beyond an exclusive focus on spoken interaction in multilingual settings allows us to see that “literacy creates textually-mediated worlds and different forms of communication” (Barton, 2000:xxv). At the same time, we need to guard against adopting an essentialist view of the relationship between language, literacy and culture. As Street (2000:19) reminds us: “culture is a process that is contested, not a given inventory of characteristics”. Thus, in observing and analyzing multilingual literacy practices, we should not “simply line up a single ‘literacy’ with a single ‘culture’ ” (Ibid). Instead, we should aim to build an account of the full range of communicative resources that multilinguals have within their repertoires—including different language varieties, genres or registers— and focus on the social meanings indexed by their use in specific social and 142 Jung and Semechechem institutional contexts. The research presented in this chapter was guided by these perspectives on multilingualism and literacy. The chapter has been organized into three main sections: the first provides a historical account of the establishment of a Ukrainian community in the municipality of Prudentópolis, from the late 19th century onwards. It details the challenges faced by the immigrants in the early years of settlement and it points to the key role of religious institutions, particularly the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, in community development. The second section traces three sociolinguistic developments: the emergence of a local spoken variety of Ukrainian; the cultivation (by some) of standard Ukrai- nian, including school and religious literacies; and the imposition of Portu- guese by the Brazilian State and the prohibition of the teaching of immigrant languages during the years of the Estado Novo. Here, we also note the ways in which this prohibition was resisted during these years, by religious institutions, in this local setting. The third section of the chapter presents insights emerging from Sem- echechem’s (2010, 2016) research into contemporary language and literacy practices and uses of text, offline and online, in different domains of social life in Prudentópolis—in church, in school, at work. Here, the focus is on the ways in which the use of different language and literacy resources is bound up with the construction of different identities and social networks, and on the ways in which the standard variety of Ukrainian and the use of the Cyrillic alphabet are represented as particularly valuable forms of cultural capital. We conclude the chapter with a few final remarks.

The Establishment of a Ukrainian Community in Southern Brazil Although a myth of monolingualism is cultivated in Brazil (Cavalcanti, 1999; Altenhofen, 2013), many people in the municipality of Prudentópolis lead their lives bilingually, in both Ukrainian and Portuguese. This municipality is located in the southeast of the state of Paraná, where we find the largest Ukrainian community in Brazil, a community established there since the late 19th and early 20th century (see Figure 9.1). According to the IBGE—Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics] (2016), Prudentópolis is of a considerable size territorially (2,236.579 km²), and it has a population of 51,849 inhabitants. Most people live in the countryside, in a variety of rural communities, some of them quite far from each other. Agricultural production, of crops such as tobacco, beans, corn and soy, on family farms forms the basis of the local economy. The influx of Ukrainian immigrants into Prudentópolis occurred at three different points in time. The first group came around 1895/1896, from Galicia (Eastern Europe) and Bukovina. They were attracted by a land grant program. The second group came in 1908 in order to work in road Figure 9.1 Geographic Location of Prudentópolis1 144 Jung and Semechechem construction. And the third group came during the period between the out- break of World War I and the end of World War II (1914–1945). This last group of immigrants came of their own volition, mainly owing to the fact that other family members were already established in Paraná (Mezavila, 2007). The first group of Ukrainian immigrants, those who arrived between 1895 and 1896, was the largest. There were around 5,000 of them. On arrival, each family was granted a small plot of land and, in exchange, con- tracted a debt, which had to be either paid in local currency or settled by rendering services to the municipality (Tavares, 2008). They were allocated to areas of dense woodland, lacking in natural or material resources. All the farming had to be done with implements they were unfamiliar with and, at the same time, the immigrants were responsible for building living spaces and opening new roads. Hunger and disease were recurrent and, since they lacked the conditions to survive, many of them resorted to working as farm- hands in distant rural properties. Due to their precarious situation in these first years of settlement, Ukrai- nian immigrants wrote letters to Ukraine seeking spiritual and religious support (Guil, Farah and Fernandes, 2007; Haneiko, 1985). In response, in 1896, the first clergymen from the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church2 arrived in Paraná. First came priests of the Order of Saint Basil the Great (OSBM),3 and later, the Sisters Servants of Mary Immaculate. These clergymen and women played an important role in administering life in the community—in the building of churches, schools and hospitals; in promoting political organizations; and later, in promoting the political participation of immigrants in municipal politics. Thus, with the help of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, these immigrants, who had been left to their own devices by the Brazilian government, were able to build a miniature ‘Ukrai- nian nation’ in Brazil.

The Development of Local Voices and Literacy Practices The first groups of immigrants to settle in southern Brazil had different origins. In addition to immigrants from Ukraine, there were Germans, Poles, Italians and Japanese. They were transported to Brazil by transoce- anic shipping companies.4 Upon arrival, they were allocated to particular settlements. The Brazilian State attempted to impose a requirement that no more than 40% of families of the same national origin should be allowed to settle in the same area (Guérios, 2007). However, the shipping company agents liaising with the Brazilian immigration authorities were unable to meet this requirement. This led to a concentration of immigrants, with the same background, in particular rural areas. This favored the preservation of the Ukrainian language, which predominated in and around Prudentópolis. In some parts of this municipality, Polish was also used (Ogliari, 1999), due to the arrival of a smaller number of Polish immigrants along with the Ukrainians. The Portuguese language was referred to locally as ‘Brasilero’5 Ukrainians in Brazil 145 (Jung, 2009). It was most often used in the commercial center of the village. This commercial center later became the municipal seat of Prudentópolis. Over time, there were changes in local sociolinguistic repertoires and ways of speaking. The Ukrainian immigrants started introducing neologisms and borrowing expressions from Portuguese in order to designate objects, trees, etc. which were previously unknown to them. They also started borrowing Polish expressions. This contact with both Portuguese and Polish eventually led to morphosyntactic and phonetic/phonological changes in the variety of Ukrainian spoken there and the forging of a distinct local Ukrainian vernacular (Semechechem, 2016). This differed significantly from standard or ‘cultivated’ Ukrainian (both oral and written). The arrival of members of religious orders led to the introduction of a range of literacy practices, along with written genres associated with the use of standard Ukrainian. Ukrainian was, of course, used in the churches, however the clergy went beyond the use of liturgical literacy (Rosowsky, 2008) and brought other literacies into the lives of the people in this community. In 1911, the OSBM clergy founded a printing shop in order to print texts in Ukrainian and started publishing a religious supplement to a local newspaper which reported on cultural events and practices in Ukraine. At the time, few immigrants had a way of obtaining this kind of information. Few kept in touch (through letters) with family members who had remained in Ukraine or emigrated elsewhere. Therefore, the publication of these texts by the church contributed to a growing awareness of Ukrainian cultural traditions in Prudentópolis. The Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church also established two boarding schools and a seminary for the children of families living in remote rural areas, with little or no access to public schools. The schools and the seminary came to serve as additional institutional spaces for the dissemination of Ukrainian language and culture. However, from 1937 to 1945, the use of Ukrainian in these different social spaces was severely constrained by the Federal Government of Brazil. Dur- ing the Estado Novo, there was a surge of nationalism in the country and the use of immigrant languages was forbidden and the teaching of the languages was criminalized (see Oliveira, this volume; Morales, Akamine and Suzuki, this volume). The languages were regarded as a threat to the ‘unity and integrity’ of the nation. Immigrant schools were outlawed and most of them were shut down, though some operated clandestinely for a while. The printing shop in Prudentópolis was also shut down (Guil, Farah and Fernandes, 2007) and Ukrainian clergy were persecuted (Guérios, 2007). However, it is now known that, throughout this period, there were many local instances of resistance (Maher, 2013). These included efforts to support the religious, linguistic and cultural practices of particular groups. In the case of the Ukrainians in Paraná, the foundation of the Secular Insti- tute6 of Catechists of the Sacred Heart of Jesus played a significant role in countering the impact of the nationalist policies. The Catechists continued 146 Jung and Semechechem to provide instruction in Ukrainian language, culture and religion for members of the local population throughout the nationalist period. Then, in 1944, the Secular Institute founded the Saint Olga Institute for girls from rural areas in a boarding-school scheme. During the day the girls attended regular, Portuguese-medium public schools and, during a second shift, they were taught the Ukrainian language, religion and arts at the Institute, and despite the exodus of second-generation immigrants and their descendants to the state capital (Curitiba), or to other areas of Paraná, in search of better living conditions, the use of Ukrainian was maintained in the municipality of Prudentópolis. As the years went by, the use of ‘Brasilero’ was also incorporated into their daily lives. Nowadays, there are fifth-generation descendants of Ukrainian immigrants in Prudentópolis who still use the local variety of Ukrainian in the course of their lives, although there has been a decrease in the overall numbers of speakers. In addition, in some rural communities, there are Polish descendants who are unable to speak Polish, but who do speak the local variety of Ukrainian (Semechechem, 2016). Standard Ukrainian (oral and written) remains part of the language repertoire of a small group of people. These are people who have studied the Ukrainian language formally and, who are, for the most part, members of religious orders. For this group of people, the language represents a unique form of cultural capital, which allows participation in church life and in life beyond the church and the community, as it is associated with academic literacy.

The Ukrainian Language, Literacies, Alphabets and Texts in the Construction of Local and Transnational Identities In this section, we turn to some of the insights gleaned in Semechechem’s (2010, 2016) research in Prudentópolis. Martin-Jones and Jones (2000:1) have noted that “people draw on the language and literacy resources available to them as they take on different identities in different domains of their lives”. So, here we consider different domains of social life, including services in the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, catechism classes, the Apostleship of Prayer, local public and complementary schools where the standardized variety of Ukrainian is taught and local workplaces. We show how the participants in this study constructed particular identities through different language and literacy practices, using a range of communicative resources, from the local spoken Ukrainian vernacular to different genres of standard written Ukrainian. We also illustrate some of the ways in which they talked about the value of different language varieties and the ways in which they represented different literacies. We draw on different data sources, bringing the voices of the research participants into the text wherever possible. There are four sub-sections here: we begin with religious literacies and uses of religious texts, to foreground the legacy of the key role played by religious bodies in the establishment Ukrainians in Brazil 147 and consolidation of this Ukrainian-Brazilian community. Religion remains a particularly significant element in local representations of Ukrainian-ness, particularly among older generations. The following data fragment, taken from Semechechem’s field notes, attests to this. It shows a moment in which, having had her Ukrainian-ness questioned (for being unable to speak the language), Semechechem is still identified as a member of the group (as a descendant of immigrants) due to her presence at church.

Na saída da Igreja, encontrei uma senhora idosa com quem eu con- versara no posto de saúde dias antes, ela não falava tudo em portu- guês, precisou seu filho fazer traduções para o ucraniano durante nossa conversa e vice-e-versa. Essa senhora falou algo para uma mulher que não pude ouvir. Elas vieram até mim (. . .) e a mulher que estava ao lado da senhora (. . .) me disse: “Quer dizer que você é Semechechem também? Nossa parente.” Eu disse que sim, provavelmente tínhamos algum parentesco pelo que tinha conversado com a outra senhora no posto de saúde uns dias antes. Então, ela me disse: “Mas que tipo de ucraniana é você que não fala a língua?” Justifiquei para ela porque não falo ucraniano. Na sequência ela disse: “Mas se é católica, então, é uma das nossas.” (Diário de campo, 01/10/2013)

[Leaving the church, I ran into an elderly lady I had talked to over at the community health center some days before. She didn’t speak in Portu- guese all the time; her son had had to translate some parts of our conversation to Ukrainian and vice-versa. The lady mumbled something to another woman; I couldn’t make out what it was. The two of them came in my direction (. . .) and the woman who was next to the lady, who said to me: “So, you’re Semechechem as well? We’re relatives.” I agreed that we were probably somehow related, judging from the conversation I had had with the other lady at the community health center a few days before that. Then, she said: “But what kind of Ukrainian are you who can’t speak the language?” I explained to her why I don’t speak the language, and in turn she said: “But if you’re a Catholic, then you’re one of us.”] (Fieldwork notes, October 1, 2013)

In the second sub-section below, we point to the increasing awareness, among some members of this local community, of the social value of the standardized variety of Ukrainian, written with the Cyrillic alphabet. Adults who had had the opportunity to learn standard Ukrainian saw it as a means of facilitating their own work, gaining access to new knowledge, enhancing their academic prospects, or opening up the chance to do further study in Ukraine. In the third sub-section, we touch on the ways in which knowledge of standard Ukrainian was employed by one research participant in her local 148 Jung and Semechechem workplace. Then, in the final sub-section, we point to the increasing use of Ukrainian in communication online or via social media. We also note the wide variation in the language and literacy resources that local people draw on in producing digital texts.

Embracing Liturgical Literacies, Performing Religious Identities Here, we employ Rosowsky’s (2008) definition of “liturgical literacy”, to illuminate the ways in which texts are used in the performance of one particular dimension of Ukrainian-ness. As Rosowsky (2008:6) puts it: “Litur- gical literacy is understood as that use of reading, more rarely of writing, which is essential to ritual and other devotional practices connected with an established religion, usually a ‘religion of the book’, such as Judaism, Christianity or Islam”. Liturgical literacy practices involving the use of Ukrainian have decreased in Prudentópolis, as compared with the early stages of settlement. Since 1998, the Brazilian Ukrainian Catholic community has had access to a Por- tuguese translation of the liturgy, since the Eastern rite offers liturgies in each country’s official language (Mezavila, 2007). However, the Metropo- lia of Curitiba,7 the body which coordinates the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church in Brazil, recommends that the rites should be celebrated in the language that is most familiar to members of the local community. In Pru- dentópolis, the Ukrainian rites are still celebrated in Ukrainian. However, some religious practices, like the Masses, are also celebrated in Portuguese, twice a week, in a few churches, such as that in the municipal seat, known locally as a cidade (the city). Besides this, some churches have chosen to use texts in the Roman alphabet as well as in the Cyrillic script.8 The Church publications that are distributed among parishioners are written in both Portuguese and Ukrainian. The Cyrillic alphabet is taught as part of the Church catechism classes. Due to a lack of time and qualified personnel, a general overview of the Cyrillic writing system is given and the focus is on decoding and reciting skills, in order to facilitate students’ participation in liturgical literacy practices, such as ritual recitation in chorus and reading aloud from religious texts. Some parents provide support for children who are attending catechism classes. It is quite common for parents to get their children a primer called Буквар/Bukvar, which is printed in the printing shop founded and still run by the OSBM priests. This provides a basic introduction to the Ukrainian Cyrillic alphabet and its pronunciation. Lauro,9 one of the young participants in Semechechem’s study, mentioned this primer in his interview, saying: A minha mãe, a minha mãe deu um abc em ucraniano. Daí é mais fácil, né? [My mom gave me a spelling book in Ukrainian. That makes it easier, right?]. Paulo, who was eleven, also attended church catechism classes. He talked about the ways in which his mother was teaching him how to write, Ukrainians in Brazil 149 reinforcing what is taught in the catechism sessions. He said: Ela escreve. Fica mandando eu escrevê o ditado, (depois fica dizendo) pra lê o ditado, pra lê . . . isso tudo é das folhas da catequese [She writes it down. She always tells me to write what she dictates, (then she tells me) to read . . . all from the catechism pages]. Teachers also place an emphasis on learning how to read Ukrainian so that children can take part in the ritual liturgical practices at church. Matilde, a nun with the Sisters Servants of Mary Immaculate, who teaches Ukrainian at a public school in a rural community, reinforced this point in her interview with Semechechem. She was referring to the children in her class:

Eles participam na igreja onde a missa é em ucraniano e eles precisam aprender a ler, né? Porque ele entendem que se não sabem ler, então, eles não têm como participar. [They take part in (the liturgical practices) in church where we say mass in Ukrainian so they need to learn to read, right? Because they know that if they can’t read, then they can’t participate.]

However, the children respond in different ways to these expectations regarding the learning of liturgical literacies in Ukrainian. They show different degrees of commitment to and engagement with these literacies. For example, Renata was an eleven-year-old student at a public school in a rural community. In her interview, she came over as rather diffident and reticent about participating in the choral recitation rituals in church, based on religious texts in Ukrainian. She said: É, na verdade, eu vô assim acompan- hando, sabe (rindo), a minha catequista, com a minha tia cantando. [Yeah, actually, I kind of go along with, you know (chuckling), my catechist, with my aunt doing the chanting]. In contrast, Carla, a sixteen-year-old teenager, had clearly embraced liturgical literacies, despite the fact that she felt unsure of her spoken Ukrainian. She was quite confident of her ability to read aloud from religious texts written in the Cyrillic alphabet, despite having only limited understanding of the content of the texts. She described her abilities as follows:

Falo em ucraniano, não muito bem. Leio BEM em ucraniano e canto em ucraniano também. Mas, assim, entendê muito, eu não entendo mesmo. Mas eu sei lê, eu sei o alfabeto, né? [I speak Ukrainian, but not too well. I can READ well in Ukrainian and also chant in Ukrainian. But as far as understanding goes, I don’t understand much. But I can read, I know the alphabet, yeah.]

Carla also read aloud liturgical texts in Portuguese. Her ability to perform in this way in the local church gave her some prestige—what Bourdieu (1986) has called “profits of distinction”. Like many other children, her life was otherwise quite modest. She worked on the farm with other members of 150 Jung and Semechechem her family, in Linha Verde, and attended a local Portuguese-medium public school in another rural area. In addition, Carla participated locally in the Apostleship of Prayer. This a global Catholic association of laypersons, with a significant online presence, whose mission combines evangelization and personal sanctification. The texts orienting the local activities of this group were written in Ukrai- nian, in the Cyrillic script, and in Portuguese, in the Roman alphabet, in the Місіонар/Missionário [Missionary Magazine].10 Below, see Figure 9.2 as an illustration, we present excerpts, from one of its issues (2013:7–8). The excerpt on the left is in Ukrainian and the one on the right is in Portuguese. However, depending on the issue, some texts were available only in Cyrillic.

Investing in Standard Ukrainian in School and Academic Contexts In addition to orienting their children to liturgical literacies, some parents in Semechechem’s study were endeavoring to ensure that their children had a chance to learn standard Ukrainian as well. However, there were few means of achieving this. The institutions that were primarily involved in teaching the Ukrainian language, such as the boarding schools and the seminary, had been converted into private institutions. So sending children there involved some financial investment. Apart from the boarding schools and the seminary, Ukrainian was also taught by members of the Secular Institute, at a complementary school in town, which was originally founded in 1958. In addition, there were occasional opportunities to study Ukrainian in local public schools. Due to the change in the language policies of the Brazilian government following the Constitution of 1988, standard Ukrainian (oral and written) had begun to be taught as a modern language in some public schools in the region. However, as this course is optional, many schools offered either English or Spanish instead, given that there was greater interest in these two languages among students. For those who had made an investment in the learning of standard Ukrai- nian, through the school and the church, there were clear benefits. Take, for example, the case of Andrei. He had acquired the local variety of Ukrainian as his first language in a rural community where he had spent his childhood. He had also been a member of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church and had taken catechism classes. He had learned Portuguese as a second language at school. Later on, he had left the countryside, done a university degree and

Figure 9.2 Excerpts from Місіонар/Missionário [Missionary] Ukrainians in Brazil 151 graduated in Biology. In addition, he had dedicated himself to the study of Ukrainian and mastery of the standard language. When he participated in the research being undertaken by Semechechem, he was working as a Ukrai- nian-speaking Biology teacher. He was also working as a translator. In his interview, it was clear that he valued his knowledge of standard Ukrainian in terms of the academic prospects it afforded. Referring to his commitment to furthering his knowledge of Ukrainian, he said the following:

Mas a gente buscou aprender mais e, de uma forma ou outra, ajuda. Olha, eles oferecem cursos extras naquele país pra gente, eles oferecem certas vantagens, que, de repente, aqui no Brasil, a gente não teria. Até a gente pensa em fazer uma especialização até porque na minha área, eh, eles ofereceram bastante coisas. [I made an effort to learn more (and this) helps one way or another. Look, they offer extra courses for us in that country (Ukraine), they offer certain advantages that maybe here in Brazil we wouldn’t be able to have. I’m even thinking of doing a specialization (course) because in my field, uh, they have offered quite a lot.]

Like Andrei, people in religious orders associated within the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church who had studied standard Ukrainian and developed considerable academic literacy, also saw it is a valuable form of cultural capital (Bourdieu, 1986). Writing in Ukrainian transcended religious and devotional life. It had a much broader social significance. It was linked to the establishment of scientific knowledge, and to scholarly sojourns in Ukraine itself. Take, for instance, the case of Monica. She was a nun who taught at a local school in a rural area. She had been born in Brazil and had chosen to study Ukrainian. According to Monica, she had made this choice in order motivate herself in her reading and research, and to have the chance to go to Ukraine. She indicated that the Sisters Servants of Mary Immaculate, based in Ukrainian diasporic contexts around the world, usually travel to Ukraine to do work and research. As she put it: Tem (muitas) Irmãs, assim, que vão pra Ucrânia. Trabalham, pesquisam, ficam um tempo, ficam um ano, ficam dois [There are (many) Sisters who, uh, travel to Ukraine. (They) work, do research, stay a while, stay (for) one year or two]. Monica also mentioned that she had a friend in Ukraine who, according to her, is now fluent in Ukrainian, despite not being of ‘pure’ Ukrainian background. Describing her friend with admiration, she said: Agora ela doMIna o ucraniano. Escreve LIvros. NOssa ela é uma fonte de sabedoria! [Now she KNOWS Ukranian. (She) has written BOOKS. GOODness she has a wealth of knowledge!]. Members of religious orders based in Prudentópolis, such as Monica, were also intellectuals, teachers and scholars, particularly members of the Secu- lar Institute and the Sisters Servants of Mary Immaculate. Besides devoting themselves to a pious life, they often dedicated themselves to an academic life as well. It was common for them to combine two higher education 152 Jung and Semechechem degrees, a further specialization, and independent courses. They also travelled abroad and were successful in applications to join the Brazilian civil service or to work as teachers.

Working in Standard Ukrainian Some people in Prudentópolis who had learned standard Ukrainian were able to use it at work. These were people who worked for institutions related to the religious domain, those who worked with bodies that organized formal links between the local community and institutions in the Ukraine (e.g. in coordination with the Ukrainian Consulate in the city of Curitiba) or those who worked in the museum and heritage sector. Take, for example, the case of Olivia, who was an employee at the Ukrainian museum in Pru- dentópolis. The museum had been established as a Millennium project with a view to depicting Ukrainian immigration to this region of Brazil, along with the history and culture of the local community. Olivia used a range of Ukrainian language resources in different domains of her life, including in her work at the museum. In her words,

Em casa, (tem) a fala, a escrita hoje é pouco, né? A gente escreve mais pra Ucrânia, contato com a Ucrânia, (ou) pra Curitiba, às vezes, (pro) consulado. (É) pouco o ucraniano que se escreve, (mas) se fala muito ucraniano ainda em casa (e também) no museu, bastante. Leitura, eu faço muito porque na igreja tem que ler, né? [At home, (we have) spoken Ukranian and there’s little writing nowadays, right? When we write, it’s to Ukraine, to keep in touch with Ukraine, (or) to Curitiba, sometimes, (to) the consulate. There’s little writing in Ukrainian, but we still speak a lot of Ukranian at home (and also) at the museum, a lot. As to reading, I (myself) do lots of reading because at church we have to read, right?]

Olívia had graduated in Language Studies and had studied Ukrainian. She had also spent a month in Ukraine for reasons that had to do with her work at the museum. Although she was not in charge of the museum’s international relations (a task performed by a member of the Secular Institute which had founded the museum), Olivia’s knowledge of languages allowed her to perform in this area too. Thus, for her, speaking and writing in standard Ukrainian bore considerable value as a means of local, translocal and international communication.

Ukrainian Online: Building Broader Social Networks With the advent of the World Wide Web, and particularly Web 2, new spaces for writing in Ukrainian have been opened up. By the time that Semechechem had begun her research in Prudentópolis, most people in this municipality Ukrainians in Brazil 153 had access to digital technologies. Those we have mentioned above, who worked in local schools, in local religious institutions or in the local museum, all used the Internet and mobile technology in their work. Local residents and local employees, in urban and rural communities, also used Ukrainian in their interactions on Facebook, or other social media, with people from the municipality, from other areas of Brazil or even from Ukraine. The advent of these new means of communication had broadened the scope of the writing they did in Ukrainian, enabling them to establish and maintain translocal and even transnational ties. For example, in her interview with Semechechem, Monica spoke about how she sustained contact with work colleagues within the same religious order via electronic mail and social media. As we see below, she also mentioned her use of the Cyrillic alphabet:

(Uso o alfabeto cirílico) pra falá, pra escrevê e-mail pra alguém, né? Até inclusive tenho uma fonte ucraniana. (Escrevo pras) pessoas que conheço da Ucrânia, pras Irmãs da mesma congregação. (Elas) são lá da Ucrânia mesmo e do Brasil. Sabe, a gente, geralmente, fica no Face- book, a gente fala uma (ou) outra palavra, escreve lá. Coloco na fonte ucraniana, escrevo falando tudo em ucraniano com elas. [(I use the Cyrillic alphabet) for writing e-mails to someone, right? I even have a Ukrainian source. (I write to) people I know from Ukraine, the Sisters of the same congregation. They’re from Ukraine and from Brazil. You know, we usually stay on Facebook, we say one thing or another, (we) write there. I use the Ukrainian font and write. Our communication is all in Ukranian.]

Those who were not familiar with the standard form of Ukrainian as teachers, like Monica, tended to draw on the language resources associated with the local spoken variety of Ukrainian that had emerged in local settings in Prudentópolis. So their online postings (e.g. on the now defunct social networking site called Orkut) often indexed their local Ukrainian identities. One of the research participants in Semechechem’s study, a woman called Juliana, commented as follows on the distinctive online writing styles she had noticed when communicating with folk from Prudentópolis: Agora eu sei, quando recebo um convite no Orkut com letras estranhas e nomes escritos (de forma) diferente, já sei que é de Prudentópolis, já adiciono [Now I know, when I get an invitation on Orkut with weird letters and names spelled differently, I know it comes from Prudentópolis, and I immediately make the (contact) addition] (Field notes, Sept 26, 2009).

Final Remarks As we have shown in this chapter, the descendants of the original Ukrainian immigrants to Prudentópolis still use different Ukrainian language and literacy resources in their daily lives, online and offline, performing different 154 Jung and Semechechem dimensions of Ukrainian-ness. The local spoken variety of Ukrainian is still used in local life worlds, at home or on the family farm. Liturgical literacies are also drawn upon in religious observance and children are still oriented to these literacies, and to the Cyrillic alphabet by catechists, teachers and parents. Some children take pride in displaying their knowledge of these literacies, while others are more reticent about them. Beyond the domain of religion, academic literacies, involving use of standard Ukrainian in different genres and registers, are increasingly being viewed as valuable forms of cultural capital, as a resource in particular workplaces (in the museum sector or in translation), and as a means of pursuing academic goals or making scholarly sojourns in the Ukraine. Lastly, the advent of the Internet, and particularly Web 2, has opened up new opportunities for online writing in Ukrainian, via email or social media. It has also led to greater translocal and transnational connectedness and the creation of new communicative practices. Links are being forged with family, friends, colleagues and institutions in the Ukrainian diaspora in Brazil, and in other countries, notably the Ukraine itself.

Notes 1 These maps have been adapted by Neiva Jung and Jakeline Semechechem, the authors of this chapter. The original maps are copyrighted by the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Sta- tistics] (IBGE, 2016). 2 The Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church differs from the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (Koubetch, 2015). The name of the church indexes the main point of difference. According to Hanicz (2013:07): “Greek indicates its Byzantine-Greek tradition; Catholic refers to the Roman Catholic Church and the Pope, whose utmost authority they acknowledge, in spite of not incorporating the Latin rites. And Ukrainian means it is linked to Ukrainian nationality, identity, culture and religion”. 3 The Basilian Order is a religious congregation of the Byzantine Rite in commu- nion with the Catholic Church. The initials OSBM (in Latin, Ordo Sancti Basilii Magni) is the official title on the Order’s statutes. The Basilian Order possesses its own constitution and statutes, acknowledged by the Holy See. www.epar- quiaucraniana.com.br/site/ (accessed 2 February 2015). 4 For further information, see the two following web sites: Portal Ucraniano (2015) and Gazeta do Povo (Pimenta, 2014). (The latter is a newspaper from the state of Paraná). Both mention that there are no official records about Ukrainian immigration. Portal Ucraniano (2015) says that the Brazilian government signed contracts with several shipping companies. And Gazeta do Povo (Pimenta, 2014) reports the following: “Rural workers from Ukraine were seduced by agents from shipping companies that travelled the routes to the Americas. Brazil and Canada were the main destinations”. 5 ‘Brasilero’ is how certain groups in Brazil, such as German descendants living in western Paraná (Jung, 2009), designate the Brazilian Portuguese language variety they speak. 6 Currently there are 215 avowed Secular Institutes all over the world. Four of these are submitted to the Congregation for the Oriental Churches (one of Ukrainians in Brazil 155 which is the Secular Institute of Catechists of the Sacred Heart of Jesus) (Procek, 2009:8–9). 7 Curitiba is the capital city of the state of Paraná. 8 According to the Projecto Diversidade Linguística na Escola Portuguesa [Lin- guistic Diversity in the Portuguese School Project] (2003-2005), some languages, such as Serbian, use the Cyrillic and Latin alphabets. Others, such as Ukrainian, use the Romanized form of writing exclusively as a tool to help spread the language, facilitating its pronunciation and understanding. The project was developed at the Instituto de Linguística Teórica e Computacional e Direcção Geral de Inovação e Desenvolvimento Curricular, Portugal [Institute of Theoretical and Computational Linguistics and General Direction of Innovation and Curricular Development, Portugal]. 9 All the names of research participants used here are fictitious names, so as to preserve confidentiality. 10 Published by the Fathers of the Basilian Order, Ukrainian Mission in Brazil, Місіонар/Missionário [Missionary] is a monthly religious publication for Ukra- nian catholics. Its full denomination is Missionário Ucraniano no Brasil [Ukra- nian Missionary in Brazil]. The publication has been in circulation since 1911 and its purpose is to offer religious reading matter, especially for the Apostleship of Prayer in Brazil.

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Regina Coeli Machado e Silva

Introduction This chapter focuses on Arabic speakers living in Foz do Iguaçu, a city in the southern Brazilian state of Paraná. Demographically speaking, Arabic speakers constitute the largest local immigrant group in the city. It is one of the groups that has been established longest in the city. Their linguistic and cultural practices play a significant part in the configuration of the multilingual and culturally diverse environment of Foz do Iguaçu (Angnes and Martins, 2007). The chapter provides an account of their diverse migration trajectories, their language repertoires and their local and transnational ties and it offers reflections on the ways in which they draw on different linguistic and cultural resources in constructing their identities. The city of Foz do Iguaçu is a major hub for people from different parts of Brazil, as well as from all over the world. It is a significant center of international trade and commerce and, at the same time, it is a key tourist destination in Brazil due to its proximity to the Iguaçu Falls. The chapter is organized as follows. In the first section, I provide a historical sketch of migration to Foz do Iguaçu, showing how migration patterns have been shaped by broader political and economic processes. I then trace the establishment of an Arabic-speaking population in the city and I describe the social and economic conditions of settlement. In addition, I draw attention to the diversity within the Arabic-speaking population and within the wider population of the city and I contrast this with official discourses about this urban diversity. In the second section, I turn to the language repertoires and the language and literacy values of people of Arab origin in Foz do Iguaçu. Here, I illustrate some of the ways in which people in different generations draw on the communicative resources within their repertoires, in different domains of their lives and within local, national and transnational contexts. I also detail community-based moves to establish bilingual (Arabic-Portuguese) schools, with particular religious orientations. The chapter ends with brief concluding comments. 158 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva The chapter is based on ethnographic research that has been carried out in Foz do Iguaçu since 2006, with Arabic speakers from different generations in this community. The research has involved different kinds of data collection at different points in time. It has included ethnographic interviews, participant observation and the taking of field notes, along with the gathering of different kinds of online and offline texts, including social media texts.

Migration to Foz do Iguaçu: A Brief Overview

The Political Processes Shaping Early Patterns of Migration The processes involved in the establishment and consolidation of the political borders of the nation-state in the southern region of Brazil dates back to the late 19th century. In an attempt to reinforce the borders with Paraguay and Argentina, the city of Foz do Iguaçu was founded with the support of the Brazilian Army. Today, it is part of the so-called Triple Frontier, together with its neighboring cities: Ciudad del Este, on the Paraguayan side of the border, and Puerto Iguazú on the Argentinian side (see Figure 10.1). This process of reinforcing borders continued with the settlement project that was implemented in the western region of the state of Paraná in the 1940s. This project favored descendants of European immigrants, mainly Germans and Italians, who came to Foz do Iguaçu from the other southern states of Brazil as small landowners. Policies, designed to hinder participation of certain immigrant groups in settlement projects (and to favor others e.g. those of European origin), were already in place in Brazil in the late 19th century and the early 20th century (Lesser, 2001). This tendency was also at work in the settlement project in Paraná (Gregory, 2002).

Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu: Migration, Settlement and Changing Economic Conditions The migration of Arabic speakers to Foz do Iguaçu began in the 1940s. Their initial migration trajectories were complex and challenging. They first arrived in the port city of Santos, in the state of São Paulo; made a temporary stay in the state capital (the city of São Paulo); then set out for the southern states of Brazil (Rio Grande do Sul, Santa Catarina and the northern regions of Paraná); and finally, settled down in Foz do Iguaçu (Silva, 2008). As one of the participants in my research project indicated to me, the choice of Foz do Iguaçu as a migration destination was motivated by the fact that many people had family members already there. Many Arabic speakers began with small scale vending projects in local streets and markets in Foz do Iguaçu. Then, later, they established small businesses. In time, these businesses were expanded by insertion into the cross-border trade that was being developed in the region. This process of insertion into the local business sector and cross-border trade meant that these immigrants had to learn Portuguese. They also developed a business Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 159

Figure 10.1 Map of South America showing the Triple Frontier1 acumen. Several of them later became prominent figures in the local import/ export business. In the 1980s and 1990s, the migratory influx of people into Foz do Iguaçu from the Middle East increased considerably. This period was marked by the construction of the Itaipu Hydroelectric Power Plant. This was a bina- tional project involving Brazil and Paraguay. This power plant was built on the Paraná River—literally on the border between Brazil and Paraguay. It was inaugurated in 1982. The building of this plant boosted trade in the 160 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva region in two ways: first, a service sector had to be developed to provide for the large number of people working on a project of such magnitude; and second, a number of bilateral agreements were signed by Brazil and Paraguay. One of these led to the lifting of trade barriers between the two countries. As a consequence, economic activities intensified in Ciudad del Este, the Paraguayan city connected to Foz do Iguaçu by a bridge over the Paraná River. By 1994/1995, it was considered to be the third largest trade city in the world, after Hong Kong and Miami (Rabossi, 2001). This trade boom was responsible for the increase in the number of immigrants from the Arab countries in the area. It also led to an increase in migration from China and Korea. In 2000, this intense commercial activity and the brisk cross-border trade experienced a drastic setback due to policies implemented by the Brazilian government. These policies were designed to protect the local market (by reducing the maximum purchase allowance). This was followed by a Brazil- ian currency devaluation in 2015. However, the trading activities involving imported goods on the Paraguayan side and clothes and food on the Bra- zilian side continue to be the main axis of commercial activity for Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu. It is estimated that around 15,000 to 20,000 people of Middle Eastern origin currently live in the city. This means that the Arabic-speaking community in Foz do Iguaçu is the second largest in Brazil, with the Arabic-speaking community in the global city of São Paulo being the largest (Karam, 2009). Most of the Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu are originally from Lebanon, but some have heritage links with Palestine, Jordan and Syria. Since the first Arabic speakers arrived, three quarters of a century ago (Lesser, 2015), several new generations have been born and brought up in the city. Some of those in the third and fourth-generations are moving into forms of employment beyond the business sector and work in other traditional professional occupations, in education, law and medicine. Others hold political office, work in the local civil service, or are in charge of associations for business and commerce in the city. A few of them also work as journalists in local news media.

Discourses about Diversity in Foz do Iguaçu: Local Official Discourse, National Media Discourse The diversity of the population of Foz do Iguaçu is ‘celebrated’ in local official discourse: on the City Hall web sites, in local newspapers and in travel agent brochures. The metaphor that is often used in descriptions of the city is that of a ‘cultural laboratory’. The emphasis is on the ‘harmonious’ relationship that exists between the many different groups who now reside in the city, including speakers of Portuguese, Spanish, Guarani (an Indigenous language primarily spoken in Paraguay), Arabic, Mandarin, Korean, Italian, German and so on. Occasionally, discursive threats to this representation of the population of Foz do Iguaçu surface in the national press in Brazil. For Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 161 example, with the increasing public anxiety about international terrorism, some reports have appeared in the national media insinuating that some Arabs in Foz do Iguaçu are providing cover for those involved in terrorism (see Moita-Lopes, this volume). Reinforcing a common stereotype on the borders, the national press has also been releasing reports about lawlessness and cross-border criminal activities. However, local authorities, local commercial organizations and community associations provide robust responses to these discursive representations of the city. They actively promote an image of the people of the city as being peaceful citizens and an image of the city as being a safe and welcoming environment.

Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu Today: A Diverse Population The presence of Arabic speakers is particularly visible in the local linguistic landscape (Shohamy, 2012) and in the bilingual (Arabic/Portuguese) public signage around the city, in the commercial establishments and restau- rants, in local schools and place of religious observance. For example, some local commercial establishments have signs with Arabic names written in the Roman alphabet. They include the Alladin Supermarket, Fouad Center Mall, Sahara Restaurant and Shawarma do Salim Delicatessen. The presence of this population in the city is also visible in the architectural design of the mosques, in forms of dress and headwear (especially among women) and in cultural practices associated with the purchase and preparation of food. The population is represented locally as a ‘homogeneous community’. Many local residents (of diverse backgrounds) refer to them generically as “os Árabes” [the Arabs]2 (Silva, 2008). In other parts of Brazil, second or third generation citizens of immigrant origin are still referred to in popular discourse as ‘foreigners’, despite the fact that they were born and raised in Brazil (Lesser, 2015). However, in this local context, they are not seen as ‘outsiders’ but rather as an ‘established’ local group (Elias and Scotson, 1994). Despite the representation of the ‘Arab’ population of Foz do Iguaçu as ‘homogeneous’, it is actually characterized by considerable diversity. As indicated earlier, Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu have different origins, in different regions of the Middle East, including Lebanon, Palestine, Jordan and Syria. They also have diverse religious affiliations. Some are Sunni or Shia Muslims and others are Druze or Christians. Some are the descendants of the original settlers and some are relative newcomers.

Sociolinguistic Repertoires and Language and Literacy Practices The diversity of this local population of Middle Eastern origin is particularly evident in their sociolinguistic repertoires and their language and literacy practices. There are, for example, Portuguese speakers with an incipient 162 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva knowledge of Arabic, as is the case with the third and fourth generation descendants. There are monolingual Arabic speakers, most of whom are relative newcomers. There are those who are bilingual in Portuguese and Arabic, though there is considerable variation in terms of degrees of oral and written proficiency in each of these languages. And, there are multilinguals who speak Portuguese, Arabic, English and/or Spanish. Spanish is the official language in the bordering countries (Paraguay and Argentina), while English has hegemonic status worldwide and is widely taught in local schools. Among those who speak Arabic, there is also considerable diversity. Different varieties of Arabic from the Levant are spoken, including Lebanese, Palestinian, Jordanian and Syrian varieties. Portuguese is acquired, as a first language, in the family environment. It is also learned as a second language by adults, either in the context of day- to-day social interactions or in specialized language classes. In the case of children, it is learned with other children at school. Although many third or fourth generation immigrant descendants speak mainly in Portuguese, and although the use of Portuguese in public spaces is a significant part of daily life, young people in this community are expected to show a commitment to the learning of Arabic. However, several young participants in my study pointed out that not everyone shows the same commitment. Arabic is learned informally in the homes of those families who use this language on a daily basis. It is also learned more formally in courses offering an introduction to colloquial Arabic. There are ample opportunities to use colloquial Arabic in trade and commercial space, within mosques, and in local Arab associations. Two bilingual schools have been set up by members of the local ‘Arab’ community. They follow the Brazilian national curriculum, but they are both clearly oriented to Islamic culture. They offer courses in Modern Stan- dard Arabic, from basic education level to secondary-school level. They also teach Quranic Arabic, the written language associated with the teachings of Islam. In one of the interviews I conducted, a young woman emphasized this association with Islam. (See endnotes3 for details of the transcription conventions):

Meus pais sempre incentivaram a gente para falar a língua árabe//:: a gente precisa saber pois a nossa religião é baseada na língua árabe e pre- cisamos dela para entender o que o livro sagrado está querendo dizer//:: se a gente não lê e não fala a língua/: a gente não consegue entender a nossa religião. [My parents always encouraged us to speak Arabic//:: we must learn it since our religion is based on it and we need it in order to understand what the sacred book is trying to tell us//:: if we can’t read or speak the language/: we can’t understand our religion.]

The Escola Árabe Brasileira [Brazilian Arab School] was the first to be established in Foz do Iguaçu and it is located in the inner courtyard of the Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 163 Sunni mosque. It offers schooling from preschool up to the final years of secondary school. It was founded in 1998 and is maintained by the Centro Cultural Beneficiente Islâmico de Foz do Iguaçu [Islamic Cultural Benevo- lent Center of Foz do Iguaçu]. The second school to be established was the Escola Libanesa-Brasileira [Lebanese-Brazilian School]. It was founded in 2001 by Shia Muslims. Parental choices regarding schooling for their children depends on either their level of engagement with religion or on their commitment to reproducing the language within their family. One of the participants in my study pointed out that there are Sunni parents who send their children to the school founded by Shia Muslims because it has a reputation for being ‘stricter’ in terms of language and religious teaching. Some parents prefer to enroll their children in other schools in the city that are not aligned with the ‘Arab’ community, but insist on the use of spoken Arabic at home. A young female high school student in my study described her own experience as follows:

Eu primeiro aprendi o árabe em casa/: meus pais também falam árabe//: eu aprendi a falar com meus pais e frequentei a escola libanesa aqui em Foz do Iguaçu//: a língua mais falada entre os meus irmãos é o portu- guês/: pois a gente se sente mais incluído dentro da sociedade né?//:: mas com meus pais a gente conversa em árabe por causa que a gente agora estuda em colégio brasileiro e por isso meus pais querem que a gente converse mais com eles em árabe para não esquecer a língua. [I first learned Arabic at home/: my parents also speak Arabic//:: I learned to speak Arabic with my parents and then I went to to the Leb- anese school here in Foz do Iguaçu//:: the language we usually speak, my brothers and sisters and I, is Portuguese/: because we feel like we’re more part of the society, you know?//:: but when we talk to our parents we do so in Arabic, ‘cause we’re now going to a Brazilian school so my parents want us to talk to them in Arabic so we won’t forget the language.]

As we see from this account, young people navigate different identities during the course of their daily lives in Foz do Iguaçu as they traverse different domains of social life: the family unit, ‘Arab’ community associations, and religious institutions, and the different domains of social and institutional life within the mainstream society. As the years have gone by, it has become easier for local Arabic speakers to keep in touch with relatives in their country of origin, through occasional visits and, now, through use of the Internet, mobile technology and social media. In fact, transnational connectedness is far greater than it has been in the past. At the same time, there has been increasing divergence between the language and speech styles of the original migrants to Brazil and those of their descendants, and the language and speech styles of relatives in the country of origin. While the life circumstances of the descendants in 164 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva Brazil and in the countries of origin have improved significantly, the Arabic language resources of those in Brazil are no longer equivalent to those of their counterparts. A young man of Lebanese origin living in Foz do Iguaçu described his own experience of this sociolinguistic divergence as follows:

Quando eu tava vivendo lá/: (eu percebi que) eles falam e escrevem (a língua) bem melhor do que eu //: eles falam gírias que eu não falo//:: eles na hora identificam (a origem de umfalante da língua), eu identifico um ou outro mas não identifico todos os falantes do árabe//:: Eu sou muito assim/: ‘jacusão’ do mato’ para eles, sabe?//: porque eu falo e me inter- preto dum jeito que para eles é jacu/: mas foi a forma como eu aprendi (a língua) também, né? [When I was there/: (I noticed that) they speak and write (the language) much better than me//:: they use slang words I don’t use//:: right away they are able to identify (where a speaker is from), I can tell where a few people are from but I can’t tell where all Arabic speakers are from//:: I’m kind of like/: a ‘backwoods hick’ to them, you know?//:: ‘cause I talk and make myself understood in a manner that for them is hick/: but that was how I was taught (the language), you see?]

This young man told me that he had learned Arabic with his father, who had arrived in Foz do Iguaçu in 1942. His father had been one of the pio- neers in the migratory process and had come from a rural village in Leba- non. He had, therefore, had very little schooling. That explained why the young man, though fluent in a local variety of Lebanese Arabic, employed regional expressions, colloquialisms and slang words that are no longer in use in Lebanon. He clearly evaluated his own use of Arabic as being ‘poorer’ than that of his counterparts in urban Lebanon, possibly because he did not speak standard Lebanese Arabic. On top of that, he had never learned to write using the abjad system (the consonantal system). These are the reasons why, in his own assessment, the way he spoke was not “100% Arabic”. His linguistic habitus was that of someone from a rural area in Lebanon who (like his father) had not had access to the ‘legitimate language’ (Bourdieu, 1991), especially the written forms of the language. However, this negative self-evaluation did not prevent him from keeping in touch with uncles and cousins who remained in Lebanon. As he put it, in a good-humored way, on one occasion when we were exchanging text messages, he kept in touch with his relatives “over the phone, on face [Face- book], zap zap [WhatsApp] . . . lol”. This surprised me, so I asked him how he did this, since he had told me he had never learned written Arabic. In response, he sent me a text message, which is reproduced on the next page. The message included two statements in Arabic, followed by Portuguese translations so that I could understand them. The first statement shown below was “Tomorrow our lunch will be at Villa B,” and the second one Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 165 was “We have been speaking Arabic since we were little kids”. The two Arabic statements had been transliterated using the Roman alphabet. This exchange drew my attention to the fact that transliteration is widely used by younger members of Arabic-speaking families in Foz do Iguaçu as a means of engaging in informal written communication in Ara- bic. It is used to communicate via the Internet, not only with family and friends in their parents’ and grandparents’ country of origin, but also with other young Arabic speakers in other countries. According to this young Lebanese Brazilian in my study, the possibility of communicating in Ara- bic in the Roman alphabet has led many of the young Arabic speakers he knows in Foz do Iguaçu, who have relatively little proficiency in Arabic, to invest time and energy in order to improve their abilities in their heritage language.

Figure 10.2 Two statements in Arabic sent via WhatsApp, with Portuguese translations 166 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva The widespread and intense use of the Internet and social media is enabling Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu, both young and old, to establish and maintain social ties across far-flung diaspora. Communication online now serves as a means of public dissemination of news among members of the city’s Arabic-speaking community and as a forum for discussion of topics of particular interest. A number of websites are maintained locally. These include: the bilingual website of the Centro Cultural Beneficiente Islâmico de Foz do Iguaçu [Islamic Cultural Benevolent Society of Foz do Iguaçu],4 which deals with issues related to religion; and the bilingual website of the Escola Libanesa Brasileira [Lebanese-Brazilian School],5 which deals with issues to do with education. Other websites address political issues related to the community on different levels. Take, for example, the website A fronteira [The border].6 This is published in Portuguese and was founded by a journalist who was born in Lebanon but has been living in Bra- zil since early childhood. In 2015 and 2016, there were postings on his site of material (texts, images, videos) related to two events that had mobilized members of the local community in 2015: the Celebration of Peace, and the Ashura Day Procession, an event to celebrate Iman Hussein’s martyrdom.7 Both the Celebration of Peace and the Procession took place against the backdrop of the terrorist attacks in Paris on 13 November 2015. Accord- ing to the postings on this website, the speeches given by religious leaders in this community during these two events—including speeches by Islamic and Christian leaders—were designed to raise the awareness of visitors to the fact that extremist acts are falsely perpetrated in the name of Islam. In public interventions such as these, we can see community-based efforts to convey a positive image of ‘Arabs’ in Foz do Iguaçu. Another online resource in Portuguese has been created by Chadia Kobeissi, a young woman who lived in Foz do Iguaçu for a time, and then moved to Lebanon. She decided to start an online news page—the Gazeta de Beirute [Beirut Gazette]8—entirely in Portuguese. On 8 September 2016, this gazette totaled around 3 million hits. It is directed at Brazilians living in Lebanon and at the Lebanese in Brazil. The metaphor that Chadia Kobeissi uses on her news website to refer to Brazil is “Lebanese people’s home away from home”. This indexes the established status of people of Lebanese origin in Foz do Iguaçu, and all over the country.

Concluding Comments The picture that has emerged from my research with Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu is that of a large and well-established community that occupies particular niches within the local economy, within the service sector and within the import/export business. It is a community that has survived considerable changes in cross-border political and economic relations between Brazil, Paraguay and Argentina. It has also created its own schools and community associations and there has been a strong trend towards reproduction Arabic Speakers in Foz do Iguaçu 167 of the language, literacy and cultural resources of different countries of the Middle East. At the same time, it is a community that is characterized by diversity. As I have shown, it includes people of different national origins and speakers of different varieties of Arabic, with differing degrees of access to standardized forms of Arabic. It also includes people of different religious affiliations and different degrees of commitment to the learning of Quranic Arabic. In addition, with the passing of several generations, young people are now developing sociolinguistic repertoires which include a broad range of contemporary styles, genres and registers in spoken and written Portuguese, but a smaller range of styles, genres and registers in Arabic. Moreover, some young people have not had access to the Arabic script and sometimes choose to write Arabic using the Roman alphabet, particularly when writing online. These relatively new transliteration practices are, nevertheless, enabling them to engage in a wider range of writing in Arabic, in new transnational spaces, and to maintain ties of family and friendship across the diaspora. Over the generations in this community, language and literacy practices appear to have contributed in different ways to local processes of identification. Among the first generations of Arabic speakers in Foz do Iguaçu, the regional variety of Arabic was used at home, in other local life worlds, and in community associations. Portuguese, Arabic and sometimes Span- ish, were used in the workplace, in local businesses and cross-border trade. Quranic Arabic was reserved for religious observation and ritual. In contrast, among the descendants of the early migrants, processes of identification are becoming more complex and multifaceted. They draw on a wider range of language and literacy resources, from Arabic and from Portuguese (and sometimes from other languages), as they participate in wider social networks and negotiate different identities, both face-to-face and online. However, in the increasingly transnational spaces in which they participate, some of the language and literacy resources they have inherited do not carry the same symbolic value as the language and literacy resources of their counterparts in the country of origin. As Heller and Duchêne (2012:10) have remarked—in relation to the changing conditions of our times and to the social realities of communication online— “the landscape is uneven . . . social actors occupy different (and differentially advantageous) positions with respect to access to the resources that circulate across it”.

Notes 1 Adapted from Map of South America with Countries—Multicolor by FreeVector- Maps.com. https://freevectormaps.com/world-maps/south-america/WRLD-SA- 02-0002?ref=more_map (accessed 28 October 2016). 2 My translation of words and extracts from the original Portuguese transcripts to English were inserted within square brackets in this chapter. 3 The transcription conventions used in the interview extracts include: /: brief pause and //: long pause. 168 Regina Coeli Machado e Silva 4 Website Centro Cultural Beneficiente Islâmico de Foz do Iguaçu. www.islam.com. br (accessed 15 April 2017). 5 Website Escola Libanesa Brasileira. http://escolalibanesabrasileira.com.br/ (accessed 24 August 2016). 6 Website A Fronteira. http://afronteira.com/br (accessed 10 July 2016). 7 Iman Hussein was the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad. Considered to be a martyr, Hussein was killed, along with his followers, in 680 A.D., an episode that marks the schism within Islam between Sunnis and Shias. 8 Website Gazeta de Beirute. www.gazetadebeirute.com/ (accessed 24 August 2016).

References Angnes, J. S. and Martins, L. M. (2007) Desvelando contextos multilíngues [Unveil- ing multilingual contexts]. Plêiade, 1(2): 153–162. Bourdieu, P. (1991) Symbolic power. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Elias, N. and Scotson, J. L. (1994) The established and the outsiders: A sociological enquiry into community problems. London: SAGE Publications. Gregory, V. (2002) Os eurobrasileiros e o espaço colonial: migrações no Oeste do Paraná (1940/70) [Eurobrazilians and the colonial space: Migrations to the West of Paraná (1940/70)]. Cascavel: Edunioeste. Heller, M. and Duchêne, A. (2012) Pride and profit: changing discourses of language, capital and nation-state, in: Duchêne, A. and Heller, M. (eds.) Language in late capitalism: Pride and profit. New York: Routledge. Karam, J. T. (2009) Um outro arabesco: etnicidade sírio-libanesa no Brasil neo- liberal [Another arabesque: Syrian-Lebanese ethnicity in neo-liberal Brazil]. São Paulo: Martins Fontes. Lesser, J. (2001) A negociação da identidade nacional: imigrantes, minorias e a luta pela etnicidade no Brasil [The negotiation of national identity: Immigrants, minorities and the struggle for ethnicity in Brazil]. São Paulo: Editora UNESP. ———. (2015) A invenção da brasilidade: identidade nacional, etnicidade e políticas de imigração [The invention of Brazilian identity: National identity, ethnicity and immigration policies]. São Paulo: Editora UNESP. Rabossi, F. (2001) Notas sobre a Triple Fronteira: Foz do Iguaçu [Notes on the Triple Frontier]. (mimeo). Unpublished. Shohamy, E. (2012) Linguistic landscape and multilingualism, in: Martin-Jones, M., Blackledge, A. and Creese, A. (eds.) The Routledge handbook of multilingualism. London and New York: Routledge. Silva, R. C. M. (2008) Reordenação de Identidades de Imigrantes “Árabes” em Foz do Iguaçu [Identity reordenation of “Arab” immigrants in Foz do Iguaçu]. Trab- alhos em Linguística Aplicada: Campinas, 47(2): 357–373. Section IV Representation/Performance of Diversities

Introduction Representation/Performance of Diversities: Reflections on the ‘Multi’

Lynn Mario T. Menezes de Souza

The studies in this section, and in other sections in this volume, are located within a postcolonial context here in South America. They involve languages, cultures, knowledges and people whose presence is marked by a history of colonization. With Ahmed (2000) I see postcolonialism as a process of “rethinking how colonialism operated in different times in ways that permeate all aspects of social life in the colonised and colonising nations. It is hence about the complexity of the relationship between past and present, between the histories of European colonisation and contemporary forms of globalisation”. Thus, rather than seeing this history as deterministic and continuous, it may be better understood as a complex series of “discontinuous encounters between nations, cultures, others and other others” (Ahmed, 2000:22). Reflecting on official language policy in India, which, as a result of the colonial European monolingual and monocultural heritage conceptualises language in the singular, and hence institutes a yawning gap between policy and the complex plurilinguistic realities on the ground, Khubchandani (1997:54) recommends that “pluralist vigour is the most promising methodological posture [. . .] supporting an openness to criticism at every turn”. However, what exactly is at stake and what would such a pluralist vigour entail? To begin with, what is at stake in such postcolonial situations is that an encounter has occurred—between a foreign invading nation with its language and its epistemologies and a local complex of communities with its own languages and epistemologies—an encounter that Grosfoguel and Castro- Gomez (2007) refer to as being marked by coloniality, that is, a hierarchy of languages, knowledges, races, sexualities and genders that originates in the inequality of the power relations of historical colonialism and persists long after the decreed end of colonialism. Though the results of such colonial encounters may still persist, like Khubchandani, Ahmed (2000:152), points to the fact that once it is subject to critique (this would characterize a “generous encounter”), it ceases to be binding: “a generous encounter may be one which would recognise how the encounter itself is implicated in broader relations and circuits of production 172 Lynn Mario T. Menezes de Souza and exchange (How did we get here? How did you arrive?) but in such a way that the one who is already assimilated can still surprise, can still move beyond the encounter which names her, and holds her in place”. Moving beyond colonial-style encounters in order to engage with a “pluralist vigour” perhaps entails first perceiving the complexity behind what Bhabha (2006) calls “diversity” and “difference”. Whereas diversity, as a top-down perspective, presupposes totality, systematicity, separability and singularity as seen from a normative, dominant standpoint, difference begins in media res, bottom-up, from the thick of things, and sees languages, cultures and knowledges as entangled, inseparable, mutually constitutive, heterogeneous and hybrid. For Bhabha (1994) it is pedagogic processes that contribute to the narrative, normative and institutional (top-down) processes by which identities, languages and knowledges are fixed and constituted as static, separate and systematic. In pedagogic meaning-making processes, from the top-down standpoint of diversity, meaning is seen as pre-established, fixed in a system of normative rules, like a sentence in grammar, and vehemently forecloses the participation of a subject or user of language engaged in a process of interpretation, situated in a particular time-space configuration. Thus, from this perspective, a diversity of identities, languages and knowledges is seen as a range of separate singular units which are juxtaposed and coexist but are not entangled and do not mutually constitute each other. Representation, if understood as substitution (like metaphor) implies the replacement of one element (linguistic or semiological symbol) by another (a referent, an element existing outside language, in ‘reality’) and is characterized by separability and discreteness (where the symbol is not the referent). Moreover, representation, when it presupposes pre-existing, static meanings and forecloses the agency of an interpreting, located subject (as in the case of a dictionary), collaborates with the abstract, systemic normativity of the pedagogic. For Bhabha (1994) on the opposite pole to the pedagogic stands the performative. In performative meaning-making process, from the standpoint of difference, it is the subject, located materially in a particular time-space configuration and as a member of and constituted by (simultaneously) multiple communities of language, culture, gender, race and sexuality, who provides the starting point for the meaning-making process. Thus, located in this third space of simultaneous entanglement in multiple communities that constitute him or her, the subject, his or her identities, languages and epistemologies will necessarily be ambivalent and hybrid. Note that hybrid here does not signify “a mixture”; it signifies, rather, “entangled, interconnected and inseparable”. It is in this sense that, for Bhabha, identity is performative. Constituted by a complexity of hybridity, a subject performs identity in each situated and located act of interaction; that is, in each such situation, retrospectively, it may be said that a particular subject “had” a particular identity. Such an identity is constantly reconfigured depending on the Section IV: Introduction 173 context, the interlocutor and the task at hand, and hence it is not fixed and stable. The same may be said of languages, cultures and knowledges. Thus, from this perspective, whereas diversity refers to a set of coexisting substantive singularities disconnected from a particular sociohistoric context and its agents/subjects, difference refers to an entanglement of mutually constitutive and therefore coexisting elements that constitute subjects located in specific sociohistoric contexts. In this entanglement, the subjects respond by engaging in turn with the elements that constitute him or her and thus also contribute to the reconfiguration of the very elements that constituted him or her. Whereas the diversity of the pedagogic proposes itself as universal, and a normative system of rules with no place for a subject or agency, and even less for interpretation, critique and change, the difference of the performative sees itself as materially and sociohistorically located and dynamically constituted by and constitutive of subjects/agents. Representation, from this perspective, is the product of and inseparable from the dynamics of interpretation performed by material (not abstract) subjects located sociohistorically. Rather than separating discrete elements such as a symbol and its referent, representation here signifies metonymic contact and contiguity. Khubchandani (1997) illustrates his call for a pragmatic, performative and pluralist perspective on language description and use by proposing a “three-dimensional model of language”. This model (rather than foreclos- ing the agency of a subject, like a system-based or grammar-based model) depends on the decision-making of a subject. On each dimension, the subject assesses (1.) The interactive task at hand, (2.) The presently performed identity of the interlocutor in relation to that of the speaker, and (3.) The selection of available linguistic and semiotic resources. Interaction is then enacted/performed. Any feedback in the process that signals an error of judgement in any of the phases/dimensions triggers anew the decision-making of the three dimensions. Languages and identities are thus constantly reconfigured according to the exigencies of particular interactive tasks. Performativity and difference as proposed by Bhabha (1994, 2006) therefore respond to the call of Khubchandani for “an openness to criticism at every turn” and to the call of Ahmed such “that the one who is already assimilated can still surprise”. Needless to say, both these calls and responses to them are located within the historicity of colonization and the persistent coloniality of its effects on our current epistemologies of language study and language interaction. With these reflections in mind, there is an urgent need to reimagine the nature of the conceptual content of the ‘multi-’, of multilingualism and multiculturalism; does it pend towards pedagogical processes and diversity, or towards performative processes and difference? Bearing these questions in mind, I invite the reader to engage with the two chapters in this section. Both clearly foreground performativity and stand in contrast with other chapters, such as those in Section II, that reveal the traces of pedagogical processes. 174 Lynn Mario T. Menezes de Souza References Ahmed, S. (2000) Strange encounters: Embodied others in post-coloniality. New York: Routledge. Bhabha, H. K. (1994) The location of culture. London: Routledge. ———. (2006) Cultural diversity and cultural differences, in: Ashcroft, B., Griffiths, G. and Tiffin, H. (eds.) The post-colonial studies reader. New York: Routledge. Grosfoguel, R. and Castro-Gomez, S. (eds.) (2007) El Giro Decolonial: Reflexiones para una diversidad epistémica más allá del capitalismo global [The decolonial turn: Reflections on epistemic diversity beyond global capitalism]. Bogota: Siglo del Hombre Editores. Khubchandani, L. M. (1997) Revisualizing boundaries: A plurilingual ethos. New Delhi: Sage Publications. 11 Guarani/Portuguese/ Castellano Rap on the Borderland Transidiomaticity, Indexicalities and Text Spectacularity

Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes

Introduction In this chapter, I make transidiomaticity (Jacquemet, 2005) visible by analyzing a spectacular rap text written in ‘Guarani’, ‘Portuguese’ and ‘Castellano’ on the borderland, i.e. the Triple Frontier of Brazil, Argentina and Paraguay. The rap—MBOHAPY frontera/The Triple Frontier1—was composed by the rap Group Payé in 2004 and is recorded on their first CD (Porongo Stail, 2005). Group Payé2 includes MCs, Graffitters, DJs and Skaters. The phenomenon of rap, part of a more encompassing cultural movement called hip-hop which involves rapping, graffittiing, djing, breakdancing, and skaters, in the case of Group Payé, has drawn a lot of attention from researchers in cultural, music and ‘language’3 studies world-wide (Mitch- ell, 2001; Pennycook, 2007; Moita-Lopes, 2015, for example). As a result of global transcultural forces which crisscross the world and bring about translocal effects (Appadurai, 1996; Blommaert, 2010), rap—a cultural artifact created in the Black and Latino neighborhoods of New York City in the 1970s—has been appropriated in different parts of the world (Mitch- ell, 2001; Pennycook, 2007) with the same purpose of voicing a counter- hegemonic logic. Although rap has been normally translocated into the so-called peripheries of big cities, constituting a strong element of peripheral cultural life and literacy practices, the literature has also drawn attention to rap groups among Indigenous peoples, such as the Inuits of Greenland, the Aborigines in Australia, the Aotearan-New Zealanders (Mitchell, 2001) and Bolivian Indigenous groups (Oglobo.com, 2007). I introduce this chapter by drawing attention to rap as a typical cultural artifact of our globalized and fluid societies, i.e. a transcultural, translocal and, in this chapter, transidiomatic phenomenon, because I particularly want to draw attention to the trans-world world in which we live. That is not to say, however, that life has not always been in movement, but the speed through which people, texts, ‘languages’ and cultural artifacts can now travel across the globe makes it crucial to contemplate our world from a trans-perspective or a trans-border perspective. Through the flows of globalization, rap has become a ‘weapon’ that marginalized people in diverse peripheries can make use of to confront exclusion processes. 176 Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes Because of the performative effects of modernity and colonialism, which have historically banished voices in the periphery (in racial, social, sexual, gender, ‘linguistic’ and other terms), the voices of rappers are worth investigating because they bring along alternative anti-modernist and anti-colonialist discourses. Such discourses can invigorate our social life (Santos, 2008) and construct another form of globalization (a globalization-from-below; San- tos, 2000) in quite a different manner from the neo-liberal concerns with capital flows and in fact with the recent austerity discourses which have cut across the world in a perverse form of globalization (Santos, 2000). Occidentalism—basically, the socioconstruction of Europe as west (Venn, 2000) in opposition to the so-called New World—has constructed a world with clear-cut divisions and borders, separating or inventing nations, ‘languages’, peoples, races, etc. with colonial purposes. However, the world in which we live seems to be putting an end to such borders through intense migration or rapid communication on the web and constructing superdiverse cities or areas (Vertovec, 2007). Borders have been made porous in a globalized world through processes which have resulted in power struggles across borders and in the questioning of truths that have long been taken for granted. Porosity has moved our lives from local temporalspatial social scales to translocal ones and have made vertigo a phenomenon of our everyday lives due to the myriad different and conflicting discourses which inter- pelate us every other minute. In the following section of the chapter, building on Mignolo’s (2000) notion of “border gnosis”, I contextualize rap on the borderland, i.e. the Triple Frontier, from the perspective of what I call clandestine and resistant border gnosis. Next, I discuss the issue of text spectacularity (Rampton, 2006a), considering ‘language’ as performative, with diverse indexicalities and I emphasize the relevance of this kind of sociolinguistic research in our times. In the third section, I provide an analysis of some of Group Payé’s rap lyrics, focusing on the indexical cues which invoke the particular “histories of meanings” (Blommaert, 2010:151) mobilized by transidiomatic indexical resources. I also touch on the kinds of meaning effects that are performatively signaled by the rap lyrics.

The Borderland between Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay and a Clandestine, Resistant Gnosis The Triple Frontier (see Silva, this volume) between Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay (see Figure 11.1 below) is an area of historical conflicts. The three main ones were: a) the so-called Paraguayan War between Brazil and Para- guay, at the end of the third quarter of the 19th century, when these countries were fighting to defend their frontiers; b) 20th century immigration (in the 1960s and 1970s) of Brazilians to Paraguay, which until now motivates a lot of resentment in Paraguay; and c) US government concern, in the 21st century, with the securitization of the Triple Frontier because it has been Rap on the Borderland 177 claimed that it is a terrorist enclave ever since the September 11 events, due to the high percentage of people of Arab descent in the area ( Amaral, 2010 ) (see Silva, this volume). Also, it is an area which traditionally receives a lot of immigrants from different parts of the world who are looking for business in connection with the Free-Tax Port of Ciudad del Este in Paraguay, and who can easily move into Foz de Iguaçu in Brazil and Puerto Iguazú in Argentina. These two towns are also major international centers of tourism because of the Iguaçu Falls. This adds to the existing large fl ows of people in the area. Furthermore, the fact that the three towns are easily reached via bridges over the Paraná and Iguaçu Rivers has transformed the area into “an international urban system” ( Ribeiro, 2006 :253). Therefore, despite the fact that this borderland is quite distant from the South American megalopolises (São Paulo and Buenos Aires) and is situated in the center of South America, it is superdiverse ( Vertovec, 2007 ). With more than 500,000 people (Amaral, 2010), the borderland is mainly inhabited by Indigenous Guarani, Argentinians, Brazilians, Braziguayans (see Pires-Santos, this volume), Paraguayans plus communities of Chinese, Lebanese, Syrians, Jordanians, Palestinians etc. (Béliveau and Montenegro, 2006 ). Also, a lot of Brazilian and Argentinian workers make a living in this area by buying tax-free imports in Ciudad del Este (Paraguay) and smug- gling them into Brazil and Argentina. This Triple Frontier has therefore been socially imagined as an entity on the basis of the above mentioned attributes ( Béliveau and Montenegro, 2006 ). Flows of language resources, people, texts and (il)legal products are typical of this borderland. On this triple border, everybody is therefore

Figure 11.1 Triple border map4 178 Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes virtually a migrant, going to or coming from somewhere else. As noted earlier, in the last decade, societies have been in movement as never before; consequently we all are becoming migrants. Some people are global tourists or business owners, whereas others are refugees, poor migrant workers and smugglers. The Triple Frontier can be thought of as a micro-cosmos of what is happening in large urban centers in most parts of the world. However, the “borderland”, as Mignolo (2000) has argued, is the ‘place’ where the traditional modernist or colonialist dichotomies or legitimacies in all senses are questioned. “Borderland” is a metaphor that is materialized on this Triple Frontier because, as I have tried to show above, it is a ‘site’ of extreme mobility in which processes of mixture, hybridity and translocality are constantly in operation. There are “multiple confrontations” (Mignolo, 2000:ix) with alterities, which question given meanings, accepted beliefs, borders, purity, legality, etc. Mignolo (2000) would actually say that what is in operation is “border gnosis”:5 a way of understanding the world which is a result of living in-between and in ambiguity or, perhaps, I would like to argue, of operating with ‘clandestine, resistant border gnosis’. This theoretical construct incorporates the audacity necessary to slip through what is considered adequate, correct, legitimate and legal in a world in which adequacy, correctness, legitimacy and legality have often been used to create colonial difference, and to bring about conditions of suffering and poverty. Clandestine, resistant gnosis is therefore a way of fracturing hegemonic perspectives in a ‘place’ (the “borderland”) where they are more easily noticed because deterritorialization, flux, migration, in-betweeness, disidentifica- tion, transidiomaticity, ambiguity and, in the last analysis, resistance are experienced under the skin, so to speak. This feature of the triple border brings to life alternative views and perspectives for transformation or for doing otherwise from “new loci of enunciation” (Mignolo, 2000:13). One can then wander along untrodden roads. Amidst the hustle of mobility in the “borderland”, such roads can only be accessed through clandestine, resistant border gnosis.

Performativity, Indexicality and Text Spectacularity The view of language as performative is derived from Austin (1962). He argues that language is performative in the sense that when we use it we do things to one another and that, by doing so, we change the world. More importantly, this view implies that language, meaning and ‘identity’ do not exist prior to language practices since it is in the use itself that communicative resources and meaning effects (and ‘identity’ as a result of such effects) are brought about with respect to potential interlocutors (Penny- cook, 2007). Language is performative because it functions to bring about the discursive effects of what it articulates in use. Such effects depend on participants’ communicative resource repertoires and on how they critically reflect “on communicative processes” (Bauman and Briggs, 1990:60). Rap on the Borderland 179 In this sense, the meanings of a text are intrinsically related to the kinds of meanings recontextualized by semiotic resources (i.e. “its dynamics of recontextualization”; Bauman and Briggs, 1990:60) in view of its “intertex- tual possibilities” (Bauman, 2004:10) and of the discursive effects brought about performatively. Such a view of texts as performative therefore draws attention to what Bauman (1992:44) has called “the heightened awareness of the act of communication” or the metapragmatic reflexivity that goes into meaning construction (Blommaert and Rampton, 2011). This phenomenon has become central in the work of linguistic anthropologists, contemporary sociolinguists and applied linguists who have criticized the tacit view of language followed by traditional modernist sociolinguists. In times of intense mobility of people, ‘languages’, discourses and texts, it is not surprising that reflexivity on language use has come to play a prominent role in language studies. This feature has also been called verbal art or the artful use of speech (Bauman and Briggs, 1990; Rampton, 2006a) to account for the highly stylized storyteller performer (Bauman, 1986), for the stylized mixing of languages (Rampton, 2006b) and for everyday language use in what Coupland (2007:146) has referred to as “high-performance” in opposition to “mundane performance”. Rap is therefore storytelling high-performance since it involves intense awareness on the part of the performer and, in the case focused on here, rap includes stylized transidiomaticity. This reflective frame through which language has come to be understood speaks well to a concern with indexical meaning in contemporary analysis in sociolinguistics, which started to become influential through research in linguistic anthropology (Bauman and Briggs, 1990, for example). Such a concern with indexicality provides a frame which accounts for the possibility of going beyond denotational/propositional meanings or the language system (language tacit knowledge), throwing light on how people appeal to connotational meanings or indexicality when they reflect on how they get involved in meaning construction. Looking into indexicality accounts for the possibility of considering how macro-sociohistorical discourses (translocal) are brought to bear in language use or are metapragmatically indexed in discourse, i.e. at a micro-socio level (local). There is an indexical link between micro and macro spheres, operating frictionally, when we engage in discourse. Metapragamatic reflexivity and creativity (verbal art) will be a crucial point in the analysis of the transidiomatic rap below as a consequence of the rapper’s need to reflect on communication on the “borderland”, i.e. on what semiotic resources are expected in such a ‘territory’ in view of nation-state policies. By focusing on indexicality, the analysis that follows then relies on the performative effects of language, and as such it operates with “an unstable and indeterminate—hence—creative” (Blom- maert, 2015:4) perspective of communication. A last point refers to text spectacularity. There is a level of intense reflexivity on communication, or on what may be referred to as stylization of 180 Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes communication, which may render a text spectacular. Spectacularity explains the recontextualization of the borderland rap in this chapter as a communicative event or its embedding or travelling into it. Spectacular- ity breaks expectations as regards “text regularities and co-occurrence” (Rampton, 2006a:117–118) in the event where this text was taken from, i.e. an event constituted by the rapper and rap audiences on the Argentin- ian, Brazilian and Paraguayan border. The exceptionality of the text makes it worth examining it as performative verbal art (Rampton, 2006a). The analysis of text spectacularity needs to be justified in relation to sociolinguistic research methodology. In other words, how do we explain the fact that it is a single text with a projected audience, on the Triple Frontier, briefly discussed above in sociohistorical terms, and how are these elements to be taken into consideration in the analysis? A sociolinguistics of this kind is contrary to the strong positivist tradition, which still flourishes in many circles. However, that tradition has been widely criticized and analytical, methodological and epistemological alternatives are increasingly identifiable in the work of those who have been concerned with how language has been affected by recent globalization processes (Rampton, 2006b; Blommaert, 2010; Heller, 2011; Martin-Jones, Blackledge and Creese, 2012; Duchêne and Heller, 2012; Moita-Lopes, 2015, Arnaut et al., 2016, for example). What is needed is a performative sociolinguistics (Baynham, 2015), which focuses on how sociolinguistic resources index “histories of meanings” (Blommaert, 2010:151) in what are “uncommon and spectacular” texts (Rampton, 2006a:117).

Rapping on the Triple Border: Indexing Transidiomatic Resources in a Spectacular Text In the presentation of the rap below and in its translation into English, I used the following transcription system. ‘Guarani’ resources and their translation appear in capitals, ‘Castellano’ is in Roman, ‘Portuguese’ is italicised, and other types of ‘language’ resources are underlined. The English translation appears immediately below each line of the lyrics. I have reduced the rap lyrics to the five lines below becauseof space constraints, but they provide a good example of the discourses indexed in the rap. A first reading of the text immediately makes the reader aware of transidiomaticity, which performatively constitutes the trans-world of the Triple Frontier—“the international border system” (Ribeiro, 2006:253) between Argentina, Brazil and Paraguay—and which signals to the audience the expressive artful performance of the rapper as a storyteller. The transidiomaticity indicates the planning and reflexivity (implied in stylization) on the part of the rapper as regards the different communicative resources available on the triple border: a repertoire of “real bits and chunks of language” (Blommaert, 2010:173) that he shares with the audience. My analysis focuses in particular on transidiomaticity so as to highlight the meaning Rap on the Borderland 181

MBOHAPY frontera [TRIPLE frontier] Ninja ITÉ del mato se vé desde la selva aponderandóme de las [A TRUE Japanese Warrior of the jungle is seen from the forest empowering me with] rimas llegando hacia la cima na minha área minha identidade [rhymes coming up to the top in my area my identity] brazuKUREPAragua minha realidade [Brazilian-ARGENTINIAN-Paraguayan my reality] peligro para los yanqui-CUERA Bin Laden está en la Triple [danger for the PEOPLE from America Bin Laden is on the Triple] Frontera . . . [Frontier . . .]

effects these resources indexically bring about from the perspective of a performative sociolinguistics (Baynham, 2015) or of a sociolinguistics of ‘language’ as resource (Heller, 2010). The other general point I wish to make relates to how rap—a global template—is translocalized into the triple border through the use of a tran- sidiom (a YOPARÁ—a “Guarani” word—which is put into the rap itself further along), which cannot be accounted for within the limits of any nation-state. The rapper voices a globalization-from-below and a globalization of resistance perspective, expressing anger towards colonialism and hegemonic globalization. The very title (MBOHAPY frontera/THE TRIPLE Frontier) indexes the borderland and the complexity of transidiomatic semiotic resources (the collocation of a ‘Guarani’ word with a ‘Castellano’ one) as well as the histories of meanings (associated with Indigenous peoples and Spanish coloniz- ers) in the context where the rap is enacted. Discourses of conquest, conflict and resistance are mobilized. These are the histories of meanings that are entextualized throughout the rap lyrics as a whole. Such a type of entextu- alization is enhanced by the use of another colonial ‘language’: ‘Portuguese’ or what is now called ‘Brazilian Portuguese’. The first indexical resource in the rap, “Ninja”6, is a transliteration of a ‘Japanese’ word into Castellano. This indexes a Japanese hero/warrior of an international popular series. Indexicalizations such as these are bound up with the translocalization of rap by entextualizing a well-known hero of global popular culture, which empowers the rapper with rhymes (“empowering me with rhymes”). The hero is predicated by the ‘Guarani’ resource, ITÉ, which qualifies the hero as a TRUE warrior. Transidiomatic resources in this particular case index global popular culture discourses which are 182 Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes predicated epistemically by a ‘Guarani’ linguistic cue (ITÉ)—a local Indig- enous semiotic resource—which has been in use long before the Triple Fron- tier was designated as such, since transidiomaticity recognizes no border (Mignolo, 2000). These two different ‘language’ resources are juxtaposed in the text, bringing about translocal meaning effects. Further, the TRUE hero is “del mato” (of the jungle). The ‘Portuguese’ item is used to refer to the jungle where the hero belongs. The semiotic complexity of transidiomaticity in the rap is established from the very first four semiotic resources. This complexity indexes different discourses through four different ‘linguistic’ resources: ‘transliterated Japanese’, ‘Guarani’, ‘Portuguese’ and ‘Castel- lano’. These resources metapragmatically index the hero who granted the rapper rhymes to compose the rap. Empowered with rhymes, the rapper then constructs minha área minha identidade (the rapper’s place and identity) performatively, which are indexed by ‘Portuguese’ semiotic resources. However, space and identity (also minha realidade/my reality) on the borderland is “brazuKUREPAra- gua” (Brazilian-ARGENTINIAN-Paraguayan). This is an as-if ‘identity’ or reality since it is in a constant state of becoming, flux or translocalization. The three different semiotic resources make this as-ifness possible performatively by invoking three different histories of discourses which crisscross one another on the Triple Frontier. The forging of this semiotic resource “bra- zuKUREPAragua” to refer to those who are on the borderland challenges the discourses about separate linguistic communities, separate nation-states, ‘official languages’ of nation-states, and political ideals related to national ‘identity’ and projects onto the audience histories of meanings derived from clandestine, resistant gnosis. This gnosis opens the ground for understanding: a) linguistic contact across borders as constitutive of what is called a ‘language’ (Pratt, 1987); b) the ‘end’ of nation-states and of the supposedly inherent intersectionalities of nationality, race, ethnicity, territory and character with ‘mother tongue’ (Bonfiglio, 2013); c) the deconstruction of a view of human life made possible only through nation-states; d) the elimination of an ideology of ‘language’ as a homogeneous single natural entity and not as invention (Makoni and Pennycook, 2007); e) the annihilation of colonial discourses which legitimize a particular ‘language’, nationality, race, sexuality and gender, etc. (Venn, 2000); and f) the deconstruction of discourses which equate so-called ‘ontological’ inferiority with epistemological inferiority (Mignolo, 2000). Such a perspective is well-aligned with a world of the Multitude (Hardt and Negri, 2005) and of transidiomaticity—a trans-world—and contradicts the historical disputes around nation-states, their official ‘languages’ and their corresponding national ‘identity’ projects on the triple frontier. The next line brings up the issue of securitization on the borderland: “Peli- gro para los yanqui-CUERA Bin Laden está en la Triple Frontera” (Danger for the PEOPLE Bin Laden is on the Triple Border). It recontextualizes the September 11 discourses. Such discourses have been used by US Security Rap on the Borderland 183 Agencies to represent areas in the world which are superdiverse (such as the triple border) as places where terrorism breeds (Arnaut et al., 2016). “Yanqui” is a lexical item transliterated from ‘American English’ into ‘Cas- tellano‘, which predicates the “PEOPLE” who are in danger. This ‘English’ semiotic resource completes the list of the five types of ‘linguistic’ resource used in the lyrics: ‘Japanese’, ‘Guarani’, ‘Castellano’, ‘Portuguese’ and ‘Eng- lish’. The last part of this line (“Bin Laden is on the Triple Border”), combines ‘Castellano’ and ‘Portuguese’ resources. It indexes discourses about the presence of Brazilians of Lebanese origin on the triple border, who alleg- edly support terrorism against the US and their allies, as previously indicated. These discourses have travelled all over the world and they seem to have been recontextualized into these rap lyrics by means of irony since Bin Laden, the notorious/famous terrorist mastermind of the September 11 attacks in the US, is placed or ‘smuggled into’ the borderland. One could argue that the localization of the global preoccupation with the threat from Al Quaeda, in this specific way, in the rap lyrics, is a particularly audacious type of border gnosis, grounded in clandestine, resistant gnosis over time.

Beyond the “Mbohapy Frontera” By way of conclusion, I want to draw a picture of how I hear the voice of this rapper on the borderland advancing a particular gnosis, a new social global consciousness and a new linguistic ideology. These, I believe, present alternative futures for our times. By taking this position, I align myself with Bauman (1992), who draws attention to the fact that in times of intense contingency and fluidity such as ours, singular events such as the one performatively enacted in the rap above, may have consequences beyond their own immediate occurrence—consequences that are not related to the frequency with which they occur. The clandestine resistant gnosis I have argued for above, building on Mignolo’s (2000) border gnosis—a way of thinking otherwise, typical of the borderland, with a more audacious perspective added to it—seems to capture the spirit of the rap lyrics analyzed here. A clandestine and deeply resistant gnosis refuses the well-established routes to understanding in social life, in particular because the received wisdom in epistemology is derived from traditions of colonization, exploitation and disempowerment of otherness. In such circumstances, clandestine resistance is a necessary positionality since it is the only possible way of by-passing injustice. In the rap, resistant gnosis is for example found in the appeal to Indigenous Guarani cosmology hybridized with cultural discourses which come from global cultural fluxes (from Japan and from the cultural peripheries of the US) and from the triple border. Such hybridization totally disregards what is considered ‘normal’ ways of framing the world in terms of nation-states. The other important issue is the concern with a different global consciousness, which does not recognize hegemonic globalization. Rap lyrics 184 Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes such as these remind us that there is no alternative other than the fact that the discourses in the borderland where we all live are translocalized. They come from here, there and everywhere. What is in operation is the fact that we are now amidst the Multitude in a superdiverse world even when we are inside our homes: glued to TV and computer screens (or listening to rap!). This fact offers the unique possibility of thinking of another globalization or a globalization-from-below. For the first time in many parts of the world we can live in the borderland, questioning ourselves in ways that make us think alternatively about ourselves and others. Despite the fact that borders are not always open to everybody, and despite the tragedies that physical border crossing can trigger, people in their vagrancy around our onlineOffline world are showing that the nation-state is an imagined colonization project which cannot account for our contemporary borderland lives. We get our sense about who we are from living in the border, i.e. no longer from the nation-state. Nation-states have become a cultural issue and no longer a legal one (Appadurai, 1996) due to the fact that our lives have become much more translocalized and are performed within the insecurity, messiness and ambiguity of the superdiverse borderland. If neo- liberal globalization continues to construct precarious forms of life, we need to learn how to build alternatives out of the globalization imposed on us by forging a new global consciousness, which literally recognizes no border closing and transforms this continual translocalization into new life possibilities. The last point I want to draw on is the linguistic ideology that underlies this rap. Rather than the traditional modernist structuralist view of ‘language’ as a closed-in well-knit system, within a monolingual package and a tacit view of language, the linguistic ideology here is transidiomatic and as such implies a view of ‘language’ as resource and as performative. The modernist linguistic ideology does not take into account ‘language’ contact and the reflexive metapragmatics people are intensely involved with in contemporary life but the idealized utopic principles of nation-state official language policies. However, transidiomaticity is responsive to the ways in which more and more people are using bits and pieces of communicative resources (and, in fact, making recourse to digital resources such as the Google translator) to construct meaning performatively. In a world in which we face the Multitude in our everyday lives, the messiness of borders are constitutive of our migrant onlineOffline lives. In such a world, a transidiomatic linguistic ideology seems like a much more adequate means to account for how we increasingly engage ourselves in discourse nowadays by making recourse to whatever semiotic resources are available among the uncertainties (‘linguistic’, discursive and other) of the borderland. This is what I think the rapper is sociolinguistically signal- ling to in “MBOHAPY frontera”. The text spectacularity is also telling us to move into another linguistic ideology. Furthermore, the rapper is also Rap on the Borderland 185 drawing attention to another logic, which aims at putting an end to the above mentioned historical and cultural conflicts in the region, based on territorial/‘language’ defense and ‘identity’ preservation. In our trans-world, ‘language’ and ‘identity’ can only be understood performatively, within the insecurities and challenges of the borderland and the life opportunities that such deterritorialization brings about.

Notes 1 I am grateful to Carlos Montiel, a member of Group Payé, for kindly giving me both the CD with the rap and the transcription of the lyrics. 2 See Rock-Misionero Blogspot. http://rock-misionero.blogspot.com.br/search/ label/Pay%C3%A9 (accessed 10 October 2016) 3 In this chapter, ‘language’ should always be understood as so-called language because I want to highlight its invented or performative nature (Makoni and Pennycook, 2007). 4 I am grateful to Angela Amarante for the artwork in this map. 5 Mignolo (2000:9) argues that “gnosis” takes us beyond the traditional “cultures of scholarship”: “nomothetic and ideographic”. 6 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ninja#In_popular_culture, accessed on 27 March 2016.

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12 Multiliteracies and Multilingualism in Brazilian Youth Culture The Case of Anime Music Video Editing

Roxane Rojo and Eduardo de Moura Almeida

Increasingly, transformative work1 based on video editing is becoming part of contemporary youth culture. This is a new multilingual literacy practice that includes new values, new aesthetics and new ways of creating and sharing meanings (Lankshear, 2011; Lankshear and Knobel, 2007; Makoni and Pennycook, 2012). Anime Music Videos (AMVs) are examples of this transformative work. They are new creations built out of ‘combinations’ of materials borrowed from various Japanese animations (animes) assembled with Western music in a video-clip. As indicated by Ito (2012), AMVs are concrete representations of transnational cultural flows. They follow traditions related to otaku culture, which results from the dialogue between Japanese pop culture and western pop culture. The purpose of this chapter is to reflect upon some new literacies and multilingual practices related to AMV productions. In order to do this, we will refer to the case of Rafael Alves Bezerra who likes to be called Shinzo.2 He is a young AMV producer who lives in Recife, the capital of the state of Pernambuco, Brazil. We consider his insertion in the AMV scenario and his subsequent trajectory. Our discussion will be informed by the analysis of two of his AMV productions (Aqua Satellite and Around the World) and by ethnographic research data3 from an extended semi-structured interview with him, made via Skype, in February 2016. We will also analyze a multilingual interaction extracted from an online AMV editors’ discussion forum in order to specifically discuss the role of English as a global language in this community. Our research approach resembles discourse-centered online ethnography of the type defined by Androutsopoulos (2008). And, following Makoni and Pennycook (2012) and Leppänen and Kytölä (2017), we argue that the contemporary proliferation of multi-language networks, based on consumption and distribution of audiovisual content, obliges us to develop research methodologies that are able to combine the concept of multilingualism with analytic frameworks that deal with other modalities (images, sound and so on). 190 Rojo and de Moura Almeida Otaku Culture, Video-Clip Production and the AMV Community In this section, we will briefly characterize the way fans of Japanese pop cultural productions (particularly animes and mangas), constituting what is known as otaku culture, have historically shaped an international AMV community. According to Roberts (2012), the development of the aesthetic values linked to the AMV scene is related to the establishment of otaku culture in the West. This development took place in three stages: a) when captioned videos of Japanese animation (also called fansub) were first created and distributed; b) when AMV conventions and competitions began to be organized; and c) when networks and anime fan communities emerged on the Internet. Roberts (2012) states that, during the 1970s and early 1980s, access to animes was very difficult. VHS videoclips imported from Japan were rare and expensive; animes that were not distributed by major producers were hard to find. However, with the advent of VCRs for home consumption during the 1980s, Japanese anime fans began to copy and distribute clips to fans outside Japan who sent them blank tapes, postage and packaging. From this practice, clubs with lending libraries appeared and, as soon as technology permitted, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, fans from countries other than Japan began to produce their own subtitled video-clips. With the growth of the industry and the development of anime fandom in the West, AMV became part of meetings and conventions held by Japanese animation fans. At first, AMVs were displayed at the end of anime shows. Over time, however, they became popular and stood out as an important part of these conventions. During this period, in the late 90s, specific AMV shows began to emerge in the United States and the first competitions took place. According to Roberts (2012), these competitions served as a kind of catalyst that shaped many of the key elements of AMV aesthetics, such as the division of AMVs into categories (e.g. comedy/fun, drama and action). The AMVs of this period were important in promoting anime in the West and their inclusion in fansubs served as a means of disseminating the animations lesser known outside Japan (Roberts, 2012). According to Ito (2012), the production of remix videos by overseas fans to publicize Japanese animation in the Western world constitutes one of the fundamental characteristics of otaku culture and anime fandom. Unlike television and science fiction series fandoms, the otaku, as anime fans are often called, see the ability to access, translate, transmit and produce original remix videos as valuable and as a statement of commitment within their community. Ito (2012) explains that the AMV online community hosted at www. animemusicvideos.org, and referred to by its members simply as the.org, is based on an ethics of sharing and voluntarism. While it is quite accessible and open to new members, it also encourages editors and curators to constantly engage in various activities of distinction and status acquisition. In this sense, the.org establishes a well-marked division among its editors: Anime Music Video Editing 191 it clearly defines who belongs and who does not belong to it, as Shinzo emphasizes below:

Existe uma divisão entre os editores . . . Existem os editores que editam AMV simplesmente para o seu canal no YouTube e fica por ali mesmo, certo? E existe aquele que conhece geral. Ou seja, têm uma inscrição lá no the.org, acompanham as notícias no amv.ru [http://amvnews.ru], participam dos campeonatos na França, participam dos campeonatos gringos . . . Esses editores tem um campo de visão maior. Conhecem os outros editores, estão familiarizados com as edições e as categorias de cada editor, entendeu? Infelizmente, tem uns caras que não se interes- sam e só ficam naquele canalzinho do YouTube, achando que sabe de edição. Mas, de fato não . . . sabe nada. Não ‘tão participando e se aprimorando, entendeu? Não fazem AMV esses caras. [There is a division between publishers . . . There are editors who edit AMV just for their YouTube channel and for them this is enough, see? And there are some who know everything there is to know about it. That is, they have a subscription in the.org, they follow the news on amv.ru [http://amvnews.ru], they participate in the championships in France, and in other gringos’ championships . . . Editors like these have greater visibility. They know other editors, they are familiar with the issues and the categories of each editor, you know? Unfortunately, there are some guys who do not care and just get their petty little channel on YouTube, thinking that they know all about editing. But, in fact, they do not . . . They know nothing. They are not participating and improving [their craft], you know? Guys like that do not really do AMVs.]4

So, while technical and economic barriers to AMV productions have been gradually diminishing over the years, allowing access to and dissemination of knowledge and tools needed to enable video editing, the AMV community have developed normative social barriers that aim at defining center and periphery participants as far as AMV editors are concerned. Within this framework, marked by a double tension between the need for openness and for distinction, online and in-person events and fairs related to AMV assessment and competitions also play an important role in the consolidation of anime videos editors’ community: they provide recognition and status, while recruiting new fans and members for these communities.

Shinzo’s Trajectory: In Sync with AMV Culture When we asked how his interest in Japanese pop culture and AMVs emerged, Shinzo noted the importance of championships and of the.org in his development as an editor:

Apesar de eu já assistir animês antes, “Evangelion” e tal, meu inter- esse, minha paixão naquela época era desenhar mangá. Eu desenhava 192 Rojo and de Moura Almeida rosto de pessoas. Mas quando eu estava com os meus 16/17 anos, eu acho, eu já curtia animê pra caramba. Aí você vê um negócio desse [AMV], você fala: ”Caramba, como a galera faz um negócio desse com os animês, e faz até uma história própria?” Depois, você descobre que tem campeonato que dá prêmios, que dá dinheiro, que dá troféu, entendeu? Aí depois você descobre que tem uma comunidade [the.org] onde estão ali os melhores do mundo; tá tudo ali, a galera que edita, entendeu? É muito bacana tudo isso, você quer fazer parte disso! E aí uma coisa vai puxando a outra. Você conhece a comunidade, começa a participar . . . Forma um time e começa a participar de campeonatos. Foi assim que eu comecei. E a maioria que eu conheço também. [Although I did watch some anime before, “Evangelion” and such, my main interest, my passion, at that time, was drawing manga. I drew people’s faces. But, by the time I was 16/17 years old, I think, I was already really into anime. And then you see stuff like that [AMVs] and you say, “Dammit, how do these guys do things like that with anime and even create their own story?” Then, you find out that there are championships giving awards, giving money, giving out trophies, you know? And then you find out there is a community [the.org] the best editors in the world belong to; they are all there, the guys who edit, you see? All of this is so exciting; you want to be a part of it! And then one thing leads to another. You get to know the community, you begin to participate . . . You form a team and you get to participate in championships. That’s how I started, as did most people I know.]

Aqua Satellite,5 an AMV produced by Shinzo illustrates very well his commitment to putting into action a dialogue between Japanese pop culture and western pop culture, in the manner described by Ito (2012). Aqua Satellite is composed of the song Satellite, by Oceanlab—an English electronic music group—and it is edited with scenes from multiple Japanese animes. In Aqua Satellite, an AMV that falls into the category dance video,6 Shinzo establishes proper synchronization between the progression of images and, not only the

Figures 12.1 and 12.2 —Frames extracted from Aqua Satellite. Anime Music Video Editing 193

Figures 12.3 and 12.4 —Frames extracted from Aqua Satellite. rhythm of the song, but also its lyrics. In its subtitles, one can read, the first lines of the Satellite lyrics, translated into Portuguese in his version:

My love is like footsteps in the snow, baby I follow you everywhere you go, baby

Shinzo emphasizes the word “footsteps” in the verse My love is like footsteps in the snow, baby, selecting, from different animes, scenes that highlight their characters’ feet (see Figures 12.1 and 12.2). He then, in synchrony with I follow you everywhere you go, baby, uses stylized images of birds and of an outstretched hand, subtly emphasizing the words “follow” and “go” (see Figures 12.3 and 12.4). With the production of this specific AMV, Shinzo has demonstrated that he is able to handle diverse semiotic and communicative resources from his repertoire, hybridizing different cultural references ( Japanese animation and a Western pop song) and showing that he masters the forms of audiovisual representation required for video-clip editing.

Shinzo’s Trajectory: Ascending to the AMV Community’s Elite Group To gain status within the AMV community and to be part of the so-called “AMV elite” (Ito, 2012), constantly trying to widen one’s musical repertoire and to improve one’s knowledge of editing skills is seen as crucial. Shinzo stands out in the community as a trance music (a genre of electronic music) connoisseur. It is common for other publishers to use his expertise before editing AMVs in the category dance video. Shinzo illustrates this as follows:

Por exemplo, ontem eu estava conversando com o Adolf que é lá da França. Ele perguntou se eu tinha música para indicar para ele. Eu falei “Pronto . . . tenho, sim!”. Aí eu só mandei uma música pra ele. Aí ele falou “Caramba, adorei . . . . É isso aí, cara, obrigado!” [For example, just yesterday I was talking to Adolf, who is from France. He asked me if I had music to recommend him. I said: “Yapp 194 Rojo and de Moura Almeida . . . I do!” So I just sent him a song. Then he says: “Gee, I loved it . . . That’s it, man, thanks!”]

His prominent position within the community, according to Shinzo, was reached after the success of Around the World.7 In preparing this AMV, he used a specific version of the song Fireflies, originally composed by the band Owl City:

Fiquei com medo da galera achar essa música e editar na frente. Na verdade, particularmente, não gosto da versão original dessa música. Mas aí eu achei essa versão remixada. E aí, pronto, editei. Deu nisso, putz, a galera gostou pra caramba! Demorei uns 20 dias pra analisar a música, pensando nela, até eu finalmente decidir editar com ela. E eu levei dois meses pra editar o vídeo. [I was afraid the guys would find this song and edit it before I did it. In fact, I don’t particularly like its original version. But then I found this remixed version and I edited it. And that was it: it turned out the crowd went crazy over it! It took me about 20 days to analyze the song, to think it over, until I finally decided to edit with it. And it took me two months to edit the video.]

In this AMV, Shinzo favors rhythmic synchrony through ‘cuts’, ‘imaging’ and ‘light’ in order to highlight the song chosen to compose the project. He used some selected animes to illustrate or emphasize what is being said in the lyrics of the song (see below), but he was careful not to draw too much

Lyrics Scene Time

You would not believe 0:22 your eyes

If ten-million fireflies 0:24 Lit up the world

Figures 12.5 and 12.6 —Synchrony between lyrics and images in Around the World Anime Music Video Editing 195 attention to these animes characters or to “get carried away by the story”, as suggested by a critic in one of the forums of the.org. Shinzo states that he does not seek to elaborate ‘a narrative’ with the selection and editing of trance music and anime scenes. However, he notes that this is a trend within editors’ groups dedicated to a category of AMVs called crossover. As a result of this new ‘direction’ within the community, Shinzo has been studying the work of the Russian publisher Umika Sayoji.

Ela [Umika] cria uma história paralela, que não tem nada a ver com os animês originais. Ela reedita várias cenas, retirada de animês diferentes para contar a própria história. Essa categoria—que tem mais ou menos uns 3 anos—se chama AMV crossover. A Umika, se não é a melhor editora, estava entre as top 3; fazia milagre! Vou te mostrar um trabal- hado bem editado dela aqui para você ter uma ideia. Mas você precisa entender de animê pra curtir mesmo. Se você entende e assite os animês, com certeza vai falar: “Caralho como ela fez isso?” Veja, por exemplo, Steel Fenders. Esse AMV aqui é simplesmente fantástico! [She [Umika] creates a parallel story that has nothing to do with the original animes. She edits several scenes, taken from different animes to tell her own story. This category—which was created about three years ago—is called AMV crossover. Umika, if she was not the best editor ever, she was8 among the top three; she did miracles! I’ll show you one of her well edited work to give you an idea. But you need to know about anime to really appretiate it. If you do and you ever watch these animes, you certainly will say: “Fuck! How did she do it?” Take, for example, Steel Fenders.9 This AMV is absolutely fantastic!]

In contexts, such as the one described here, individuals like Shinzo and Umika reconfigure, in discontinuous ways, ‘fragments’ (excerpts, clippings, sampling) of the semiotic resources within their repertoires and hybridize discourses, genres, styles, practices and specific cultural objects, to actively participate in their communities (Rudby and Alsagoff, 2014). As García- Canclini (1995) puts it:

Some works take advantage of the versatility of video to create works that are brief but dense and systematic: Fotoromanza by Antonioni, Thriller by John Landis, All Night Long by Bob Rafelson, for instance. But in most cases all action is given in fragments; it does not ask us to concentrate or to look for continuity. There is no history to speak of [. . .]. To be a good spectator one has to abandon oneself to the rhythm and enjoy the ephemeral sights. Even the videos that present a story downplay or ironize it by means of parodying montages and abrupt accelerations. (García-Canclini, 1995:225). 196 Rojo and de Moura Almeida In this sense, the AMVs edited by Shinzo and Umika actually constitute a kind of ‘comment’ on the song and on the animes selected from their personal cultural ‘collections’. Their multilingual, multicultural and multimodal cultural capital is deployed and reconfigured, that is, ‘recollected’ (García-Canclini, 1995), in order to establish a dialogue between the worlds of Western pop music and Japanese animation. For Shinzo to stand out in the AMV community and remain part of its elite editors, it is not enough to own a vast trance music and anime repertoire or to master dance editing techniques: he needs to make people cross worlds, not in a ‘random’ way, but appropriating and minimally reconfigur- ing the multiplicity of discourses, languages and semiosis that circulate in his community. With the crossover style in particular, for AMV viewers to assess and evalu- ate a specific production, they must, therefore, be able to re-establish the different syncs created by the author of the AMV and share (all or part of) the repertoire mobilized for production, which includes the scenes mentioned, the chosen song and the language in which the lyrics of the song was composed.

Shinzo’s Trajectory: Becoming Bilingual When asked about the role of English in the AMV scenario, Shinzo said that most AMVs are created from pop songs with lyrics in this language:

Tem bastante música em inglês. Mas é opcional, a gente não é obrigado editar só com música gringa, não. Veja, por exemplo, o trabalho de edição do Bruno, um AMV Br. [Shinzo mostra o AMV Apenas deixe chover. É fantástico, não é? Então . . . assim, é opcional, entendeu? Não é porque as músicas internacionais são geralmente em inglês que a gente tem que editar AMV usando elas necessariamente. Os franceses têm usado bastante a língua deles no seu trabalho, mas eles têm campeonatos muito importantes por lá . . . e têm muitos editores bem conhecidos e muito bons. [There are lots of songs in English. But it is optional; we are not required to only edit using gringo music. Look, for instance, at this work edited by Bruno, an AMV Br [a Brazilian editor] [Shinzo shows the AMV Apenas deixa chover—Just let it rain].10 It’s fantastic, isn’t it? So, it is optional, you see? It is not because international songs are usually in English that we must edit AMVs using them necessarily. The French have used their language a lot in their work, but they have very important championships there . . . and lots of well-known and very good editors.]

He then added the following remark:

Não é regra, não. Mas pra competição é melhor você utilizar música em inglês porque permite uma imersão melhor na comunidade. Eu costumo Anime Music Video Editing 197 dizer que desse jeito o pessoal entende melhor os nossos AMVs. O inglês, você sabe, é uma língua universal. Todo mundo sabe. [It is not a rule, no. But for competitions it is better to you use songs in English because they enable us to merge into the community. I usually say that this way people understand our AMVs better. English, you know, is a universal language. Everyone knows it.]

Shinzo stated that he was able to learn enough English to satisfactorily choose and edit songs in this language in his work. However, he emphasizes: Eu não sou bom no inglês, sabe? . . . Eu sei escrever um pouco, entendo tex- tos escritos em inglês, mas não falo nada! [I’m not so good at English, you see . . . I can write a little in English, I understand texts written in English, but I can’t speak at all!] This, however, has proven not to be an impediment for his involvement with the AMV community:

Eu, de certa forma, entendo a galera. Eu consigo usar o inglês, do meu jeito, pra trocar ideia com eles no Skype—isso digitando, claro. Con- verso com editores do mundo todo. Por exemplo, no meu Skype, tenho o DNA, o principal integrante do Soul Team, o principal grupo da França de AMVs: e a gente consegue trocar ideias. [I can, somehow, understand the guys. I can use English, in my own way, to exchange ideas with them on Skype—typing, of course. I interact with editors from all over the world. For example, on my Skype contact list, I have DNA, the main member of the Soul Team, the great French group of AMV: and we do manage to exchange ideas!]

Shinzo explained that during his formal education, he, like the vast majority of his colleagues and young people who grew up on the outskirts of Recife, had no time or financial conditions to become proficient in English:

Eu vim de baixo . . . Sempre tive de trabalhar, sabe? Não tinha tempo pra nada, entendeu? E na escola a gente não tinha um bom curso de inglês, não tinha nada disso não! As aulas de inglês eram aquela coisa . . . E eu não tinha condição de pagar um curso de inglês por fora. [I come from a lower-class family . . . I’ve always had to work, you know? I did not have any time to spare, you see? And at school we didn’t have good English classes, no way! English lessons were very poorly taught . . . And I just couldn’t afford to enroll in private, extra- curricular English courses.]

Shinzo reveals that, luckily, however, he managed to “pick up some Eng- lish” through his involvement with the AMV community. But, it is not as if he has uncritically embraced English—he has appropriated English, by recreating it (“I can use English, in my own way”), by using it, not in a ‘native-speaker manner’, but in a localized version of this language, as often happens in peripheral countries in the world. And it was his ability 198 Rojo and de Moura Almeida to use English compounded with his technical connoisseurship that made him stand out and become part of the elite group of AMV editors. Today, 28-year-old Shinzo can be considered a successful professional: he has his own design company and manages a site (www.nlstudio.com.br/) about Japanese pop culture news, a space that has become a benchmark of anime fans in Recife and among Brazilian AMV editors in general. Shinzo’s trajectory exemplifies the trajectories of quite a number of other young Brazilians we have come in contact with. Coming from the poorer outskirts of urban centers (Recife, São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro), many have resorted to new literacies and multilingual practices when participating in the AMV community. They have learned how to use video editing techniques which enables them to create AMVs with different ‘synchronicities’ between music, images and song lyrics. Meanwhile, they have also been able to creatively appropriate English, making it possible for them to have their work known and appreciated abroad.

Multilingualism and the AMV Community: Tensions Around Language Norms According to Ito (2012), since the.org was created, the site quickly became central to members of AMV communities around the world. It allowed participants from different countries to gather, share and comment on each other’s videos, encouraging the creations of new local communities and the emergence of new editors, while enabling the most experienced editors to compete for recognition and visibility. This online scenario, marked by diversity (with fans and editors based in different countries, having different cultural references and speaking different languages), provides firm evidence that, as Leppänen and Peuronen (2012:389) have observed, the Internet is not only a “translocal affinity space”, but also “a linguistic contact zone in which multilingual resources and repertoires can turn out to be crucial capital for successful communication, action and interaction”. In Leppänen and Peuronen’s (2012) terms, communities such as these, participants need to find and use a ‘lingua franca’, a language that they can assume with relative assurance that other participants also know and are able to use. At the.org, its members appear to have established that English will work as their ‘lingua franca’. However, this tacit agreement is sometimes disputed, as we shall see in an interaction that occurred in a discussion forum about the 2016 AMV ROULETTE championship.11 During the first phase of AMV ROULETTE 2016, a Russian AMV editor, Kemaxto20, asks questions about some of the procedures and regulations of the competition. He addresses his questions to the other forum participants in Russian and promptly receives a warning from a German publisher, BloodCurse, in a post also written in Cyrillic (English translations have been provided in square brackets):12 Anime Music Video Editing 199 BloodCurse: пишите на английском языке, некоторые люди могут не русский. . . [Write in English, some people don’t understand Russian . . .] Kemaxto20: Я не знаю английского языка [I dont know English] BloodCurse: ой . . . [Oh . . .] Есть несколько проблем с русским, но, пытаясь узнать [I’ve lots of problems with Russian, but I try to learn it] Nya-chan Production: https://translate.google.com/#ru/en Это достаточно хорошо для этого типа разговора. [https://translate.google.com/#ru/en. This is enough for this kind of talk] Kemaxto20: google.translate переводит очень плохо и я потом не могу понять что там было написано [google. translate translates very badly and then I cannot understand what is written here . . .] BloodCurse: давайте теперь остановить [Let’s stop] Ilaghu: I’m new here, is this Ruassian discussion normal in the threads? Im confused, isnt English mandatory in forums? Radical_Yue :Just clarifying a couple things real quick ~ English is not required. Amai Eli: Ayee, so any language is good. I’ll start replying to everyone in broken Japanese then. Radical_Yue: You are no longer welcome in my house. Amai Eli: どうして?? [Why??]

What is at stake in this interaction is more than simply a matter of language choice per se: language choice, as argued by Leppänen and Peuronen (2012:390), is often used, as in this case, as “a semiotic strategy through which participants seek to distinguish themselves and to create voices of their own in a multilingual setting”. Language choice, they add, can, thus, serve as a resource “for the negotiation of identity and communality”. The Russian participant, Kemaxto20, refuses to accept that his first language is a ‘useless’ language in this online community, despite the fact that BloodCurse urges him to resort to English, the only ‘useful’ language, from BloodCurse’s perspective, in this context. Even after Nya-Chan Production encourages Kemaxto20 to use Google Translator to help him overcome his difficulties, he states that he does not intend to adopt this tool. Kemaxto20, therefore, rejects the supposed hegemony of English at the.org and reaffirms the legitimacy of his identity as a ‘Russian speaker’ in its discussion forum. This seems to annoy BloodCurse to the extent that he, then, concludes his interaction with Kemaxto20 (“Let’s stop”), which, combined with his use of the embarrassed emoji face—to express his feelings when Kemaxto20 stated 200 Rojo and de Moura Almeida that he did not know English, serves to disqualify the Russian participant as a legitimate member of the community. Multiliteracy practices, such as these, are indeed social practices and, as such, they are bound up with the construction of assymetrical power relations (Cope and Kalantzis, 2000). If, in this interaction, we see initial efforts at exercising agency (Kemaxto20), we also see at play attempts at establishing dominance and social control (BloodCurse). After Ilaghu, another participant, appearing to be confused by the fact that Russian is being used as the language of interaction, asks everybody if English is not mandatory in this specific discussion forum, Radical_Yue, the forum mediator and one of the organizers of AMV ROULETTE, aligns with Kemaxto20’s position, and promptly replies: “English is not required”. Her statement is followed by a sequence of jocular comments by Amai Eli mocking the possibility of posting in “any language”. We can see, in some of the contributions to the interaction we have analyzed, a parallel between the expected use of English in the forums and the advantages of editing AMVs with songs in English, a feature that, according to Shinzo, is supposed to ensure a certain ‘universality’ to AMVs and a ‘better understanding’ of what was intended by the choice of lyrics. But we can also see, in this same interaction, that this norm is called into question at times. It is also interesting to notice the conflicting representations of who constitutes a ‘legitimate language user’ that emerge in this interaction. While implicit in Amai Elis’ ironical statement—“Ayee, so any language is good. I’ll start replying to everyone in broken Japanese then”—is the notion that English is the proper language to be used in the forum, this contributor also seems to believe that it has to be used properly in this context. This goes against Nya- Chan Production’s assumption that ‘faulty’, ‘less than perfect’ usages of Eng- lish, such as the ones resulting from the use of Google Translator, are equally valid; they are ‘enough for this kind of talk’. In other words, she seems to be telling Kemaxto20 he is allowed to also use English ‘his own way’. In recent years, scholars researching multilingualism have been questioning the representation of languages as fixed and closed systems (see Makoni and Pennycook, 2012, or Canagarajah, 2013, for instance). They have moved towards an understanding of languages as sets of communicative resources circulating in ‘discursive spaces’ and whose meanings and values are socially constructed within specific social and historical conditions, a vision that both Shinzo and Nya-Chan Production seem to adopt. In the empirical data we have been discussing, the linguistic dominance of English in the Internet is challenged, either by the downright refusal to use it, as in the case of Kemaxto20, or by thinking of it as simply a set of resources that can be manipulated to suit communicative purposes, as suggested in Shinzo and Nya-Chan Production’s accounts. And, as often happens in Internet interactions (Leppänen and Peuronen, 2012), we have both adherence to and contestation of the ideology that places English, as a ready-made entity ‘owned’ by its ‘native speakers’, that should be celebrated as an essential tool for all people (Pennycook, 2000). Anime Music Video Editing 201 Brief Concluding Remarks As we have seen above, within the AMV scene, video editing is characterized by peculiarities and multiplicities. Research in this field needs to view and interpret video editing practice in this light. Fans of Japanese culture have historically resort to reconversion practices—an expression used by García-Canclini (1995)—to designate the strategic use of previous economic and symbolic resources in new contexts—and to video-clip language, by drawing on a plurality languages and formats13 to construct identities and to actively participate, not only within, but also outside the AMV community. Shinzo captures this point particularly well in the following extract from our interview with him. We therefore conclude the chapter with his words.

Hoje em dia, eu tenho clientes que eu nunca esperava ter. Eu construo sites. Eu edito vídeos, tenho um trabalho; eu sou freelance, mas eu tenho a minha própria empresa. Eu tenho um portfólio muito bom pra apresentar pros novos clientes no escritório. Tem sites que . . . se eu te mostrar, você nem acredita que foi eu que fiz. Eu até fiz curso de especialização em designer pra pegar uma certificação; um papel. Mas isso aí nunca serviu pra nada: esse papel pra mim nunca me ajudou em nada. O que serviu pra mim foi o meu trabalho, minhas apresentações e tudo o que eu já tinha feito na comunidade de AMV, entende? Hoje, o pessoal me chama de Shinzo. [Today, I have clients that I never expected to have. I build websites. I edit video, I have a job; I am freelance, but I own my own company. I have a very good portfolio that I present to new clients at the office. There are sites that . . . you would not believe that it was me who did them, if I showed [them] to you. I even took a designer specialization course to get certification: a piece of paper. But this was never useful: this piece of paper never helped me in anyway. What helped me was my work, my presentations and everything I have done in the AMV community, you know? Today, people call me Shinzo!]

Notes 1 According to the glossary of the Organization for Transformative Works, this type of production “takes something extant and turns it into something with a new purpose, sensibility, or mode of expression. Transformative works include but are not limited to fanfiction, real person fiction, fan vids, and fan art.” Orga- nization for Transformative Works, www.transformativeworks.org/?s=transfor mative+works+def&submit=Search (accessed 15 October 2016). 2 We are grateful to Rafael Alves Bezerra for kindly having given us permission to use the transcription of the interview we conducted with him, as well as the illustrations presented in this chapter. Raphael chose his username for the AMV community—Shinzo—from the Japanese animation Mushrambo. 3 The data presented here was drawn from an ongoing doctoral study by Eduardo de Moura Almeida entitled Anime Music Video (AMV), multiliteracies and new literacies. This study is being carried out in the Graduate Program in Applied Linguistics at the University of Campinas (UNICAMP), São Paulo, Brazil, under 202 Rojo and de Moura Almeida Dr. Roxane Rojo’s guidance and is funded by FAPESP (São Paulo State Founda- tion for Research Support). 4 We translated all of the extracts in this chapter from Portuguese to English. Our translations appear within square brackets. 5 [AMV] Aqua Satellite—Legendado PT-BR. www.youtube.com/watch?v= zNNMkHF2JPM (accessed 15 October 2016). 6 AMV Captivating. ANIMEMUSICVIDEOS.ORG. www.animemusicvideos.org/ members/amvvca/2012/ (accessed 05 October 2016). 7 AMV Around the World 480p. www.youtube.com/watch?v=d5AsVb5Mn1M (accessed 15 October 2016). 8 Unfortunately, Umika, the publisher, died in February 2016 (see: www.reddit. com/r/amv/comments/45rtj4/death_of_umika_sayoji/). 9 TheAnimeFaction-Umika-Steel Fenders www.youtube.com/watch?v= 8V3zP8NhGck (accessed 21 September 2016). 10 Available at http://bit.ly/2d4ez5v (acessed 15 November 2016). 11 This interaction has been edited for analytical purposes. The full interaction can be found at AnimeMusicVideos.org forum. UMIKA. http://goo.gl/0d9IVb (accessed 15 October 2016). One can find out the gender of each of the participants in their profiles at the.org (www.animemusicvideos.org). 12 We thank Nivaldo Santos for his generosity in translating the utterances in Rus- sian into English for us. 13 Some examples include: Action Video; Character Profile; Comedy Video; Dance Video; Dramatic Video and so on.

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Section V Internationalization and New Diversities in Higher Education Policies and Practices ‘On the Ground’

Introduction Affordances and Consequences of Internationalization in Higher Education: Lessons from Brazilian Case Studies

Feliciano Chimbutane

As part of today’s globalized world, higher education institutions have been reinventing ways to cope with this era of competition over scarce resources, interdependence and cross-fertilization. Global engagement has mainly been accomplished through internationalization processes, which include international student mobility, transnational education programs and international collaborative research. In principle, these processes are geared towards raising educational standards, promoting internal diversity, developing collaborative solutions to global problems and generating rev- enue (British Council, 2012). The two chapters in this section, “Portuguese as an Additional Language: Global Trends in Local Actions” by Margarete Schlatter and Pedro de Moraes Garcez, and “Narrating Lived Experiences from the Margins: The Voices of Two Undergraduate Students from the Democratic Republic of Congo at a Brazilian University” by Ana Cecília C. Bizon and Marilda C. Cavalcanti, discuss specific cases of internationalization policies and practices in Brazilian higher education institutions, drawing our attention to both affordances and consequences. As educators and researchers, Schlatter and Garcez (Chapter 13) discuss Portuguese as an Additional Language (PAL) programs in Brazil and show how the growing demand for Portuguese language skills has led to the creation and consolidation of a hub for a global PAL network at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS). In this chapter the discussion of PAL programs is framed within the wider context of globalization, increased transnational mobility, internationalization of higher education institutions, the increasing commodification of languages and international language policy in contemporary Brazil. The account offered in this chapter illustrates the link between language and economy. As a matter of fact, there is a close relationship between the international demand for Portuguese, particularly in Asia and Latin Amer- ica, and the status of Brazil as an emerging economy. Brazil has become an important economic market and the possession of Portuguese skills confers an advantage to potential competitors in that market. Since Brazil can afford to select the best international students, researchers and other professionals 208 Feliciano Chimbutane who wish to participate in educational and economic activities in the country, the government has institutionalized the Celpe-Bras certificate as one of the key mandatory requirements for access to that market. This accounts for the growing number of people from other nations who seek to learn Por- tuguese in a formal way. While recognizing the importance of the Brazilian market in the global expansion of Portuguese, it is also important to note that the Portuguese language dominated economic market extends to other countries where this is an official language. Take, for example, African contexts, such as Angola and Mozambique, where key resources such as oil and gas are being discovered. In fact, there are considerable numbers of people who learn Portuguese in Brazil, or through Brazilians programs, not because they want to participate in the Brazilian market but in other markets where Portuguese is the main vehicular language. Consistent with this international demand, the Portuguese language industry is expanding worldwide, including both language education and translation services. Brazil, and not Portugal, the former metropole, has been leading the global “commodification” of Portuguese, here understood as the perception of this language as a marketable asset (Heller, 2003, 2007; Heller and Duchêne, 2012). Schlatter and Garcez portray a set of educational initiatives being developed within the teacher education network steered from UFRCGS, which is keen to adopt dynamic and critical pedagogical orientations. This includes the attempt to avoid the adoption of neo-colonial and Western-centred view of Portuguese language teaching and teacher education. This orientation is particularly well illustrated in the last section of this chapter, where the authors discuss the teacher education program for Portuguese and Math- ematics teachers from African Countries where Portuguese is an Official Language (PALOP). Faced with the contradictions of monolingual Portu- guese educational policy and practice in a Creole-dominated Cape Verdean context, tutors and teachers, in this program, developed language-in-education approaches that included African languages and cultures as legitimate resources for teaching and learning. This sensitivity to sociolinguistic ecology in language education underscores the view of bi-/multilingualism as a resource (Ruíz, 1984) or as an “added value” (Heller and Duchêne, 2012), which is consistent with the contemporary global ethos around linguistic and cultural diversities. Bizon and Cavalcanti (Chapter 14) discuss the sociolinguistic and educational consequences of higher education internationalization programs, considering in particular the growing diversity of student populations in Brazil. The authors take the language as social practice and ideology approach (Heller, 2007; Martin-Jones, 2007) and positioning theory (Lan- genhove and Harré, 1999) to discuss the interactional experiences of two students from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) participating in an Exchange Program for Undergraduate Students (PEC-G) at one university in Brazil. The discussion shows how these two Africans, Mananga and Pinfo, are positioned as students with limited Portuguese proficiency and with Section V: Introduction 209 little prior knowledge, mainly by their Brazilian peers and by some professors. This positioning of African students clearly reflects the reproduction of power relations, discourses and ideologies which take standard Brazilian Portuguese, and associated Western-oriented culture, as the legitimate language and culture in the Brazilian context. However, given that the social and institutional order is interactionally (re)constructed, Pinfo found a way to intellectually challenge one of his professors. In a classroom episode, this professor asked Pinfo whether he knew a specific North American author. Understanding that the way the question had been asked indicated that the professor viewed him as someone outside the Western intellectual world, Pinfo replied to the professor with the defiant question: “Do you know Zamenga Batukezanga?” (a prominent Congolese philosopher). As Bizon and Cavalcanti (this volume) aptly interpret this, Pinfo’s response was “a challenge to naturalized stereotypes of African students, and as an assertion of the existence of other valuable knowledge resources, beyond western academic spheres” (p. 236). The attitudes and stances of Brazilian students and professors like the ones portrayed here undermine some of the desired outcomes of internationalization initiatives such as the PEC-G program—the development of intercultural competence and preparation of graduates to be resourceful global citizens (Jones et al., 2016). Pinfo’s account regarding lack of knowledge among Brazilian academics about the African continent and the Western, neo-colonial concept of internationalization adopted by many educators (de Wit, 2016) substantiate “the need for an intercultural training environment for academic staff” (Jones et al., 2016:3, and references therein). In order to foster the desired outcomes, host university communities, including local students and professors, need to be acquainted with the values, the ethics and the benefits of internationalization practice. In line with the point made above, research on the experience of Brazil- ian students who have participated in study abroad programs, and in Afri- can contexts in particular, could complement the revealing research insights provided in the chapters in this section. Among other things, such research could provide insights into the impact of those programs on Brazilian students’ intercultural competence and the extent to which they are contributing to change in the students’ perceptions and in their attitudes towards their expatriate peers in Brazilian institutions. As de Wit (2016) has noted, studies on internationalization in higher education have focused on outputs and quantitative targets and less on international and intercultural learning outcomes. By studying processes involved in the implementation of internationalization programs in Brazil, the chapters in this section have made a valuable contribution to current efforts to shift the focus towards documentation and critical analysis of the consequences of these programs. In that sense, in addition to generating knowledge, both studies have contributed to improving educational practice (Lincoln and Guba, 2003) in the context of internationalization. Indeed, 210 Feliciano Chimbutane this strand of research may contribute to “deepening of our understanding of what is needed to enhance the educational experiences of our students” (Jones et al., 2016:1). The studies in this section lead us to suggest that, given the increasing diversity of student populations in higher education, the planning and implementation of internationalization programs need to include the establishment of mechanisms that ensure inclusion, provision of language support, respect for students’ cultures and prior knowledge, and acceptance of other, non-Western, worldviews.

References British Council. (2012) The shape of things to come: Higher education global trends and emerging opportunities to 2020. www.britishcouncil.org/higher-education. pdf (accessed 19 April 2017). De Wit, H. (2016) Misconceptions about (the end of) internationalization, in: Jones, E., Coelen, R., Beelen, J. and de Wit, H. (eds.) Global and local internationalization. Rotterdam and Boston: Sense Publishers. Heller, M. (2003) Globalization, the new economy, and the commodification of language and identity. Journal of Sociolinguistics, 7(4): 473–492. ———. (ed.) (2007) Bilingualism: A social approach. London: Palgrave. Heller, M. and Duchêne, A. (2012) Pride and profit: changing discourses of language, capital and nation-state, in: Duchêne, A. and Heller, M. (eds.) Language in late capitalism: Pride and profit. New York: Routledge. Jones, E., Coelen, R., Beelen, J. and de Wit, H. (eds.) (2016) Global and local internationalization. Rotterdam and Boston: Sense Publishers. Langenhove, L. and Harré, R. (1999) Introducing positioning theory, in: Harré, R. and Langenhove, L. (eds.) Positioning theory: Moral context of intentional action. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Lincoln, Y. S. and Guba, E. G. (2003) Paradigmatic controversies, contradictions, and emerging confluences, in: Denzin, N. K. and Lincoln, Y.S. (eds.) The landscape of qualitative research: Theories and issues, 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications. Martin-Jones, M. (2007) Bilingualism, education and the regulation of access to language resources, in: Heller, M. (ed.), Bilingualism: A social approach. London: Palgrave. Ruíz, R. (1984) Orientations in language planning. National Association for Bilin- gual Education (NABE) Journal, 8(2): 15–34. 13 Portuguese as an Additional Language Global Trends in Local Actions

Margarete Schlatter and Pedro de Moraes Garcez

In this chapter, we present and discuss a range of Portuguese as an Addi- tional Language (PAL) programs with which we have been involved, both as educators and researchers. All the programs attest to the growing demand for PAL over the past two decades. After a brief historical overview, we introduce the Portuguese as an Additional Language Center (PALC) at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) and discuss how a growing demand for Portuguese language skills, particularly in Asia and Latin America, has allowed it to develop into the hub for an international PAL teacher education network. In addition, we describe an in-service teacher education program for primary and secondary teachers from multilingual African countries where Portuguese is the official language, and we discuss the specific challenges and outcomes of offering this program to teachers from Cape Verde. The increasing demand for Portuguese and the increasingly diverse backgrounds of the students are indicative of global trends and the intensification of mobility and diversity across the world. They are also the outcomes of Brazil’s attempts to stand as a regional power within the new globalized economy.

Portuguese as an Additional Language since the Inception of a Use-Based Language Proficiency Exam The teaching of Portuguese to speakers of other languages has expanded considerably in recent decades. Once a minor activity, it has grown into an institutionally recognized academic field in Brazilian higher education, with recent signs pointing to the emergence of a job market for Portuguese as an Additional Language experts (Zoppi Fontana, 2009). The growing demand for Portuguese stems from the increasing influx of international students, researchers, professionals, migrant workers, refugees and aid workers into Brazil as well as recent efforts by Brazilian universities to build an international ethos. Proficiency in Portuguese and knowledge about Brazilian cultures have come to be valued in educational contexts and in economic sectors, echoing Heller and Duchêne’s view that “we are witnessing the widespread emergence of discursive elements that treat language and culture 212 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez primarily in economic terms” (2012:3). This is an era when languages are seen as “commodities” and multilingualism means “added value”. An index of this trend is the number of applicants taking Celpe-Bras, the Brazilian Ministry of Education’s Portuguese language proficiency test created in 1994 (See Figure 13.1 below). Fewer than 200 people took the exam in 1998 and only at eight venues. More than 10,000 took it at 82 accredited institutions in 2015 (22 in Brazil and 60 in 30 countries in Africa, the Americas, Asia and Europe). A Celpe-Bras certificate is required for the admission of foreign nationals to Brazilian universities, and it is mandatory for recipients of around 800 scholarships granted each year by the Brazilian government to students in undergraduate programs (PEC-G, see Bizon and Cavalcanti, this volume) and graduate (PEC-PG) student exchange programs. It is also required of various professionals wishing to move to Brazil to work, for validation of higher education degrees awarded overseas, or accreditation through professional boards in areas such as chemistry, engineering, nursing, medicine and statistics. Multinational companies operating in Brazil have also been known to take it into account in their management of human resources, and Argentina’s Foreign Affairs Department requires it of its diplomats. Additional demands for the teaching of PAL in Brazil have their origins in different policies and programs: (1.) in educational policies and investment in affirmative action focusing on Deaf and Indigenous communities; (2.) in cooperation programs with neighboring countries that are aimed at inte- grating communities on both sides of the border with Brazil (see Morello, this volume; Pires-Santos, this volume); and (3.) in policies designed to strengthen Brazil’s relationships with Lusophone Africa, as we will discuss in detail later. More recently, as language issues have become increasingly

10343 10,000 9219 9136

7752 8,000 6861 5934 6,000 5011 4865 4359 3926 4141 4,000 3431 2920 3020 2640 2,000 1155 703 127 0

Figure 13.1 Celpe-Bras applicants yearly 1998–20151 Portuguese as an Additional Language 213 harnessed to the promotion of post-national economic expansion, PAL has become valuable both for global players securing a foothold in the large Brazilian consumer market as well as for Brazilian-based economic interests globally. Even if we are still grappling with the building of an understanding of the forces producing them, we perceive changes in language ideologies as taking place alongside these developments, that is, in those sets of “ideas with which participants and observers frame their understandings of linguistic varieties and map those understandings onto people, events, and activities that are significant to them” (Irvine and Gal, 2000:35). Portuguese is now being represented in new ways: as a transnational language in the service of contacts between people of different sociocultural backgrounds and nationalities, as a crucial resource for contemporary citizenship in Brazil, and, more recently, as a tool for advancing transnational interests in a globalized political economy. These changing views of Portuguese and the increasingly diverse demands for PAL have contributed to a growing need for teacher education professionals specialized in dealing with the teaching of the Portuguese language in various contexts of sociocultural diversity, and who are also at ease with contemporary communicative practices involving linguistic, cultural and discursive hybridization. Little provision existed 30 years ago to meet these demands as far as PAL teacher education was concerned, especially in terms of developing learning objectives, methods and materials that could meet the challenges. From pioneering efforts in the late 1980s, at the State University of Campi- nas (UNICAMP), and the University of Brasilia (UnB), today Portuguese is taught to speakers of other languages in most of Brazil’s more than 60 state- funded universities, in several private institutions of higher education, and in private language schools. Some universities have developed broader PAL education programs that include undergraduate, graduate and general studies course levels. Graduate programs associated with these institutions have produced a significant body of research on PAL education. In the next section, we introduce the PAL Center at UFRGS, a language teacher education center and the hub for a considerable international PAL network.

The Portuguese as an Additional Language Center (PALC) at the Federal University of Rio Grande Do Sul Created in December 1993, PALC (www.ufrgs.br/ppe) brings together a team of academic staff, graduate students (master’s and PhD levels), undergraduate student-teachers and research fellows, all working in PAL teacher education while offering a full PAL program spanning introductory to advanced level courses, in creative writing or Brazilian literature and cultures. The Center also develops and produces teaching materials and is actively involved in administering Celpe-Bras, including the training of 214 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez examiners. The fields of study represented at ALCP include: classroom and distance learning, language assessment, language policy, teacher education and teaching materials development. Teaching activities at PALC started in 1994 with a group of only five foreign students. Today the Center offers PAL instruction to over 200 students every semester, totaling around 3,500 hours of classroom and online instruction each academic year to groups of 5–18 students. The influx of international students increased substantially between the 1980s and the 2000s, first from East Asia, mostly through Chinese and South Korean university partnerships, and then from African, Caribbean and Latin American nations qualifying for the Brazilian Government’s higher education PEC-G and PEC-PG scholarships (for study at universities in Brazil). The steady flow of grantees was a key reason for the establishment of the Language Center. In the course of its development, PALC evolved its own teaching rationale, following trends in language education and pedagogies akin to Project Based Learning (Hernández and Ventura, 1998). Examples of final products developed by students in PALC course projects include:

• Vistas on Porto Alegre, a series of video reports on topics such as the city residents’ passion for soccer, the churrasco (barbecue) and mate (tea-drinking) traditions, hidden city corners, and so on, • Radio Web, a collection of radio podcasts on Brazil-China relations and contrasts, including Mandarin classes for Brazilians (http://radiodoppe. blogspot.com/), • “A walk along Han Guk Avenue” Fair, a cultural fair designed to introduce staff and students at the university to Korean culture.

Some projects have matured into standing PALC programs, such as the Lecture series about the students’ country of origin, Storytelling based on African, Brazilian and East Asian folk stories, and drama performances involving sketches and plays written or adapted by the students. These performances have become so successful that students have been invited to perform at venues across the university and beyond, in book fairs and schools. This, in turn, has unfolded into a program of visits to schools where PALC students meet with lively audiences of Brazilian interlocutors. Since 2012, an annual PALC Cultural Fair has been taking place to display and disseminate many of these student productions. Since 2013, Conexão PPE (PALC Connection), a newsletter serving as a vehicle for the students’ written production has been appearing online (https://jornaldoppe.wordpress. com/) and in printed editions twice a year. All of these projects, activities and media provide PALC students with favorable circumstances for both guided collaborative learning of significant content and genuine language use with real interlocutors through a wide array of discourse genres that require considerable language and Portuguese as an Additional Language 215 intercultural resources. They also provide ample opportunity for hands-on teacher education, along with constant, systematic reflection, as described in the next section.

PALC as a Language Teacher Education Arena In addition to formal research conducted by PALC investigators, weekly PALC Teacher Education Seminars bring together around 30 teaching staff and researchers to study and discuss learning and teaching practices, and to design, construct and critique teaching materials, along with student and teacher assessment criteria and instruments. The initial and in-service training of PALC teacher fellows is also carried out through a mentoring system in which novice teachers meet regularly with more experienced colleagues to review and discuss their practice. This is premised on the understanding that the success of any teaching endeavor is a result of extensive training through constant reflection in and on practice (Schön, 1983), along with collective action. Conceived as a laboratory for learning and teaching, PALC teacher education provision underscores the need to strive for:

• enjoyment of a lesson well taught, • listening to the student/teacher in search for teaching practices that are sensitive to local demands, • focusing teaching goals around literacy, intercultural and language education, • creating spaces for the use of Portuguese aimed at social participation across complex contemporary societies, • valuing student/teacher experience and investing in their potential, • building collaborative teaching methods and student/teacher learning practices.

In sum, everyone teaches and everyone learns. Indeed, PALC has been meeting demands far beyond its local university setting, and PAL teacher education courses have been offered to various institutions in Brazil and abroad. Brazilian language centers across South America and abroad have relied on PALC for teacher education support in various modes of exchange, ranging from short-term courses taught by PALC staff or internships at PALC, to the hiring of PALC interns and graduates as teachers, materials developers and teacher trainers. More widely, PALC graduates have also been taking up positions in higher education around the world as lecturers under the sponsorship of Brazil’s Ministry of Education, at Aarhus University (Denmark), the Fundación Universitaria Del Área Andina (Colombia), the University of Pretoria (South Africa), the University of Manchester (UK), Harvard University and the University of Arizona (USA). Hankuk University in South Korea has continually hired 216 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez PALC-trained lecturers for 15 years, up to the present day. PALC has also hosted international scholars coming for graduate training at UFRGS who now hold academic appointments in universities in China and South Korea. Intense collaboration has also developed between PALC and other language teaching and language teacher education and research centers. A case in point is the collaboration with two teams at the Argentinian National Universities of Entre Rios (UNER) and Cordoba (UNC) in a joint project known as the Spanish and Portuguese Course for Exchange Students (CEPI). CEPI develops online courses in Portuguese as an Additional Lan- guage and in Spanish as an Additional Language specifically for exchange students getting ready to attend these universities (see CEPI-Portuguese/ UFRGS at www.ufrgs.br/cepi/). The three centers have also joined forces to design and offer a joint teacher education course for CEPI mediators and tutors. More recently, and partly as a result of the expertise gained from CEPI, PALC was commissioned by the Brazilian Ministry of Health to develop a massive open online PAL course (MOOC) for Spanish-speaking medical doctors coming to work in Brazil under the Ministry’s Mais Médicos (More Doctors) Program. Expertise generated at PALC has also been applied in the design of language and literacy courses, and of language proficiency examinations for Deaf Brazilian Sign Language user students, and more recently Kaingang and Guarani speaking Indigenous students accepted at UFRGS through affirmative action programs. A further development in PAL education encompasses both language teaching and teacher education at the same time. The final section of this chapter describes an in-service teacher education program that involved both these dimensions. It was offered between 2008 and 2013 for primary and secondary education teachers from multilingual African nations where Portuguese is the official language.

The Language of Letters and Numbers Program The Language of Letters and Numbers Program, or PLLN (Programa Lin- guagem das Letras e dos Números) was a bold in-service teacher education program for public school teachers from multilingual African countries where Portuguese is an official language. Under the sponsorship of a con- sortium of Brazilian government agencies from the Ministries of Education, Foreign Affairs, and Science, Technology and Innovation, PLLN started out in 2008 with a single group of 40 secondary education Mathematics teachers from Cape Verde. It soon expanded to include groups of 48–60 secondary education (grades 7–12) teachers of Portuguese from Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Angola and São Tomé and Príncipe (2009–2013), groups of 60 primary school (grades 1–6) teachers from Guinea-Bissau (2011) and Cape Verde (2012–2013), and one group of 50 secondary education Science teachers from Cape Verde (2013). Portuguese as an Additional Language 217 The scope of the program can be best grasped when one considers that nearly all secondary school teachers of Mathematics and Portuguese in Cape Verdean public schools attended the program, or that 54 teachers from São Tomé e Príncipe took part in the program, a significant number of teachers from a country where the secondary school population is less than 20,000. The courses for Secondary School Portuguese teachers and Primary School teachers (in bold in Tables 1 and 2) were designed and run by means of teamwork. Drawing on the expertise developed at PALC, all of these courses were conceptualized as opportunities for participants to experience intensive numeracy and literacy education in Portuguese as well as hands- on reflection-in-practice during the production of cultural and educational materials. Each course ran for four consecutive weeks, during which subgroups of 24–30 teachers took part in weekly modules of thematically organized academic activities and in cultural activities and guided tours. This involved approximately 190 hours of instruction. All courses took place in hotels in Fortaleza, Brazil, where the teachers and many of the teacher-educators were also staying. This made for intense conviviality and cooperation, and prompt expression of grievances and their handling.

Table 13.1 PLLN teachers by year of participation and teaching level

Primary Secondary Secondary Secondary Sum Portuguese Mathematics Science

2008 40 40 2009 48 48 96 2010 50 50 100 2011 60 50 50 160 2012 60 75 75 210 2013 60 110 100 50 320 Sum 180 333 363 50 926

Table 13.2 PLLN teachers by country of origin and subject matter (2008–2013)

Secondary Secondary Secondary Primary Sum Mathematics Science Portuguese

Angola 102 62 - 164 Cape Verde 220 50 230 120 620 Guinea-Bissau 12 12 60 84 Mozambique 2 2 - 4 São Tomé and 27 27 - 54 Príncipe Sum 363 50 333 180 926 218 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez The PALC experience presented and discussed above had been applied previously in teacher education programs for teachers of Portuguese from Argentina. This experience proved to be critical in this larger transcontinental enterprise. While PLLN courses were not officially framed in such terms, much of the rationale behind their conception and implementation related to Project Based Learning (Hernández and Ventura, 1998), and could be also seen as being attuned to what is referred to in the Applied Linguistics literature as Content and Language Integrated Learning (CLIL) or Content-Based Instruc- tion (CBI) (Cenoz, Genesse and Gorter, 2014). The various weekly modules led to the production of tangible materials, selectively illustrated below. We made every effort to avoid the (neo-)colonizer’s model of the world (Wiley, 2006) while recognizing, however, that we were proposing and leading the discussions, from a Brazilian sponsor/host, teacher-educator, higher education perspective. We thus took an ethnographic perspective to teacher education (McCarty, 2011), striving to privilege our African colleagues’ perspectives so as to elicit their views and generate reactions to what we showed them during class discussions and to encourage them to elaborate on their views and reactions in written and oral discourse in the form of final products. As part of this, teachers were initially invited to reflect on their own first encounters with letters and numbers, with schooling and with reading and writing, which for most meant facing written culture and Portuguese as the language of instruction, often under conditions of hardship. This led to the production of booklets with collections of texts and illustrations of their memories of literacy and numeracy learning. Many of these accounts included experiences of trauma and violence, but also included memories of key role models who had showed them ways to understand and value literacy. In addition, all groups were introduced to literary accounts of such early educational encounters and had the chance to browse catalogues of publishing houses in anticipation of guided tours of large bookstores where they could also buy books of their choice. Usually around the same time, the secondary school teachers of Por- tuguese were challenged to formulate objectives for Portuguese language teaching in their respective countries, and to collectively locate Portuguese in the broader sociolinguistic landscapes of their multilingual societies. This typically led to the design of each group’s infographic representation of their society as a sociolinguistic market2 (Bourdieu, 1998). As simple visual representations of complex phenomena and concepts, infographics communicate ideas visually, clearly and concisely, but can be quite complex to create collectively, especially when dealing with sensitive issues, and so our discussions produced a great deal of shared knowledge. The African teachers and the Brazilian teacher educators were learning through this part of the program. It also allowed the teachers themselves to display, compare and contrast diverse views regarding sociolinguistic realities, especially those reflecting their own country’s sociolinguistic landscapes. In this way, different language ideologies emerged for collective inspection. Portuguese as an Additional Language 219 Deliberation of details for infographic representation served as ‘concrete’ props for inter-subjective reflection. This activity often involved charged political and pedagogic position-taking regarding the purposes and goals of language education in various multilingual societies where Portuguese is the dominant official language of instruction. In the case of Cape Verde,3 where most of the teachers participating in the program taught, discussions emerging during this activity challenged the language ideology of stable diglossia, prevalent in academic and official discourse. For example, during program meetings, it became clear that Cape Verde Creole (CV Creole) is the language of spoken interaction during class evaluation meetings (conselhos de turma), when the teachers and counselors involved with a particular year group consider the students’ academic performance and general demeanor to make decisions regarding student grades, penalties and so on. This theme emerged slowly during our first discussions in 2009, and subsequently became a starting point for debating the pedagogic value of enforcing a strict monolingual regime in the Portuguese language classroom. The Cape Verdean teachers agreed that this often results in student silencing and aversion to Portuguese language education. The participants’ jointly agreed account of the centrality of CV Creole in social life in Cape Verde led them, at a given stage, to doubt whether Portuguese was necessary after all. However, distinctions made between written, spoken and grammatical standards in Portuguese, and their prevalence locally, led to a discussion of a variety of positions regarding dialectal variation in CV Creole, as well as the trials and tribulations involved in standardization, and prospects for actual development of a written standard for CV Creole that could be used for administrative purposes and the functioning of the Cape Verdean state. This laying out of sociolinguistic and language ideological issues opened up an understanding of the need to look more closely at actual speech events and at situated language practices, to take account of people’s sociolinguistic repertoires and to identify situations where our shared ‘colonial language’ was called for—in one modality or other—as the repository of language resources of choice or preference beyond the (Portuguese) language classroom. The centrality of written Portuguese for the accomplishment of fully-fledged Cape Verdean citizenship, for access to knowledge and information, as well as specific genres and registers of spoken and written Portuguese required in specific social and institutional spaces enabled the course participants to build a critical understanding of the place of Portuguese in Cape Verdean life. A recurring question confronting teachers working in Cape Verde was: Ami e kabuverdianu, pa kuzé kim mesti purtuges? [“I am Cape Verdian, what do I need Portuguese for?”]. Our discussions leading to the development of the teachers’ infographic representations of the sociolinguistic landscape in Cape Verde served to legitimize the student question, which could then be understood in a new light as something other than a challenge or threat to teacher authority, and the infographic itself served as prop 220 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez for producing a reflective and informed answer, which required more than simply restating the official status of Portuguese. For example, use of CV Creole alongside Portuguese, to teach Mathematics, came to be recognized as a widespread classroom-based communicative practice. The secondary school teachers of Portuguese found out that their Mathematics teacher colleagues at the nearby hotel routinely did this, so righteous disapproval of it was reframed. This reflection on the sociolinguistic realities in Cape Verde led to an examination of the proposal (by a specialist in the teaching of Portuguese) that “the purpose of Portuguese language education is to grant access to literacy and develop literate discourses” (Britto, 1997:14). We identified occasions where different genres and registers of Portuguese were called for and listed them. This enabled us to see how these uses of Portuguese were connected to public discourses and to the production and use of different kinds of texts. We also identified, with the teachers, social and institutional spaces where spoken interaction or oral performance required a repertoire beyond CV Creole, so Portuguese language education came to be seen by the teachers as more than mere compliance with official national policy and teacher training programs. The notion that Portuguese might be the primary medium of literate discourses in Cape Verde was debated and led to discussion about the adoption of CV Creole as an official language. Providing an opportunity for public and professional discussion of language ideologies in this language teacher education arena enabled our Cape Verdean colleagues to develop their awareness of issues relating to developments in Cape Verdean language policy (Torquato, 2011). These introductory modules served as a means to get acquainted with the teachers’ language ideologies and engage in dialogue with them (Britto, 2004; Faraco, 2008). It also enabled us to fine-tune and frame the activities in the subsequent modules, which focused on the use of Portuguese language resources to do things, right there and then, such as composing texts, designing and producing plans and materials for learning projects and teaching materials. The final products for the secondary school teachers of Portuguese courses included:

• Collections of literacy and numeracy memoirs by participants, • CDs of songs composed and performed by the participants, • Travel reports with accounts of encounters with literacy and numeracy in Fortaleza, Brazil, • Guidelines and practical ideas for the teaching of reading, • Infographic representations of local sociolinguistic markets, • Design, production and performance of closing ceremonies and talent shows.

To accomplish all of this, teachers were involved in producing texts in various genres for specific groups of readers. There was also an emphasis on Portuguese as an Additional Language 221 the presentation of the texts. For example, the books and the collections of memoirs required design, production and multiple revisions, not only of the memoirs featured there, but also of front and back covers, introductions, tables of contents and so on. As is often the case in Project Based Instruc- tion, the final products displayed only a fraction of all the learning that took place. Moreover, teachers were constantly engaged in discussing amongst themselves and with us how what we were doing did or did not connect with their everyday personal, professional and institutional realities. While adjustments and improvements were being made to the original secondary teacher courses, we took on the even bigger challenge of designing these courses for primary school teachers from Guinea-Bissau (2011) and Cape Verde (2012–2013). For these new courses, early childhood educators joined our team, and all modules were devised with a joint literacy and numeracy framework in mind. Most were taught in tandem by teams of Language and Mathematics teacher educators. Teacher participants were invited to engage in collective reading, discussing, solving and explaining mathematical problems stemming from everyday life situations—including their own experience in Brazil, as recorded in writing during their first weeks in Fortaleza—to inform the production of collective, fictional journey logs. They were then asked to draft their own mathematical problem situations, submit them to teams of colleagues, who would review them as candidates for inclusion in a textbook of Mathematics to be used with their students. This involved reading and understanding fellow teachers’ accounts of problems, solving them and producing oral and then written demonstra- tions of one or more rationales for solving the mathematical problems featured in the situation. In later modules, the teachers discussed what they had accomplished during the previous weeks and produced written guidelines to systematize their own work while guiding fellow teachers in further work with the materials they had produced as well as in designing new literacy and numeracy projects to be performed with their students. Needless to say, activities such as these provided concrete examples of what was meant by granting access to literacy and developing literate discourses. As in all PLLN courses, teachers were given copies of the material that they themselves had produced. Final products for the primary school teachers’ PLLN courses included, among other things:

• Collections of the participants’ childhood and schooling memoirs, • Collections of traditional Guinea-Bissau stories for Brazilian children, with companion DVDs of stories performed orally, • A teachers’ handbook of traditional games played by children in Guinea- Bissau and Brazil involving literacy and numeracy, with a companion DVD of games being performed, • A local newspaper’s child supplement featuring reports of life in Guinea- Bissau for Brazilian children, 222 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez • Catalogues and reviews of Brazilian children’s books for CV teachers, • Collections of chronicles (a Brazilian literary genre), • Collective journey logs featuring mathematical problem situations, • Mathematical textbooks of problem situations and their various resolutions, • Teacher handbooks for exploring the journey logs and Math textbooks, and designing new learning projects, • Collection of project ideas, lesson plans and assessment rubrics, • Design, production and performance of closing ceremonies and talent shows.

The program was suspended in 2014 due to the logistical difficulties posed by the scheduling of the soccer World Cup games in Fortaleza, and it was then discontinued because of budgetary cuts resulting from the severe political and economic crises in Brazil since then. Still, to judge from the comments we still get from teacher graduates, it made a lasting impression on their outlook as language educators and on the language teaching practices of many of them. We know for sure that we were changed forever by our encounter with the wealth of knowledge our African colleagues shared with us about the challenges they faced in their work and by the ways in which they helped us to develop ways of turning our PALC expertise to take account of the specific sociolinguistic landscape in which their schools were located.

Global Trends in Local Actions Considerable benefits accrued from engaging students and teachers in the essentials of Project Based Learning (Larmer, Mergendoller and Boss, 2015) of the type described above: posing authentic challenging questions, conducting sustained inquiry, fostering and valuing learner’s voice and choice as to the products to be developed, the resources to be used and their working dynamics, creating plenty of opportunities for reflection, constructive critique and revision, and developing a product to be shared publicly. By getting students and teachers engaged in working in these ways and by fostering the social dimension of learning, it is possible to create an environment for the development of learning communities where all participants collaborate in joint activities, using Portuguese language resources and discussing what is being learned, how it is learned, and how one’s performance can be improved taking account of the standards the group wishes or needs to achieve. By presenting the ways in which the PALC has been meeting the growing demand for PAL education and the ways in which we began to establish a PAL teacher education network, our intention has been to show how local actions, in local, critically conceived teacher education programs that take account of language ideologies, can create spaces for shaping language Portuguese as an Additional Language 223 policy processes, and specifically the role of teachers in these processes. By sketching out the broader context in which PAL developments on both language learning and language teacher education fronts, our intention has also been to bring to the fore some contemporary socioeconomic aspects of Brazil’s conspicuous presence on the world stage, both as the target of international attention as a consumer market and as a provider of higher education to nations in the global south, and as an active seeker of influence as an aspiring regional leader. Given this wider scenario, our work has been guided by an informed and critical approach to PAL education. We believe that this is the key to avoiding neo-colonial traps along the way.

Notes 1 Adapted from Celpe-Bras — www.ufrgs.br/acervocelpebras/estatisticas/numero- de-examinandos-1/view (accessed 15 July 2016). 2 Following Bourdieu (1998), Bortolini, Garcez and Schlatter (2015:163) defined a sociolinguistic market as “an arena for social action where interrelated sets of linguistic and expressive practices, of symbolic or instrumental nature, are associated with economic value, thus shaping unequal linguistic repertoires for social action and competitive appropriation of material resources. Social actors in different groups are positioned by political and economic forces in ways that result in attraction to certain forms of expression and linguistic action and in rejection, or at least indifference, to others”. 3 Cape Verde is a nation-state of about 550,000 inhabitants scattered over an archipelago some 600 km off the coast of West Africa. Originally uninhabited, it was settled in the late 1400s by the Portuguese and the forced laborers brought from continental Africa, who later developed their own creole languages, now forming what is known as Cape Verdean Creole, spoken throughout nine islands of the archipelago.

References Bortolini, L. S., Garcez, P. M. and Schlatter, M. (2015) Language practices and identities in transit: Spanish and Portuguese in everyday life in a Uruguayan school community near the border with Brazil, in: Moita Lopes, L. P. (ed.) Global Portu- guese: Linguistic ideologies in late modernity. London: Routledge. Bourdieu, P. (1998) A economia das trocas linguísticas: o que falar quer dizer [Lan- guage and symbolic power]. 2nd ed. São Paulo: EDUSP. Britto, L. P. L. (1997) A sombra do caos: Ensino de língua X tradição gramatical [The shadow of chaos: Language teaching vs. grammatical tradition]. Campinas, SP: Mercado de Letras/ALB. ———. (2004) O ensino escolar da língua portuguesa como política linguística: ensino de escrita x ensino da norma [Portuguese language teaching in schools as language policy: teaching writing vs. teaching the standard]. Revista Internacional de Linguística Iberoamericana, 2(1), 119–140. Cenoz, J., Genesse, F. and Gorter, D. (2014) Critical analysis of CLIL: taking stock and looking forward. Applied Linguistics, 35(3): 243–262. Faraco, C. A. (2008) Norma culta brasileira: Desatando alguns nós [Standard Bra- zilian Portuguese: Untangling some knots]. São Paulo: Parábola. 224 Schlatter and de Moraes Garcez Heller, M. and Duchêne, A. (2012) Pride and profit: changing discourses of language, capital and nation-state, in: Duchêne, A. and Heller, M. (eds.) Language in late capitalism: Pride and profit. New York: Routledge. Hernández, F. and Ventura, M. (1998) A organização do currículo por projetos de trabalho [Curriculum organization through work projects]. Porto Alegre: Artmed. Irvine, J. T. and Gal, S. (2000) Language ideology and linguistic differentiation, in: Kroskrity P. V. (ed.) Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities, and identities. Santa Fe: School of American Research Press. Larmer, J., Mergendoller, J. R. and Boss, S. (2015) Setting the standard for Project Based Learning. Alexandria, VA, USA: ASCD. McCarty, T. L. (ed.) (2011) Ethnography and language policy. New York: Routledge. Schön, D. A. (1983) The reflective practitioner: How professionals think in action. New York: Basic Books. Torquato, C. P. (2011) As políticas linguísticas oficiais em Cabo Verde pós-inde- pendência: a construção da nação [Official language policies in post-independence Cape Verde: The construction of a nation]. Letras, 21(42), 151–184. Wiley, T. G. (2006) The lessons of historical investigation: Implications for the study of language policy and planning, in: Ricento, T. (ed.) Language policy: Theory and method. Malden, MA, USA: Blackwell. Zoppi Fontana, M. G. (2009) O português do Brasil como língua transnacional [Brazilian Portuguese as a transnational language]. Campinas, SP, Brazil: Edi- tora RG. 14 Narrating Lived Experiences from the Margins The Voices of Two Undergraduate Students from the Democratic Republic of Congo at a Brazilian University

Ana Cecília C. Bizon and Marilda C. Cavalcanti

Our aim in this chapter is to focus on the narratives of two Congolese students regarding their experience with PEC-G—Programa de Estudantes Convênio de Graduação [Exchange Program for Undergraduate Students]. PEC-G is a Brazilian government cooperation program with other developing countries (from Latin America, Africa and Asia). We have chosen to focus on this cooperation program because it provides a way of looking at the way in which internationalization policies and programs—framed within the wider contemporary context of globalization—actually work ‘on the ground’. The data presented here come from a larger study (Bizon, 2013) conducted with a group of students from the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), who studied Portuguese in a state-funded public university in São Paulo, Brazil, as prospective PEC-G participants, and who later became undergraduate students at the same university. The research was ethnographic in nature: the data gathering involved participant observation and the audio- recording of extended conversations with the research participants. During these conversations, the participants were asked to recount some of their lived experiences as students at this particular university in Brazil. The data analysis stage involved narrative analysis of the type developed by Thread- gold (2005), along with analysis of other ethnographic and textual data. The study aimed at “building understanding about social problems in which language has a central role” (Moita-Lopes, 2006:14). It also assumed an ethical and political commitment to acknowledging the voices of those who are frequently silenced (Cavalcanti, 2006). In this chapter, our specific interest is in the students’ accounts of: (1.) the ways in which they navigated the new institutional spaces in which they found themselves; (2.) the ways in which they were positioned by others and the self-positionings they assumed; (3.) the ways in which they dealt with racist and exclusionary practices; and (4.) the ways in which social and linguistic boundaries were constructed. 226 Bizon and Cavalcanti The chapter is organized into three main sections as follows: the first section considers, in the light of globalization, the emergence of policies and programs in Brazilian universities that are aimed at internationalization and cooperation (see also Schlatter and Garcez, this volume). The second section points to the lines of theory-building that we have been developing and outlines the empirical approach adopted by Bizon (2013) in the study she conducted with students from the DRC based at a university in Brazil. The third section presents insights gleaned from research with two of the students who participated in the study. These three main sections of the chapters are then followed by our final remarks.

A Changing Global Context and Moves toward Internation- alization and Cooperation in Brazilian Universities Mobility, with its crossings and connections, has been characterized as a significant means of constructing both physical and symbolic territories in the new space-time woven by postmodernity. Facilitated by the advance in information and communication technologies, the creation of new types of physical and virtual connections have transformed our comprehension of the geographical and territorial dimensions of identity. It is within this global scenario that the internationalization processes of universities are being inserted. Universities are seeking recognition, prestige and visibility as forms of symbolic capital as they put in place policies to consolidate their positioning within the globalized knowledge economy. Following Wallerstein (1984) and Santos (1985), Brazil can be viewed as a semipheripheral1 country, within the new global order—one that is endeavoring to achieve greater visibility and prestige. The country has been trying to develop internationalization programs for some time, especially for its public universities. Although this trend is relatively recent and not well coordinated, some internationalization programs have been implemented in ways that have generated prestigious international rankings. With this broader goal of internationalization in mind, Brazilian universities have also entered into a growing number of student exchange programs. They have offered two broad types of language classes: for Brazilians who want to study abroad and for foreign students arriving in the country. Brazilians planning to study abroad opt for languages such as English, French, Ger- man and Spanish. For foreign students coming to study in Brazil, the only option available is Brazilian Portuguese. The PEC-G Program is officially presented by the Government as the most important exchange program in the country. It has been in place for 50 years and, purportedly, its focus is on the knowledge which comes from outside the ‘center’. Moreover, at the core of the program is a statement of commitment to the ethically engaged purpose of acknowledging, as equal partners and interlocutors, people from nations that are not key players in the new global order, i.e. those who are not from nations that Wallerstein Narrating Experiences from the Margins 227 (1984) designated as “the central countries”. However, in reality, the coun- terpart of this investment in academic exchanges and the increasing moves towards recruitment of students from African, Asia and other countries in South America, is actually the consolidation of economic and cultural relations with partner countries and rather little mobility of Brazilian students to the universities of countries seen as peripheral. The cooperation/partnership programs which allow exchange students to come to Brazil are strictly regulated and their implementation is complex. For example, to become part of the PEC-G program, candidates have to have the CELPE-Bras Certificate2 demonstrating proficiency in Portuguese. They also have to prove they have funds to pay for their accomodation and subsistence in Brazil, and, in addition, they have to commit to not seeking paid employment. At the time when the fieldwork for this study was being developed, PEC-G candidates could take the CELPE-Bras proficiency examination in Brazil after taking a preparatory course for at least a year. This additional option constituted a significant addition to the students’ overall expenses. PEC-G keeps no official record of rates of dropouts and course failures, however, in the university which was the research site for this study, dropouts and course failures were most common among students from the African continent. Besides the above mentioned financial burdens, African students faced other difficulties, as our account below will show. These included isolation, exclusion, stereotyping of African students and overt discrimination and racism. In the specific context of internationalization, the PEC-G program in different Brazilian universities has been implemented by means of institutional links with particular universities in other countries, with the main aim of enhancing the flow of students. There is little coordination across the different universities involved in the program or between those involved in local management of the program. Moreover, there is no clearly defined language policy underpinning the program. Thus, in many universities, in the absence of explicit coordination via public policies and language policies, internationalization projects, such as the PEC-G program, are simply being driven by processes of neo-liberal globalization.

Research into the Workings of International Cooperation Programs ‘On The Ground’: Orienting Theories and Em- pirical Approaches For the Brazilian geographer Milton Santos (2000), aspects of globalization, such as internationalization policies and transnational mobilities, are dictated by vertical designs, led by people responsible for public and institutional policies. These vertical designs render invisible the horizontalities and the lived experiences of those who act and interact within particular institutions and who are constrained and regulated by those institutions. 228 Bizon and Cavalcanti However, as M. Santos (2000) has also pointed out, although globalization is marked by an undeniable hegemony, it is also a complex and multifaceted process. As vertical designs are constructed and as transnational mobilities create greater diversity within national and regional institutions (such as universities), new forms of resistance can arise and new voices can be heard, creating conditions for dialogue and for the exercise of agency. And, in turn, these acts of resistance, these new voices and new conditions for dialogue and agency can make way for another type of globalization, a less “perverse” one. As we see it, one way to lift the veil on contemporary horizontalities and the lived experiences of those caught up in transnational mobilities is to engage in detailed ethnographic research in specific local sites. Since our particular interest is in the implementation of university policies of internationalization and cooperation, and their consequences, the sites we select are primarily institutional in nature and our focus is on the interactions between people in different spaces within higher education institutions. For over a decade, research on language as practice and ideology (e.g. Fairclough, 2003; Threadgold, 2005; Heller, 2007; Duchêne and Heller, 2012) have shown us that interactions in institutional contexts are bound up with asym- metrical relations of power and contribute to the (re)production of power relations and ideologies. The imposition of particular institutional orders is, of course, accomplished—day by day—in and through interaction, either face to face or online. However, because institutional orders are constructed interactionally, there are always possibilities for exercising agency, for con- testing or resisting that order, or even modifying it. This tension between the imposition of a particular institutional order and challenges to it is played out through the acions and interactions of daily life and, as Langenhove and Harré (1999) have demonstrated, through diverse discursive positionings. Thus, in Bizon’s recent study of the PEC-G program in one university site in Brazil, the focus was on the interactional experiences of international students from the DRC who were enrolled in the program. She investigated the ways in which they were positioned in different institutional spaces and the discursive positions they assumed. Because these students were from Africa, in some institutional spaces and on some occasions, their positioning and their othering was of a distinctly racialized nature. Racialization involves discursive categorization of the Other as inferior/subaltern. The underlying metaphor for the concept would be that of ‘biologization’, that is adding judgemental status and values to physical/phenotypical characteristics which are then used to describe/position the Other. As Butler (2004:259) has observed, in the term racialization, “the emphasis is not social in a restricted sense but on a socially articulated imaginary, the specular production of racial expectations, and the visual estrangement and visceral workings of the racial signifier”. In order to foreground the voices and perspectives of the student participants, the analytic focus in Bizon’s research was on their own narrative Narrating Experiences from the Margins 229 accounts of their experiences. As shown in similar research by Threadgold (2005), the students’ accounts drew attention to spaces and positionings other than the ones anticipated. And, as we will show below, they focused more on experiences of exclusion, othering and racism than on inclusion and opportunities for exercising agency and appropriation (Lefebvre, 1986/1974) of learning spaces.

Narrating Lived Experiences and Positionings across Institutional Spaces In this part of the chapter, our focus is on the two young Congolese students who participated in the study. They were Mananga,3 a woman aged 21, a prospective PEC-G Nursing student, and Pinfo, a man aged 25, already a PEC-G student, who was attending the second year of an undergraduate course in Media Studies. Mananga spoke French, Lingala and Swahili and Pinfo spoke the four national languages of the DRC: Lingala, Swahili, Tshi- luba and Kikongo. We have decided to focus on these two students’ narratives because they had particular difficulties during their studies and because of the serious consequences of these difficulties. They were part of a group of students who did not succeed in completing their undergraduate courses. As members of the academic staff at a public university in southeastern Brazil, we had the opportunity to get to know these students well and to follow their trajectories as they took the Portuguese language course in preparation for the CELPE-Bras exam. The course was given by one of the authors of this chapter (Ana Cecília Bizon). After the end of this preparatory course, we kept in touch with them via frequent email exchanges and via individual conversations and interviews conducted face-to-face until 2010, when they were compelled to leave their respective undergraduate courses after failing too many courses. The excerpts presented in this section are drawn from two unstructured conversations which were audio-recorded. The conversation with Mananga took place after a Portuguese class and the conversation with Pinfo took place at the end of his second undergraduate year. In these conversations, both held in Portuguese, the main subject was the students’ lived experiences while enrolled in the PEC-G program. The main questions guiding the discussion in this part of the chapter are those set out in our introduction. These include the first overarching question: how did the two PEC-G Congolese students navigate the new institutional spaces in which they found themselves? The students’ accounts indicated that as they navigated these spaces they faced both ideological issues and social boundaries and they were positioned in diverse ways. We turn first to a conversation between Mananga and Ana Cecília Bizon, her Portuguese teacher. It should be emphasized that it took place before Mananga became an undergraduate student, while she was only dedicated to learning Portuguese. 230 Bizon and Cavalcanti Excerto 1 - “[Aqui no campus eles] são assim . . . não falam muito com os estrangeiros, principalmente com os negros.” 1 Mananga: Na sala de aula, só estou falando português. Estou me sentindo calma como se 2 fosse brasileira! Mas quando eu saio com meus amigos, nós falamos francês e lingala. 3 Isso faz com que eu volto no Congo! Esse momento eu sou congoles(a)! Mas quando 4 estou na sala de aula, eu falo só português, eu sinto que sou brasileira, eu discuto com 5 os amigos sobre qualquer assunto, eu discuto português, falo portu- guês! Mas quando saio, 6 eu falo outras coisas, outras línguas fora o português. Eu não falo muito com brasileiros . . . 7 Ana: Não? Você tem pouco contato com brasileiros? 8 Mananga: Quase nada! 9 Ana: Por que, Mananga? Por que você acha que aconteceu isso? 10 Mananga: Não tenho muitos amigos aqui porque aqui em (nome da cidade), 11 principalmente na (nome da universidade), (eles) são assim . . . não falam muito com os 12 estrangeiros,principalmente com os negros. Eles não vão dizer bom dia pra você! Eles não 13 vão falar nada! Acho estranho . . . Acho que é um dos elementos que fez com que não tenho 14 muitos amigos . . . 15 Ana: Então, a convivência na universidade é mais complicada? 16 Mananga: Hum, hum! 17 Ana: E na igreja? 18 Mananga: Ah, na igreja, não! A gente (é) muito, muito simpática! Con- versa muito, se 19 abraça. Na igreja, todo mundo é aberto, mesmo que não conheço! Ele vai tentar falar 20 alguma coisa pra você, ah, Deus te abençoe! O que que você tá fazendo aqui? Você é 21 brasileiro? É, ele tenta conhecer você! Ele tentar saber o que você tá fazendo (. . .), 22 quanto tempo você está aqui no Brasil, você tá gostando do Brasil? Ele tenta 23 saber mais! Mas na faculdade não é assim, ninguém tenta saber o que você está 24 pensando, o que você tá fazendo, quais as dificuldades que você tá encontrando 25 na sala de aula, não! Narrating Experiences from the Margins 231 [4Excerpt 1—“Here [on campus] people are like that . . . they don’t really address foreign students, especially if they are black.” (4 September 2008) 1 Mananga: In the classroom, I only speak Portuguese. I feel very relaxed (. . .) as if I 2 were Brazilian! But when I go out with my friends, we speak French and Lingala. This 3 makes me go back to Congo! At those moments I’m Congolese! When I am in the 4 classroom, I only speak Portuguese, I feel I am Brazilian, I discuss about any subject 5 with my peers, I even discuss the Portuguese language, I speak Portu- guese! But when I 6 go out, I speak about other things, I use languages other than Portu- guese. I don’t speak 7 much with Brazilians . . . 8 Ana: You don’t? Do you have any contact with Brazilians? 9 Mananga: Almost none! 10 Ana: Why is that, Mananga? 11 Mananga: I don’t have many friends here because here [name of the city], mainly at the 12 [name of the university], people are like that . . . they don’t really address foreign 13 students, especially if they are black. They never say good morning to you. 14 They never say anything to you! They never say anything! I find it strange . . . I think 15 it’s one of the reasons I haven’t made many friends . . . 16 Ana: Then you’re saying that socializing on the campus is more difficult? 17 Mananga: Yes. 18 Ana: How about in the church? 19 Mananga: Oh, in the church people are very, very nice! They talk to you, they hug each 20 other. At the church everybody is openhearted, even those I dont know are like that. 21 People try to say something to you like, God bless you! What are you doing here? Are 22 you Brazilian? They try to get to know you. They want to know what 23 you’re doing, how long you’ve been in Brazil, if you like Brazil. Yes, they try to get to 24 know you! They try to get to know more about you. But at the university, it’s not like 25 that, nobody gets near you or tries to find out what you’re thinking about, what you’re 26 doing, if you’re meeting any difficulties in the classes. Oh, no!] 232 Bizon and Cavalcanti In this conversation, Mananga narrated the experience of her life in different social and institutional spaces at the university, in Brazil. She made a clear distinction between the experiences she had in four different spaces in which this process was taking place: social spaces where she interacted with Congolese friends, and institutional spaces, such as the Portuguese language classroom, the campus as a whole and a specific institutional space outside of the university—a local Catholic church.5 Speaking of the institutional spaces at the university, Mananga compared the Portuguese classroom with other academic environments on campus. She said she identified with the language class where she had the opportunity to speak Portuguese in a calm, relaxed manner as if she were Brazilian (Lines6 1–2; 4–5). In lines 4–6, Mananga also indicated that she felt at ease in this class where she interacted with three Congolese peers and the teacher. Her choice of the verbs “discuss” (Lines 4, 5) and “speak/talk” (Lines 5, 6) indicated that she positioned herself in that environment as someone who had a voice and was heard in Portuguese. This positioning was so comfortable that she felt “Brazilian” (Lines 1–2, 4–5), and she felt included. The use of the indefinite pronoun ‘any’ in the statement “I discuss any subject with my peers” (Line 4–5) indexed appropriation of Portuguese as a means of self-expression and a means of constructing a space in this classroom where she could self-position as a legitimate interlocutor. In her narrative, Mananga covered a range of possibilities, from being able to speak about “any subject”, to dealing with metalanguage (“I even discuss the Portuguese language”, Line 5), thereby reaching a significant point of self-positioning as a new speaker of Portuguese (“I speak Portuguese!” Line 5). The environment outside the Portuguese classroom was, however, narrated as a space in which Mananga had little opportunity to speak Portu- guese (Lines 5–7). Ironically, her immersion in Portuguese took place much more within the limits of the classroom than in the other spaces of her daily life on campus. Mananga’s narrative demarcated language frontiers and a stark contrast between the different spaces in which she moved. In drawing out this contrast between her experience inside and outside the Portuguese class, Mananga formulated a sharp critique of the ways in which her life on campus, outside the class, was marked by isolation, exclusion and even prejudice. Her experience at church was narrated in a different way. She described people in the congregation as being “very nice” (Lines 19–20) and indicated that they showed interest in making some contact, even if it was only superficial (Lines 20–26). However, on campus, outside class, she noticed a colder mood that delimited socialization between Brazilians (students and local people) and foreign students, especially when the foreign students were black (Lines 12–13). In speaking about this particular on-campus experience, Mananga referred explicitly to the name of the city and the university7 and described them as segregating spaces where black people and, more specifically, black foreign students, were not acknowledged as legitimate Narrating Experiences from the Margins 233 interlocutors. When she compared the church and the university, she implied that there was lack of support for students like her from the higher education institution, saying: “nobody gets near you or tries to find out what you’re thinking about” (Line 25). Her emphatic tone and her categorical statement (using the term ‘nobody’) also implied critique and questioning of the circumstances in which she found herself. Earlier in her narrative, her repeti- tion of negative sentences (Lines 11–15) clearly conveyed her response to the experience of being excluded and being rendered invisible on the campus. In three of the spaces she traversed (the classroom, the overall campus and the church), the language of communication was Portuguese. The other languages [French and Lingala] that were part of Mananga’s linguistic repertoire were not used. In her narrative, the only moments when these other languages came into play were in her fourth space, in conversations during social encounters with other Congolese students at the university. The use of these languages was bound up with enactment of a Congolese identity. As Mananga put it: “At those moments I’m Congolese!” (Line 3). In Excerpt 2 below we present part of a conversation between Pinfo and Ana Cecília Bizon, his Portuguese teacher. It took place at the end of the second year of his undergraduate course, two months before he was compelled to leave the university due to the fact that he had exceeded the permitted number of course failures.

Excerto 2 - “ (. . .) eles nunca falam estudante ‘congolês’. Eles falam ‘africanos’. Aqui, você tem que provar o que você é!” 1 Pinfo: Aqui na universidade, eu tô me sentido muito triste. Você sabe que as pessoas têm 2 pouco conhecimento da África. As pessoas podem ter uma visão muito estereotipada de 3 você, estudante africano. Então, quando se fala de africanos, eles gener- alizam, eles nunca 4 falam estudante ‘congolês’. Eles falam ‘africanos’. O conjunto junta todo mundo como se 5 fosse uma espécie de pessoas. É um tipo de preconceito juntar o conjunto, ‘os africanos’. 6 Isso já inferioriza, já inferioriza . . . 7 Ana: É. . . 8 Pinfo: Aqui, você tem que provar o que você é! Por exemplo, assim, eu sempre falo que 9 aqui no Brasil estou completando o conhecimento, aqui não tô apren- dendo as coisas, 10 porque saí com conhecimento já . . . científico, lá do meu país . . . A universidade nos 11 desconsidera. Quando você chega, você encontra esse estereótipo que todo mundo tem da 234 Bizon and Cavalcanti 12 África: “ah eles têm conhecimento mesmo baixo . . . eles não estão de- senvolvido na área 13 técnica”. Alguns professores pode ter mesmo essa visão, esse prejuízo . . . Uma vez um 14 professor me perguntou uma coisa . . . “você conhece o tal ‘X’ ”? Eu disse: “Não, nunca 15 ouvi falar dele”. “Mas ele é muito conhecido, um americano”. Então perguntei pro 16 professor: “Você conhece Zamenga Batukezanga?” O professor me falou: “Eu não 17 conheço.” “Então, ele também é autor muito conhecido, autor africano muito conhecido!” 18 [Isso] significa que, hoje em dia, o ensino ficou uma coisa já padroni- zada, que você tem 19 que conhecer só x, y, algumas pessoas. Se você não conhece alguma bibliografia, você 20 não é uma pessoa científica ou você não é uma pessoa inteligente. Isso tá errado, né? O 21 mundo ocidental pega umas coisas e exclui outras que estão em outros lugares e esses 22 outros lugares estão sempre na periferia. O preconceito é não só racial é também 23 econômico, e nunca vai acabar! Nunca vai acabar!

[Excerpt 2—“Here they don’t refer to us as Congolese students, they say we are Africans. Here you [always] have to prove what you are!” (14 December 2010) 1 Pinfo: Here at the university I feel very sad. You know, people have little knowledge 2 about Africa . . . they may have a stereotyped view of you as an African student. Then 3 when people say Africans, they generalize, they never refer to Congolese students. They 4 say Africans . . . as a set, they put everybody together as if part of a species of people. 5 It’s a kind of prejudice when you generalize and say the Africans . . . this is like belittling, 6 belittling people . . . 7 Ana: Uhn . . . 8 Pinfo: Here you have to prove what you are! For example, I always say that I am 9 completing the knowledge (I already have) here in Brazil. When I left my country I had 10 already acquired scientific knowledge . . . The university looks down on us. When you Narrating Experiences from the Margins 235 11 arrive you face the stereotypes that everybody has about Africa: “they have little 12 knowledge, their technology is not developed.” Some professors do have this view, they 13 are prejudiced . . . Once, a professor asked me whether I knew X. I said: “No I’ve never 14 heard about him.” “But he is very well known, an American . . .” Then I asked the 15 professor: “Do you know Zamenga Batukezanga?” The professor said: “No I don’t 16 know him.” “Well, he’s also a very well kown African author!” You know, I think that 17 education has become standardized. There is a consensus that you have to know X and 18 Y, some specific authors. If you don’t know certain bibliographical references, you are 19 not considered a person with scientific knowledge or you’re not seen as being 20 intelligent. This is wrong, isn’t it? The occidental world selects some things and 21 excludes others. The exclusions always relate to other places and these other places are 22 always located in marginal countries, on the periphery. This prejudice is not only racial, 23 to economics and it’ll never end! It’ll never end!]

At first, Pinfo’s narrative seemed to be an opportunity to get something off his chest, that is, the way he was positioned at the university. However, there were moments in his account when he indexed the way the PEC-G program corroborated with the normalization of a generic identity for students from the African continent. Pinfo refuted this generic representation of ‘Africans’. He did so discursively through lexical choices such as “set” and “species” (Line 4). These two nouns are usually employed in Biology to classify animals and plants, and by adopting them, Pinfo also appeared to be critiquing the essentialist construction of ‘race’ as having a basis in biology, rather than being a social and cultural construction. Pinfo positioned particular interlocutors that he encountered at the university as being prejudiced, given their tendency to resort to ideologically naturalized and dehumanizing images of the peoples of Africa. In his narrative, Pinfo showed that he saw himself as being positioned in this generic space where differences were invisible and where everyone was seen as ‘the same’. As he put it: “They say Africans . . . as a set” (Line 4). He also expressed intense frustration and disbelief about the lack of knowledge among Brazilian academics about the African continent (Lines 1–6) and about the negative assumptions that he encountered with respect 236 Bizon and Cavalcanti to the knowledge resources of African students. He clearly saw the task of countering these assumptions as a kind of battle. In his words: “Here you have to prove what you are!” (Line 8). The use of the verb “prove” as a metapragmatic descriptor indexed Pinfo’s self positioning against prejudice. In Pinfo’s narrative, we see him engaging in discursive resistance to racialization. At the end of the excerpt, we see him adding an additional position, linking racialized views of particular social groups with their positioning with the new global order. As he put it: “This prejudice is not only racial, it’s also related to economics, and it’ll never end!” (Lines 22–23). Thus, Pinfo positioned himself as a representative of a peripheral group that is always obliged to seek ways of appropriating material and symbolic spaces that are frequently denied to them. This was particularly evident when Pinfo referred to an experience he had had at the university. In a class he had attended, the professor had asked him if he knew ‘X’, a specific North American author (Line 13). In his narrative, Pinfo used direct speech (Lines 11–16), which situated him epistemically as a participant in the narrated event and, as such, worthy of credibility. He reconstructed the event calling attention to the belittling way he was positioned as the Other (as outside occidental intellectual worlds). Pinfo acknowledged that he did not know this particular author but swiftly followed up his reply to the professor with a question: “Do you know Zamenga Batukezanga?” (Line 15). In a university classroom where most questions are posed by professors, Pinfo’s question must have been interpreted as an act of resistance, as a challenge to naturalized stereotypes of African students, and as an assertion of the existence of other valuable knowledge resources, beyond Western academic spheres. Here, in Pinfo’s account, we see him attempting to redefine this learning space to make space for African voices instead of merely accepting the way it was determined by his interlocutor. By introducing the name of the Congolese philosopher Zamenga Batuke- zanga, Pinfo positioned himself against the privileging of a canonical reference from a central country (in this case, the US) by a professor at a university in a semiperipheral country (Brazil). In this way, Pinfo sym- bolically challenged the representation of the Occident as the sole domain of knowledge production. He adopted a transgressive position which contested the constant discursive (re)production of stereotypes about the Afri- can continent and about the people generically represented as ‘Africans’. In addition, he could also be seen as questioning the representation of learning as mere consumption of a fixed set of Western knowledge resources in semiperipheral countries such as Brazil.

Final Remarks The narratives of the two PEC-G sudents provide us with brief glimpses into their lived experiences in the new institutional spaces in which they found themselves. They also provide us with insights into the ways in which they Narrating Experiences from the Margins 237 perceived these spaces and different social actors within them. In addition, we see how they navigated these spaces, dealing with othering and exclusion in some spaces and exercising agency and finding a voice, at particular moments, in other spaces. In the events narrated by both students, the spotlight was placed on the classroom, albeit in different ways. For Mananga, the Portuguese language classroom was a space she could appropriate, one where she could make her mark and even position herself as a Brazilian. But this kind of space was not available in other classrooms, such as the one where Pinfo was pursuing an undergraduate course. Nor was it available in other spaces on campus, as Mananga shows in her narrative. The inclusive interactions experienced by Mananga in her Portuguese language classroom, and also in the Catholic church, did not happen in other institutional environments. Mananga’s narrative about the lack of inclusive, empowering interactions in other spaces on campus resonated with Pinfo’s narrative about his experiences in the undergraduate class. The professor in Pinfo’s classroom positioned him as a non-knower of an author considered canonical and thus dismissed the possibility of engaging with him as an interlocutor who could make valuable contributions to classroom conversations. Pinfo saw the situated processes of exclusion that he and other Congolese students were experiencing in the PEC-G program as being embedded in wider social and ideological processes. As he put it: “[t]he occidental world selects some things and excludes others. The exclusions always relate to other places and these other places are always located in marginal countries, on the periphery”. The recurring themes in Pinfo’s and Mananga’s narratives was that of prejudice and racialization. Mananga focused on the exclusion and othering of black students in the institutonal space of the university beyond the Portuguese language classroom. Pinfo focused on the cultural construction of what it is to “be African” and he drew attention to the stereotypical representation of Africans as having limited knowledge resources and lack of scientific-technological development. The two students’ narratives point to the precariousness of their situation and the immense challenges facing them, as students who had made the move to Brazil to do their undergraduate studies. Alhough these are individual cases, their accounts provide us with revealing, in-depth insights into the kinds of social and ideological processes that unfold ‘on the ground’ as university programs of cooperation and internationalization are rolled out. They also give us salutary insights into the consequences these processes have for particular students, especially those with origins in peripheral countries. In addition, the students’ narratives show how students from African countries are perceived in Brazilian institutions. Their different language resources, their cultural backgrounds and their prior learning experiences, as Santos (2002) has observed, are constructed as “absences”, as not being associated with privileged forms of culture and canonical forms of knowledge. In the second section of this chapter, when we mentioned the history of the PEC-G program, we drew attention to its stated aims. These included 238 Bizon and Cavalcanti the idea that the focus of the program should be on the knowledge that comes from outside ‘the center’, and a commitment to the ethically engaged purpose of acknowledging, as equal partners and interlocutors, people from nations that are not key players in the new global order. However, the insights emerging from the study by Bizon, and from our joint reflections on these and other narratives from the study, suggest that the program is falling well short of these stated aims. Such cooperation programs need to move beyond rhetoric and conduct a close examination of the ways in which program goals are actually being implemented in different universities. In our view, insights from research, such as this, provide a vital starting point for rethinking the design and implementation of such academic exchanges and mobility programs. Issues such as those raised in this chapter should be placed firmly on the agenda in this process, and consideration should be given to extending and consolidating forms of support for students such as these as they relocate to Brazil. It is our belief that the appropriation of spaces of belonging, and spaces for learning, by students such as Mananga and Pinfo, can be facilitated if they are considered to be interlocutors on an equal footing with Brazilian academic staff and students. Projects of mobility and internationalization that do not anticipate the potential for dialogue that is opened up in the context of diversity will fail to provide fer- tile ground for knowledge-building. Acknowledging other voices, beyond the ones already widely heard and legitimized as central, is a crucial social and political project. It is a project that challenges underlying monolingual ideologies and hegemonic representations of people from countries within the global periphery, and one that unpacks the discourses that currently underpin many current programs of cooperation and internationalization.

Notes 1 Santos (1985) points out that the notion of semiperipheral countries was proposed by Wallerstein (1984). The notion has become part of the world order classification of countries in central (developed), semiperipheral (emergent) and peripheral (non-industrialized). Our main interest is in this classification is related to semiperipheral countries as: (1.) being unstable: they are prone to successive (economic/ political) crises, (2.) having no potential to become part of the established group of central countries, and (3.) enjoying a relative advantage regarding peripheral countries. 2 CELPE-Bras is the acronym for an exam that issues a Certificate of Proficiency in (Brazilian) Portuguese for Foreigners. Developed by the Brazilian Ministry of Education, the exam is available in Brazil, and in some countries abroad, with the support of the Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This certificate of proficiency is required for the admission of students to undergraduate and graduate programs in Brazilian universities. It is also required in the process of accreditation of (the diploma of) foreign professionals who intend to work in the country. 3 The actual names of the research participants have been replaced here by fictitious names to preserve confidentiality. 4 We have used square brackets to indicate our translation to English of the two excerpts of data transcripts, originally in Portuguese. Narrating Experiences from the Margins 239 5 Mananga said she used to go to a Catholic church and Pinfo, to an Evangelical church. 6 The lines indicated in the data analysis always refer to our English translation. 7 It is important to add that black students in this university are usually foreigners. Despite governmental affirmative action programs in the period of 2002–2014, there are still few black Brazilian (and Indigenous) students in public universities.

References Bizon, A. C. C. (2013) Narrando o exame CELPE-Bras e o convênio PEC-G: A con- strução de territorialidades em tempos de internacionalização [Narratives about the CELPE-Bras Exam and the PEC-G Agreement: The construction of territoriali- ties in times of internationalization]. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. Campi- nas: Universidade Estadual de Campinas. Butler, J. (2004) Undoing gender. New York and London: Routledge. Cavalcanti, M. C. (2006) Um olhar metateórico e metametodológico em pesquisa em linguística aplicada: implicações éticas e políticas [A metatheoretical and me- tamethodological look at research in Applied Linguistics], in: Moita Lopes, L. P. (ed.) Por uma linguística aplicada indisciplinar [Towards an indisciplinable and anti-disciplinary applied linguistics]. São Paulo: Parábola. Duchêne, A. and Heller, M. (eds.) (2012) Language in late capitalism: Pride and profit. New York: Routledge. Fairclough, N. (2003) Analysing discourse: Textual analysis for social research. Lon- don: Routledge. Heller, M. (2007) Bilingualism as ideology and practice, in: Heller, M. (ed.) Bilin- gualism: A social approach. Basingstoke, Hampshire: Palgrave Macmillan. Langenhove, L. and Harré, R. (1999) Introducing positioning theory, in: Harré, R. and Langenhove, L. (eds.) Positioning theory: Moral context of intentional action. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Lefebvre, H. (1986/1974) La production de l´espace [The production of space]. Paris: Anthropos. Moita-Lopes, L. P. (2006) Por uma linguística aplicada indisciplinar [Towards an indisciplinable and anti-disciplinary applied linguistics]. São Paulo: Parábola. Santos, B. S. (1985) Estado e sociedade na semiperiferia do sistema mundial: o caso português [State and society in the semiperiphery of the world system: the case of Portugal]. Análise Social, XXI: 869–901. ———. (2002) Para uma sociologia das ausências e uma sociologia das emergências [Towards a sociology of absences and a sociology of emergence]. Revista Crítica de Ciências Sociais, 63: 237–280. Santos, M. (2000) Por uma outra globalização: Do pensamento único à consciência universal. [Towards another type of globalization: From singular thinking to universal awareness]. Rio de Janeiro: Editora Record. Threadgold, T. (2005) Performing theories of narrative: theorizing narrative performances, in: Thornborrow, J. and Coates, J. (eds.) The sociolinguistics of narrative. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Wallerstein, I. (1984) The politics of the world‑ economy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Afterword Policies, Identities, Trajectories and Practices of Multilingual Brazil

Nancy H. Hornberger

Twenty years ago, Marilda Cavalcanti and Terezinha (Teca) Maher, this volume’s editors, invited me to Brazil to share in work they were doing around immigrant and Indigenous bilingual education. Brazil’s policy turn toward recognition of multilingualism, the focus of this volume, was still in its early years; the new Constitution recognizing Indigenous peoples’ rights to use their languages was promulgated only in 1988. Yet, Marilda and Teca were already deeply immersed in research and teaching in support of the emerging policies, identities, trajectories and practices of multilingual Brazil. Among the students in an intensive two-week summer graduate seminar in bilingual education I co-taught with Marilda at the Universidade Estadual de Campinas, I vividly remember one working in Indigenous language education in remote northern Roraima, another who was a popular/environmental educator in Bahia, a longtime Deaf educator from the Instituto Nacional de Educação de Surdos in Rio de Janeiro exploring the potential of bilingual Deaf education (see Silva and Favorito, this volume), and a young German- speaker from the southern border region with Uruguay (see Oliveira, this volume). The goal then, as in the present volume, was to reflect on local experience, often explored ethnographically and in the light of experiences elsewhere on the globe, finding ways to support emergent multilingual practices and identities in the context of the new language policies. Marilda and I also traveled to participate, with Teca, in a two-week Indige- nous teacher education course in the Amazonian rainforest, sponsored by the Comissão Pró-Índio do Acre, about 15 kilometers outside Rio Branco (see Maher, this volume). The course impressed me deeply, not just for its rainforest site, the Indigenous teachers’ dual roles as learners and teachers-in-formation, and the robust reflexive practice and interdisciplinarity of the program, but especially the daily practice of multimodal interlingual communication by which participants from multiple languages (e.g. Apurinã, Asheninka, Jaminawa, Katukina, Kaxinawá, Manchineri, Shawandawa, Yawanawá) engaged in their learning and development of teaching materials reflective of local Indigenous culture, history and artistic expression (Hornberger, 1998). Twenty years on, this volume brings together historical, ethnographic and narrative perspectives on the ever-expanding acknowledgement of 242 Nancy H. Hornberger multilingual Indigenous, immigrant, and transnational Brazil, in experiences that bear striking parallels not only to those earlier glimpses I had with Marilda and Teca, but also to others I have had opportunity to observe, participate in, research and consult on before and since in every continent of the world—from Quechua community and school contexts of the high Andes to Māori immersion education in Aotearoa/New Zealand, from Sámi language teaching in the far north of Scandinavia to South African dual- medium initiatives introducing isiXhosa, isiZulu and SeSotho as languages of instruction, from Puerto Rican and Cambodian refugee communities of Philadelphia to heritage language education in Indigenous, immigrant and transnational contexts worldwide. In my work, I do a lot of listening and when asked for ‘answers’ to local questions I feel inadequate to give, have often found most helpful the sharing of stories about similar experiences from another part of the world and the offering of conceptual tools and frameworks I have developed for thinking about such issues and dilemmas across experiences. I will attempt to do the same here, as I take up themes in each of the book’s five sections. One such conceptual framework is the continua of biliteracy, a heuristic for teaching, research and policy in multilingual settings (Hornberger, 1989, 2016). In the framework, biliteracy is understood as communication in multiple languages in or around writing, a definition that puts the focus on interaction and interpretation. A review of research on bilingualism and literacy, undertaken as part of a multiyear ethnography of language policy in Puerto Rican and Cambodian communities of Philadelphia beginning in 1987, revealed that dimensions commonly characterized by scholars, practitioners and policymakers as polar opposites—e.g. first versus second languages, monolingual versus bilingual individuals, oral versus literate societies-—are theoretical endpoints on what are in reality fluid and dynamic continua of language and literacy use. As my own and others’ ongoing research in the bilingualism/literacy fields clarified, these continua are interrelated dimensions of highly complex and fluid communicative repertoires; and it is in the dynamic, rapidly changing and sometimes contested spaces along and across the continua that biliteracy use and learning occur. These foundational notions of ‘continua’ and ‘biliteracy’ are the building blocks for the framework, which posits three-dimensional continua for the contexts, content, development and media of biliteracy as crucial for consideration of any biliterate instance.1 The chapters in the five sections of the present volume touch on aspects of context (policies), content (identities), development (trajectories) and media (diverse practices). I have titled the following comments to bring out these different aspects.

Policies: Opening Up Implementational and Ideological Spaces In section one, the three chapters explore the ways policies play a role in setting contexts for Indigenous, immigrant and transnational biliteracy. These accounts resonate for me with experiences in South Africa, Bolivia and Afterword 243 Paraguay, where new multilingual language policies in the 1990s opened up “ideological and implementational spaces” for supporting multilingual, multiliterate identities, practices and trajectories, in the face of one language- one nation ideologies reinforcing demand for the societal and transnational language of power (Hornberger, 2002). Comparing these with abrupt policy shifts banishing bilingual education in the US at the turn of the millennium and ensuing efforts by educators to continue to implement multilingual educational practices, it is also clear that while ideological spaces created by language and education policies can carve out implementational ones, implementational spaces can reciprocally serve as wedges to pry open ideological ones being closed down by policy (Hornberger, 2005). I find these kinds of openings and wedgings in the accounts included here. Freire traces the history of language policies toward Indigenous languages and schooling in Brazil along an ideological continuum from civilizing monolingualism to civilizing bilingualism to identity bilingualism—in effect, opening new ideological spaces. Maher ethnographically explores the struggle of Indigenous educators, who previously experienced language loss due to social oppression and subtractive schooling, to now be recognized as authentically Indigenous and legitimate bilingual speakers in a new policy context—implementational space—where Indigenous peoples are accorded the right to use languages that had heretofore been targets of eradication. Tracing the history of German settler immigration to the Rio Grande do Sul, Oliveira argues that succeeding generations identify themselves and their languages as neither German nor Brazilian, but rather German-Brazilian; he shows that Brazil’s recent policies recognizing linguistic diversity, and in particular policies making language officialization at the level of municipalities possible, opened a space for heritage languages such as these to be declared co-official along with Portuguese in the areas where they are spoken. The two chapters in section five provide us with insights into the ways in which the internationalization and cooperation policies of Brazilian universities set the context for biliteracy and knowledge-building by students and by practicing teachers from Africa. They show that these contexts are not uniform and that some university staff can, through their individual agency, open up spaces for learning and for dialogue. At the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul, in the transnational context of Brazil’s growing influx of international students alongside new policies requiring Portuguese language proficiency for admission to Brazilian universities, Schlatter and Garcez describe an innovative in-service teacher education program for public school teachers from multilingual African countries where Portuguese is the (sole) official language. They argue that in the face of growing national and global recognition of and demand for Portuguese as a transnational language and resource for access to literacy and literate discourses, their program found ways to create spaces that privileged African colleagues’ perspectives and valued a repertoire of language varieties and literate genres— that is, they wedged open implementational spaces for a more heteroglossic ideology. 244 Nancy H. Hornberger In the final chapter of the section, Bizon and Cavalcanti analyze the experiences of two multilingual Congolese undergraduate students who navigate institutional spaces at a public university in southeastern Brazil as participants in Brazil’s most longstanding international exchange program; the authors focus specifically on the voices and positionings that surface in the students’ narratives about their experiences on and off campus, including the Portuguese language class taught by Bizon. This class was the only space on campus where a space for learning was opened up for one of the students. Situating their analysis within an understanding of globalization, as dictated by top-down policies and programs that overlook the experience of those enrolled in the programs, and of symbolic boundaries and territories as discursively performed, Bizon and Cavalcanti show how the same student’s narrative about her experience in other spaces on campus “composes a scenario of invisibilization because nobody says anything to someone who does not exist”, while what emerges in the other student’s narrative is a “process of resistance against racialization”. In both cases, the students were ultimately compelled to leave due to too many course failures. There are resonances here with studies depicting the experience of African students participating in an internationalization program at a university in northeastern Ukraine (Goodman, 2013) and of Quechua students attending an urban university in Peru’s capital as part of an affirmative action program to recruit Indigenous students to the universities (Zavala and Córdova, 2010). Bizon and Cavalcanti urge the rethinking of international cooperation/mobility programs to facilitate appropriation of spaces of belonging, where voices of others are heard and legitimized rather than invisibilized and racialized.

Identities: Communicative Repertoires, Ideologies and Practices The chapters in section two turn to consideration of multilingual, multimodal communicative repertoires as expressions of speakers’ identities. Silva and Favorito suggest that recent polarized positions on Deaf education are based on monolingual language ideologies, whether advocating for Por- tuguese as medium of instruction (aligned with a view of deafness as medical deficiency) or for schooling to take place entirely in Libras, the Brazilian Sign Language (aligned with recognition of Deaf communication as cultural practice); the concept of communicative repertoire better captures the multiple multimodal resources Deaf people draw on, including Portuguese and Libras, but also sign-supported speech, fingerspelling, oral Portuguese and more. Exploring Deaf teachers’ own representations of their identities tied to their varied language practices and border-crossing between hearing and Deaf cultures/worlds, Silva and Favorito argue it is time for Deaf bilingual education to move away from monolingual and essentialist ideologies and practices toward more heteroglossic ones. Considering discourses of teachers, principals and school coordinators in two plurilingual education initiatives on the Brazilian frontier, as well as Afterword 245 pedagogical benefits of the programs, Morello reflects onchallenges related to promotion of use of (non-Indigenous) minority languages in schools given Bra- zil’s longstanding ideology in favor of monolingualism in Brazilian Portuguese. In light of tensions between dominant monolingual ideologies in Brazil and translingual practices of students like Natalia, who has lived on Brazilian and Paraguayan sides of the Triple Frontier and whose linguistic repertoire includes Spanish, Portuguese, Guaraní and colloquial Jopará, Pires-Santos argues for educational practices that reflect students’ capacity to draw flex- ibly on their repertoires to convey meaning, rather than relentlessly penal- izing them for ‘incorrectly’ written Portuguese, as Natalia’s teacher does. In another border context, that of El Paso-Ciudad Juarez on the US-Mexico border, de la Piedra and Araujo (2012) similarly call for educational practices that productively incorporate transfronterizo literacies—“the multiple ways in which youth communicate across national borders in and around print” (p. 709), ethnographically illustrating these through examples from an elementary school classroom where the teacher models and encourages practices such as using Spanish syntax in English writing, pointing out cog- nates across languages, and code-switching in writing. In contexts of similarly contentious educational practices in Indigenous language revitalization involving Quechua in the South American Andes, Guarani in Paraguay, Māori in Aotearoa/New Zealand, and Sámi in Scan- dinavia, biliterate use of learners’ own or heritage language as medium of instruction alongside the dominant language may mediate processes of dia- logism, meaning-making, access to wider discourses, and taking of an active stance that are dimensions of voice; voices thus activated can be a power- ful force for Indigenous learning and language revitalization (Hornberger, 2006; Hornberger and Outakoski, 2015). Having a voice implies “not just that people can say things, but that they are heard (that is, that their words have status, influence)” (Ruíz, 1997:321). What better expression of identity could there be than to have one’s voice heard?

Trajectories: Sociolinguistics of Multilingual Literacy Development The continua of biliteracy framework highlights that trajectories of bi/multiliterate development are infinitely varied, fluid and dynamic; what the chapters in section three make clear is that this is true not only for individuals but for biliterate communities. We see in the chapter by Morales, Akamine and Suzuki that movements of Japanese-Brazilians back and forth between the two countries in different historical periods had direct bearing on the trajectory of their literacies and identities, similar to the ways biliteracy trajectories of US Latino populations are shaped in part by their movement back and forth to the US mainland or across the US-Mexican border (Gallo and Hornberger, forthcoming; Utakis and Pita, 2005). In an account reminiscent of the experience of the many immigrant groups to the US who maintained heritage languages and literacies through 246 Nancy H. Hornberger local community institutional language resources including heritage language schools, TV and radio broadcasting, local religious units and publications (Fishman et al., 1985), Jung and Semechechem’s ethnography in Prudentópolis, Brazil’s largest Ukrainian community, documents the emergence of writing in Ukrainian largely in connection with the activities of priests and sisters of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church beginning at the end of the 19th century—building churches, schools, hospitals and political participation. Meanwhile oral Ukrainian use followed its own trajectory influenced by factors such as contact with Portuguese and Polish, national policies prohibiting use of immigrant languages during the Estado Novo (1937–1945), and exodus of second-generation immigrants to the state capital in search of a better life. In her ethnography of Arabic speakers in the city of Foz do Iguaçu on Brazil’s Triple Frontier where Paraguay, Argentina and Brazil meet, Silva portrays the diversity of linguistic repertoires and language practices among Arabic speakers, complexly configured by different nationalities, migration trajectories and religious affiliations. In contrast to their actual practices, Arabic speakers are widely perceived as one homogeneous group and discursively represented as harmoniously integrated with the rest of the population, similarly perhaps to the ways the diversity of migration trajectories, linguistic repertoires and language practices of Asian immigrants to the US are often lumped together under one model minority stereotype (Reyes and Lo, 2009).

Practices: Multilingual, Multimodal, Translingual and Transnational Media In the continua of biliteracy framework, multilingual, multimodal, translingual and transnational practices are among the media through which biliteracy plays out. Through ethnographic and narrative analyses, the cases in section four provide a rich look at such practices in two different border- crossing contexts. Moita-Lopes’ close textual analysis of a Triple Frontier rap reveals the semiotic complexity of transidiomaticity as the rapper draws on communicative resources including Guarani, Portuguese, and Castellano, as well as those indexing global popular culture (Japanese Ninja) or global political discourse (English Yanqui). Parallel to a growing body of work on global hip- hop (Alim et al., 2009), he argues that a transidiomatic linguistic ideology seems more adequate than a monoglossic view of ‘language’ in accounting for how people use bits of communicative resources to construct meaning. Drawing on ethnographic research on the trajectory of Shinzo, a young Brazilian producer of Anime Music Videos (AMV), Rojo and Almeida argue for a conceptual link between multilingualism and multimodality, showing how Shinzo appropriates and reconfigures different semiosis, languages and cultures to establish his identity as elite AMV editor. Taking up another Jap- anese cultural practice, kamishibai ‘paper theater’—a street-performance art involving oral dramatizations accompanied by illustrated cards in a Afterword 247 stage, McGowan (2015) makes a similar argument for linking multilingualism and multimodality, based on her practitioner research in US elementary classrooms teaching students to create and perform kamsihibai. She shows how kamishibai makes visible the links across modes from picture drawing to oral telling to writing, thereby facilitating students’ literacy learning; she goes on to argue that use of kamishibai in a multilingual classroom might contribute to making links across languages more salient as well. It is now fifty years since I first visited Brazil as a high school exchange student, arriving amidst a planeload of returning Brazilian exchange students who ebulliently burst into “Cidade maravilhosa,” singing at the top of their voices as we touched down in Rio. I was arriving along with my ‘sister’ Sandra who had spent the previous semester in my home and at my high school, the start of a lifelong, multigenerational friendship encompassing now our children and grandchildren. I fell in love immediately with the Portuguese language in its carioca variety, the multiethnic diversity and fun- loving friendliness of Brazilians, but I remember being somewhat baffled at the time by a seeming lack of recognition of Brazil’s Indigenous heritage and deep racial inequities. It is reassuring, heartening and inspiring to dip into the wealth of experience and insight that has accumulated in the decades since not only through policy shifts and grassroots initiatives, but also through the patient and wise work of scholars and educators like Marilda, Teca and the contributors herein. January 2017 Philadelphia, USA

Note 1 The model posits that for multilinguals, trajectories of biliteracy development occur along intersecting first language-second language, receptive- productive, oral-written language skills continua; through repertoires of communicative media encompassing multiple languages/literacies with similar-to- dissimilar linguistic structures and convergent-to-divergent scripts and including digital-visual-spatial-gestural-and-other modes/modalities, acquired/used in hybrid simultaneous-to-successive sequences/configurations/practices; in macro-to-micro, mono-to-multilingual, oral-to-literate scaled local/translocal/global spatiotemporal contexts; expressing content spanning majoritized-to-minoritized identities/ perspectives/experiences, literary-to-vernacular styles/genres, and decontextualized- to-contextualized texts (Hornberger, 1989; Hornberger and Skilton-Sylvester, 2000; Hornberger and Link, 2012).

References Alim, H. S., Ibrahim, A. and Pennycook, A. (eds.) (2009) Global linguistic flows: Hip-Hop cultures, youth identities, and the politics of language. New York: Routledge. de la Piedra, M. T. and Araujo, B. (2012) Transfronterizo literacies and content in a dual language classroom. International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilin- gualism, 15(6): 705–721. 248 Nancy H. Hornberger Fishman, J. A., Gertner, M. H., Lowy, E. G. and Milán, W. G. (eds.) (1985) The rise and fall of the ethnic revival: Perspectives on language and ethnicity. Berlin: Mouton. Gallo, S. and Hornberger, N. H. (2017) Immigration policy as family language policy: Mexican immigrant children and families in search of biliteracy. In- ternational Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism. https://doi. org/10.1177/1367006916684908 Goodman, B. A. (2013) Towards a multilingual future: The ecology of language at a university in Eastern Ukraine. Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation. University of Pennsylvania, Philadelphia. Hornberger, N. H. (1989) Continua of biliteracy. Review of Educational Research, 59(3): 271–296. ———. (1998) Language policy, language education, language rights: Indigenous, immigrant, and international perspectives. Language in Society, 27(4): 439–458. ———. (2002) Multilingual language policies and the continua of biliteracy: an ecological approach. Language Policy, 1(1): 27–51. ———. (2005) Opening and filling up implementational and ideological spaces in heritage language education. Modern Language Journal, 89(4): 605–609. ———. (2006) Voice and biliteracy in indigenous language revitalization: contentious educational practices in Quechua, Guarani, and Maori contexts. Journal of Language, Identity, and Education, 5(4): 277–292. ———. (2016) Researching the continua of biliteracy, in: King, K., Lai, Y. and May, S. (eds.) Encyclopedia of language and education, Volume 10: Research methods in language and education. New York: Springer International Publishing. Hornberger, N. H. and Link, H. (2012) Translanguaging in today’s classrooms: a biliteracy lens. Theory into Practice, 51(4): 239–247. Hornberger, N. H. and Outakoski, H. (2015) Sámi time, space, and place: exploring teachers’ metapragmatic statements on Sámi language use, teaching, and revitalization in Sápmi. Confero: Essays on Education, Philosophy and Politics, 3(1): 1–46. Hornberger, N. H. and Skilton-Sylvester, E. (2000) Revisiting the continua of biliteracy: International and critical perspectives. Language and Education: An Inter- national Journal, 14(2): 96–122. McGowan, T. (2015) Performing kamishibai: An emerging new literacy for a global audience. New York: Routledge. Reyes, A. and Lo, A. (eds.) (2009) Beyond yellow English: Toward a linguistic anthropology of Asian Pacific America. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ruíz, R. (1997) The empowerment of language-minority students, in: Darder, A., Torres, R. and Gutierrez, H. (eds.) Latinos and education: A critical reader. New York: Routledge. Utakis, S. and Pita, M. D. (2005) An educational policy for negotiating transnation- alism: The Dominican community in New York City, in: Canagarajah, A. S. (ed.) Reclaiming the local in language policy and practice. Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum. Zavala, V. and Córdova, G. (2010) Decir y callar: Lenguaje, equidad, y poder en la Universidad peruana. Lima, Peru: Fondo Editorial de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú. Contributors

Ayako Akamine, holds an MA degree in Japanese Language Studies from the University of São Paulo (USP), Brazil. She is currently a faculty member of the Language Teaching Center at the State University of Campinas (UNICAMP). Her research interests include the learning of Japanese as a foreign language in university contexts and the production of teaching materials. Eduardo de Moura Almeida is currently a doctoral student in the area of Applied Linguistics at the State University of Campinas (UNICAMP), Brazil. His research interest lies on the development of critical computer- assisted language teaching following Multiliteracy Pedagogy orientations. He is the author of several digital materials for the teaching of Portuguese through different technological resources. Ana Cecília Cossi Bizon received her PhD from the State University of Campinas, Brazil. As a member of the Department of Applied Linguistics at this university, she has been conducting research projects related to PAL—Portuguese as an Additional Language—with minority university students. She is the author of several textbooks for the teaching of PAL from a critical perspective. Marilda do Couto Cavalcanti (PhD, University of Lancaster) is Professor of Applied Linguistics at the State University of Campinas, Brazil, and a Researcher of the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and Techno- logical Development. She has published in Brazil and abroad on issues related to multilingualism and diversities of Brazilian sociolinguistic minorities. She is a former (2003–2009) vice-president of AILA (Asso- ciation Internationale de Linguistique Appliquée) and the first president (1991–1993) of ALAB—Associação de Linguística Aplicada do Brasil [Brazilian Association of Applied Linguistics]. Feliciano Chimbutane received his PhD from the University of Birmingham, UK. He is currently a Senior Lecturer of Educational Sociolinguistics at Universidade Eduardo Mondlane, Mozambique. His research interests include languages and education (planning, policies and practices), with 250 Contributors focus on classroom practice and the relationship between classroom discourse, day-to-day talk and the wider sociopolitical order. He has been acting as adviser to bilingual education programs, not only in Mozam- bique, but in other countries as well. Wilma Favorito obtained her PhD in Applied Linguistics from the State University of Campinas, Brazil. She is Associate Professor in the Depart- ment of Undergraduate Studies at the National Institute of Deaf Educa- tion in Rio de Janeiro. Her broader research interests include bilingual education for the Deaf and the development of academic dictionaries in Brazilian Sign Language for Deaf university students. José Ribamar Bessa Freire received his PhD in History from the State Uni- versity of Rio de Janeiro (UERJ). He is a faculty member of graduate programs at UERJ and at the Federal University of the State of Rio de Janeiro (UNIRIO). Working from a social-historical perspective, his research focuses on Indigenous languages in the Amazon region and includes themes such as linguistic policies and oral literature and memory. Pedro de Moraes Garcez received his PhD in Education, Culture and Society from the University of Pennsylvania and has been a Brazilian National Council of Scientific and Technological Development (CNPq) scholar since 2003. He works in the areas of Applied Linguistics and Sociolin- guistics as Professor of Linguistics and Education at the Federal Univer- sity of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) in Porto Alegre, Brazil. Rainer Enrique Hamel is Professor of Linguistics in the Department of Anthropology at Universidad Autónoma Metropolitana (UAM) in Mex- ico City. His areas of research include sociolinguistics, applied linguistics, bilingualism and bilingual education, language policy and discourse analysis. He has published several books and over 70 articles and book chapters in five different languages. He has been a visiting professor in Brazil, the US, Germany and other countries. He is the Director of the Project Networks “Language Policy in Latin America” of ALFAL, the Association of Linguists and Philologists of Latin America. Nancy H. Hornberger is Professor of Education at the University of Penn- sylvania, US. She investigates language and education in multilingual and multicultural settings, combining methods and perspectives from educational anthropology, linguistic anthropology and sociolinguistics. She is especially interested in researching educational policy and practice for Indigenous and immigrant language groups. As a visiting professor, she has taught, lectured and advised on her fields of expertise in South America (Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, Paraguay and Brazil), as well as in other countries such as China, Singapore, South Africa, and Sweden. Neiva Maria Jung received her PhD from the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul, Brazil. She is currently Associate Professor in the area Contributors 251 of Applied Linguistics at the State University of Maringá (UEM). Her main research interests include literacy, social interactions, identities, ethnography and language learning in multilingual contexts. She has been involved in projects related to the teaching of Portuguese as an Addi- tional Language in immigrant settings. Terezinha Machado Maher is currently an Associate Professor at the Depart- ment of Applied Linguistics at the State University of Campinas (UNI- CAMP), Brazil, where she teaches graduate and undergraduate courses in bilingual education. She has done extensive work as a researcher and teacher educator in Indigenous contexts in occidental Amazonia. Her main area of research interest is language policy and identity construction in multicultural and multilingual settings. Marilyn Martin-Jones is an Emeritus Professor based at the MOSAIC Cen- tre for Research on Multilingualism, University of Birmingham, UK. Over the last 35 years, she has been involved in critical ethnographic research on multilingualism and literacy in classroom and community contexts in the UK, focusing on the ways in which language and literacy practices are bound up with local and global relations of power. She is currently editor (with Joan Pujolar) of the Routledge book series: Critical Studies in Multilingualism. Leiko Matsubara Morales has a PhD from the University of São Paulo (USP). She is a faculty member of the Department of Oriental Languages at the same university. Her main areas of research are bilingualism and the teaching and learning of Japanese as a heritage and foreign language. She has done post-doctoral work at the University of Sophia, Japan. Luiz Paulo Moita-Lopes is Professor of Applied Linguistics at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. He is a researcher of the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and echnologicalT Development. He has published on epistemological issues in Applied Linguistics, on discourse and gender, sexuality and race and on language and globalization. His last book is Global Portuguese: Linguistic Ideologies in Late Modernity (Routledge, 2015). Rosângela Morello holds a PhD in Linguistics from the State University of Campinas, Brazil. She chairs the Institute for Research and Development on Language Policies (IPOL/Florianópolis, Brazil), is the leader of the CNPq research group Observatory of Language Policies and coordinates the funded research project Observatory of Education in the Frontier. She is currently a visiting professor at the Federal University of Santa Catarina and at the National Museum linked to the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro. Gilvan Müller de Oliveira received a PhD in Linguistics from the State Uni- versity of Campinas. He is a faculty member of the Federal University 252 Contributors of Santa Catarina (UFSC), Brazil. His main research themes fall within the fields of language policy and multilingualism. He chaired the Inter- national Institute of the Portuguese Language (ILLP), situated in Cape Verde, from 2010 to 2014. He is currently the Executive Secretary of MAAYA—World Network for Linguistic Diversity. Roxane Helena Rodrigues Rojo is Associate Professor at the State Univer- sity of Campinas, Brazil. She holds a PhD in Applied Linguistics from the Catholic University of São Paulo and has done postgraduate work at the University of Geneva, Switzerland. She is a Brazilian National Council of Scientific and Technological Development scholar and her research falls primarily in the area of multiliteracies and new technologies. Maria Elena Pires-Santos is currently Associate Professor of Applied Lin- guistics based at the State University of Western Paraná (UNIOESTE), Brazil. Her areas of research interests include bilingual education, translingual literacy practices, teachers’ professional training and linguistic policies in Southern border regions of the country. She has done postgraduate work at the State University of Campinas (UNICAMP). Margarete Schlatter works in the areas of applied linguistics and teacher education as Professor of Additional Language Teaching, Assessment and Materials Design at the Federal University of Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) in Porto Alegre, Brazil. She is one of the authors of the Certifi- cate of Proficiency in Portuguese as a Foreign Language (Celpe-Bras) and the curriculum standards for additional language arts in the state of Rio Grande do Sul. Jakeline Aparecida Semechechem holds a PhD in Language Studies from the State University of Maringá (UEM), Brazil. Presently a Lecturer at the State University of Northern Paraná, her research projects explore domains such as literacy, identity and school ethnography in multilingual contexts. She has been particularly interested in investigating these issues within Ukrainian immigrant communities in the south of Brazil. Inês Signorini holds a PhD, from the Université de Montpellier III, France. She is Professor of Applied Linguistics at the State University of Campi- nas, Brazil. She is a researcher of the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and National Development (CNPq). She has published on intercultural communication, identity and language, multiliteracies, language and technology and metapragmatics. She has done postgraduate work at the University of Montreal (1985) and Toronto University (2002), Canada. Regina Coeli Machado e Silva holds a PhD in Anthropology and is presently Associate Professor at the State University of Western Paraná (UNIOESTE), Brazil. A Brazilian National Council of Scientific and Technological Development (CNPq) scholar, her main research interests Contributors 253 include art and anthropology, school ethnography, and immigrants’ identities in frontier regions of Brazil. She has done postgraduate work at the University of Brasília. Ivani Rodrigues Silva, a PhD in Applied Linguistics, works at the Special Education and Rehabilitation Center of UNICAMP—State University of Campinas, Brazil. She is engaged in research projects in the area of Deaf Studies, investigating themes such as bilingual education, literacy practices and the teaching and learning of Libras (Brazilian Sign Language) and of Portuguese as a Second Language. Lynn Mario Trindade Menezes de Souza holds a PhD in Communication and Semiotics from the Catholic University of São Paulo, Brazil. He is currently a Professor at the University of São Paulo (USP) and a researcher of the Brazilian National Council for Scientific and Technological Devel- opment (CNPq). His research interests are foreign and second language teaching, literature and literacy practices in postcolonial contexts. Maria Emiko Suzuki holds an MA degree in Linguistics from the State Uni- versity of Campinas, Brazil. She has been responsible for the implementation and consolidation of Japanese courses at this university. She has integrated research groups interested in investigating the history of Japa- nese language teaching in Brazil and the changing profiles of university students of Japanese.

Index

agency 36, 102, 172 – 3, 200, 228 – 9, 141 – 2, 173, 189, 198, 200, 208, 237, 243 212, 241 – 3, 246 Ahmed, S. 171, 173 – 4 biliteracy 242 – 3, 245 – 7 Alfaro, C. 29, 38 Bizon, A. C. C. 12 – 14, 71, 207 – 9, 212, Alim, H. S. 246 – 7 225 – 6, 228 – 9, 233, 238 – 9, 244 Alsagoff, L. 140, 195, 203 Blackledge, A. 6, 14, 16, 180, 186 Altenhofen, C. V. 89, 102, 142, 155 border/frontier 2, 10 – 11, 104 – 6, Amado, R. S. 6, 14 158 – 9, 174 – 8, 180 – 2, 185, 244 – 6 Appadurai, A. 175, 184 – 5 Blommaert, J. 6, 14, 71, 73 – 4, 175 – 6, Applied Linguistics 1, 23, 73, 179, 218 179 – 80, 185 Arabic: Arabic-speakers community boundaries 1, 81 – 2, 85, 104, 225, 157 – 8, 160 – 1, 163; Arabic-speakers 229, 244 identities 165; Arabic speakers Bourdieu, P. 115, 118, 149, 151, 155, repertoires 162 – 4; Arabic varieties 164, 168, 218, 223 125, 164 Braziguayans 2, 6, 13, 93, 105 – 7, 109, Arnaut, K. 180, 183, 185 112, 115 – 16, 177 authentic/legitimate 2 – 3, 21, 35, 45 – 6, Brazilian Sign Language (Libras) 2, 50 – 3, 72, 77 – 8, 82, 107, 115, 117, 5, 9, 63, 67, 75 – 80, 82, 84 – 6, 89, 164, 178, 200, 208 – 9, 232 99, 244 Brazilian languages 9, 22, 24, 35, 56 – 7, Bauman, R. 178 – 9, 183, 185 67, 90, 92 – 3 Baynham, M. 180 – 1, 185 Briggs, C. 178 – 9, 185 Béliveau, V. 177, 185 Bucholtz, M. 42, 54, 129, 139 Bello, W. 7, 14 Busch, B. 107, 115, 118 Berenblum, A. 4, 14 Berger, I. R. 89 – 90, 96, 100, 102 Canagarajah, S. 107, 115, 118, Bhabha, H. K. 172 – 4 200, 202 bilingual/multilingual 3 – 6, 9, 21, 25, Cape Verdean Creole 12, 208, 210, 29, 35 – 6, 41, 45, 63, 71 – 3, 75, 216 – 17, 219, 220 – 1 77 – 8, 80, 86, 89, 90, 92 – 4, 100, Cardoso de Oliveira, R. 42, 53 – 4 106, 108, 111, 115 – 16, 126, 129, Castellano 11, 99, 102, 108 – 9, 137, 141, 157, 161, 166, 189, 196, 110 – 17, 175, 180 – 3, 246 198 – 9, 211, 216, 218 – 19, 241 – 4 Cavalcanti, M. C. 3 – 5, 15, 86 – 7, 116, bilingual education 4 – 6, 9, 24 – 5, 35 – 6, 118, 142, 155, 226, 239 41, 45, 63, 75, 77, 86, 89, 92, 94, Celpe-Bras 208, 212 – 13, 227, 229, 238 100, 137, 157, 241, 243 – 4 Cesar, A. L. 2, 15, 78, 81, 85, 87, 107, bilingualism/multilingualism 1, 5, 7, 117 – 18 11, 13, 21 – 2, 25, 28, 30 – 1, 35, 41, citizenship 52, 59, 60, 66, 72, 73, 101, 78, 90, 93 – 4, 107, 129, 131, 138, 213, 219 256 Index colonial/colonialism/colonization 2 – 3, ethnography/ethnographic perspective 23, 28 – 9, 40, 52, 62, 171 – 3, 176, 2, 8, 10 – 13, 33, 41, 43, 106, 116, 178, 181 – 2 122, 124 – 7, 141, 158, 189, 218, commodification 12, 207, 210 225, 228, 241 – 3, 245 – 6 community: local community 61, 99, 147 – 8, 152, 162, 166, 198, 246; Farah, A. 144 – 5, 155 online community 1, 12, 148 – 50, Favorito, W. 76, 87 158, 166 – 7, 189 – 91, 198 – 9 see Fernandes, J. C. 144 – 5, 155 also Arabic-speakers community; Freire, J. R. B. 29, 37 – 8 German-Brazilian community; Indigenous community(ies); Gallo, S. 245, 248 Japanese-Brazilian community Garcez, P. M. 223 cooperation policies/programs 2, 8, 13, García, O. 107, 116, 118 212, 225 – 7, 237 – 8, 244 García-Canclini, N. 195 – 6, 201 – 2 Córdova, G. 244, 248 German-Brazilian: German-Brazilian Creese, A. 6, 14, 180, 186 community 57, 60, 63; cross-border 10, 71, 89, 93, 106 – 7, German-Brazilian identity(ies) 60 – 1, 158, 160 – 1, 167 65, 66 culture 4 – 5, 7, 12, 21, 50, 61 see also globalization 2, 6 – 7, 11 – 12, 58, 73, Deaf culture, Indigenous culture; 127, 176, 181, 184, 207, 225 – 8, 244 youth culture globalization-from-below 176, 181,184 gnosis 176, 178, 182 – 3, 185 Deaf: Deaf culture 81, 244; Deaf education 3, 5, 9, 75 – 7, 86, 212, Hall, K. 42, 54, 129, 139 244; Deafhood 74, 77, 84; Deaf Hall, S. 42, 54, 76 – 7, 85, 87, identity 9, 76, 81 – 3, 86; deafness 107 – 8, 118 76 – 7, 244 Handa, T. 129 – 31, 133, 139 De Carvalho, D. 129, 136 – 9 Hanks, W. F. 1, 15, 87 dekasegi 130, 135 – 8 Hamel, R. E. 6, 15, 23 – 5, 41, 53 – 4 diaspora 157, 166 – 7 Harré, R. 208, 210, 228, 239 difference 172, 173 Hauser, P. C. 75, 87 discrimination 27, 47, 98, 227 hegemony/ hegemonic 12, 21, 24, 71, Doi, E. T. 134, 139 75, 77, 162, 175, 178, 181, 183, Duchêne, A. 167 – 8, 180, 186, 208, 199, 228, 238 210 – 11, 224, 228, 239 Heller, M. 1, 6, 15, 129, 139, 167 – 8, 180 – 1, 186, 208, 210 – 12, 224, education: higher education 9, 10, 13, 228, 239 126, 138, 207 – 8, 211 – 12, 214, 228; heritage language 44, 129, 135, 160 language education 28, 63, 116 – 17, Hernández, F. 214, 218, 224 128, 136, 219, 220, 242; primary/ heterogeneity 71, 73 secondary education 5, 136, 162 – 3; heteroglossia/ heteroglossic 86, teacher education 5, 8 – 10, 12, 20 – 1, 243, 244 35 – 7, 41 – 3, 51 – 3, 75 – 6, 90, 95 – 6, Hornberger, N. H. 4, 15, 50, 54, 213, 106, 116, 208, 210, 213 – 18, 220, 224, 242 – 3, 245 – 8 222, 241, 243; see also bilingual human rights 8, 22, 24, 31, 37, 41, 51, education, Deaf education 63, 67, 90, 92, 133, 241, 243 educational policies 2, 6, 8, 27, 30 – 1, Hunsrückisch/Hunsriquiano 9, 22, 34 – 5, 37, 70 – 1, 90, 92, 94, 96, 101, 57 – 9, 63, 65 – 6, 89 207, 212, 243 hybridity 87, 138, 172, 178 endangered languages 27, 34, 51 epistemology/epistemological 1, 107, identification 73, 75, 83 – 4, 86 171, 173, 180, 182 – 3 identity: cultural identity 7, 22, 42, 43, essentialism/essentialized 9, 83, 86, 138 45, 61, 65, 83, 138, 235; identity Index 257 politics 2 – 3, 7, 25, 42, 67, 82; Karnopp, L. B. 76, 88 identity performance 12, 172 – 3, 178, Kawamura, L. 130, 136 – 7, 139 185; linguistic identity 21, 28, 31, Kelly-Holmes, H. 7, 16 45, 61, 65, 71, 199; national identity Kytölä, S. 189, 202 24, 27, 45, 61, 90, 92, 182, 233; see also Deaf identity, Indigenous Ladd, P. 75, 87 identity(ies), Japanese-Brazilian Langenhove, L. 210, 228, 239 identity(ies); German-Brazilian Lankshear, C. 190, 202 identity(ies) language co-officialization process(es) ideology(ies): modernist ideologies 22, 24, 34, 57, 59, 63 – 6 46, 178, 184; nationalist/ language ideology 2, 4, 7 – 8, 10, 27 – 8, one-language-one-nation 37, 71, 100, 125, 127, 129 – 30, 213, ideology(ies) 46, 73, 236, 243 – 5; see 218, 220, 222, 244; see also ideology also language ideology language policy/planning 3 – 4, 8 – 9, imagined community(ies) 67, 81, 86, 177 20 – 2, 28 – 9, 31 – 2, 37, 41 – 2, 47, immigrant: immigrant community(ies) 57, 61, 62, 63, 66 – 7, 75, 77, 86, 90, 3, 24, 36, 131; immigrant 94, 96, 98, 101, 171, 207, 214, 220, descendants 24, 128, 129, 131 – 5, 227, 240 – 3, 247 146, 153, 158, 161 – 2; immigrant language practices 1, 7 – 8, 43, 71, 73, culture 134, 136, 145 – 6, 162; 80, 94, 107, 114, 117, 122, 142, immigrant language(s) 24, 63 – 5; 146, 161, 167, 178, 219, 244, 246 131; immigrant origin 4, 32, 61, language resources 2, 7, 45, 52, 80, 84, 63, 161 85, 106 – 7, 113 – 15, 125 – 6, 152 – 3, indexicality 12, 178 – 9 164, 177, 180, 182 – 3, 219 – 20, 222, Indigeneity: Indigenous culture: 4 – 5, 237, 246; see also resources 21, 28, 30 – 2, 34 – 5, 42, 51, 241 language revitalization 4, 8, 9, 14, 21, Indigenous community(ies) 4, 21 – 2, 41, 44, 46 – 7, 51, 245 25, 37, 242; Indigenous education Latin America 3, 21 – 5, 41, 135, 207, 4 – 5, 8 – 9, 21 – 3, 25, 27 – 9, 31 – 7, 211, 214, 225 41 – 3, 45 – 6, 52 – 3, 89, 92 – 3, 216, Leppänen, S. 189, 198 – 200, 202 240 – 3, 245; Indigenous identity 8 – 9, Lesser, J. 5, 14 – 15, 129, 132, 136, 139, 21 – 2, 25, 28, 31, 42 – 3, 45 – 6, 50, 158, 160 – 1, 168 52 – 3, 243; Indigenous languages linguistic/sociolinguistic diversity 4 – 5, 2 – 4, 8, 13, 21, 21 – 5 10, 20, 23, 28 – 9, 32, 37, 56, 63, 89, inequality(ies) 5, 47, 171 90, 92 – 4, 96, 127, 243 intercultural: intercultural competence linguistic/sociolinguistic landscape 209; intercultural education 35, 4, 7, 41, 60, 99, 115, 161, 167, 63, 215 218 – 19, 222 internationalization: Link, H. 247 – 8 internationalization policies 2, 8, 13, literacy: academic literacy(ies) 10, 11, 208, 225, 227; internationalization 106, 126, 146, 151; literacy practices processes 207, 209, 226; 10, 77, 114, 125 – 26, 141 – 2, 145 – 6, internationalization programs 12, 13, 161, 167; liturgical literacy 11, 145, 208 – 10, 225, 227, 237 – 8 148; multilingual literacy 141, 188 Ishikawa, E. A. 130, 136 – 7, 139 Lo, A. 246, 248 Ito, M. 189 – 90, 192 – 3, 198, 202 López, L. E. 41, 53 – 4

Jacquemet, M. 1, 15, 73 – 4, 84, 86 – 7, McCarty, T. L. 4, 15, 41 – 2, 54, 218, 224 175, 186 Maeyama, T. 129, 133 – 4, 139 Japanese-Brazilian: Japanese-Brazilian Maher, T. M. 4, 15, 53 – 4, 111, 118, community 130 – 1, 138; 145, 156 Japanese-Brazilian identity(ies) 129, Makoni, S. 1, 16, 50, 55, 182, 185 – 6, 130 – 1, 133 – 4, 138, 201 189, 200, 203 Jung, N. M. 118, 145, 156 Margolis, M. 6, 16 258 Index Martin-Jones, M. 1, 6, 16, 43, 55, 107, Pietkäinen, S. 6, 16 118, 146, 156, 180, 186, 208, 210 Pires-Santos, M. E. 109, 115, 118 Martins, M. F. 90, 102 Pita, M. D. 245, 248 May, S. 1, 16 Pommersch/Pomerano 9, 22, 57, 59, Meliá, B. 31, 39, 101 – 2 63 – 6 metapragmatic reflexivity 179 Portuguese: Portuguese as an additional media 36, 132, 158, 161, 166 language 6 – 7, 12, 66, 207, 211, 216; Mignolo, W. D. 176, 178, 182 – 3, Portuguese expansion 208, 213 185 – 6 positioning 42, 50, 127, 136, 209, migrant 5, 6, 8 10, 14, 58, 71, 87, 125, 225 – 6, 228 – 9, 232, 236, 244 133, 162, 167, 178, 184, 211 positioning theory: 42 minority: minority groups 2, 6, 75; postcolonial/postcolonialism: 71, minority language(s) 4 – 5, 25, 31, 63, 105, 171 89, 245 poststructuralistic approaches/ Moita-Lopes, L. P. 1, 16, 175, 180, perspectives: 1, 2 186, 225, 239 postmodernism perspectives: 1, 2, monoglossic perspective 12, 246 108, 226 monolingual/monolingualism 3, 8, power/power relations: 3 – 4, 22, 28, 10, 20, 22, 27 – 9, 36, 44, 71, 76 – 7, 32, 62, 71, 101, 171, 176, 200, 209, 85 – 6, 89 – 90, 92, 99, 101, 107, 110, 211, 228, 243 115 – 16, 142, 162, 171, 184, 208, Pratt, M. L. 13, 16, 182, 186 219, 238, 242 – 5 Monserrat, R. M. F. 41, 55 Quadros, R. M. 76, 88 Morales, L. M. 130, 135, 138, 140 Queixalós, F. 28, 39 Morello, R. 33, 39, 63, 68, 91 – 2, 101 – 3 racialization: 228, 237, 244 Moriwaki, R. 130 – 4, 139 Rampton, B. 73 – 4, 176, 179 – 80, multilingual practices 7, 10, 12, 71, 73, 185 – 6 80, 90, 92, 94, 107, 115 – 16, 128, rap 2, 8, 11, 175 – 6, 179, 180 – 4, 246 141 – 2, 189, 198, 200, 219, 240, refugees 6, 14, 178, 211 243 – 6 religion 146 – 8, 154, 162 – 3, 166 multiliteracy 92 Renault-Lescure, O. 28, 39 multimodality 246 – 7 repertoire(s): communicative repertoire multimodal practice(s) 78, 86, 241, 9, 42, 75, 77 – 8, 84 – 5, 113, 115, 244, 246 – 7 117, 125, 134, 141, 178; language repertoires 8, 156 – 7; linguistic narrative analysis/narrative repertoires 71, 116, 156, 223; perspectives: 3 – 4, 13, 225, 232 – 3, multilingual repertoires 4, 10, 235 – 7, 241, 246 73, 198, 242, 244; sociolinguistic neo-liberal 25, 176, 227 repertoires 11, 124, 129, 145, 161, 167, 219 Oliveira, G. M. 3, 14, 16, 42, 62, 68, representation 42, 74, 76 – 7, 83 – 4, 89, 94, 103 86, 107 – 10, 129, 147, 160 – 1, online communication 36, 163, 166 172 – 3, 188, 193, 200, 218 – 20, 235, Outakoski, H. 245, 248 238, 244 resources: cultural resources 32, 67, 92, Patrick, D. 41, 51, 55 157, 167; communicative resources Pennycook, A. 1, 16, 50, 55, 73 – 4, 1, 9, 11, 42, 78, 108, 111, 113, 141, 138, 140, 175, 182, 185 – 6, 189, 146, 157, 178, 180, 184, 193, 202, 200 – 1, 203, 248 246; Deaf/hearing resources 80; performance 12, 50, 96, 148, linguistic/sociolinguistic resources 179 – 80, 246 49, 53, 107, 117, 125, 134, 180 performativity 73, 172, 176 – 82, 185 182; literacy resources 11, 106, 125, periphery 176, 191, 235, 237 – 8 142, 146, 148, 153, 167; multimodal Peuronen S. 198 – 200, 202 resources 78, 86, 244; semiotic Index 259 resources 1, 11, 86, 117, 173, 179, teacher education see education 181 – 4, 193, 195, 199; transidiomatic text spectacularity 175 – 6, 178 – 80, 184 resources 180 – 1 see also language Tollefson, J. W. 4, 17, 47, 55 resources Torquato, C. P. 6, 17, 220, 224 Reyes, A. 246, 248 trajectories 2, 58, 123, 127, 129, Ribeiro, G. L. 177, 180, 187 157 – 8, 198, 229, 241 – 3, 245 – 6 Rodrigues, A. D. 28 – 9, 39 transcultural 7, 174 – 5 Rosowsky, A. 145, 148, 156 transidiomatic/transidiomaticity 84, Ruíz, R. 100, 103, 208, 210, 245, 248 86 – 7, 175 – 6, 178 – 82, 184, 246 Rymes, B. 76, 78, 80 – 1, 88 translanguaging/translingual practices 7 – 8, 107, 115 – 16, 245 – 6 Sagaz, M. R. 89, 91, 103 transliteration practices 164 – 5, 167 – 8 Sakamoto, M. 129, 135, 140 translocal 7, 126, 152 – 4, 175 – 6, 178, Santos, B. S. 6, 16, 176, 187, 226, 181 – 2, 184,198 237 – 9 transnational 2, 6, 11, 13, 42, 154, Santos, M. 7, 16, 176, 187, 157, 163 – 4, 189, 207, 227 – 8, 242 – 3 227 – 8, 239 Threadgold, T. 228 – 9, 239 scales 71, 92, 94 – 5, 127, 176 Triple Frontier 105 – 6, 109, 115, Schlatter, M. 223 158 – 9, 175 – 8, 180 – 2, 245 – 6 Seiffert, A. P. 34, 39, 96, 103 Skilton-Sylvester, E. 247 – 8 Ukrainian-Brazilian(s) 11, 142, 144, Semechechem, J. A. 10, 16, 141, 147, 154 145 – 6, 156 urban/urbanization 58, 62, 93, 98 – 100, semiperipheral country 71, 236, 238 105, 113, 129, 132 – 5, 138, 153, Severo, C. G. 1, 16 157, 164, 177 – 8, 198 Shohamy, E. 161, 168 Utakis, S. 245, 248 Signorini, I. 73 – 4 Silva, I. R 75, 78 Van Rompay-Bartels, I. 135, 137, 140 Silva, R. C. M. 161, 168 Venn, C. 176, 182, 187 Silverstein, M. 4, 17, 71, 74 Ventura, M. 214, 218, 224 Skliar, C. 75 – 6, 88 Vertovec, S. 176 – 7, 187 social media: 126, 148, 153 – 4, 158, voice(s) 2, 13, 62, 76, 101, 117, 124, 163, 166 131, 144, 146, 176, 181, 183, 199, sociolinguistics: performative 222, 228, 232, 236 – 8, 245 sociolinguistics 180 – 1; sociolinguistics of multilingualism Wallerstein, I. 226, 238 – 9 13, 107, 141; traditional modernist Woodward, K. 76, 82 – 4, 88 sociolinguistics 179 Woolard, K. 27, 39, 129, 140 Spivak, G. C. 86, 88 stereotype(s): 161, 209, 236, 246 youth culture 189, 245 Stroud, C. 4, 17 superdiverse/superdiversity 73, 176 – 7 Zavala, V. 244, 248 Suzuki, M. E. 134, 139 Zoppi Fontana, M. G. 211, 224