Language Reclamation: French-creole Language Teaching in the U.K. and the Caribbean (Multilingual Matters, 106)

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Language Reclamation : French Creole Language Teaching in the UK and the Caribbean Multilingual Matters (Series) ; 106 Nwenmely, Hubisi. Multilingual Matters 1853592994 9781853592997 9780585195810 English Creole dialects, French--Study and teaching--Great Britain, Creole dialects, French--Study and teaching-Caribbean Area, Languages in contact--Caribbean Area, Languages in contact--Great Britain. 1996 PM7851.N96 1996eb 447/.9 Creole dialects, French--Study and teaching--Great Britain, Creole dialects, French--Study and teaching-Caribbean Area, Languages in contact--Caribbean Area, Languages in contact--Great Britain.

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Language Reclamation

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Multilingual Matters Asian Teachers in British Schools PAUL A. S. GHUMAN Distance Education for Language Teachers RON HOWARD and IAN McGRATH (eds) Foundations of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism COLIN BAKER French for Communication 1979-1990 ROY DUNNING Language Attitudes in Sub-Saharan Africa E. ADEGBIJA Language Diversity Surveys as Agents of Change JOE NICHOLAS Language, Minority Education and Gender DAVID CORSON Le ou La? The Gender of French Nouns MARIE SURRIDGE Literacy, Language and Community Publishing JANE MACE (ed.) Making Multicultural Education Work STEPHEN MAY Quantifying Language PHIL SCHOLFIELD Reflections on Language Learning L. BARBARA and M. SCOTT (eds) Teaching and Researching Language in African Classrooms CASMIR RUBAGUMYA (ed.) Teaching Science to Language Minority Students JUDITH W. ROSENTHAL Please contact us for the latest book information: Multilingual Matters Ltd, Frankfurt Lodge, Clevedon Hall, Victoria Road, Clevedon, Avon, England, BS21 7SJ

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MULTILINGUAL MATTERS 106 Series Editor: Derrick Sharp

Language Reclamation French Creole Language Teaching in the UK and the Caribbean Hubisi Nwenmely MULTILINGUAL MATTERS LTD Clevedon · Philadelphia · Adelaide

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Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data Nwenmely, Hubisi, 1955Language Reclamation: French Creole Language Teaching in the UK and the Caribbean/Hubisi Nwenmely Includes bibliographical references and index 1. Creole dialects, FrenchStudy and teachingGreat Britain. 2. Creole dialects, French-Study and teachingCaribbean area. 3. Languages in contactCaribbean area. 4. Languages in contactGreat Britain. I. Title. II. Series: Multilingual Matters (Series): 106 PM7851.N96 1996 447'.9-dc20 95-22875 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. ISBN 1-85359-299-4 (hbk) Multilingual Matters Ltd UK: Frankfurt Lodge, Clevedon Hall, Victoria Road, Clevedon, Avon BS21 7SJ. USA: 1900 Frost Road, Suite 101, Bristol, PA 19007, USA. Australia: P.O. Box 6025, 83 Gilles Street, Adelaide, SA 5000, Australia. Copyright © 1996 Hubisi Nwenmely. All rights reserved. No part of this work may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. Typeset by Archetype, Stow-on-the Wold. Printed and bound in Great Britain by WBC Book Manufacturers Ltd.

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Page v Contents 1 Introduction

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The Organisation of the Book 2 Preparing the Ground

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Language and Identity 6 Language Maintenance and Shift 9 Language Policy and Language Planning 11 Standardisation 13 Conclusion 3 Sun, Sea and Oppression: Kwéyòl in the Caribbean

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The Historical Development of French Creoles 18 Patterns of Language Use 22 Language Policy and Planning in the Caribbean 31 Kwéyòl Literacy 35 Conclusion 4 Cold, Rain and Oppression: The Kwéyòl Speech Community in the UK 37 37 Patterns of Settlement of Kwéyòl Speakers 39 Changing Patterns of Language Use 41 Language, Culture and Community 42 Conclusion 5 A Critical Ethnography

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A Personal Statement 45 Methodology 50 Framework and Method of Analysis 54 Conclusion 6 Teaching and Learning Kwéyòl in London

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The Kwéyòl Classes

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Page vi 58 Composition of the Classes 60 Why Students Come to the Classes 67 Conclusion 7 From Speech to Writing: Resources for Learning

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Standardisation in the French Antilles 71 Orthographies 81 Dictionaries 87 Grammars 91 Other Materials to Support Kwéyòl Teaching 92 Conclusion 8 The Quest for Status: Accrediting the Kwéyòl Classes

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Tutor Perspectives on Accreditation 96 The Kwéyòl Test 98 LOCF Accreditation 99 Student Views on Accreditation 101 Discussion 9 Sé Pou'w Mantjé Néyé Pou Apwann Najé: You Must Survive Drowning in Order to Learn to Swim

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Kwéyòl in the Caribbean 106 Kwéyòl in the UK 107 The Kwéyòl Classes 108 Resources

111 Accreditation 112 Some Recurring Themes Appendix: The Kwéyòl Test

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References

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1 Introduction This book explores attempts to reverse language shift in the Kwéyòl speech community in London. During the 1950s and 1960s, approximately ten per cent of the population of the Eastern Caribbean islands of St Lucia and Dominica left to make a new life in Britain. While many of these new arrivals had been exposed to English in school, their dominant language was Kwéyòl, an Afro-French creole mutually intelligible with other French creoles spoken in the Caribbean and indeed in many other parts of the world. In the UK, the rapid shift from Kwéyòl to English was largely completed within a period of twenty years. However, many second- and third-generation children now express unhappiness at their limited proficiency in Kwéyòl and some have taken positive steps to reclaim their linguistic heritage. For them, Kwéyòl is a symbol of a distinctive cultural identity which sets them apart not only from white Britons, but also from other Black British groups, such as Barbadians and Jamaicans. This book attempts to document the efforts of students and tutors in Kwéyòl classes in various parts of London to assert their cultural identity. The community in question is small: it probably numbers no more than 15,000. However, the issues raised by the Kwéyòl classes are pertinent to many other situations. Of particular interest is the fact that Kwéyòl is in the very early stages of standardization. The semi-official orthography only dates back to 1982, the first dictionary was published in 1991 and there is a dearth of teaching materials. The efforts of students and tutors in the London Kwéyòl classes to produce a range of materials in Kwéyòl are thus of interest not only to those involved in adult literacy in St Lucia and Dominica, but also to those working in other French creole situations in different parts of the world. Questions of syllabus design, tutor training and accreditation which emerged as important issues in the Kwéyòl classes are also relevant for educators committed to sustaining local literacies in micro-states such as the Solomon Islands and in multilingual countries such as South Africa and

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India. They are also of potential interest to teachers of other community or heritage languages in Canada, Australia and the USA, as well as Britain. The Organisation of the Book Chapter 2 discusses a range of theoretical issues which recur in discussions of the Kwéyòl communities in London and the Caribbean, and which are also relevant for an understanding of the other situations which are outlined above. These issues include language attitudes; language and identity; language maintenance and shift; and language policy and planning. Chapter 3 explores the history and background of the Kwéyòl language in the Eastern Caribbean, including the social status of the language and its relationship with official languages. In Chapter 4, the focus shifts from the Caribbean to Britain, with a discussion of the patterns of settlement of Kwéyòl speakers, their changing patterns of language use and structures within the community which support the continuing use of Kwéyòl. Chapter 5 describes the methodology employed in studying the classes. It argues for the importance of a critical ethnography which recognizes the impossibility of value-free research and attempts to safeguard against researcher bias by drawing on a variety of sources and making use of different methods of data collection. The classes form the focus for Chapter 6. It describes the development of Kwéyòl teaching in London; it also outlines the socio-cultural background of the students and their motivation for studying the language Chapter 7 is concerned with resources which support the teaching of Kwéyòl. It looks in detail at issues such as language standardisation; the development of the Kwéyòl writing system and the production of materials to support the teaching of the language. It also makes links between initiatives in Britain and the Caribbean. In Chapter 8, the emphasis moves to assessment and accreditation of the Kwéyòl courses. In particular, it describes the process of designing a formal Kwéyòl test and achieving accreditation status for the classes. Special attention is paid to the symbolic importance which students and tutors attach to this process. Finally, Chapter 9 draws together the various themes which have emerged throughout the book, summarising the main findings and looking closely at their implications for future developments and research.

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2 Preparing the Ground. Various themes of theoretical significance recur during the course of this book which are central to an understanding of the teaching of Kwéyòl in both the Caribbean and the UK. These include the question of how language attitudes shape linguistic and cultural identity; the ways in which social, economic and political forces determine patterns of language use; the importance of policy and planning for language maintenance and the part which standardisation plays in this process. Each of these themes will be examined in turn, in order to provide a theoretical underpinning for the discussion which follows in subsequent chapters. Language and Identity. Language is a powerful symbol of identity inextricably linked with the attempts of students in the London classes to reclaim their cultural heritage. The extensive literature on attitudes towards language lends support for this proposition. Language varies according to social class, ethnicity, and gender (Trudgill, 1983; Fasold, 1990). Public discrimination on the grounds of race, disability, social class, religion and sexual orientation is no longer acceptable in the UK context. Yet, as Milroy & Milroy (1985: 3) point out: It appears that discrimination on linguistic grounds is publicly acceptable, even though linguistic differences may themselves be associated with ethnic, religious and class differences. In general, people who use 'unacceptable' pronunciation and grammar belong to the lower economic social groups. Therefore, such discrimination can be interpreted as social class discrimination and an exercise in political power favouring certain elite groups in society. Many negative attitudes to language have their origins in class prejudices and cultural conditioning. The fact remains, however, that some dialects of a language are considered more appealing or beautiful than others, while some languages are believed to be more logical than others. At the level of language system, it is difficult to justify arguments that one

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language or dialect is linguistically superior or better than another. Considerations of superiority or inferiority, beauty or ugliness and logicality or illogicality in language usage are held by linguists to be irrelevant in terms of language system, although they may be relevant at the level of language use. Edwards (1979: 138), for instance, argues that: Languages and language varieties, are all valid symbolic systems, distinctions among them cannot be justifiably attributed to greater or lesser logical force, accuracy etc. In a similar vein, Milroy & Milroy (1985) contend that any one of a number of language varieties could be given status within a society. Yet, in most cases, one arbitrary choice is made in preference to the others. Particularly important in this respect is the Giles et al. (1974) study which postulates two competing hypotheses for judgements of the 'aesthetic' qualities of accent. The inherent value hypothesis holds that there is something intrinsic to certain accents which makes them more pleasing to the ear than other accents (a commonly accepted view), while the imposed norm hypothesis holds that the high status accorded to certain accents and their associated pleasantness are merely reflections of the status of their speakers. Both these hypotheses were tested by asking judges to listen to tapes of unfamiliar language varieties. It emerged that listeners were unable to distinguish between the language varieties thus lending support to the imposed norm hypothesis. It would seem that the status of a particular group of speakers is reflected in evaluations of their speech. It is also difficult to accurately assess peoples' true attitudes to language. Labov (1978), for example, shows that the overt claims people make about their language are often inaccurate and are contradicted by actual usage. For this reason, it has been necessary to devise indirect measurements of language attitudes, the most important of which is the 'matched-guise' technique developed by Lambert et al. (1960) in Canada. Here, judges are asked to rate a tape-recorded speaker's personality along different parameters after hearing a person read the same passage in two or more languages, dialects or accents. The judges are unaware that the speaker is the same person. Lambert (1967) categorised the parameters into three groups. Some dimensions (e.g. industriousness, intelligence) are viewed as reflecting the speaker's competence; some (e.g. trustworthiness, helpfulness) reflect personal integrity; and some (e.g. friendliness, sense of humour) underlie social attractiveness. Whilst the technique has been criticised for its supposed artificiality (Edwards, 1979), studies that have employed 'matched-guise' demonstrate that people make stereotyped judgements of personality on the basis of

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speech samples and that a hierarchy exists: at the top is the standard accent with its connotations of greater prestige and at the bottom lies a range of urban accents which invariably typify most disadvantaged speakers. There can be little doubt that the 'matched-guise' technique offers valuable insight into the social evaluation of speech. It is reliable in that the same judges can be asked to evaluate the same speakers on separate occasions. Alternatively, different judges can be asked to evaluate the same speakers and the profile of reactions is always the same. Although standard English with Received Pronunciation is said to have the highest status, aesthetic quality and communicative content, positive qualities are also attributed to low status varieties. There are indications that dialect speakers associate a greater sense of integrity, sincerity, trustworthiness, friendliness etc. with non-standard than with standard forms. Giles & Powesland (1975) suggest that a sense of in-group solidarity may be operating when judges hear similar lower-prestige accents. Similarly, Canadian and American studies have produced interesting results in that they lend support not only to the notion of in-group solidarity, but also to what the authors describe as minority group reaction, that is, a situation whereby the judges perceived themselves in some way as inferior to the dominant group. Lambert et al. (1960), for instance, examined the reactions of French- and English-speaking college students in Montreal towards French and English 'guises'. They found that the English-speaking judges reacted more favourably to the English guises on most of the 14 dimensions investigated (sense of humour, intelligence etc.). The French speaking judges, however, not only evaluated the English-speaking guises more positively than the French, but they also gave less favourable responses to the French guises than did the English speaking judges. The adoption of the stereotyped values of the dominant group, whereby the disadvantaged group actually downgrades their own group, would seem to be a universal feature of oppressed peoples. Not surprisingly, then, such internalised negative attitudes are also found among Kwéyòl speakers in and outside of the Caribbean. Edwards (1979) reminds us that people with low status speech styles or languages are invariably disadvantaged in a number of ways. They experience difficulties that are not the result of linguistic or intellectual deficiencies or cultural deprivation, but are rather the result of membership of a low prestige group with little social power. Speakers faced with these sociolinguistic realities will make varying choices. Those who wish to assert their linguistic and cultural identity will reject the negative evaluations and make conscious decisions to emphasise culturally distinctive aspects of

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their speech. Those who have accepted the inferior status will join with those in power to downgrade the variety in question. In either case, language and identity are inextricably linked. Attitudes towards Kwéyòl will be explored throughout this book. In Chapter 3, I will examine this question in relation to both diglossia and language policy and planning in the Caribbean. Chapter 6 examines the range of reasons for attendance at the Kwéyòl classes, including the desire to increase the status of the language and to demonstrate cultural pride. The importance of cultural identity emerges again in Chapter 7 in a discussion of the standardization of Kwéyòl and the need to develop teaching materials for the classes. Finally, in Chapter 8, language attitudes are discussed in relation to the need for formal accreditation of the classes. Language Maintenance and Shift. Language attitudes not only shape linguistic and cultural identity, they can also influence the social, economic and political forces that determine whether a language thrives or falls into disuse. Fasold (1984) points to a number of characteristics when a language is in its late stages of shift, including the decision of bilingual parents to pass on only the new language to their children. This often occurs when the language which is losing ground is regarded as inferior to the language which is in the ascendant. There may also be an imbalance in borrowing: loan words from the incoming language are used in the traditional language, whilst borrowing in the other direction is less common. When religious activities are conducted in the new language, particularly if religion is significant to the community, the shift is nearly complete. In answering the question how do languages die, writers have put forward a variety of explanations. Dressler (1972) suggests language death results from language contact situations where the conquering language replaces the dying language with the passing of time. The linguistic murder approach (Pearse, 1976; and Khleif, 1980) holds that languages do not 'die' natural deaths, but are murdered by those wishing to destroy the nation. Similarly, Day (1985: 164) in a discussion of Hawaii talks in terms of linguistic genocide, a process involving: the systematic replacement of an indigenous language with the language of an outside, dominant group, resulting in a permanent language shift and the death of the indigenous language. In the case of the Hawaiian language, the justification used by policy makers for the encroachment of American English in important domains such as education, commerce and religion has been the inadequacy of the

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old language for technical and scientific purposes; better employment opportunities for speakers of the new language and the promise of better educational success for children educated in American-English. The reality, however, is rather different: there are high rates of school dropout; unemployment and a lack of political autonomy. Moreover, whilst Hawaiian is undoubtedly a victim of Western 'progress,' the local elites share partial responsibility for the linguistic genocide as they 'aided and abetted' the English-speaking foreigners. Edwards (1985), however, disagrees with the notion of 'linguistic murder' and adopts the fatalistic view that language shift is inevitable under certain conditions. Revivalism and educational support are futile as they do not significantly affect the powerful social forces which produce shift. He refutes the linguistic murder claims as being too simplistic: the issue of 'murder' or 'suicide' is muddied by ideological leanings. Those who wish to restore or revive a threatened language are likely to hold the murder view. This, he suggests, simplifies the issue to an 'us and them' format whereby the oppressed and oppressors are easily separable and where the victim has the moral advantage. In contrast, the suicide perspective would seem to be espoused by those wishing to provide a 'disinterested assessment of linguistic decline' (Edwards, 1985: 52). It is possible, however, to challenge Edwards' own ideological position. This is not a 'disinterested assessment' as he suggests. He argues that the active desire for language revival or maintenance is usually felt by an unrepresentative minority and not the speech community as a whole. Nonetheless, members of a threatened language community usually have to contend with powerful political, economic and social forces that inevitably threaten and bring about the systematic destruction of a way of life (Fairclough, 1989; Tollefson, 1991). Assimilation does not occur on the basis of equality but rather under pressure and intimidation. The view that members of a speech community are motivated to adopt a more powerful language because of economic success and communicative efficiency risks distorting social reality and under-playing the coercion that often accompanies it. Edwards also appears to have lost sight of the fact that, while most communities desire economic prosperity and social advancement, they do not consciously choose to abandon what he refers to as the cultural 'stuff' to secure this. Movements designed to protect linguistic or cultural 'stuff' from extinction invariably stray into a politically and socially sensitive arena. It is often the case that powerless 'minorities' are the ones concerned with reversing language shift. Such movements receive little support from

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official quarters, or the wider speech community and are generally viewed as irrational and backward looking. The most common justifications for this position include the small numbers of speakers of the language; their negligible political influence and the lack of resources to support such initiatives. Some commentators (Fishman, 1991) question the relevance of language revival in a society where crime and poverty and more pressing concerns exist. Activists, however, point out that the quest to reverse language shift is often part and parcel of a wider cultural and socio-political agenda. In the USA, for instance, the revival of Amerindian languages on their traditional homelands has accompanied the reintroduction of traditional forms of worship, dances and songs etc., while in Quebec, the movement to accord French national status has been part of a wider struggle to gain political independence for the region. In point of fact, it is doubtful whether it is practical or possible to restore a language to a position of prominence once the process of shift has taken hold. It is also questionable whether success should be expected on a nationwide scale, or viewed in absolute terms. Activists should consider working towards an understanding of the sociocultural functions that are fundamental to 'intergenerational continuity,' separating these from the secondary or peripheral issues. Goals need to be pinpointed and oriented towards smaller units such as clubs and families or towards speaking rather than writing. To achieve this, the most salient issues need to be identified; attention would need to be focused on what is achievable in a given context; a realistic time frame should be decided on and a plan of action to regain particular functions 'among specific target populations' should be organised. Using the Richter Scale model, Fishman (1991) proposes his own graded sociolinguistic disruption scale for language communities: Graded Intergenerational Disruption Scale (GIDS). The higher the GIDS rating, the greater the disruption and threat to the prospects for the language being transmitted intergenerationally. At the top of the scale, Stage 8, the remaining users of the language are elderly adults while at Stage 1 there is some use of the language in governmental, commerce and educational spheres. Fishman suggests that those concerned with reversing language shift should assess what stage the language is at in a particular location and undertake the repair of the lower foundational stages (8 to 5) then address the more advanced stages (4 to 1). He recommends the following actions: Stage 8 should focus on reconstruction and adult acquisition of the

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language; Stage 7 should use the language in cultural interaction involving primarily the community based older generation; Stage 6 should focus on mother tongue transmission within the home, family and neighbourhood; while Stage 5 should use the language in schools alongside other subject areas for literacy acquisition for children and adults. These stages are the necessary foundation on which to build the more advanced stages; they are labourintensive and success in achieving them depends on the dedication of activists. Passing to the more advanced range of the scale, Stage 4 should establish schools using the language as the medium of instruction with exclusive control over the curriculum and staffing as well as ordinary schools offering some language instruction to children from the target language community. At Stage 3, the language should be promoted in the local/regional and work environments among speakers and non-speakers of the language; whilst at Stage 2, this should be extended to the mass media and governmental arena. At the highest level of attainment, Stage 1, the language should be used freely in governmental circles, education, the mass media, at work and to conduct higher level transactions at national levels. The gradual shift from Afro-French to an Afro-English based creole in St Lucia and Dominica forms part of the discussion of patterns of language use in Chapter 3. The issue of language shift in the UK where Kwéyòl speakers represent a tiny linguistic minority, is even more pressing and is discussed in Chapter 4. Attempts to revive Kwéyòl in the Caribbean are discussed in Chapter 3, while developments in the UK form the focus for the rest of the book. Language Policy and Language Planning As we have seen from the above discussion, social, economic and political forces inevitably dictate the patterns of language use within a speech community. The role of language policy and planning is, therefore, critical for low status languages such as Kwéyòl. In many parts of the world, different language varieties co-exist but fulfil different functions. However, in societies where central government is supported by a social and political infrastructure which includes education and the media, various decisions are made explicitly or implicitly about the level of support which is given to different language varieties. Activities in this domain come under the umbrella of language planning. A commonly accepted definition of language planning is the attempt to influence the structure and function of the language varieties in a given society (Giddens, 1987; Fairclough, 1989; Kennedy, 1989). These efforts are

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at times under the control of agencies such as the French Academy and involve the creation of orthographies, standardisation and modernisation programmes. However, many established national languages (e.g. English and Russian) do not have a specific agency that is responsible for such functions. In multilingual societies, language planning may also involve the allocation of specific functions to particular languages, from the preferred variety for street signs to the preferred variety in social, educational, political, and economic sphereswhat Fishman (1991) describes as 'status planning'. For instance, in multilingual societies such as Nigeria, Kenya or Namibia, the policy requiring everyone to learn a single dominant language (usually European) is often presented as the common sense solution to communication problems. What is implied, then, is that, if linguistic minorities learn the dominant language, they will gain access to social, economic and political equality. In line with this view is the notion that becoming literate in a major European language is a prerequisite for modernisation and liberation from backwardness and dependency (Samuel, 1992). In reality, however, this often proves to be an illusion. Language policies are usually designed to sustain the existing power relationships within society. Modern nation states favour competence in specific language varieties, literacy and technical skills. Thus, policies that shape language and its use invariably affect the distribution of power. A specific language variety may also be associated with notions of patriotism and national identity, for instance, the role of English in the USA. Such ideas are often used to justify social divisions such as class as well as economic, political and social inequality. They also serve as a powerful tool for exclusion. Though states may fund language programmes and promote language learning, they simultaneously create conditions which make it impossible for some citizens to acquire the language competence they need. In Namibia, for instance, the mass of the population have little or no opportunity to attend school to acquire the necessary language skills for employment and political power. Similarly, in Britain, current legislation reasserts the dominance of standard English in the school system while restricting mother tongue education; and in the Philippines, English plays a role in sustaining unequal education systems whereby the majority of Filipinos have little access to the wealth and political power open only to those with fluency in English. There are two broad approaches to research on language policy and language planning: the neo-classical approach and the historical-structural approach. Tollefson (1991: 26) suggests that the neo-classical approach, the dominant paradigm, fails to relate planning and policy to broader

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socio-political changes and is ill equipped to confront three crucial linguistic issues. Firstly, the precise formation and development of language communities and the factors that explain how such communities come to invest their language(s) with varying values; secondly, why some groups are prepared to learn languages so easily, whilst others hold on to their mother tongue, even to the extent of going to war; thirdly, how precisely planning decisions bring about linguistic change. Tollefson further suggests that most language policy research based on neo-classical principles fails to capture the impact of language policies on people's lives. This is largely due to the traditional aversion in social science research for personal descriptions of the lives of people who form the focus of the study. A description of the hardship people experience might, for instance, be dismissed as 'subjective', 'unscientific', and 'emotional'. Yet it can be argued that 'scientific language' such as 'study', 'population', 'data' etc., suppresses any direct expression of human experience and, in its attempt to depersonalise the investigation, it also dehumanises. In contrast, the historical-structural approach to language planning research rejects the neo-classical focus on the individual and instead emphasises the origins of the costs and benefits confronting members of a speech community: the social, political and economic factors which constrain or impel changes in language structure or language use. Language policy and planning in a Caribbean context is explored in Chapter 3. This is an area with profound implications for economic and social development, particularly in societies that are undergoing a process of modernisation. Any decisions made concerning language in the Caribbean clearly have important implications for the teaching of Kwéyòl in the UK. The existence, or lack of a language policy, also raises important questions for the standardisation and development of Kwéyòl. Standardisation Standardisation refers to the process whereby a variety or dialect of a language is selected or imposed as the standard language in a speech community. Crystal (1985), for instance, points out that, once selected, the standard language or dialect becomes the prestige variety, which cuts across regional differences and provides a unified means of communication. As the institutional norm, the maintenance of the standard is ensured through its use in the mass media, law, religion, in education and in teaching the language to foreigners. The issue of language standardisation is bound up with notions of what constitutes the 'best' or 'truest' speech. It ultimately aims to achieve

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uniformity and optimal efficiency in the spoken and written forms of a given language and this desire is usually motivated by various economic, political and social needs (Milroy & Milroy, 1985; Fairclough, 1989). Southworth (1985) suggests that the idea of a standard language only gained popularity in England and other west European countries during the mid to late eighteenth century. Prior to this, such an idea would have been meaningless, since the rigid class structure meant that the speech and other customs of the various social classes were vastly different. The speech and wider activities of each group reflected the class origins of its speakers and were considered appropriate for that group. Thus, for example, upper class speech reflected the language of education since only the upper classes were educated. Southworth comments that, as western Europe moved from a feudal to a capitalist mode of production, there was a partial lessening of the class barriers in England and the rising business class gained a degree of economic and, ultimately, political power. The drastic changes that resulted from the development of capitalism thus stimulated the notion of democratic ideals. This, in turn, contributed to the growth of the idea of a single standard language which could be adopted by all members of society. Standardisation is commonly viewed as a historical process evolving over centuries. Leith (1983) suggests that it took 600 years for standard British English to be adopted as the superordinate language variety. Standardisation, he argues, proceeds via four inter-linked and often overlapping stages: the selection of the dominant dialect variety; the conditions for its acceptance by the powerful and educated class; an elaboration of the functions of the standard variety as it develops in the domains previously associated with the 'high' language; and finally, the codification or an attempt to 'fix' the standard variety in dictionaries and grammars by establishing 'correct' meanings of words, and devising or choosing between existing writing systems to prevent variability in spelling or pronunciation. Milroy & Milroy (1985) suggest that it is more appropriate to speak of standardisation as an abstract ideology, as absolute standardisation of a language is never achieved. Language is not a static entity: it is usually modified and expanded to reflect changes in the wider society. Moreover, the process of standardisation raises a number of contentious issues in as much as it involves judgements regarding differences between language varieties. Such judgements are usually conditioned by socially prescribed attitudes and are therefore ideological in nature, rather than wholly informed by linguistic considerations. For example, the process of codification is undertaken by a small elite of scholars and, as Leith (1983)

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comments, its methods have less to do with the description of linguistic forms than with the evaluation of variants as 'correct' and the stigmatisation of variants which are felt to be undesirable. The task of selecting a single language variety as the standard can be problematic, particularly in societies that are multilingual or have large numbers of regional dialects. According to the 1963 census figures, Dada (1989) points out that Nigeria, for example, has over 400 languages. English, the official language, is spoken by less than ten per cent of the population. At independence, nine major languages were officially recognised, the largest being Igbo and Yoruba with 10 million speakers each and Hausa with 20 million speakers. Here, the task of choosing a standard representative language is not only confounded by the cultural divisions created by British colonialists, but also because no single national language is spoken by the whole population. The linguistic situation in the Caribbean is less complex than in multilingual societies such as Nigeria, because the number of language varieties in use is clearly smaller. In Chapter 3 standardisation is discussed in relation to policy and planning as an important stage in this process. The issue of Kwéyòl literacy in both the Caribbean and in the UK is also explored as another stage in the standardisation of Kwéyòl. In Chapter 7 the question of language standardisation is examined in greater detail. It starts with the example of Haiti then moves on to St Lucia and Dominica, exploring the development of orthographies, and the production of dictionaries, grammars and materials to support the teaching of Kwéyòl. Conclusion.. The issues discussed in this chapter provide the foundation for the discussion which follows in the succeeding chapters. Language is a powerful symbol of cultural identity and Kwéyòl sets apart St Lucians and Dominicans from other Caribbean peoples. A theoretical understanding of the ways in which language shapes identity is necessary to fully appreciate the attitudes of Kwéyòl speakers towards their language. It also helps in contextualizing the role that Kwéyòl plays in the lives of St Lucians and Dominicans in the Caribbean and in the UK. A discussion of issues related to language and identity highlights the social and political context in which Kwéyòl exists. In addition, it provides an explanation of its status and also gives important clues to the ambivalent attitudes that Kwéyòl speakers have towards their language. A discussion of language maintenance and shift is important to an understanding of the social, economic and political forces that give rise to

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the maintenance or demise of Kwéyòl in the Caribbean and UK context. It also brings into focus the social realities that shape the patterns of language use in speech communities. Similarly, an examination of language policy and planning issues focuses attention on the importance of these two factors in shaping the social and political environment in which Kwéyòl exists. Activities in this area are influential in determining not only the functions, but also the domains in which languages are used. Moreover, policy and planning have important implications for the level of support or opposition to work on standardising a language. In the Caribbean context, activities in this area have had far-reaching consequences for the growth of the Kwéyòl language. Finally, attitudinal factors, patterns of language use, policy and planning activities all have a direct bearing on the process of language standardisation. An exploration of standardisation focuses our attention on a number of questions that are of significance to Kwéyòl in the Caribbean and UK contexts. A discussion of standardisation is also crucial in understanding the level of resourcing needed for the development of orthographies, grammars, books and other materials to support the teaching of the language.

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3 Sun, Sea and Oppression: Kwéyòl in the Caribbean In order to understand the linguistic situation of Kwéyòl speakers in the UK, it is essential to look first at the socio-historical development of Kwéyòl in the Caribbean. This chapter will examine a range of issues which have a bearing on language in the Caribbean, including the processes of pidginization and creolization and the historical development of French creoles world-wide. Attention will be paid to patterns of language use in situations where the French creole co-exists with a distinct official language and the implication of these patterns for language policy and planning. Throughout, an attempt will be made to discuss the situation in St Lucia and Dominica within a broad theoretical framework which explores issues of language and power, drawing on examples both within the Caribbean and beyond. Particular attention, however, will be placed on aspects of language policy and planning in the Eastern Caribbean which are relevant for an appreciation of the attitudes of Kwéyòl speakers in the Caribbean and the UK and for those attempting to promote the language in both places. The Historical Development of French Creoles. Romaine (1988) suggests that the term creole was Portuguese in origin and referred to people of European descent, raised in a tropical or semi-tropical environment. Later, creole was extended to include natives of those regions and other non-Europeans. Most recently the term has been appropriated by linguists to describe a particular group of languages spoken not only by Black populations in and around the Caribbean, but in many other locations world-wide. The same linguistic processes operate in all these situations: when people from many different language backgrounds come into contact, they need to find a common means of communication. In the first instance, a simple pidgin arises with a very basic vocabulary and an extremely reduced grammar. Later, however, when the pidgin becomes the first

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language of subsequent generations, it undergoes a process of elaboration and expansion. The creole which results fulfils all the communication needs of its speakers but, while the vocabulary is drawn from the dominant language, the structures which it uses are often very different, and, in many cases, derive from the subordinate languages (Hymes, 1971; Todd, 1974; Romaine, 1988). Historically, the dominant attitude on the part of Europeans towards pidgin and creole languages has been extremely hostile and contemptuous. Descriptions such as 'bastardised' and 'ungrammatical corruptions of the standard language' abound (Alleyne, 1961; Midgett, 1970; Hymes, 1971). In a similar vein, the study of creole languages was largely ignored until the 1970s. Young linguists were actively discouraged from studying these languages because they traditionally carry low status (Thomas, 1969; Hymes, 1971). Many Kwéyòl speakers have internalised these attitudes and continue the process of downgrading their language to this day. Despite the low status traditionally accorded both by the wider society and by academics, the fact remains that creoles are important in their own right as the mother tongue of millions of people throughout the world. French creoles are spoken in many different parts of the world: Mauritius, Réunion, the Seychelles and Rodrigues in the Indian ocean; Louisiana in the USA; Cayenne in South America; and Haiti, Martinique, Guadeloupe, St Lucia, Dominica, Grenada, Carriacou and the Grenadines, Trinidad and Tobago, Désirade, Marie Galante, St Maarten, Les Saintes and St Barthélemy in the Caribbean (Voeglin & Voeglin 1964; Hancock, 1971; Dalphinis, 1985a). In the same way that English creoles have often followed in the wake of English colonialism, French creoles have often developed in French-dominated territories. French creoles are, to a large degree, mutually intelligible (Graham, 1985; Carrington, 1988; Christy, 1990). However, the precise circumstances surrounding the development of French creoles vary a great deal. In Mauritius, for example, there are large Indian and Chinese communities, whereas, in the Caribbean, the majority of the population was originally transported as slaves from different parts of West Africa. Nonetheless, the similarities between French creoles are far more striking than the differences (see examples shown in Figure 3.1). In the former British Caribbean colonies, French creoles are spoken by small numbers of older speakers from Grenada, Trinidad and Tobago, St Vincent and the Grenadines. In St Lucia and Dominica, however, the majority of the population speak French Creole or Kwéyòl as their mother

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Figure 3.1 Grammatical similarities between various French creoles I went you're he/she/it'll gothey had gone going Haiti: mwe alé u ap alé il va alé yo té alé St Lucia: mwen ou ka alé i ka'y alé yo té alé alé Dominica:mwen ou ka alé i ké alé yo té alé alé Guyana: mo alé u ka alé li wa alé uè tè alè Réunion: mi parti u lapré parti li as parti zòt tei parti Louisiana:mo kuri vu ap kuri li va kuri yé té kuri Mauritius:mo alé u pé alé li va alé zòt ti alé tongue. These islands will therefore form the main focus of the discussion which follows. St Lucia, originally named Hewanorra, is part of a group of islands known as the Lesser Antilles in the Eastern Caribbean sea. It is situated roughly 39 kilometres south of Martinique and 34 kilometres north-east of St Vincent. It is the second largest of the Windward Islands group. Like Dominica, the island was originally inhabited by a number of Amerindian groups: the Ciboney, Arawak and the Carib. The current population of the island is in the region of 150,000. Slightly more than half of St Lucians live in the capital, Castries and in major towns like Soufrière and Vieux Fort. The population is predominantly young with almost half under the age of 15. Over 90% of St Lucians are of African descent; there are very small numbers of East Indians (3.2%) and Whites (0.8%); while the rest of the population is of mixed race (5.5%) (Dalphinis, 1985a; Compton, 1986). Dominica lies between the French-controlled islands of Martinique and Guadeloupe, measuring 29 miles long and 16 miles wide. In 1989 its population was estimated at 84,000. The island is the home of the last remaining community of Caribs or Waitikubuli (Honeychurch, 1988). They live mainly on the east coast of the island and their numbers are estimated at 3,500. The largest percentage of people are of African decent, but there is a small, yet economically strong, mixed race community (Menhinick, 1989: 80). Although there are many similarities in historical experience between the two islands, Dominica's culture (especially its crafts and botanical lore) remains highly influenced by its Amerindian heritage.

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Patterns of Language Use The linguistic situation in the Eastern Caribbean today can best be understood in the context of its very chequered colonial history. The French West Indian Company first established St Lucia as a French colony in 1642. In the next 150 years the island changed hands between the French and the British some fourteen times, but remained under British control from 1803 until its independence on the 22 February 1979. Dominica has had a similarly chequered history. It was French between 1632 and 1732 and again between 1778 and 1783 when it finally passed to the British. These extended periods of contact with French at a critical period in the history of the Caribbean have had a lasting effect on the linguistic situation in both islands. The pattern of language use which emerged during this period is a clear example of diglossia, a term first used by Ferguson (1959) and later developed by Fishman (1967) and Fasold (1984). Diglossia is used to describe a situation where two separate language varieties exist within a society. It is usually taken to involve either two dialects of the same language or two distinct languages. In all the former British colonies in the Caribbean, English is the acrolectal or 'high' variety, whilst in the former French colonies French remains the 'high' variety. Presently, most of these former British territories use an Afro-English creole as the 'low' variety, whilst in the French speaking territories, such as Haiti, Martinique and Guadeloupe, an Afro-French creole is regarded as the 'low' language variety. English remains the official language in both St Lucia and Dominica and is used by a small elite in public and formal situations such as government and administration, legal institutions and education. To date, competence in the use of the official language continues to be a prerequisite for any position of power in these domains. Carrington (1988: 13) recounts, for instance, how in 1977 a member of the St Lucian parliament was rebuked by the Speaker for attempting to address the House of Assembly in Kwéyòl. Perhaps with this incident in mind, Section 31c of the 1979 St Lucian Constitution states that Parliament shall consist of people with the ability 'to speak and, unless incapacitated by blindness or other physical cause, to read the English language with a degree of proficiency sufficient enough to enable him to take active part in the proceedings of the House'. The church has been equally conservative. As late as 1957, the Catholic church in St Lucia banned the performance of a Kwéyòl play, Banjo Man, by ensuring that there were no venues available for rehearsals. It also threatened to excommunicate anyone who participated in the play (Frank,

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1990). There has, however, been some movement in church attitudes towards Kwéyòl. According to Charles (1983: 24), the efforts of leading religious figures like Fr. Patrick Anthony and Fr. Reginald John have resulted in the use of Kwéyòl in 'varying degrees of intensity' in almost every Catholic church in St Lucia. Nonetheless, Kwéyòl remains the 'low' variety, used by the mass of the population in their private and informal lives, within the family and socially. As Smith (1989: 12) points out, 'English has, until recently, been Dominica's face towards the outside world, while creole represents the image staring back from the mirror.' This observation is equally true for St Lucia. Devonish (1986) suggests that the diglossic situation serves two main functions. Firstly, it restricts participation by ordinary people in state institutions which exert a great deal of power over their lives; and, secondly, it denies them direct access to information and technology vital to most forms of economic activity. Yet, ironically, the demands of the modern nation-state favour the destruction of traditional diglossia, because of increased demands for a higher degree of competence in the use of the official language by the mass of the population. The conflict created by the existence of diglossia, on the one hand, and the need for national development, on the other hand, can be found in a wide variety of settings. Like Norway in the mid 1950s, many developing Caribbean states have been involved in devising strategies which address the practical implications of the diglossic situation (Jules, 1985; Anthony & Louisy, 1985; Carrington, 1988; Best, 1982, 1993). The extent to which they are successful will inevitably have far reaching implications for the national development of the individual countries and for the region as a whole. St Lucian and Dominican English Creole. Attention also needs to be paid to the English lexicon creoles with which Kwéyòl coexists. If we consider first the case of Dominica, Christy (1982) reports a range of linguistic competencies from monolingual Kwéyòl speakers to monolingual English speakers. However, there is evidence of a considerable shift over the last fifty years or so from a situation in which the majority of the population were monolingual Kwéyòl speakers, to one in which the majority are bilingual in Kwéyòl and an English-lexicon creole. Some observers (Le Page & Tabouret-Keller, 1985; Carrington, 1988; Hunt, 1990; Christy, 1993) also emphasise that many professionals living in the capital and its suburbs were raised speaking Dominican standard English; like the Kokoy speakers, Kwéyòl is their second language.

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Christy (1993) estimates that two thirds of the population are now bilingual in Kwéyòl and Dominican EnglishCreole (DEC), a small percentage are bilingual Kokoy and DEC speakers, and the rest are monolingual speakers of DEC. She advances a strong case for a decline in Kwéyòl usage. Using data based on the reported language use of a sample of sixty Dominican adolescents, she suggests that DEC is replacing both Kwéyòl and Kokoy. It is noteworthy, for instance, that domains such as songs and konts (folk tales) traditionally associated with Kwéyòl and Kokoy no longer exclude DEC. She argues that this language variety now acts as the lingua franca which unites Dominicans as a people, and that recent moves towards closer political ties with the Anglophone islands of St Vincent and Grenada will ensure that Dominica moves from a Kwéyòl past to an English creole future. Evidence of language shift in Dominica, however, needs to be interpreted with some caution. It is important to note, for instance, that Christy's analysis is based on self-reports, a source of data which has sometimes proved extremely unreliable (cf. Alladina & Edwards, 1991). It is also based on a single age group and makes no comparison, for instance, with older speakers. The situation in St Lucia is equally complex. Vaughn (1979: 54) uses the experience of the creolist, Taylor, to draw attention to the changing patterns of language-use in the Eastern Caribbean. In 1946 Taylor estimated that only a third of the population had any command of English; by 1955 he noted a considerable increase in the proportion 'able or anxious' to make use of English; by 1974 he estimated that between two-thirds and threequarters of the population were able to use English. More recently, Simmons-McDonald (1988,1993) uses data on the language distribution of children entering school to confirm this picture. She also reports that there are more bilinguals and monolingual Kwéyòl speakers in the rural areas than in the urban centres. Isaac (1986) proposes the following variants in linguistic competence among St Lucians: proficiency in Kwéyòl and standard St Lucian English; proficiency in St Lucian Creole English with little competence in St Lucian standard English; proficiency in St Lucian Creole English only; proficiency in St Lucian French Creole with little competence in St Lucian standard English and proficiency in St Lucian French Creole alone. These varieties, however, occur in different relative proportions. Very few St Lucians speak only acrolectal standard St Lucian English; relatively few have proficiency only in Kwéyòl. The majority of the population have varying levels of competence in Kwéyòl and St Lucian Creole English.

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Dalphinis (1985a: 49) discusses the same phenomenon in terms of the process of relexification, in which English gradually replaces French vocabulary in an otherwise French creole structure. Take the variants which he postulates for the transition from the broad French creole gason-an ka manjé piman to the standard English the boy eats pepper: gasòn a ka manjé piman bbi la ka manjé piman bòi la ka it pèpa bòi la dòz it pèpa di bòi iting pèpa the boy eat pepper Christy (1990) also reports a similar finding for Dominica. In both linguistic communities social class has been one of the dominant factors in the relexification process. The middle class well-educated speaker will often use a higher proportion of English words. However, all sections of the population are more likely to use English vocabulary in formal than in informal situations, except in the case of the monolingual Kwéyòl speakers found mainly in the rural areas. Le Page (1977) identifies changing economic and social factors, namely a quest for upward mobility, as the main threat to the survival of Kwéyòl. Le Page & Tabouret-Keller (1985) talk in terms of a gradual shift in the population from a French patois like vernacular to a creolized English via an intermediate stage of standard English as a second language in the classroom. Simmons-McDonald (1988; 1993), however, is clear that we are not dealing with a situation in which one creole is being replaced by another. Rather, we are witnessing the development of bilingualism with two creole varieties. This position is very much supported by the evidence of code-switching between Kwéyòl and St Lucian Creole English, since code-switching is generally held to be a feature of stable bilingual communities (Hernandez-Chavez, Cohen & Beltramo, 1975). Samuel (1990), for instance, observes that in typical interactions: Either different speech turns may employ different varieties, or often times one speech turn itself may show an intermingling of different varieties. Factors such as the social context of dialogue, the person being spoken to, the topic being spoken about, and others may affect code-switching. While there is undoubtedly evidence of the increasing influence of English, the pre-eminence of Kwéyòl in the Eastern Caribbean would seem to be beyond question. In the Afro-English creole-speaking territories, such as Jamaica and Guyana, there has been a great deal of discussion around

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decreolisation and a shift from the basilect towards the acrolect. Such a situation, however, is more likely to occur when the creole is in contact with the superstrate language which provides much of the vocabulary base. In Dominica and St Lucia, French is totally absent, thus contributing to the relative stability of Kwéyòl. This situation then, as Simmons-McDonald (1988) suggests, is more reminiscent of bilingualism than the post-creole continuum which, according to some writers (e.g. DeCamp, 1971; Hancock, 1985; Todd, 1986), exists on islands such as Jamaica. Moreover, it is difficult to predict with any certainty what the final outcomes are likely to be. The rate of decline in the number of Welsh speakers this century might well have led observers in the mid 1950s to expect language death within two generations. The realisation of the threat to the survival of the language has, however, given rise to a growing tide of political activity and a cultural renaissance. In a similar vein, the increasing commitment to Kwéyòl in the Eastern Caribbean may well be sufficient to ensure its survival for the foreseeable future. As Frank (1990: 2) points out: . . . at present the general attitude to Creole can be characterised as 'enjoyment'; St Lucians enjoy using it for interpersonal communication; they are attracted to speeches, sermons, or radio programmes delivered in Creole; they love their Creole folk tales told in Creole; they say that Creole jokes are not as humorous when put into English. . . There are clear indications that attitudes towards Creole as publicly expressed are shifting. Language Policy and Planning in the Caribbean. Theoretical perspectives on language policy and planning have already been discussed in Chapter 2. Recent writers on language policy in the Caribbean (e.g. Devonish, 1986; Charles, 1990; Dalphinis, 1992; Samuel, 1992) adopt a historical-structuralist position. They regard the official language policies and practices of modern industrial states as being contradictory. They see the problem as arising from the desire to devise a language policy which maintains privileged access to state institutions by setting apart the official language from the informal everyday language of the masses. In order to facilitate the efficient performance of the state's functions, however, the language policy must avoid creating a large gap between the official language and the language of the mass of the population. Issues surrounding language policy in St Lucia and Dominica are best understood within the broader Caribbean context. As the first independent

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country in the Caribbean, Haiti provides an interesting example of how the struggle for economic and political independence can work in tandem with the quest for a language policy. Unlike many countries in the Caribbean, Haiti declared its independence from France very early in the nineteenth century. French was the sole official language of the country, whilst Kréyòl functioned as the mother tongue of the mass of the population. In 1915 the US marines landed in Haiti and imposed indirect American rule. A broad coalition of political organisations joined forces to oppose the American presence in the country and campaigned for mass education using the Kréyòl language during this period of national agitation. The fervent interest in the language culminated in a campaign to recognise Kréyòl as a language in its own right. In 1925, the publication of two linguistic descriptions of Haitian Kréyòlone by Faine, the other by Comhaire-Sylvainwas hailed as a landmark on the road to official recognition. Shortly after, in 1939, Christian Beaulieu produced material for teaching basic literacy and arithmetic using Kréyòl. Around 1940, McConnell and Laubach developed the first phonologically based writing system for the language and this was used as a basis for launching an adult literacy campaign in Kréyòl in 1943. Kréyòl was also tolerated in some areas of mainstream education. The US authorities had in place a system of technical and vocational schools intended to train Haitians for middle-level, semi-skilled posts, especially in agriculture, so as to create favourable conditions for investment. When the Department of Agriculture assumed responsibility for schools in rural areas, they allowed the use of spoken Kréyòl in the first four grades (Devonish 1986: 57). To accommodate the needs of the largely illiterate population, the orthography was simplified and diverged significantly from the French writing system. The new orthography was, perhaps inevitably, seen as a threat to the French linguistic and cultural heritage of Haiti because of its North American Anglo-Saxon influence. Language reforms met with a predictable degree of opposition from the local ruling elite, who insisted that while Kréyòl was used as the initial medium of instruction, French should be promoted in the later stages of education. However, the language reform in rural schools and the Kréyòl literacy campaign did not challenge the overall status and prestige of the official French language in a serious way. Kréyòl was therefore tolerated as having marginal status. Present day language policy in Haiti still advocates the use of indigenous languages in elementary education, whilst preserving French for use in higher education and as the medium of international communication. Since

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the 1980s, however, Haiti has experienced a wave of political repression, particularly in areas that support or promote the use of the Kréyòl language, such as local radio stations and other sections of the media. However, recent changes in the political climate have advanced the status of Kréyòl considerably in that the 1987 constitution conferred official status on the language. Language planning in St Lucia Language planning in other areas of the Caribbean is very much less developed. Independence came much later in most Caribbean states than in Haiti, often as late as the 1960s and 1970s. For many countries, such as Aruba, the creole language question formed an important part of the liberation struggle, whilst for others, such as St Lucia and Dominica, the language policy issue was not seen as a politically significant. Devonish (1986) points out, however, that even in cases where the language issue was not overtly raised as part of the campaign for change, the shift in political power gave a degree of recognition to the creoles spoken by the mass of the population. In many small nation states, including St Lucia, the legacy of colonial domination has resulted in insufficient attention being paid to planning, documentation and policy formation. In the areas of geography and the economy, for instance, planning is extremely centralised and is carried out by a few people with hardly any involvement from the majority that are affected by the policy. Other areas, such as the arts, education and communication, are also characterised by the absence of planning. As a consequence, there have been very few changes to long-standing colonial policies. As Samuel (1992: 11) points out: The full picture is that St Lucia continues to function largely on assumptions inherited from colonial structures, and the undemocratic whims and fancies of those who hold power. This means increasing conflict and confusion between the real needs of a changing socioeconomic environment in a sovereign nation and national policies that have not incorporated them. Any language policy needs to take into account the ambivalent feelings towards language which are widespread in St Lucia and Dominica. On the one hand, islanders have strong negative feelings and an attitude of shame about Kwéyòl which can be attributed to the legacy of the colonial experiences of creole speakers. Carrington (1980), a creolist with a long-standing interest in Eastern Caribbean linguistics, sums up the situation in the following terms:

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The problem with the non-acceptance of creole goes beyond failure to capitalise on the major communication medium, it extends to non-acceptance of creole speakers. Persons whose societal functioning is circumscribed by lack of competence in English evaluate themselves in terms which reduce their ability for self-fulfilment. On the other hand, Eastern Caribbeans have a feeling of security in having a distinctive language and cultural identity. Although Kwéyòl does not have official status in either St Lucia or Dominica, there are indications that acceptance of a distinctive Eastern Caribbean Afro-French identity is gaining ground. Louisy (1985: 1) points out: Kilti yon pèp, sé lèspwi'y, sé lam-li, sé mannyè'y ka viv, mannyè'y ka palé, mannyè'y ka èsplitjé kò'y. Nou, pèp Sent Lisyen ka viv en Kwéyòl, nou ka pale an lang Kwéyòl. Nou ka èsplitjé kò nou an Kwéyòl. Lang Kwéyòl-la, sé wasin pèp-la, sé lam nou, se manyè pansé nou. Mé délè, i ni tèlman bagay ki ka mennasé kilti sala, nou ka oblijé mandé kò nou chèsyon. Ki sa ki kay wivé Kwéyòl-la? Eski touswit, nou kay touvay kò nou kon yon pèp san lam? Eski kilti nou asé enpòtan pou nou, pou nou safe mannèv pou pwézèvé? The culture of a community is its soul, its very essence, it depicts the way the community lives, the way it expresses itself. We St Lucian people live as one with Kwéyòl, we speak a creole language. We describe our very existence in the language. The Kwéyòl language is the root of the community, it's our soul, it's the way we think. Sometimes, however, there are so many things that threaten the existence of this culture that it forces us to question ourselves. What will happen to the Kwéyòl? One day, will we find ourselves a people without a soul? Is our culture important enough to us, to make the necessary preparations to preserve it? Alongside shifting attitudes towards Kwéyòl is a change in terminology. St Lucians and Dominicans have traditionally referred to their language as Patwa, a term with many negative connotations. Various definitions of the word offered by Vaughn (1979), for instance, include 'a dialect (other than standard or literary dialect), hence somewhat contemptuously illiterate or provincial speech', and 'popular speech, mainly that of the illiterate classes, specifically a local dialect of the social strata.' Although the term Patwa remains in widespread popular usage, it is significant that the Standing Committee for Creole Studies decided to adopt the term Kwéyòl, thus bringing St Lucia and Dominica in line with the terminology adopted by Banzil Kwéyòl, the international Kwéyòl community. Nor has the growing popular support for Kwéyòl escaped the notice of the political parties. It is not uncommon, for instance, for politicians to

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deliver election speeches in Kwéyòl. There has also been a marked increase in the use of Kwéyòl in the media. Radio St Lucia began a limited amount of Kwéyòl broadcasting in 1972. St Lucian programmes were received in Dominica until the launch of their own Kwéyòl broadcasts in 1976. There has been a gradual increase over the years both in the number of programme hours and the variety. Public information, news and entertainment broadcasts can now be heard; advertising by companies such as Geest Industries and Chase Manhattan Bank also exploits the communicative potential of Kwéyòl. However, as Charles (1985: 15) points out: There has been political support for Kwéyòl use in the media over the last 10 years but in a very narrow and perhaps opportunistic manner. Kwéyòl language broadcasts in St Lucia will be embraced by the political directorate only when the content and thrust of the programmes are not hostile to their ideology. The use of Kwéyòl in media other than radio is very limited. Television is an exclusively English language medium and newspapers make only occasional use of Kwéyòl in columns and cartoons. A notable exception to this general trend was the attempt to develop a bilingual tabloid (Blanchard, 1990). Balata was established in 1983 and funded by UNESCO. Originally the news-sheet was conceived as a communication link between St Lucia and Dominica and the rest of the Kwéyòl speaking world. Articles were in Kwéyòl and English and ranged in focus from culture and language to interviews. Balata was designed as a research tool which would elicit feedback on the new orthography (also discussed in Chapter 7). It also dedicated space in each issue to teaching the writing system. Unfortunately, funding and distribution problems brought the venture to an end in 1989 after just 14 issues. There have been a variety of initiatives on the part of non-governmental agencies to promote the culture and use of the language in formal and non-formal settings. An important initiative which sought to use the media to popularise Kwéyòl is the Creole Discourse and Social Development project, sponsored by the International Development Research Centre (IDRC) of Canada. The project aimed to enhance the acceptability of Kwéyòl in domains previously reserved for English by producing a nucleus of personnel who could deliver their services in Kwéyòl in four related spheres: news and information broadcasting, health education, post-literacy activities and agricultural information. The goal here was to create a significant shift in status for the language and ultimately increase the demand for the language in the public sector. The only concrete development from this initiative, however, was the setting up in 1991 of an

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experimental three year part-time Diploma in Creole Studies currently being undertaken by 13 students at the Université des Antilles Guyenne. In the area of education, the first official response to the language question came when the 1979/1982 Labour Party initiated a national consultation on education. The Committee on Education Priorities, made up of officers and citizens interested in education, submitted a series of interim and draft reports in 1978 and the final report in February 1980. The Committee felt that sufficient numbers of monolingual Kwéyòl speakers were experiencing difficulties with English to justify Kwéyòl being used extensively within the school system. As Samuel (1992: 12) reports: The official scapegoat is the popularity of the 'Creole dialect' which is hindering the learning of English and learning in general. Unbelievably, this view comes from the guardians of a system that has spent the last four centuries ensuring that Kwéyòl is debarred from school; yet for them it is now responsible for poor performances in those very same schools. St Lucia can no longer afford such dishonesty in this important area of people's lives. Facing up to this educational crisis must mean a serious attempt at language education policy reform, which can only be part and parcel of a general commitment to national language policy reform. The fall of the Labour government in 1982, however, marked a return to relative indifference towards Kwéyòl, although there has been some softening of attitudes. The Chief Education Officer, Dr Michael Louis, has recently announced on behalf of the Ministry of Education that the government is now prepared to concede to the fact that Kwéyòl is the first language of the people and that English needs to be treated as the second language: I think we ourselves have been speaking about a language policy for some time in the Ministry. I think now that we have a realistic programme going this is something we cannot postpone for too long. We have been consulting some Caribbean scholars on that matter. I can tell you sooner and not later we will be coming out with what we believe is a suitable language policy for our schools, taking into account of course the importance of Creole (Louis, 1990: 9, 11). The Folk Research Centre The fact remains, however, that there is still considerable resistance to the promotion of Kwéyòl as an official language and that non-governmental agencies (NGOs) rather than central government have been at the forefront of development in this area. Fishman (1991) observes that reliance

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on voluntary support and implementation of language planning efforts is not uncommon. Rather, it is a characteristic feature of the struggle to reverse language shift in threatened speech communities world-wide. In St Lucia, the most important development work on the language and culture has been financed by a number of regional and international development agencies and universities including Christian Action for Development in the Eastern Caribbean (CADEC), (now the development department of the Caribbean Conference of Churches (CCC)); Bischofliche Aktion Adveniat and Misereor, two German-based Catholic funding agencies; the Canadian Catholic Organisation for Development and Peace (CCODP); Papstliche Missionswerke in Osterreich (PMASA) (Pontifical Mission Aid Societies in Austria); various Austrian and Canadian governmental Ministries; the Canadian University Services Overseas (CUSO); and UNESCO. The co-ordination of such programmes is usually dealt with on a sole venture basis or in partnership with NGOs, the most important of which is the Folk Research Centre. FRC was founded by Fr. Patrick Anthony, a Catholic priest and is currently directed by Embert Charles. The background against which it developed merits special attention because of the relatively unusual role, in the Caribbean context, of the church as a supporter of 'Black Power' ideology. During the 1960s and early 1970s, there was a rapid growth of cultural awareness and Black racial pride which was associated with the Black Consciousness Movement and the Civil Rights Movement in the USA. At that time, key players in these movements, such as Angela Davis and Malcom X, used slogans such as 'I'm Black and I'm proud' and 'Black power' to engender a sense of a distinct and positive racial identity in Africans in the diaspora, mobilising African-Americans and Caribbeans to fight for their civil rights. The movement also accelerated the process of political independence for many African countries and Caribbean islands still under colonial rule. The consequences of this shift in power were far reaching and culminated in the inauguration of the Caribbean Conference of Churches (CCC) in November 1973. The region also experienced a growth in Caribbean theology with its call for religious decolonisation. In addition, the injection of an African perspective laid the foundation for an appraisal of the theological significance of Caribbean culture. The social and political climate was thus instrumental in the formation of organisations and study groups with an agenda for change. Against this background, groups such as the Study Action Group (SAG), later the Folk Research Centre, emerged. Anthony (1986: 37) describes SAG as an organisation which 'developed slowly out of the shared consciousness of a group of young people. . .

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searching for national and cultural identity, and struggling to foster social awareness'. From 1973 until 1976, SAG undertook responsibility for a folk research and documentation programme. It also undertook research into the folk culture of St Lucia and produced radio and television programmes. The rationale for these activities was to raise consciousness on development issues. On the 14 September 1979 SAG was reconstituted as the Folk Research Centre. By the time of the formal opening, it had acquired the technological facilities for documentation work, a resource centre, library and reading-room facilities. It undertook a wide range of projects, including a popular theatre project called 'Téyat Pèp-la', a local branch of the Eastern Caribbean Popular Theatre Organisation (ECPTO). An important role of the theatre project is to promote development, by encouraging the audience to look critically at socio-cultural, economic and political issues. However, the creation of Jounen Kwéyòl (International Kwéyòl Day), on the last Sunday of October, is perhaps the most important initiative in the marshalling of community-wide support for the language. The celebrations now extend to a week of cultural activities such as Kont Vòlè and La Wenn Kwéyòl which Charles (1986: 67) describes as 'a weapon for change' and 'a vital force in the process of liberation'. The current remit of the FRC is to conduct, promote and monitor research in St Lucian culture; to explore and clarify the role of culture in the development of the St Lucian people, and to contribute to the cultural development of the St Lucian people. Significantly, it places the question of culture in a much broader socioeconomic context (Kremser & Wernhart, 1986) and attaches great importance to monitoring 'culture research by all personnel, institutions or agencies.' This has been an area of contention in the past, particularly in relation to anthropological research. Anthony (1986: 50) writes: FRC had noticed that much of the anthropological research in St Lucia was being done by foreigners and had no direct benefit to St Lucia, but merely fulfilled the researcher's academic needs. The success of FRC's efforts in the area of language and culture, however, depends to a large extent on official recognition of the value of bilingualism in the St Lucian context. As Anthony (1986: 51) argues, if such recognition were forthcoming: Not only would the vast riches of our cultural heritage find an official vehicle for expression, but the tremendous resources of a people now sadly trapped in the bottle-neck of language domination would be able to burst forth in a relentless surge of popular participation and national development.

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Language policy in Dominica. Dominicans have been exposed to the same colonial experience as St Lucians and both communities share similar ambivalent attitudes to the language. English remains the official language in both places. In Dominica, the goal of education, for instance, is to teach children to read and write standard English. Hunt (1990: 59) argues that: . . . it would require a Copernican revolution in teachers' and policy makers' perceptions of Kwéyòl to secure this language a central role in Dominican education. The continued marginalisation of Kwéyòl in post colonial education continues in a defacto manner the tradition of contempt established in colonial times. Nevertheless, there are increasing signs of attitudinal shifts in a positive direction. Recognition of the cultural importance of Kwéyòl in Dominica began during the 1930s with the work of Cissy Caudelron who popularised konts (folk tales), and Kwéyòl songs amongst the English speaking elite in Roseau. Henderson (1989) also remarks that during the same period, there was a growing awareness of the language as a mark of a distinctive Dominican identity. Fontaine & Leather (1992) confirm that this is the case. A dramatic shift to Kwéyòl for public information purposes came about as a result of the destruction of much of the island's infrastructure after the 1979 hurricane. The paradox here is that the central importance of the language is recognised for purposes of disseminating information in domains such as health, fisheries, agriculture, etc., but not in formal or adult education. Carrington (1988: 22) paints an optimistic picture of the direction in which language attitudes on the island are developing: The importance of the Dominican vernacular is high. For example, the use of the language by the Prime Minister is not restricted to the political platform; she has used it repeatedly in radio interviews and discussions. By comparison, the Prime Minister of St Lucia is credited with the public remark that computers do not speak creole. The two leaders may have different perceptions of their political reality and their language. Significantly, the Dominican coat of arms is written in Kwéyòl (although not using the official orthography): 'Après bondié c'est la ter' (After God, the earth). Since the advent of political independence in 1978, activists have campaigned tirelessly to establish Kwéyòl as an officially recognised language, using broadcasting to support this work. In 1981, a Standing

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Committee on Creole was established as part of the cultural division to carry out promotional work on the language. Activities that promote Kwéyòl in Dominica have the same function as those already described for St Lucia. There is, for instance, a Simenn Kwéyòl (Kwéyòl Week) with a range of cultural events and the promotion of Kwéyòl in schools on National Day (October 30th). Responsibility for the coordination of these activities is assumed by the Komité Pou Etid Kwéyòl (Committee for the Study of Kwéyòl) (KEK), a semi-autonomous body with some support from central government. Fontaine (1989: 3), the president of the organisation, describes one of its functions as being in 'the vanguard in the quest for Creole's proper development and acceptance'. The development of KEK since 1982, parallels the development of the Kwéyòl movement in St Lucia. Its main aims are to promote the use of Kwéyòl in public life and in the media; to enhance the status of the language in public domains, and to increase the availability of documentation on the subject. Using initiatives such as Jounen and Simenn Kwéyòl, both KEK in Dominica and the Folk Research Centre in St Lucia appear to be making notable advances in the struggle to gain wider acceptance for the Kwéyòl language. In spite of these developments, Kwéyòl still lacks official recognition. Kwéyòl Literacy The choice of language is a central issue for anyone involved in education and is a matter of particular concern in the Eastern Caribbean where high levels of illiteracy seriously hamper national development. To date, in St Lucia and Dominica there is not a precise picture of the extent of illiteracy. The most reliable estimate for St Lucia, was carried out by Carrington (1980); it relies heavily on the 1946, 1960, and 1970 Population Censuses and the 1979 Electoral Registration lists. The figures for functional illiterates were arrived at on the basis of those who did not receive any schooling and those who had only received between one and four years primary schooling. One obvious difficulty, however, is the assumption that all children who attend school will acquire literacy. The main conclusion of Carrington's work was that 46% of the population over the age of 15, or approximately 30,000 people distributed throughout the island, were illiterate. Estimates were not provided for the percentage of this total who were monolingual Kwéyòl speakers. Even less information is available for Dominica. However, casual observation suggests that the educational system is less developed than that of St Lucia (Carrington, 1988) and that levels of literacy are even lower.

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Literacy initiatives are always influenced by some theory of language, even if this is not made explicit (Barton, 1994; Street, 1994). One such theory that has affected the way literacy programmes are organised since the publication of the influential UNESCO (1953) report is that literacy work is best carried out in the local vernacular. However, experience gained from this 'common sense' approach suggests that this issue is an extremely complex one: how, for instance, should vernacular be defined? What criteria should be used for choosing the vernacular language? How many people are likely to know the vernacular language? For what purpose should literacy be used? Dalphinis (1987) notes that the lack of opportunity to use Kwéyòl in educational settings in both Dominica and St Lucia not only contributes to the systematic destruction of the language, but also denies its citizens creative expression: As each generation of fluent Creole speakers die, without being able to participate in the educational dimensions of their own countries using Creole as the educational vehicle, the educational institutions become greater and greater sources for the alienation of the Caribbean personality from its roots and the contexts for further brainwashing that the Caribbean destiny is to be a recipient culture, but not a creative culture. The solutions adopted to date in the Eastern Caribbean have focused heavily on the use of English. Entry into secondary school is determined by the high degree of competence in English necessary to pass the Common Entrance Exam (CEE). By the same token, it is widely believed that knowledge of Kwéyòl will interfere with the acquisition of English and impede improved life chances in St Lucia and Dominica. The same thinking also extends to adult literacy. As long ago as 1945 Simmons was drawing attention to the popular misconception amongst St Lucians that Kwéyòl significantly contributes to the problem of illiteracy: The contempt for Creole, that it creates a gulf for proper expression in English is irrational. . . The difficulty in St Lucia is that our educators do not understand the basic value of the French creole (cited in Jules, 1988: 3). In St Lucia, views on the negative impact of Kwéyòl literacy can be attributed, in part at least, to the findings of the 1946 population census that 43% of the population were Kwéyòl monolinguals and that, of that figure, 44.8% of speakers over the age of 10 years were illiterate. It is not necessarily the case, however, that there is a causal relationship between illiteracy and the use of Kwéyòl. Carrington (1981) and Jules (1985; 1988), for instance,

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show that while Kwéyòl monolinguals are indeed illiterate, not all illiterate persons are Kwéyòl monolinguals. Adult literacy initiatives in St Lucia tend to be fragmented and often take place in isolation from other educational efforts. They have also been based on what Jules (1991) calls the 'fallacious assumption' that illiteracy will disappear as universal primary education is achieved. FRC and the National Research and Development Foundation (NRDF) have been prominent in adult literacy work in St Lucia and Dominica and their pioneering work deserves special attention. Jules (1978) notes that the earliest initiatives in this area were the FRC programmes in prison literacy during 1973/1975 and 1978/1979 and the Monchy literacy project which took place during 1974/1977, all of which drew upon the conscientization approach advocated by Freire (1972). Freire's approach attempts to equip learners with the necessary skills and knowledge to transform society by using the process of becoming literate to make them aware of the oppressive socio-economic conditions that maintain them in the state of illiteracy. This approach was perceived as too radical in certain quarters and both projects were discontinued. FRC, however, had succeeded in raising awareness of the importance of adult literacy provision and, with the arrival of the Labour Government in 1979, this area was given priority. The role of Kwéyòl in adult literacy has been controversial from the start. The newly elected government set up a literacy committee in 1980 comprising linguists such as Lawrence Carrington and representatives from organisations such as the FRC and the Caribbean Research Centre (CRC) to report on the feasibility of setting up a mass literacy programme, and, by extension, of addressing the language problem. The committee recommended that the government adopt an official bilingual language policy encompassing education and other areas of public life, and that efforts should be made to develop a standard orthography which would receive official recognition CRC (1980). The same issue was addressed as part of a national consultation on education (Ministry of Education and Culture 1980), which recommended: • that a language policy providing for the recognition and establishment of Creole as an accepted medium of communication should be developed; • that positive policies should be established to counteract negative attitudes towards the language; • that assistance be sought from UNESCO to determine orthographic conventions for the language.

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Language standardisation was also recommended to facilitate the policy. Government support for a bilingual language and language education policy came to a halt, however, with the fall of the Labour government in 1982. Political disarray delayed the progress of the proposed National Literacy Project and it was not until 1984 that a national conference took place (Charles, 1984), and as a result, a pilot literacy project was set up in the Ti Rocher and La Guerre communities (Jules, 1984) drawing on the expertise and resources of various NGOs as well as the Ministry of Education. The second phase of the literacy project was launched in five new communities with even higher levels of illiteracy: Lyon, Richfond, Derniere Riviere, La Ressource and Grand Riviere (Francis, 1985). By 1990 the literacy programme was sufficiently well resourced to accommodate further expansions into the urban and semi-urban areas. To date, then, the literacy programme has expanded incrementally, though not as rapidly as had originally been anticipated, and now involves over 20 different centres. Dominica is also in the early stages of work on a national literacy programme. Most adult literacy work currently taking place in St Lucia focuses on English, though instructors frequently make use of Kwéyòl for purposes of discussion and explanation. A similar situation prevails in many other small nation states or other societies with a history of colonial domination. For instance, after 28 years of political independence, the Maltese adult literacy campaign is still centred mainly on the teaching of basic English with Maltese, the native language of the mass of the population, being introduced only to play a subsidiary role. Mayo (1994) argues that this top-down transmission style of teaching, whereby adult educators use English as the medium of instruction, continues the prescriptive colonial mode of communication. A small number of Kwéyòl literacy projects organised by members of FRC does, however, continue to attract enthusiastic support. The introduction of a book of photographs, Lavi nou, to be used generatively as a stimulus for students' own writing as part of the pilot for the National Literacy Project, also created opportunities for students to develop literacy skills in Kwéyòl. Community based studies carried out by the Literacy Pilot Project suggest that some of the conditions are now in place to support the use of Kwéyòl in literacy programmes, e.g. the acceptance of Kwéyòl in information dissemination domains, such as agriculture and health. When asked which language they would like to read, write and count in, adult learners from the Ti Rocher and La Guerre communities, for instance, chose

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both Kwéyòl and English. The fact that the majority of learners were in favour of literacy in both languages suggests that St Lucians are not only conscious of the pathway to mobility and opportunity, but also wish to 'preserve the cultural integrity of their native language by learning to read and write in it' (Jules, 1988). Ultimately, further developments in this area will need to address a number of ongoing problems. It is clear, for instance, that the NGOs that carry out teaching and promote literacy initiatives do not have the necessary resources to achieve the wide-ranging agenda they set themselves (Charles, 1990). For instance, the programmes have no provision for training tutors or facilitators in the Kwéyòl writing system, a problem common to many other projects attempting to promote local literacies (Agnihotri, 1994; Mayo, 1994). Notwithstanding the problems of limited resources, Jules (1988: 13) suggests that the impact of any initiative that attempts to address the problem of illiteracy in St Lucia, and arguably in Dominica, 'is severely circumscribed by the lack of a determined political will'. In a similar vein, Dalphinis (1987) points out that: Although education experts have recently continued to advocate the use of Creole/Patwa as a language of education, the St Lucian education authorities at worst ignore this advice and/or suggest, rather unconvincingly, that they do not have the funds for such educational development. As Carrington (1992) and other commentators observe, political will (as translated into the allocation of resources and establishment of support structures) is an essential ingredient in achieving mass literacy, and such programmes must be fully integrated into development planning. Conclusion.. Although the linguistic situation in the UK and the various Kwéyòl speaking territories is, of course, very different, an understanding of the nature of the speech community in the Caribbean is essential for an appreciation of the situation in the UK. A common feature in the development of French creoles in the Caribbean is that they have all evolved out of the experience of colonialism. The continuing contact of Kwéyòl with English has given rise to patterns of language use in both St Lucia and Dominica which can be described in terms of diglossia. English remains the official language in both islands and is used in high domains such as education, commerce and law, while Kwéyòl is used in low domains such as informal gatherings. Growing nationalist sentiment,

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however, has given rise to increasing pressure for wider acceptance of Kwéyòl and has generated debate around the need for language policy and planning. As various observers have commented (e.g. Devonish, 1986; Jules, 1988; Tollefson, 1991), discussions of language policy and planning cannot be separated from a consideration of the relationship between language and power. Neither St Lucia nor Dominica have official language policies: decisions as to which languages are used in which situations are based unquestioningly on an acceptance of attitudes and practices inherited from the previous colonial administration which emphasised the low status and a limited range of uses for Kwéyòl. Many people involved in promoting literacy, however, argue that the way forward is to develop a bilingual policy which recognises the value of English but at the same time acknowledges the needs of the Kwéyòl-speaking majority. Such a policy would take account, for instance, of the need to use English to meet development and modernisation needs, particularly important for countries competing not only in the Caribbean context, but also in the world market. At the same time it would take steps to ensure that Kwéyòl makes a significant contribution to national development. If the potential of Kwéyòl for use as an official language is to be developed further, however, a wide range of important issues need urgent attention, including the development of an orthography and the codification and standardisation of the language. Official commitment to the development of a bilingual language policy ceased with the passing of the Labour government in 1979 and responsibility for the promotion of Kwéyòl now falls on the shoulders of NGOs with very limited resources. Long term progress in this area is therefore very uncertain. The situation in St Lucia and Dominica is clearly highly pertinent for developments in the UK. Chapters 4 and 6 explore the ways in which the legacy of ambivalent attitudes towards Kwéyòl has influenced the provision of language classes in London. Chapter 7 examines questions of standardisation and resourcing which are relevant to both the Eastern Caribbean and the UK.

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4 Cold, Rain and Oppression: The Kwéyòl Speech Community in the UK. Chapter 3 explored patterns of language use in Kwéyòl-speaking islands in the Caribbean. The present chapter looks at the Kwéyòl speech community in the UK which forms the focus of the book. It examines the different patterns of settlement for St Lucians and Dominicans, as well as the ongoing shift from Kwéyòl to English. However, it looks, too, at the various cultural events and community structures which are currently contributing to the maintenance of the UK speech community. Patterns of Settlement of Kwéyòl Speakers Emigration from the Caribbean to Britain took place mainly between the mid-1950s and 1970. People from the Eastern Caribbean islands of St Lucia and Dominica formed only a very small proportion of the overall Caribbean migration to the UK. In the period between 1955 and 1961, for instance, of the 227,040 Caribbeans who entered the country, only 7,291 came from St Lucia and 7,663 from Dominica (Peach, 1969). The effect of this numerically small migration on the Eastern Caribbean, however, was profound. It has been estimated that some 10% of the population of St Lucia and an even higher proportion of the population of Dominica left their homes to come to Britain. Kwéyòl speakers decided to emigrate for the same reasons as other Caribbeans (Lowenthal, 1972): unemployment was very high; the racist practices of McCarthyism had closed the doors to the USA, the traditional destination for emigration, and the UK was actively seeking cheap labour in the New Commonwealth to meet the demands of the post-war boom economy. Eastern Caribbean people have had a long association with the UK, having served on British soil during the war and having settled in ports

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like London, Liverpool and Cardiff well before this time. It was only during the 1950s and 1960s, however, that more substantial migration took place. Outside the capital, Eastern Caribbean communities are to be found in Birmingham, Bradford, Huddersfield, Liverpool, Luton, Manchester, Milton Keynes and Preston. However, London was the main destination. Eastern Caribbeans are scattered throughout the capital but have particularly strong community bases in Paddington, Forest Gate in Newham, East Dulwich and Peckham in Southwark, Hackney, Haringey and Tower Hamlets. It is interesting in this respect to consider the ILEA Language Census returns for speakers of French in its schools, set out in Table 4.1. Comparisons with numbers of speakers of languages such as German, Dutch and Danish spoken in other European Community countries would suggest that the French speakers reported in the ILEA Language Census are not the children of Eurocrats (Alladina, 1985). The most likely explanation is that they are, in the main, speakers of French and Afro-French creoles from the Eastern Caribbean and Mauritius. However, the general level of ignorance about the existence or the distribution of French creoles may well have been responsible for teachers reporting French creole speakers as French speakers. This interpretation is supported by a close examination of Tower Hamlets' 1991 survey of the ethnic background of pupil population and the 1991/1992 pupil language census which records that 1770 Caribbeans attend school in the Borough. They constitute the second largest minority group. A significant number of these pupils are of Dominican and St Lucian backgrounds, yet Kwéyòl is not listed in the language census. This situation is in part influenced by ILEA's policy to exclude 'English dialects', 'English-based creoles' and 'West Indian dialects'. The Borough's LanTable 4.1 Numbers of French speakers reported in the ILEA Language Census, 1981-1987 Year Number 1981 2,808 1983 2,167 1985 2,030 1987 2,357

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guage Centre does, however, recognise the existence of Kwéyòl speakers and admits to recording these under the 307 French speakers listed in the language census: Speakers of creoles were included with the main language their creole derived from: so English-based creoles from the Caribbean were coded as English, and French-based creoles were coded as French. A previous attempt to collect data on West Indian creoles was unsuccessful as some teachers confused ethnicity and language and recorded all pupils of Afro-Caribbean origin as speaking Caribbean dialects. (London Borough of Tower Hamlets, 1992: 2) The Borough proposes to remedy significant omissions, such as Caribbean languages, by altering the way information is gathered for the next language census. One method being considered is not only recording information from the pupils, but also gathering information from parents at the point of entry into school. Irrespective of these changes, however, there is a range of problems associated with language surveys of this kind (Alladina & Edwards, 1991; Nicholas, 1988). In the context of the Kwéyòl speech community, for instance, it is important to remember that feelings of inferiority around culture and language (already referred to in Chapters 2 and 3) may lead pupils or parents from Dominican or St Lucian backgrounds to respond in the negative when they are asked whether they speak a different language. The phrasing of the questions in the survey may also have contributed to the imprecise picture of language use which emerges. If pupils are asked, for instance, whether they use the language on a regular basis in the home, a negative response may be recorded. However, such responses mask the fact that, in their social networks, these children interact with Kwéyòl-speaking parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and friends of the family. Changing Patterns of Language Use Language shift is a common occurrence throughout the world. It refers to the process whereby a speech community gives up one language in favour of another (Gal, 1979; Dorian, 1981). In Chapter 3, discussions focused on various indicators of a shift from Kwéyòl to an Afro-English Creole in St Lucia and Dominica. In both locations, the pre-eminence of Kwéyòl is beyond question. The situation in the UK is clearly very different. The evidence points to a community in which the shift from Kwéyòl to English is at an advanced stage.

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When the vast majority of St Lucians and Dominicans arrived in the UK, Kwéyòl was the language of the home. With the passing of time, however, there have been important changes. As children went to British schools and English became the language of choice, in conversation with the peer group at least, the linguistic balance in most families began to swing from Kwéyòl to English. First-generation St Lucians and Dominicans still make extensive use of Kwéyòl in conversation with people of their own age and Kwéyòl remains the only acceptable language for important social and family functions. In the early years of immigration Kwéyòl was also the language of solidarity for Caribbean born children who were making their way through the British school system. It served to isolate them both from the racist comments of British children and teachers and, to some extent, from derogatory remarks made by other Afro-Caribbeans about their speech. It is noteworthy, though, that over the years, British Black English has gradually taken over this function from Kwéyòl. In most cases parents have not chosen to transmit Kwéyòl to their British born children. As Fasold (1984) points out, this decision is a feature of the late stages of language shift. Secondgeneration children are thus likely to have a good receptive knowledge of Kwéyòl, but in most cases, their productive competence is extremely limited. The fact that Eastern Caribbeans form a small and relatively dispersed community within the UK makes the task of language maintenance particularly difficult. The tendency of British people to perceive, and treat, all Afro-Caribbeans in the same way has inevitably led large numbers of second-generation St Lucians and Dominicans to see themselves primarily as part of a larger British Black grouping and British Black English, rather than Kwéyòl, is the language of wider currency. Its use is an assertion of a positive Black identity and a symbol of resistance (Dalphinis, 1986; Edwards, 1986). The Caribbean writer, Salkey (1969), reflects in his novel, The Adventures of Catullus Kelly, 'The blanket term West Indian doesn't exist in the West Indies; it does in London, has to for protection's sake'. This reflection has particular poignancy in the case of Kwéyòl speakers whose Afro-French language and culture in many ways set them apart from the Afro-English Caribbean. British people, however, saw them simply as West Indian and remained, for a very long time, oblivious of their separate identity. Subject to the same kind of racial inequalities in education, housing and employment as Jamaicans, Barbadians or Trinidadians, their common Afro-Caribbean heritage became more important 'for protection's sake' than any differences which exist.

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Language, Culture and Community. Although language shift from Kwéyòl to English is at an advanced stage among St Lucians and Dominicans, Kwéyòl continues to be used in a number of domains by large numbers of speakers. It is the language of solidarity for most first- and many second-generation speakers, and figures prominently in social and cultural events within the St Lucian and Dominican communities. The Kwéyòl speech community continues to thrive in different boroughs of London and activists strive to ensure support for the language in social and cultural domains. Established cultural organisations such as the St Lucian Association, Dominica UK Association (DUKA), East London Black Womens' Organisation (ELBWO), Greenlight Youth Club, Yaa Asantewaa and Claudia Jones Organisation promote a wide range of cultural activities and social events, often centred on fund raising. Most of these organisations also maintain close links with the Caribbean through regular cultural exchange trips. Music plays an important part in St Lucian and Dominican gatherings. Many dances are organised where Kwéyòl music, such as Kadans or Zouk, reverberates around the dance halls. Both styles of music have their roots in French-speaking African countries like Senegal, Togo and Zaire. Kadans was popularised in Haiti and, later, in other creolophone regions of the Caribbean, where the French lyrics are replaced by Kwéyòl. Similarly, Zouk, the most recent style of music, was popularised in Martinique and draws heavily on the influence of jazz. Both forms of music now represent to Francophone territories in the Caribbean what reggae symbolises to Jamaica and other Afro-English creole speaking regions in the Caribbean. Club Zouk, based in the London Borough of Hackney, was specifically set up to cater for this growing interest in Kwéyòl music and makes an important contribution to the cultural life of Dominicans and St Lucians. Kadans music, traditionally associated with older members of the community, is becoming increasingly popular, both with young people within the Black British community and internationally. As indicated in Chapter 3, most Eastern Caribbeans are Roman Catholics, although there is also a small number of people from the Rastafari faith and from Seventh Day Adventist, Pentecostal and Jehovah's Witness churches. In all cases, the church is an important focus for community life in areas of Kwéyòl settlement. Although the services in the UK are conducted in English, social exchanges before and after worship usually take place in Kwéyòl. The same is true of the various church groups and activities.

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Markets in areas of important Eastern Caribbean settlement, such as the Ridley Road Market in Hackney, the Burdett Road Market in Tower Hamlets, and the Green Street Market in Forest Gate, sometimes reverberate to the sound of Kwéyòl, as do certain public houses in these same areas. Organisations such as La Caye Housing Association, founded by St Lucians, and Eastern Caribbean cricket teams also provide useful social networks for Dominicans and St Lucians. The cultural activities, music and informal locations for social exchanges are clearly central to the cultural life of the community, as well as being influential in the maintenance of the language. Similarly, Fishman (1991) notes that these family and community-wide activities are crucial factors not only in building the necessary foundations for the long term survival of the language, but are also central to the process of reversing language shift. Conclusion. Very little has been written on St Lucians and Dominicans in the UK. An important function of this book is to document more fully at least some aspects of the language and culture of those communities. As we have seen, an exploration of the patterns of settlement of Kwéyòl speakers in different parts of the UK suggests that although Dominicans and St Lucians are generally viewed under the blanket term, West Indian, the Kwéyòl language is actually associated with a distinctive linguistic and cultural identity. Further, members of the community strive to establish structures that maintain their linguistic and cultural heritage. While Dominicans and St Lucians undoubtedly share an acceptable degree of comradeship with other Caribbeans, the Kwéyòl language functions as a marker of solidarity amongst members of the speech community. This is clearly demonstrated in the high incidence of friendship and intermarriage between the two groups. Kwéyòl features prominently in social and cultural events. Music, cultural activities, and social settings such as markets, churches, pubs and clubs all help maintain the language. In addition, they ensure that a growing number of people from Dominican and St Lucian backgrounds have access to another cultural identity, besides that of being Black British. Education is another area which plays a very important role in language maintenance in the UK context. This is the subject which will form the focus for the chapters which follow.

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5 A Critical Ethnography There has been a great deal of attention in the literature to the role of 'insiders' and 'outsiders' in the research process (Edwards, 1986; Milroy, 1987a). In many studies of speech communities, the researcher is an outsider. In such situations, the 'observer's paradox' raises many problems: the very fact that people are being observed changes their behaviour. The imperative for the researcher is thus to find ways of seeking acceptance within the speech community, either through extended periods of fieldwork or by exploiting social networks in the role of 'friend of a friend.' In my own case, I was not only a member of the speech community in question but was first a student and then a tutor in the classes. This insider status allowed me to bypass many of the problems which would have faced an outsider. However, it also raised certain problems around objectivity and bias. In order for the reader to evaluate the findings which follow, it is important to provide a statement of my involvement in the research process and also the various steps which I took to safeguard against bias. A Personal Statement I was born in St Lucia, one of the Eastern Caribbean Islands where the majority of the population speak a language sometimes known as French-Creole, or Patwa or in recent times referred to as Kwéyòl. I learnt St Lucian English, the official language of the island, at school but soon discovered that our variety of English was different from British English. Like many St Lucians living in the urban areas, my parents did not consciously raise their children to be Kwéyòl speaking. However, the fact that Kwéyòl was widely used in and outside the home, and to a greater degree than English meant that children of my generation acquired Kwéyòl as their first language, or at least, had a good receptive knowledge of the language. In my family, the usual practice was for my parents and other adults to speak to us in Kwéyòl, and for us to respond mostly in English. Such was the commitment to ensure children acquired English, that it was not uncommon for parents, including my own, to physically and or verbally chastise their children for using Kwéyòl.

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My family was large and traditionally working class. In 1964, at the age of nine and against my wishes, I came to live in a part of London where there was a small Kwéyòl speaking community. Like many adults of the day, particularly those coming from unskilled rural backgrounds, my parents were attracted by the promise that the UK seemed to offer better educational opportunities and an improved standard of living. In St Lucian schools, children were placed according to their intellectual ability and not by age, and would not automatically advance to the next year. I was considered an intelligent child at school and was placed two classes ahead of most of the children of my age. In East London things were rather different. I had two years of primary schooling in the multiracial area of Hackney and also attended remedial English classes, presumably to sort out my 'language difficulty'. One of my earliest recollections is the barrage of racist taunts such as 'Nigger nigger pull the trigger, bang, bang, bang'; 'Nigger mind, go black home, you'll be all white in the morning'; I was constantly teased by both Black British and the white children, as well as being ridiculed by some of the teachers for 'being incomprehensible' 'not speaking properly' and 'sounding funny'. I had not encountered this type of prejudice before and, consequently, was inadequately prepared. When I asked my parents to explain these insults, they would prime me with appropriate retorts. This experience left me somewhat confused and had a number of implications for my behaviour at school and for shaping certain aspects of my personality. I became rebellious and failed to thrive in the same way that I had in the Caribbean. Although I rapidly became an 'English' speaker, primarily because of wanting acceptance from my peers, I had also internalised many of the negative attitudes about having a distinctive Kwéyòl identity. I stopped speaking my mother tongue and, at the same time, my parents actively discouraged me from using Jamaican and Cockney varieties of English, which they regarded as culturally alien. Instead, I set about learning 'good' English with their blessing. In 1977, at the age of 23, I made a number of decisions that would have important implications for the way I led my life. These included resettling in East London to take a sociology degree as a mature student; rediscovering Black literature; attending Black cultural activities; involvement in Black community organisations, and attendance at conferences and events on Black issues, all of which helped to reawaken my political consciousness. More importantly, the process of political reawakening also necessitated a reassessment of my attitudes to my Kwéyòl heritage.

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At the age of 30, I attended Kwéyòl classes as a student. I was thoroughly shaken, however, to find a white, nonKwéyòl speaking English woman, Carol Morris, teaching what I possessively regarded to be my language. Whilst I was supportive of the language class, I found this arrangement to be politically unacceptable and attended spasmodically for a number of months. I desperately wanted to regain fluency in spoken Kwéyòl and to become literate in the language, but felt unwilling to accommodate culturally and politically to a white Kwéyòl tutor. Relearning my language signified regaining pride in my racial identity and reasserting my cultural identity. I felt very strongly that the Kwéyòl class should be for people from Kwéyòl-speaking backgrounds and for other Black people with an interest in the Kwéyòl culture. My strongest motivation for continuing with the class was a belief that, if a white woman could teach my language without being fluent in Kwéyòl, then it was possible for me to do the same. On that basis, I learnt the writing system in a few days and returned to the class to discuss a number of issues that I felt dissatisfied with, as well as to negotiate teaching on the project. To my surprise, my proposal to teach was accepted. The experience gained teaching a group with widely differing abilities helped me to realise that I needed formal teacher training, as well as a theoretical grounding in linguistics. In 1988, my attendance on an MA programme in Second Language Learning and Teaching laid the foundation for the current work. Methodology. The starting point for this book was thus my personal experience, that language is a powerful symbol of cultural identity; and that the quest to learn to speak, read and write the Kwéyòl language is inextricably linked with a voyage of personal discovery. I wanted to explore the perceptions of other students, and tutors, in the various classes which have grown up over the past five years: to what extent did their experiences mirror my own? What is the potential of these classes for personal development? How can the teaching and learning of Kwéyòl lead to a greater level of socio-political awareness in the St Lucian and Dominican communities in the UK? Questions such as these are very different from those which, for instance, inform most studies of second and foreign language teaching. The present work does not seek to answer, for instance, which pedagogical approach is most effective, or to identify the differences between students in the group.

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The focus on the socio-political context of the classes thus has important implications for the research methods to be used. It was not appropriate to approach the subject experimentally, by developing pre- and post-tests to be administered after different kinds of intervention. At the beginning of the research process, I did not have any welldefined hypothesis that I wanted to test. Such an approach seemed unduly simplistic and I was anxious not to impose my own presuppositions about what was taking place. Rather, I needed to find ways of collecting data which would generate hypotheses as a first step in documenting an area which, until recently, has been seriously under-explored. Ethnography The solution lay within the holistic approach offered by ethnography, which Erickson (1981: 20) suggests: . . . requires that the researcher leaves aside pre-established views, standards of measurement, models, schemes and typologies, and considers classroom phenomena from the functional point of view of the ordinary actor in everyday life. There is some disagreement over the distinctive features of ethnography. Glaser & Strauss (1967), for instance, attach enormous importance to the development and testing of theory; Spradley (1980) suggests that it is concerned with the elicitation of cultural knowledge; Gumperz (1981) believes it should address the detailed investigation of patterns of social interaction; Walker (1981) portrays ethnography as essentially descriptive; Lutz (1981) argues that ethnography is concerned with a holistic analysis of societies, while, according to Van Lier (1988: 55-56): critical knowledge of the classroom derives from the study of the meanings that participants invest and develop in the social context of the classroom, as manifested through their interaction and various kinds of documentary evidence (such as interviews, conversations, lesson plans, notes and so on). However, as Hammersley & Atkinson (1987: 2) point out, there is an underlying assumption in all these perspectives that the ethnographer: participates, overtly or covertly, in people's daily lives for an extended period of time, watching what happens, listening to what is said, asking questions, in fact collecting whatever details are available to throw light on the issues with which she or he is concerned. In this sense ethnography is very similar to the routine ways in which we all make sense of our lives, a quality which some writers consider to be

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a strength and others a serious weakness. Many published works which claim to be ethnographies have been criticised for their reliance on a few anecdotes to support the researcher's point of view but which fail to clarify the criteria which have been used in their selection (Watson-Gegeo, 1988). There is certainly a broad agreement in the literature that this is unacceptable. Writers such as Werner & Schoepfle (1987), for instance, require that examples used in ethnographies should be representative, reflecting both variation and typicality in the data. This fundamental principle underlies the selection of examples to support my analysis in all the discussion which follows. Critical ethnography... During the course of my research, however, I became aware of the criticisms of more traditional approaches to ethnography proposed by exponents of the new 'critical ethnography' and adapted my methodology to take on board these concerns. Some commentators (e.g. Cazden, 1983; Lather, 1986; Simon & Dippo, 1986) have expressed concern that ethnographers have been so preoccupied with describing different social settings that they have missed valuable opportunities for challenging the status quo. Cazden (1983) neatly encapsulates this dilemma by telling the apocryphal tale of a sign in the Alaskan State Department of Education which says 'WE DON'T NEED ANY MORE ANTHROPOLOGICAL EXPLANATIONS OF SCHOOL FAILURE.' Throughout the 1980s and beyond, there has been an increasing tide of opinion in support of the notion of a more socially responsive ethnography, a critical ethnography which has the potential for effecting change. Such a notion inevitably raises the question of researcher bias. Supporters of critical ethnography, however, point out that bias is no more real a problem for ethnographers than for researchers working within the traditions of naturalism and positivism. Hesse (1980), for instance, characterises attempts to produce value-neutral social science as 'at best unrealisable, and at worst self-deceptive' and points to the ways in which social sciences need to be based on explicit ideologies. In a similar vein, Simon & Dippo (1986: 196), suggest that: All modes of knowing and all particular knowledge forms are ideological, hence the issue is not whether one is 'biased' but rather whose interest is served by one's work. For Reinharz (1985: 17), the logical conclusions to be drawn from this perspective on the research process are clear: 'since interest-free knowledge is logically impossible, we should feel free to substitute explicit interests

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for implicit ones.' In this view, the challenge for researchers is therefore not to pretend that they are assuming a neutral position, but to ensure the reliability of their data and to minimise the distorting effects of personal bias. This, they suggest, can be achieved in a number of ways, some of which are part and parcel of traditional ethnography, while others assume special importance in the context of a rigorous critical ethnography. Lather (1986), for example, outlines four techniques which she considers essential in the verification process: triangulation; reflexive subjectivity; face validity and catalytic validity. Triangulation Triangulation is perhaps the best known ethnographic technique for ensuring rigour in data collection and analysis. This term has been borrowed from land surveying by anthropologists and popularised by Webb et al. (1966). It recognises that at least two perspectives are necessary if you wish to obtain an accurate picture of what is going on. This technique can take a number of different forms including data triangulation and methodological triangulation. Data triangulation involves using a variety of sampling strategies. In educational contexts, for instance, information may be collected from teachers, children and the researcher as observer, or participant observer. Methodological triangulation entails using different methods such as observation, analysis of transcripts and selfreport surveys. These perspectives do not guarantee accuracy but they have the merit of counterbalancing each other. They also make it difficult to believe that data from a single source can ever reveal the absolute truth. Reflexive subjectivity Reflexive subjectivity is a requirement which has developed in the context of critical rather than traditional ethnography. It concerns the need to document how the researcher's assumptions have been affected by the logic of the data. As Simon & Dippo (1986: 200) point out: We need to recognise our own implication in the production of data and thus must begin to include ourselves ( our own practices and their social and historical basis) in our analyses of the situations we study. In the context of the present study, I have tried to acknowledge the importance of reflexive subjectivity by beginning with a personal statement which outlines the history of my interest in the research topic and my own assumptions. Face validity Face validity is a third requirement for ensuring rigour in the collection and analysis of data. It concerns the need to recycle categories, emerging

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analysis and conclusions back through at least a subsample of respondents. This technique is also known as respondent validation. It is important to give participants in the research the opportunity to comment. As Hammersley & Atkinson (1987: 196) point out, actors in the research process: may have access to additional knowledge of the contextof other relevant events, of thoughts they had or decisions they made at the time, for examplethat is not available to the ethnographer. They may be part of information networks that are more powerful than those accessible to the ethnographer. In addition, they have access to their own experience of events, which may materially alter the plausibility of different possible interpretations of the data Of course, a note of caution must be sounded here. While participants in the research are well-placed informants on their own actions, their accounts must be analysed in the same way as any other data, with due consideration of possible threats to validity. Catalytic validity Catalytic validity is another technique which has developed in response to the needs of critical ethnography. It requires that documentation of the research process results in increased awareness and, ideally, activism in participants. Simon & Dippo (1986: 199), for instance, argue that the ideal audience for research within this framework: is able to use ethnographic work as a resource, critically appropriating aspects of the work for their ability to clarify the basis of everyday life and the possibilities for their transformation. Different stages of the research.. Whereas the expectation in a positivist research paradigm would be that analysis should logically follow the collection of data, the situation in ethnographic research is rather more fluid. Hymes (1982), for instance, suggests that a long-term ethnographic project usually involves three stages of work: in the first stage of the study, the researcher explores all the theoretically salient aspects of the setting and makes a wide range of observations. Later, the main topic is narrowed through focused observations, interviews and analysis of the data already collected. Data is coded into categories relevant to the evolving research questions. In the final stage, hypotheses are tested and research questions answered through further focused observations and in-depth interviews. Both data collection and analysis can thus more accurately be considered as different cycles rather than as discrete stages of the research process.

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Framework and Methods of Analysis for the Present Study. The reasons for choosing an ethnographic analysis have already been outlined above. The study uses a multistrand approach and draws on a variety of methods of data collection which include: participant observation; questionnaires; semi-structured interviews; policy documents, publicity material and other relevant materials. This approach satisfies the ethnographic requirement for data and methodological triangulation. Participant observation Hammersley & Atkinson (1987: 16) argue that all social research takes the form of participant observation inasmuch as it involves taking part in the social world and reflecting on the products of that participation. Junker (1960) and Gold (1958) outline a number of different observer roles: complete participant, participant-as-observer, observer-as-participant and complete observer. Some doubt has been thrown on the validity of these distinctions (Turner, 1962). Moreover, it is also important to guard against treating observer roles as rigid or fixed in character. It is certainly the case that, at different stages in the life of the Kwéyòl classes, I have undertaken all of these roles. At the very beginning, as a student and a tutor, I was a complete participant; as a tutor and researcher in my own classes, I was a participant-as-observer; and as a researcher visiting other Kwéyòl classes, I have sometimes acted as an observer-as-participant, and sometimes as a complete observer. Each of these forms of observation used in gathering my research data has both advantages and disadvantages (Walker, 1985). Complete observers, for instance, are likely to be more unbiased and objective; they are able to watch in various situations and make good comparisons; they are also able to note incidents which may have escaped the attention of, say, participants-as-observers. However, observers must be present for long periods to fully appreciate the details and dynamics of the situation. Participant-observation also has advantages. It does not require special equipment or personnel; is simple to achieve over long periods; and makes it easier to home in on salient points. It is, however, more difficult to ensure objectivity. A useful back-up system that the researcher can use as a safeguard against bias reporting is the writing up of observation notes, although this can be very time-consuming. Torres (1993) also raises a number of issues that are pertinent to my roles of participant observer and tutor: are the students and other Kwéyòl tutors likely to try and please me, rather than respond objectively? Can the data gathered from a close working and informal relationship with students and colleagues be truly

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considered as quality data? Would my social and professional knowledge of both students and tutors facilitate or hinder my ability to look critically at issues that emerge or to see any discrepancies? I attempted to capitalise on the strengths of different kinds of observation and to compensate for weaknesses by drawing flexibly on different approaches in different situations. In all my observer roles, I tried to be sensitive to what Labov (1978) has termed 'the observer's paradox': the presence of an observer affecting the behaviour of those being observed. I wrote up observation notes at the end of classes and these informed the initial questions which I put to students and tutors in the interviews described below. Two favourable conditions minimised intrusion on the students in the classes: being a member of the Kwéyòl speech community with an established record of community involvement; and being an established tutor. As such, my involvement as researcher did not raise any of the problems that an outside researcher needing to establish credibility might have experienced (Milroy, 1987a). Given the sensitivity which surrounds language use, a white researcher working in a Black community would undoubtedly have experienced a greater number of challenges. Being the tutor of the Poplar Neighbourhood Kwéyòl classes was indeed a crucial factor in facilitating my 'insider' status. Yet, as in the case of Torres (1993), continuing involvement with the project under research inevitably raises issues of possible research and teaching conflicts; objectivity and 'exploitation' of students and colleagues to further our academic and career ambitions. Interviews Walker (1985: 83) chooses to describe participant observation not as a research method but as a role which draws flexibly on various techniques, including interviews. There is a wide range of interviewing techniques available to the researcher. These range from structured questionnaires, as a form of written conversation, through to unstructured conversations or conversational interviews. During the course of my research I used a variety of interview techniques. At an early stage I developed a questionnaire as a means of rapidly gathering factual information; important points emerging from conversations were recorded in my field notes. The most important source of data, however, were the semi-structured openended interviews which I conducted with students and tutors.

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Questionnaires Questionnaires are often associated with quantitative research methods. Ethnographers, however, do not preclude the importance of quantitative data as a way of showing the distribution of particular characteristics (Simon & Dippo, 1986). Questionnaires are widely accepted as having many advantages: they are easy to administer and quick to fill in; they can focus specifically on topics in which the researcher has a special interest and, most importantly, they provide for the direct comparison of groups and individuals (Walker, 1985: 48). However, there are also many disadvantages. Extensive preparation is necessary to ensure clear and relevant questions. It can be difficult to formulate questions that encourage respondents to go beyond the superficial; by the same token, a questionnaire which attempts to probe an issue in depth risks being unmanageably long. Perhaps the main disadvantage of questionnaires, however, is that they rely on the researcher's perception of events as expressed in the questions selected for inclusion. They often constrain respondents to a limited set of responses and leave little space to introduce issues which the researched consider pertinent, but which may have been overlooked or outside the experience of the researcher. The use of questionnaires in the present research was therefore reserved for one small, self-contained area of data collection in the earlier stages of the project. It provided factual information on students' ethnic origins, family history, length of stay in Britain and social networks. The main justification for the use of a questionnaire to explore these issues was that I wished to build up a profile of students who had attended mine and other classes over a number of years. Since the total number of students involved in Kwéyòl classes was in the region of 250, the quickest and most efficient method of data collection was a postal questionnaire. An initial round of questionnaires was sent to students and tutors from the Poplar Neighbourhood classes and to other Kwéyòl classes in the London area. Attempts were also made to network with tutors from other classes within the UK, and the Caribbean, but with little success. Ultimately, the exercise was very disappointing: fewer than 40 questionnaires were returned. In addition to the factual information described above, the questionnaire explored student motivation for attendance at the classes. While the responses pointed to some promising avenues for further inquiry in subsequent interviews, the quality and quantity of information collected in this way has serious limitations and clearly needed supplementing from other data sources, using other methodologies.

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Semi-structured interviews.. Formal interviews follow a strict schedule of questions decided in advance and require interviewees to respond only to these questions. In this sense, a formal interview is simply an oral version of the written questionnaire and suffers from many of the same weaknesses. For this reason, I felt that it was more appropriate to explore the complex issues surrounding attitudes towards language and culture through semi-structured, open-ended interviews. Such interviews attempt to capture the responses of people to questions that are fairly standardised, but nonetheless take on board and explore issues or questions of importance to the interviewee (Tripp, 1983). They can also provide the opportunity for reflection and the processing of information, for instance, when the researcher asks the interviewee to recapitulate or to summarise the main points. A number of semi-structured interviews were carried out over an 18-month period, with past and present students and tutors from the different Kwéyòl classes. These interviews focused initially on questions such as reasons why students attend the classes and resources to support the teaching. In addition, I responded to issues raised by the interviewees. Some of the students were interviewed in small friendship groups, while others were interviewed on an individual basis. Tutors, organisers and community leaders were also interviewed on a one-to-one basis. Typed transcripts were made of the earliest interviews, and later, file cards were used to categorise the information into emerging themes. Notes from observation were also used to supplement the interview data. After the initial analysis, I returned to interview selected respondents, partly to check out issues that were unclear or that appeared to be contradictory, and partly to seek verification on a number of important themes which were emerging from the data. This procedure met the requirement for face validity which, as described above, is an essential feature of ethnography. The opportunity for feedback and sharing with students at this stage (and throughout the project) also satisfied the demands of catalytic validity. Students were never in any doubt that their contribution to the research was helping to develop the classes in ways which would benefit the Kwéyòl speech community. The categorisation of the different themes allowed me to refine my thinking on the important issues and also allowed me to cross-reference with other sources of data, such as my observation notes. In addition, policy documents and other relevant materials on issues relating to the Kwéyòl

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language were used to support or challenge the data that emerged from the research. Documentation Ethnography has often been used for the description and analysis of oral communities. In many industrial societies, however, reading and writing is an integral part of everyday life and researchers need to take account of relevant written material. The present study draws on a wide variety of written sources, including accounts of the development of orthographies, grammars and teaching materials in the Caribbean (Caribbean Research Centre, 1981; Carrington, 1988; Jules, 1988) which have relevance for curriculum development in the UK; and policy documents relating to adult education and the teaching of community languages (London Borough of Tower Hamlets, 1991; London Borough of Tower Hamlets, 1991/1992). Conclusion.. Ethnography offers the most flexible approach in studying an area such as the teaching of Kwéyòl which has received little attention in the past: it allows the researcher to generate rather than test hypotheses. I was concerned, however, to avoid the pitfalls which have been associated in recent years with ethnography and, in particular, to ensure that I would not miss valuable opportunities for challenging the status quo and effecting change. My own research was therefore situated within the framework of critical ethnography. I have taken steps to make clear to readers how my own assumptions have been affected by the logic of the data, and to show how I have tried to increase the awareness and the activism of participants. Drawing on a variety of methods, including participant observation, questionnaires, semi-structured interviews and documentary evidence, I set out to research Kwéyòl language teaching in Britain and the Caribbean.

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6 Teaching and Learning Kwéyòl in London In Chapter 4, we looked at a range of social structures and community organisations which contribute to the maintenance of Kwéyòl in the UK. The most significant developments in this area, however, have been in the various projects and classes set up specifically to promote Kwéyòl language and culture. This chapter focuses on the origins and development of the Kwéyòl language and literacy classes. It examines the composition of the classes in terms of age, gender, ethnicity, place of birth and linguistic competence. It explores a number of reasons why students attend the classes, looking not only at the opportunities which are offered for improving language and literacy skills, but at the social benefits and at the ways in which feelings of pride and cultural identity are reinforced. Finally, the discussion focuses on the ways in which the Kwéyòl classes help develop student autonomy. The Kwéyòl Classes Although recognition of Kwéyòl speakers in schools is long overdue, some level of support has been given to Kwéyòl in post-16 education since the mid 1980s. The students who joined the early Kwéyòl classes came via English literacy classes organised by Carol Morris at the former Tower Hamlets Institute of Adult Education. They were aged between 30 and 50 and had emigrated to the UK in the late 1950s and 1960s in response to a number of publicity campaigns in the Caribbean advertising employment opportunities at organisations such as British Rail, Joe Lyons and the Health Service. Carol Morris describes the early students thus: We had numerous mature Caribbean students, primarily Dominicans and St Lucians, in monolingual English literacy classes. They clearly had difficulty with English that was not manifested by native-born people from East London. As concerned tutors, we devised strategies to enable us to work more effectively with these students. At lunch breaks I noticed that the Caribbean students spoke in a different

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language. When I enquired about the language, I was given a variety of answers, such as, 'Oh it's not a language, it's just what we use among ourselves. It's broken French. It's Patwa.' I found this difficult to accept because it sounded like another language, but felt unable to say this openly. Later, a young Mauritian joined the literacy scheme and I asked the students to explain how it was possible for someone from the middle of the Indian Ocean to have a meaningful conversation with someone from the Caribbean, if the language was not in fact a language? I was told that it was a language they used between themselves, which did not have a grammar. It could not be written down and was therefore not classed as a language. A number of discussions took place between Carol Morris and members of the local Kwéyòl speaking community during 1981 and 1982 before the classes were finally established. Carol worked closely with Stan Emmanuel, a local youth leader. A number of seminars were arranged to explore the possibility of setting up literacy classes and of developing an orthography for the language. She describes the discussion groups as having been an interesting forum where a number of important issues, particularly around identity, were thrashed out: These discussion groups were electric and I often withdrew from them because they fell into two clear camps. The first camp was enthusiastic about having their language written down, whilst the second camp felt that if the language was written down it would be spoilt. Again, it was said that 'the language is not a real language' and that everybody has to learn English. The remaining people fell somewhere between those two camps. The venture was seen as quite interesting but they did not want to see the language written down and felt that it would lead to rows within the community. There was sufficient interest, however, to justify setting up the Kwéyòl project, the most important element of which was the Kwéyòl classes (Morris & Nwenmely, 1993). The first class was based at Tower Hamlets Institute of Adult Education in 1984. It attracted a variety of people, a majority of whom were Kwéyòl speakers, or who had the ability to understand the language very well. Shortage of teaching materials made it essential to adopt a workshop approach. Fluent speakers worked alongside a small number of people who wanted to learn the language. Within a year, however, a decision was made to split the group into two separate classes: a language class for beginners and a literacy class for more advanced speakers. These classes are now part of the adult education provision financed by Poplar and Bow Area in the London Borough of Tower Hamlets and run

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from 7-9p.m. each Tuesday evening for a total of 36 weeks. Students are normally recruited during September each year. The remainder join at different points throughout the year. Although the official maximum number of students allowed for each class is ten in total, newcomers are always welcome, even when the groups are oversubscribed. The first classes have had a considerable impact on the Kwéyòl community and have led to the setting up of new projects. Currently, Kwéyòl classes are also offered at Greenlight Youth Club in Tower Hamlets; Booker T. Washington Organisation in Westminster and the Book Place in Peckham, South East London. The discussion of the composition of the classes and the reasons for attending Kwéyòl classes which follows draws on information provided by students and tutors at all the classes. The main focus, however, will be on Poplar and Bow Area which established the pattern for the other Kwéyòl classes. The Kwéyòl language course. The Kwéyòl language course at Poplar and Bow Area is designed for students wishing to use the language with family and friends in the UK and during holidays in Dominica and St Lucia. It is primarily aimed at people of Dominican and St Lucian parentage, people from other Caribbean islands and Black British people wanting to learn another Caribbean language. Anyone wishing to learn the language is encouraged to join the class. Participants are not expected to have previous knowledge of the language, although knowledge of French helps with learning Kwéyòl vocabulary. The language course aims to develop basic to intermediate spoken skills in Kwéyòl. Communicative teaching techniques, drawing on a notional syllabus (Wilkins, 1976) are used to cover greetings and common forms of address; common phrases and popular modes of expression; making requests; asking and answering questions; language needed to find your way about town; discovering local foods; sources of entertainment; cultural celebrations; Kwéyòl music; and issues of topical concern (see Appendix A). Students can expect to engage in exercises to stimulate and develop conversational skills on the above themes. There is also ample opportunity to listen to Kwéyòl audio cassettes; participate in role play exercises; read basic texts; engage in creative writing exercises such as translations, short stories etc. and participate in the performance of sketches with the literacy group. By the end of the course, the aim is for students to have developed confidence in using the Kwéyòl language; to be able to engage in conversations at a basic level and be sufficiently familiar with the orthography and grammar to write simple letters and stories in the

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language. Students are expected to spend one to two hours a week working between classes, especially if they wish to register for the accreditation scheme (see Chapter 8 for a more detailed discussion). The Kwéyòl literacy course Whereas the language course is open to people from a variety of backgrounds, the Kwéyòl literacy course is generally intended for people from Kwéyòl-speaking countries, notably Dominica and St Lucia, who have a good background knowledge of the language. Participants are expected to be fairly fluent but need not have knowledge or previous experience of writing Kwéyòl. It aims to develop basic to advanced writing skills in the language using Freirian principles discussed in Chapter 3. The topics covered include the historical status and development of the language; issues of topical concern to students; the writing system; production of learning materials for the language students and for publication; preparation and presentation of micro-teaching exercises for the language group and the production of learning materials for the Bouton Distance Learning Project in St Lucia (see Appendix A). As is the case for the language classes, students wishing to develop written competence in the language, especially those wishing to register for the accreditation scheme, are advised to spend one to two hours per week working between classes. By the end of the course, students are expected to have reached an intermediate level which will allow them to write Kwéyòl confidently and competently. While the syllabuses for the language and literacy classes are fairly structured, the informal nature of the classes is a feature that is common to the different Kwéyòl classes. Most tutors characterise their teaching style as semiformal, drawing on their experiences of being taught at school in the Caribbean and the UK, as well as using what one of the tutors describes as the 'folk lore/traditional' approach of the Caribbean. This approach focuses on the acquisition of listening and spoken skills by using the experiences of the student and tutor through song, story telling, playing games, writing poetry, and exchanging life experiences. One interesting aspect of the classroom interaction is the use of mature Kwéyòl-speaking visitors as a resource. Composition of the Classes A discussion of the composition of the classes is important for an understanding of what motivates the students to attend. It has been possible to build up a profile of students (including information on age,

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gender, ethnicity, place of birth, and competence in Kwéyòl) both from details taken from class registers and from information gathered from a questionnaire distributed to past and present students. As already indicated, the Kwéyòl classes were established primarily, although not exclusively, to cater for the language needs of Dominicans and St Lucians living in Tower Hamlets. However, students travel from a number of London boroughs and are also from a variety of age, ethnic, racial and socio-economic backgrounds. Not surprisingly the student group is overwhelmingly Black, but the courses have always attracted a small number of White as well as Asian students from Trinidad or of Trinidadian parentage. Some of the students who come from outside the Eastern Caribbean are interested in learning the language because they have Kwéyòl-speaking partners, but others are simply interested in learning the language for its own sake or in using it with friends. More recently there have been some important changes in the composition of the classes. Whereas the early students were predominantly first-generation settlers, the biggest group is now Black British of Dominican and St Lucian parentage. Historically, the students came from predominantly manual occupations. More recently, there has been an increase in the number of people in professional work. The classes tend to attract a far greater number of women than men. Students come from a wide age range, from children to pensioners. The vast majority, however, are aged between 20 and 40. This represents a shift from the early classes which tended to attract much older students. One possible explanation is that attending evening classes is not part of the traditional cultural norm for middle aged and older Caribbean people. However, the introduction of Black tutors who were either born in Britain or who arrived as children, has no doubt made the classes more attractive to the younger age group. Students in the classes exhibit a wide range of competence in Kwéyòl. Level of competence seems to be closely related to social networks (see Edwards, 1986 for a similar discussion in relation to British Black English). The extent to which people relate socially with other Kwéyòl speakers varies enormously. Joseph, for instance, is a middle aged St Lucian who remains fluent in Kwéyòl. He benefits from frequent holiday visits to St Lucia as well as regular contact with Kwéyòl-speaking relatives and friends. He is a member of the St Lucian Association UK and attends dances and bars frequented by St Lucians, which means he regularly meets significant numbers of Kwéyòl speakers. In addition, he shows a keen interest in social and political issues in St Lucia and Dominica and

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subscribes to St Lucian newspapers. Sharon is a White British woman who has been learning Kwéyòl as a foreign language. Her partner, Eustace, is a fluent Kwéyòl speaker and, since their marriage, she has had access to an extensive Kwéyòl network. Sharon's competence in Kwéyòl is understandably far greater than many other foreign language learners who attend the classes. Heather's interest in Kwéyòl dates back to a holiday in St Lucia. Her opportunities outside the classes for speaking Kwéyòl are extremely limited, as is her level of proficiency. Why Students Come to the Classes. Students have a wide range of learning needs and an equally wide range of motives for attending the classes. Reasons for attending the classes include the desire to develop linguistic and literacy skills, social reasons and issues related to status and pride. Development of linguistic skills. The classes were initially set out to help mature St Lucian and Dominican students develop literacy skills per se. Kwéyòl was simply the medium which facilitated this process. Over time, however, the changing needs of the students have resulted in the development of two distinctive classes, one dealing primarily with language skills, the other dealing primarily with reading and writing skills. In the language class, most students are engaged in learning Kwéyòl either as a community language, in the case of those from Eastern Caribbean backgrounds, or as a foreign language in the case of other students. Students in the language classes vary from complete beginners to those with limited proficiency. They are very much aware, for instance, of the need to improve their pronunciation and increase their vocabulary. In contrast, students in the literacy classes have at least a high level of receptive competence in Kwéyòl but often express an interest in regaining fluency in the language. Thus, in both cases, development of linguistic skills is an obvious motivating factor for attendance at the classes. The acquisition of literacy skills.. The main focus of the literacy classes remains the written word but, whereas many of the early students experienced difficulty in reading and writing English, most recent students are highly literate in English and are concerned simply with becoming literate in Kwéyòl. Students identified

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the acquisition of reading and writing skills in Kwéyòl as an important reason for their attendance at the classes: Having spoken Kwéyòl all my life, I thought it was a good idea to learn to read and write it. This view is commonly expressed by students with a working knowledge of the language. The acquisition of more advanced skills is also an important motivation for students wishing to progress from the language classes. The fact that students attending the classes can read and write in English makes for a painless transfer of literacyrelated skills to Kwéyòl (cf. Cummins, 1984). Students are particularly appreciative of the good sound-symbol relationship in the Kwéyòl orthography (Nwenmely, 1994): I find it very easy to read Kwéyòl words because they are written the same way they sound. I think that's good because when I eventually learn to speak more fluently, I will also learn to read and write Kwéyòl very well. Newly acquired literacy skills are used in many different ways, both inside and outside the classes. Maggie, for instance, felt that being literate in the Kwéyòl language gave her the edge on many Patwa speakers. She was particularly proud of the fact that she had been able to write a letter in Kwéyòl to her friend who had returned to St Lucia for good. Micky talked in equally enthusiastic terms of how coming to the classes has inspired him to write a few role plays. 'I find that I retain most of the vocabulary by writing and creating situations where I can actually use the words'. The beneficial effects of the creative work produced by students can be measured by the obvious enjoyment from sharing such work with fellow students and members of the wider community. Reading and writing are clearly the main focus for the literacy class. However, they also play an important part in the language class. Although the language class emphasises the spoken word, all members are literate in English and relate easily to tasks and materials written in Kwéyòl which support the development of their spoken skills. Social reasons While the development of speech and writing skills was the most obvious reason for attendance at the classes, students also identified a number of social reasons for wanting to learn the Kwéyòl language. Most expressed a desire to maintain contact with family and friends, not only in the UK, but also in the Caribbean. Gery's comment was typical of many second-generation learners:

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I knew some Kwéyòl when I was younger but I didn't take a lot of notice of it. Since travelling back to St Lucia, I took more interest in the language, because of all the friends I had grown up with who could speak Patwa and I couldn't. So it's about time I did something about learning the language on a regular basis. Learning the language thus gives students wider access to the extended family and friends. It also provides an opening to explore their cultural heritage through regular holidays, and the possibility of settling with greater ease in either Dominica or St Lucia at some future date. Kwéyòl classes also help students from outside the Eastern Caribbean to make new friends, stimulating interest in peoples' lives and enlarging their social networks. Carol, an English woman with a Kwéyòl speaking partner, described her situation thus: I originally came to the classes to be able to teach the kids the language, as Elwin don't talk to them in his own language. I now come to the classes because I enjoy it, especially getting a night off from the kids. Most important, the decision to learn Kwéyòl has wide-ranging implications for relations within the family. Lisa, a young Black British woman had expressed a degree of intolerance towards Kwéyòl speakers before she started learning the language: Before I joined the class, if they (family members) spoke to me, I just did not take any notice of them, thinking if they're going to speak, then speak to me in English. Since I've been coming here, I just carry on listening. To her amusement, the fact that she had developed a degree of fluency in Kwéyòl was creating interesting new family tensions: I understand more of what they are saying to me now, so whenever they want to speak in Kwéyòl, they have to kick me out of the room. Attendance at the classes is also a means of demonstrating commitment to Kwéyòl-speaking family or partners. Monette, a British-born student of St Lucian parentage comments: My reason for learning the language has changed now. My boyfriend speaks Kwéyòl fluently and I want to know what he's talking about when he's cussing me or saying things behind my back. We would be closer if I could speak the language. It's like I'm telling him how much I love him. A rather different but very practical reason for knowing the language is its usefulness in dealing with confrontation. Tony tells of a situation when

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wondering around Roseau on holiday, when four youths came up to him and started insulting him in Patwa: I could not judge the severity of the situation and I wasn't really in total command of what was going on. I was relying on their different gestures and mannerisms to understand what was happening. I felt I wasn't getting the full situation and that was a little dangerous because I couldn't fully understand what was happening. It would have made me feel secure if I understood what was being said. There is no shortage, then, of social benefits for Eastern Caribbean and other students, Black and White, attending the classes. It should be mentioned, however, that in spite of the benefits, the ethnic mix is a source of ongoing concern among the Black students. Joseph, a long-standing member of the group, for instance, feels strongly about the changes that have taken place: Before, the group was alright. I'm a bit prejudiced now with the White people. When older Patwa speakers use to attend, it was good fun. Now, they're a lot younger and they're not really from a Kwéyòl-speaking background. I miss all that kind of wickedness, the bad jokes and sharing lots of things. Status and pride Many of the students identified the Kwéyòl language as being culturally significant in their lives: it helps to maintain a separate identity from the host population and other Blacks in the UK. It is very interesting to note, for instance, that a significant number of British-born students of Eastern Caribbean origin identified themselves as either Dominican or St Lucian, rather than as British. The Kwéyòl language tends to evoke strong emotions, both positive and negative. At one end of the continuum, people express lack of interest or even hostility towards promotion of the language. At the other end of the continuum, there is an enormous sense of pride and a desire to protect the language from the interference or scrutiny of people from outside the Eastern Caribbean. Negative feelings can be explained in terms of the legacy of colonial values. Part of this legacy is an ignorance of the importance of Kwéyòl in global terms. As Ken Buntin, a Kwéyòl tutor, points out: Kwéyòl is spoken in many different countries around the world, including parts of West Africa as well as the Caribbean. Yet the Kwéyòl

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spoken in the French Caribbean is viewed as exclusive to those islands without the realisation that it actually stretches across the waters. However, there is also a growing number of people in Kwéyòl-speaking communities in the UK who are committed to ensuring that the language prospers. Student comments such as the following were typical: My motivation for attending the class was largely due to the importance of the Kwéyòl Project. Teaching or learning the language is not the most important thing. It's actually giving status in people's eyes, that's what the classes mean to me. Attending the Kwéyòl classes is very important to me. My partner is so pleased that I'm learning the language. When I have an occasional conversation with my Mauritian friend, it creates a lot of interest in our other work mates. They always come around to look at the different booklets I read and are always asking questions about the language. It makes me feel so proud. Attitudes towards Kwéyòl tend to vary according to levels of cultural pride and awareness of socio-political issues. Many of the students in the Kwéyòl classes have a high level of awareness. Joseph, a long-standing student of the classes highlights the potency of the economic and power issues surrounding the promotion of the language at government level in the Caribbean: The Patwa language is very important. Let us start from St Lucia first. Unless there is a Patwa curriculum, people won't take it seriously. You go to St Lucia and say we have a Patwa class and they don't believe you. There are some people that will tell you, just leave the Patwa because learning the language is not an important part of the economy. So I don't think they take it all that seriously. Students with deep feelings of pride in their cultural identity are, not surprisingly, committed to ensuring that the language prospers: The most important reason for me attending the Kwéyòl class is to teach the children the language so as to ensure its survival. The desire to pass the language down to the next generation is just as strong for students who do not speak Kwéyòl but have Kwéyòl-speaking partners, as it is for students of Dominican and St Lucian parentage: I try to introduce more spoken Kwéyòl into the home because Kay associates it with her father. She sees it as Daddy's language, so she will speak it to him and English to me.

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A small number of students explained that their commitment to the Kwéyòl language and culture was so strong that it actually precluded them from marrying partners who were not from the same background: I don't have much opportunity to use the language because I don't spend much time with Dominicans. I'd like to get married and pass it on to my children. For that reason I would rather marry a St Lucian or Dominican because they are more likely to keep in touch with the culture. Developing student autonomy Students thus identified a number of different reasons for attending classes: the desire to improve their linguistic skills; the desire to acquire literacy skills in Kwéyòl; a range of social benefits; a sense of pride in their Kwéyòl cultural identity and the desire to help maintain the language. Interestingly, none of the students saw the classes as a means of boosting their self-confidence. Nonetheless, attendance quite clearly had the effect of increasing personal autonomy for many people. Both language and literacy tutors support their students in, for instance, the development of new perspectives by freely expressing their views and exploring conflicting or opposing ideas in a non-threatening environment. Students are involved in choosing often controversial topics for conversational and writing exercises which stimulate lively debates. A recent example was the anger caused by a St Lucian newspaper article entitled 'No Patwa at Hess'. The article reported that the Barbadian manager at the Hess Oil Company had sent round a memo to all St Lucian workers who were holders of walkie-talkies, forbidding them to speak Kwéyòl on the air waves. If they refused to comply with the order, their employment would be immediately terminated. One explanation for this was that 'these bloody Bajans don't speak Patwa and think the airwaves will be taken up for idle gossip in Patwa'. The literacy group was outraged by this and felt that unless the manager was challenged, such action could ultimately pose a threat to the use of Kwéyòl in the work place. The group's response was to write a bilingual letter to the Star Newspaper in St Lucia detailing their concerns about the infringements of the workers' rights in using their language in their own country. Such an initiative was clearly in the Freirean tradition. Sharon, a student with a St Lucian partner who attended the language group, is another interesting example of the way the courses have helped students to look in a positive way at problems which affect their lives. She felt it was important to make her daughter's teachers aware of her bilingual

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background. She was dissatisfied with the way African and Caribbean languages were not represented as part of the school's language awareness activities, despite the presence of large numbers of children of Dominican and St Lucian parentage. Sharon worked to ensure that teachers recognised Kay as bilingual by volunteering to read Kwéyòl stories to her daughter's class and later producing a small number of bilingual texts which were read jointly with Kay during the sessions. The confidence which Sharon gained through attendance at the classes was apparent not only in her assertive approach to her daughter's teachers, but also in her personal and professional development. She assisted the language and literacy classes with their publications and recalls: Working with the Kwéyòl language doing the translation and then the transcription has brought out so many other things. Not only was I mastering listening to the language and typing it, but at the same time I was doing something I thought I could never do. It was a real achievement for me. . . I then went on to typing the Kalalou Kwéyòl booklet and thoroughly enjoyed doing that. I wouldn't mind doing something like that on a permanent basis. I really miss it. Jacques, a Scottish student attending the literacy group makes a similar point in relation to his own experience of the classes: I think learning a new language develops a sense of perspective in anyone. The process involved in learning a new language offers a complete new way of looking at life and I have benefited in that way as a non-native speaker of Kwéyòl. Students are encouraged to view education as an ongoing process with the potential to enrich their lives and to explore wider education opportunities outside the classes. An example of this is Henry, a mature St Lucian, fluent in Kwéyòl, who attended the Kwéyòl/French course based at ELBWO. Henry experienced specific learning difficulties and his literacy skills were very limited. However, he felt that his knowledge of Kwéyòl and his growing confidence would enable him to tackle a basic French course offered at another centre. Further examples of the success of classes in encouraging education for life include Cynthia, a founder member of the Kwéyòl classes, who left to start an African/Caribbean dance group which commands a great deal of local support. Magdaline, another mature St Lucian student, used the literacy classes both as an entrée into English as a Second Language (ESL) classes and as a means of ensuring that she would be able to manage her affairs independently on return to the Caribbean after retirement. Christine's attendance at the project's Black history class, the Kwéyòl

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language and, later, the literacy class allowed her to develop sufficient confidence to tackle a part-time social science degree. Conclusion. The Kwéyòl classes began in response to perceived student needs rather than student demand. Initially, the literacy organiser sought to use the language as a medium for teaching English literacy skills to students from Kwéyòlspeaking territories. Subsequent developments, however, suggested that there were perhaps some errors of judgement in the target group of illiterate mature Dominicans and St Lucians first identified for the classes. Students currently attending classes are very different. A significant number are British-born, of Eastern Caribbean origin. Some students come from other Caribbean islands, like Trinidad and Grenada, where the influence of Kwéyòl is weak, or islands like Jamaica or St Vincent, where there has been no history of Kwéyòl influence at all. Classes also include small numbers of White students who are either married to Dominicans and St Lucians, or are simply interested in Kwéyòl language and culture in its own right. Students come from a range of social class, educational and occupational backgrounds, though there is an increasing white collar bias. They also represent a range of ages, with the largest group falling in the 20 to 30 group. They vary in Kwéyòl competence from absolute beginners to fluent speakers. As I explained in Chapters 2 and 5, language, in my experience, is a powerful symbol of cultural identity and my attempts to learn to speak, read and write Kwéyòl were inextricably linked with a voyage of personal discovery. My motivation in undertaking this study was to explore the perceptions of other students and tutors involved in the Kwéyòl classes: to what extent did their experiences match my own? The data established that students come to the classes for a variety of reasons. Not only are they eager to develop their language and literacy skills in spoken Kwéyòl, but social reasons are very important, too. The classes are a means of making friends and allowing students to feel more integrated members of the Kwéyòl speech community, particularly in the context of the extended family. They also help in reinforcing the status and pride associated with a distinctive cultural identity. Like the other forms of community support discussed in Chapter 4, they contribute to the maintenance of Kwéyòl. Very often this was expressed in terms of the importance of passing down a sense of self from one generation to the next, for children born in a foreign environment. Even those who did not originate from Dominica or St Lucia

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drew attention to the importance of keeping the language alive and of raising its status. In short, the classes provide a practical course of action for those committed to maintaining the Kwéyòl language and for those who are conscious of the links between the language, national identity and pride. Analysis of the interview data thus leaves no doubt that my own perception of the role of the Kwéyòl classes is by no means isolated or idiosyncratic: students committed to developing their language and literacy skills have a strong empathy with Kwéyòl language and culture which they deem to be an essential part of their identity. There was also ample evidence that the exploration of cultural identity can lead to student empowerment. While students did not identify growth in self-confidence as a reason for attending classes, it is apparent that the opportunity to debate and challenge attitudes around Kwéyòl had increased their ability to cope with problems around cultural identity. The classes had also given students confidence to continue with their studies and other aspects of personal development. The classes, then, fulfil a range of important functions for the students. They also represent a modest attempt to both stimulate and support the intergenerational transmission of Kwéyòl in the UK context, an activity which is crucial if reversing language shift is to 'take hold' (Fishman, 1991). The Kwéyòl classes also provide a range of challenges for tutors, not least of which is the development of resources to support the learning of the language. This subject will form the focus of the next chapter.

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7 From Speech to Writing: Resources for Learning. The situation in St Lucia and Dominica is very similar to that of many other micro-states such as Malta or the Seychelles. It is also reminiscent of multilingual nations such as India and South Africa. In all these locations we are dealing with languages with a recent history of writing. As a consequence, teaching resources tend to be few in number and limited in range. Teachers therefore have a responsibility not only for designing the curriculum but also for producing their own materials. When a language is in the early stages of standardisation, this task is particularly onerous. This chapter will explore a number of theoretical and practical considerations in producing resources which support the teaching of Kwéyòl. It compares the case of Haiti, the Caribbean island which has made most progress towards standardisation, with early developments in St Lucia and Dominica. In particular, it focuses on the creation of orthographies, dictionaries and grammars, all essential elements in the standardization process. Developments in this area inevitably determine the type, quality and quantity of teaching materials available in Kwéyòl both in the Caribbean and UK. There are nevertheless important differences between St Lucia, where issues are related to standardisation, and the UK, where there are also considerations relating to second language teaching. Standardisation in the French Antilles. As we saw in the discussion of standardisation in Chapter 2, in many multilingual situations, the first decision to be taken concerns the choice of language. The official languages of the Caribbean have always been European languages: French in islands like Haiti and Réunion; English in islands like Jamaica and Antigua; Spanish in the Dominican Republic; Dutch in Surinam. The language spoken by the mass of the population, as outlined in Chapter 3, is a creole which draws its vocabulary base from the dominant European language but which retains many elements of African phonology and syntax. The linguistic repertoire of creole-speakers is highly

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variable and, as soon as language is committed to writing, certain decisions must be taken: which phonological, lexical and grammatical variants will be selected? The decision is not arbitrary: rather, it reflects a range of historical and political factors in the development of the language. Haiti offers a useful starting point for the discussion of standardisation in a Caribbean context because of its relatively long official status. Its language policy is also the most extensively researched in the region (Carrington, 1988). The selection of a standard Kréyòl variety and the development of an appropriate orthography have proved to be complex issues because of the social and political relationship with French, the official language since 1918. The linguistic situation can best be summarised as supporting two linguistic communities: a Kréyòl-French bilingual elite and the monolingual Kréyòl-speaking rural and urban masses, roughly 90% of the population. According to Schieffelin & Doucet (1992), debates on issues such as standardisation or the choice of an orthographic system for Kréyòl often highlight ambivalent attitudes to the language. This can be seen, for example, in the number of terms Haitians use to refer to the varieties of spoken Kréyòl. Kréyòl swa or fransize refers to the variety spoken by the educated urban bilinguals, in contrast to the Kréyòl rèk or gwo variety used by the uneducated rural and urban dwellers. The terms swa and rèk refer not only to the phonology, but also to the vocabulary, intonation and the non-verbal gestures used by the speakers of each variety; they also carry important cultural meanings. The same ambivalent attitudes noted in Chapters 2 and 3 for low status speakers in many different parts of the world are certainly widespread in Haiti. Monolingual Kréyòl-speakers recognise the link between proficiency in French and social advancement, but, at the same time, remain committed to their language and culture. The bilingual elite also exhibit a degree of loyalty towards Kréyòl but continue to oppose all measures that might lead to its standardisation. More recently, there has been a shift in values associated with the various speech varieties, largely due to political changes. This can be seen, for example, in the way that Kréyòl monolinguals attempt to imitate the prestigious form, Kréyòl swa, whilst some bilinguals, including politicians, try to use the popular variety, Kréyòl rèk, in an attempt to identify with the masses. The less prestigious Kréyòl rèk has gained credibility in some progressive circles because of its associations with sincerity and Black cultural identity. Not surprisingly then, such attitudes have had repercussions for the way in which monolingual Kréyòl speakers are viewed; they

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have also had important consequences for the codification of the written language. St Lucia and Dominica Similar issues recur in relation to St Lucia and Dominica. In St Lucia, for instance, there are two broad varieties of Kwéyòl: the first is spoken in or around the capital and draws heavily on the use of English loan words; the second is used in the rural areas by mainly monolingual speakers. The urban variety enjoys higher status. While Valdman (1989) suggests that the extent of variation in French creoles has been underestimated, differences between urban and rural varieties of Kwéyòl are generally held to be relatively small. There is, for instance, variation in pronunciation between individual words. Mondesir (1993) cites the following examples: /k/ and in bék/bétché /h/ and in manjé/manhé; lajan/lahan /a/ and /e/ in powas/powes and /e/ in jounen/jouné /r/ and /w/ in radio/wadio Students in the UK are often critical of low status lexical or phonological variants in Kwéyòl such as mon, used by older rural speakers, in preference to mwen which is used by town and younger rural dwellers. Whilst descriptions of the different varieties are not couched in terms of smooth or rough, as they are in Haiti, they often judge such lexical variations as incorrect or, as one student sees it, 'slangorizing' the language. Preconceptions such as these underlie the difficult decisions which need to be made by those involved in language standardisation: which variants should be taught? The decision is, of course, ideological rather than linguistic and the current practice in the UK, as in St Lucia, is to teach the urban variety. Orthographies The development of an orthography is an essential element in the standardisation process. Orthographies can be based on a variety of systems. They can be alphabetic with individual letters or combinations of letters corresponding to given sounds, as in the case of western European languages; they can be syllabic, as in the case for many Indian languages; or they can be ideographic, in which case a given symbol corresponds to a given word. Most recent orthographies since the Second World War have been alphabetic or syllabic (Burnaby, 1992; Baker et al., 1993). However, in earlier times, the development of an orthography was seen as a relatively straightforward process. During the 19th century, for instance, missionar-

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ies based writing systems on the speech community closest to the mission (Baker et al., 1993). Today, however, the adoption of a particular system is just the first of a complex web of decisions which draw on linguistic, sociological, political, technological and pedagogical factors (CRC, 1981; Burnaby, 1992). The process of creating a writing system is thus not a neutral activity. Rather, writing can be viewed as an important symbolic vehicle which represents the speakers' national and international identity. When devising orthographies for oral languages, then, as much consideration is given to the purpose and end product as to the form and style. Very often the development of orthographies is motivated by evangelism. Traditionally, missionaries have devised orthographies for vernacular languages so that they can translate and publish religious texts. If the orthography is to be of any value to the speech community concerned, however, it can be argued that it has to be put to use in a much wider range of ways, such as recording the language, increasing communication among speakers, promoting community development and unity, preserving and disseminating cultural information, as well as promoting literacy (Carrington, 1988; Burnaby, 1992). The Haitian orthography Some of the sensitivities outlined above can be illustrated by reference to the development of the Haitian orthography. In earlier times Kréyòl was represented in an ad hoc way which did not accurately reflect the sounds of the language. The system used in documents such as the proclamation abolishing slavery in 1794 resembled a simplified French spelling. This approach persisted until the 1930s and reinforced the idea that Kréyòl is a less developed form of French. More recently, a number of attempts have been made to develop a more principled approach to writing in Haiti with a view to conducting the earliest mass literacy campaign for any French creole (Baker et al., 1993). To date there have been three main orthographic systems in Haiti. The first, a phonemic orthography, was proposed in 1940 by Ormonde McConnell, an American missionary who had carried out adult literacy work in rural areas. The next version, a slight modification of the first, was launched in 1947 and renamed the McConnell-Laubach system. Both the McConnell and McConnell-Laubach systems were criticised for their use of the circumflex to mark nasalized vowels; the absence of the front rounded vowels /y/, /ø/, // and their use of the 'American looking' letters w and y. Both failed to meet the requirements of those who felt Kréyòl should

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stay as close as possible to the French writing system, as the two languages would always coexist in Haiti. The bilingual elite dubbed McConnell-Laubach system as 'a Trojan horse for the spread of English' and gave it the nickname of 'Anglo-Saxon orthography' Valdman (1989: 64). In 1947 Pressoir introduced a system which discarded the circumflex and used an n to represent nasalization. The diagraph ou now represented both the vowel /u/ and semi vowel /w/, and the letters i and y stood for the semivowel /j/. Pressoir's orthography was modified and used in adult literacy programmes for more than 30 years. During the 1970s, however, there was growing agitation for social change in Haiti, as well as a desire to change the medium of instruction and literacy in school from French to Kréyòl. As a consequence the 'orthographic bridge' ideology was no longer politically acceptable and gave way to yet another writing system, the Institut Pédogogique National (IPN) or òtograf Kréyòl (see Figure 7.1). This was devised by a team of Haitian linguists and educators in 1979 and, for the first time, represented the speech of the masses. During the same year, Kréyòl was introduced into schools at primary level as the language of instruction and the use of the orthography was recommended by official decree in 1980. Figure 7.1 Òtograf Kréyòl system Oral vowels: a e è i ò ou Nasal vowels: an en on oun Semi vowels: w y u (in the diphthong ui ) Consonants: b ch d f g h j k l m n ng p r s t v z French nasal and front rounded vowels are closely related to the struggle for power between the 'Mulatto' educated elite and the Black masses. It is therefore not surprising that they should have played such a prominent part in the development of an orthography for Kréyòl. The debate centres on whether the standardised written form of Kréyòl should use these vowels or whether the pronunciation of the monolingual rural speakers should prevail, as in the examples below. In other words, should the spelling be autonomous or use the orthographic conventions of French to serve as a 'bridge' to acquiring French (see Figure 7.2). As Schieffelin & Doucet (1992: 436) point out, debates surrounding orthographic systems should be examined within the broader framework of language ideologies. They reflect the cultural and political beliefs that

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Figure 7.2 Phonological variants of Kréyòl English French Urban rice riz /ri/ duri /dyri/ sister soeur /soer/ seùr /soer/ two deux /dø/ deu /dø/ (Source: Valdman, 1988: 74)

Rural diri /diri/ sè /se/ de /de/

underlie the language practices, choice and attitudes of Haitians. In sum, any attempt to resolve the issues surrounding the orthography will need to address a number of questions related to its representation and legitimacy: which variety of the language should be standardised and codified? Which variety represents the 'authentic' Kréyòl? Who is the real Haitianthe 'Frenchified' mulattos and educated urban dwellers or the 'Africanized' urban and rural masses? The St Lucian and Dominican orthography... A number of important questions also need to be addressed in relation to the promotion of a Kwéyòl writing system in St Lucia and Dominica. What are the reasons for teaching literacy? Should the writing system reflect regional dialects? Or should the aim be to standardise the language so as to offer a credible challenge to the dominant literacy and language? What does the learner need to learn in order to deal with Kwéyòl as a new language? What difficulties are involved? What practical costs are involved in teaching a new language and literacy? What are the costs of using the new literacy in public domains? The fact that English and not French is the official language in both St Lucia and Dominica means that there is not the same degree of sensitivity around the links between Kwéyòl and French as in Haiti. The contrasting sociopolitical relationship is also reflected in the different emphasis placed on developing an orthography for Kwéyòl. In Dominica and St Lucia, the main issue has been the status which Kwéyòl would derive from a standardised orthography, rather than the importance of preserving links with French. Anthony & Louisy (1985) point out that attempts to develop a writing system for St Lucian Kwéyòl go back at least to the beginning of the century. At that time, individual writers devised their own writing system if they wished to publish materials in Kwéyòl. The Roman Catholic church, for

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example, was one of the first to produce work in the language. The first copies of the Kwéyòl Catechism were produced between 1900 and 1910 by Father Henri Claustre. This writing system was heavily dependent on French spelling and was characterised by many inconsistencies. In 1933 T. F. Myers (see Anthony & Lousiy, 1985) published his Patois is Spoken, an attempt to create a writing system based on English. This system was cumbersome, as can be seen from the following entries in the glossary: sah-oo (your), may-lan-jay (mix), and peh-say-kee-tay (persecute). In 1958 Harold Simmons (cited in Jules, 1988) used an orthography that was heavily dependent on French to produce Kwéyòl cartoons in one of the national newspapers, The Voice. In contrast, during the same year, Daniel Crowley proposed an English-based writing system for the language, arguing that only a handful of the population was literate in French. Since the 1960s a number of significant strides have been made in developing an appropriate system for the language, the most important of which is Carrington & Valdman (1969), which relies heavily on the International Phonetic Alphabet (IPA) with modifications to meet the limitations of the conventional typewriter. The Carrington & Valdman system gained wider public recognition when Toynbee (1969) used their work as the basis for producing A Visitor's Guide to St Lucian Patois for the Tourist Board. As pointed out in Chapter 3, the 1979 report of the St Lucian Committee on Education Priorities recognised the centrality of Kwéyòl to the lives of a significant proportion of St Lucians. It suggested that Kwéyòl should be utilised in the educational arena and not be limited to adult literacy teaching. It also supported the need for research into the language and for the establishment of a writing system. Additional support for the development of the language came in the form of recommendations made at the National Consultation on Education Conference in 1980. However, the first systematic attempt to address the issue of devising an appropriate writing system for St Lucian and Dominican Kwéyòl, came in the form of two orthography workshops held during 1981 and 1982 and carried out under the auspices of the Caribbean Research Centre (CRC), Folk Research Centre (FRC) and National Research and Development Foundation (NRDF). Participants included Dominican and St Lucian educators and other persons with an interest in the language. Linguists who agreed to act as resource persons came from the University of the West Indies and the Groupe d'Etudes et de Recherches en Espace Créolophone (GEREC), a research organisation representing neighbouring Francophone islands.

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The first workshop, 'Language and Development: The St Lucian Context' (CRC, 1981), resulted in the setting up of Mouvman Kwéyòl Sent Lisi, otherwise known as MOKWEYOL to carry out a number of practical and research initiatives. Members of the group took responsibility for popularising the outcomes of the workshop and noted a number of problems in the course of this work. These problems became the focal point of the next workshop, The Development of Antillean Kwéyòl (NRDF & FRC, 1982). Although these activities were based at FRC in St Lucia, they had the wholehearted support of those working in Dominica who were concerned to avoid duplication of effort. The chair person of the Dominican Standing Committee On Creole Studies (SCCS) expressed his concern thus: Eben, dépi Sent Lisi ka palé menm Kwéyòl-la, san hèsitasyon, nou désidé pou aksèpté ében twavay épi lalfabèt sa la. Nou ka kwè, si nou ka palé kont pwomoté yon langaj pou younivèsal asèptans, nou pa sa ni yon lalfabèt Sent Lisi é yon ki diféwan pou Donmnik. Since St Lucia and Dominica speak the same Kwéyòl, we decided, without hesitation, to both accept and work with the writing system. Our thinking was that if we are discussing the promotion of one universally accepted language, then Dominica cannot have a different writing system to St Lucia. (NRDF & FRC, 1982: 27) The fact that a number of writing systems existed in the Francophone Caribbean made the task of devising a system for St Lucian and Dominican Kwéyòl much easier than would otherwise have been the case. Three main orthographies were considered: the Haitian system, the (GEREC) system of Guadeloupe, Martinique and Cayenne (French Guiana), and the system originally devised by Carrington & Valdman in 1969 to teach St Lucian Kwéyòl to the American Peace Corps volunteers. Interestingly, Carrington (1988) suggested that the differences among the three writing systems were less significant than the discussion they generated. Disputes centred on the representation of, for instance, the open and closed mid-front and back vowels and the affricate consonants. The task of the seminar, then, was to identify areas of agreement between the three systems. More importantly, decisions were informed by practical considerations such as economy, technology, ecology, and universality. In terms of economy, a grapheme was considered economical if it was able to cope with all occurrences of the phoneme without creating anomalies. For example, the acute-accented é, è and en were used to differentiate between /e/, /e/ and respectively. The technological considerations referred to the ease with which individual graphemes could be written and the cost of adapting existing equipment such as typewriters.

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In the case of the accented vowels é, è, ò, the advantages gained were considered greater than the cost incurred in fitting accents to a standard typewriter. The most pertinent ecological issue was the compatibility of the Kwéyòl grapheme with those of the language with which it coexists, in this case, English. Where the rule of economy conflicted with that of ecology, precedence was given to economy. Finally, universality was considered to be one of the most important factors and, for that reason, a common representation of phonemes for all the French creole orthographic systems was viewed as desirable. At the second workshop, a review of the writing system was carried out and the following writing system was finally agreed for St Lucian and Dominican Kwéyòl: Figure 7.3 St Lucian and Dominican Kwéyòl orthography Vowels: a, é, è, i, o, ò, ou, Nasal vowels: an, en, on, Semi w, y, vowels/consonants: Consonants: b, ch, d, dj, f, g, h, j, k, l, m, n, ng, p, r, s, t, tj, v, z, Other writing conventions such as capitalisation for the names of people, places and organisations, and at the beginning of a sentence would follow the rules governing English, the language with which Kwéyòl co-exists. The exceptions to this, however, include the names of days of the week and months of the year which would be written with lower case letters. Where people, places and organisational names are foreign, they would keep their original spelling, with special markings such as italics, asterisks or quotation marks to indicate that they do not use the Kwéyòl conventions. Lexical expansion Lexical expansion is an area with implications for orthographies. Addressing the issue of loan words, CRC (1981) and NRDF & FRC (1982) make a distinction between words that have been integrated into the language and those that have been most recently imported. Integrated items would be written in Kwéyòl, while local equivalents would be found for imported items. For instance, a word such as titja (teacher) is considered to be integrated into the language, but computer, as in mwen ka'y achté an

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computer (I will buy a computer), is considered imported and the original spelling is retained. However, the issue of loan words, is contentious in many different settings (Fishman, 1991). In a French creole context, borrowings from English have particularly important implications for the language if the diglossic situation is to be challenged in a serious way. Carrington (1988) points to the importance of modernising if the language is to meet the demands of contemporary political, economic and technical discourse. He proposes that borrowings from other varieties of Antillean creoles as a possible solution. The Francophone islands of Haiti, Martinique and Guadeloupe have developed new vocabulary that can be applied to the St Lucian and Dominican situation. Further, these lexical items would be highly transferable because of similarities between the different creoles. The task of coining new terms is sometimes highly complex and threatened languages can least afford mistakes in this area. Take, for instance, the term for a condom, kòkòlk-sòk introduced by the St Lucian radio announcer Sam Flood. This term was created by borrowing the word 'sock' from English and combining it with the term for a child's penis, presumably to bring about a greater degree of acceptability. Whilst many Kwéyòl speakers, particularly the young, view this with great hilarity and as clever witticism, it nevertheless caused a great deal of offence when it was first used on the airways. When attempts to cope with modernity result in ridicule there is arguably a need to employ greater sophistication and sensitivity. Promoting the orthography Arising from the two orthographic workshops, a number of practical and research activities were identified to develop materials for the language. Three priority areas for follow-up work were agreed upon: training, research and publicity. Members of the MOKWEYOL committee would become the new cadre of persons fluent in the writing system. They would also take on responsibility for the mass popularisation of the system among the literate population, educators (including literacy facilitators), agricultural officers and community health workers. A twopronged approach would be adopted to facilitate this: first, fieldwork among the population recording words, idioms, etc. and, second, the study of these materials to identify anomalies and take decisions on rules. A publicity campaign was identified as central to the acceptance of the new orthography, particularly in counteracting negative attitudes towards the mass popularisation of the writing system. A number of avenues were targeted including regular discussions on the radio and television, articles

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on language issues appearing in local newspapers and public discussions. As Carrington (1984: 176) points out, the work carried out in the orthographic seminars heralded a significant landmark in the standardisation of Antillean Kwéyòl. The launching of a bilingual tabloid, Balata, in 1983, was another important move towards gaining wider acceptability for the orthography. Originally Balata was considered as a 'research tool' with plans to serve as a communication link between St Lucia, Dominica and the rest of the French creole-speaking world. In an attempt to ensure that the St Lucian public would learn the writing system, MOKWEYOL also established literacy groups across the island to support this initiative. As Blanchard (1990) comments, it was the 'most significant attempt in the use of Kwéyòl in the print medium in St Lucia'. However, due to funding and distribution problems, only 14 issues were produced. The current position regarding the use of the orthography is that only a minority of people in both St Lucia and Dominica know and use the writing system. The campaign to popularise the orthography has not been successful in raising public consciousness. Although public debates on orthographic styles have had a lower profile than was the case in Haiti, a great deal of controversy still surrounds the use of the Kwéyòl writing system advocated by FRC and other bodies. Fanis (1993), for instance, reported the following remarks made by Derek Walcott, the Nobel Prize Winner, concerning the St Lucian Kwéyòl dictionary which uses the new orthography: I have a thing about Kwéyòl which has to do with the orthography. I do not like the spelling that is used. I think as a writer, actually writing a word out. I do not want to write like a childphonetic philogy infuriates me because there is an elegance in letters, not only in words and creole is an elegant language. I do not think the orthography does justice to the elegance of Kwéyòl. If you want to write the word d'leau which they might write dlo to me that's barbarous. So I don't want to write dlo and have a poem that looks like graffiti, almost. The person who preserves the language is the writer. . . my feeling as a guardian of Kwéyòl is that I'm not going to write this illiterate. You know it just repels me to do it. (The Weekend Voice, Saturday February 6,1993, p.14.) Such derogatory remarks are not unusual, even amongst those who claim to enjoy and use the language, as in the case for Derek Walcott. A common expectation amongst educated critics is that Kwéyòl spelling should look like French, despite the fact that Kwéyòl and French are different languages. Various commentators responded angrily to Walcott's

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remarks (see, for instance, Mondesir 1993), pointing to the danger that the views of personalities as influential as the Nobel Prize Winner might undermine the efforts of those who have 'opened the long and treacherous road to recognition' (Vitalis, 1993: 14). Using the Kwéyòl orthography in the UK. The issues surrounding the promotion of the Kwéyòl orthography are rather different in the UK context, where nearly all members of the classes are literate in English, and where many people are learning Kwéyòl as a second language. The questions which were explored with tutors and students in the classes, therefore, were the efficiency of this new writing system and the ease with which it was learnt. There were some very consistent patterns in the student responses. Those who had first learnt Kwéyòl in the home, even though English might now be their dominant language, experienced very little difficulty and felt comfortable with Kwéyòl spelling conventions within a very short period of time. Students learning Kwéyòl as a foreign language were encouraged by the good sound-letter correspondence and, for the most part, were using the orthography confidently by the end of the fourth or fifth class. Although the alphabet was relatively easy to learn and use, students and tutors experienced difficulties with memorising the acute and grave accents (é, ò, è). While everyone was aware that letters bearing diacritics were pronounced differently, they often experienced considerable difficulty in reproducing the correct pronunciation. As the English and Kwéyòl alphabets are very similar, but the same letters sometimes represent different sounds, tutors have tended to exemplify these sounds with reference to English words. This practice however, was found to generate additional difficulties with learning, particularly for non-native speakers. Kwéyòl pronunciation is often close to, but not identical with, English. Reference to English thus tended to reinforce English rather than Kwéyòl sound patterns. The less familiar diagraphs ch, dj, kw, tj, and the single letter j, also tend to cause problems for students in the initial stages, because of their unfamiliarity or confusion with English equivalents. Students also had difficulty pronouncing the nasal vowels represented by a vowel plus n, e.g. an, en, on. Predictably, they tended to interpret this pattern as vowel plus nasal, rather than as a nasal vowel. There was also a problem with students who had learned to produce nasal or nasalised vowels and who then over generalised this pattern to oral vowels.

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Figure 7.4 Kwéyòl representations, sample English words and IPA symbols Kwéyòl English words IPA symbols ay high, buy /ai/ é bake, pay /e/ è get, get /e/ i bee, tea /i:/ an sang en bend on bomb ch should dj jet j treasure tj cheese Students with experience of French expressed strong reservations when they first encountered Kwéyòl writing. They perceived Kwéyòl to be closely related to French and assumed that the alphabet would be the same. However, overall, they were encouraged by the good sound-letter relationship in Kwéyòl. Dictionaries It is generally agreed that there is no such thing as the definitive dictionary. Dictionaries differ both in their coverage and in their intended audience. Languages with a long established written tradition, such as English or French, have several different types of dictionaries available to support language learning. These range from complex reference dictionaries to introductory texts for second language learning. Modern English dictionaries, for instance, differ in their coverage, organisation, style of definition and information included on the language. They are designed to facilitate usage through a wide range of conventions such as the use of the head-words; the treatment of words with identical spelling but different meanings; words which belong to more than one part of speech; main entries and sub-entries. They also tend to give information on the use of

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numbers and letters, colons and semi-colons as markings to show the relationship between different meanings of the same word etc. It is reasonable to assume that non-native speakers of English are likely to have many of the same needs and experience similar difficulties as native speakers. According to Nesi (1991), British dictionaries written for nonnative speakers tend to differ in a number of areas from native speaker dictionaries. Non-native speaker dictionaries have fewer entries and tend to omit archaic words; they transcribe all head words using the International Phonetic Alphabet; they provide more illustrative sentences, phrases, usage notes and contain more complex grammatical information. In general, the additional information provided in the non-native dictionary is designed to assist in the writing process. Yet, the sheer volume of information is often quite intimidating to the learner. As already indicated, the development of an orthography is an essential first step in the codification of a language. The production of dictionaries and grammar handbooks also plays an integral role in establishing and maintaining the status and power of a given language variety. Linguistic academies have often been an important force in the development of both dictionaries and grammars. Modern examples include the Académie Française, founded by Cardinal Richelieu in 1635. Its initial role was to maintain linguistic standards by ensuring that the French language was free of foreign borrowings, particularly English words, and later, to create French terms for science and technology. In contrast, no such English language academy existed in England. Scholars such as Defoe and Swift advocated the establishment of an academy similar to the French model, but this was widely denounced as tyranny (Haugen, 1985). Instead, the lexicographer, Samuel Johnson, used his private means to publish a dictionary in 1755. Later, the Oxford English Dictionary, initiated by James Murray, was adopted as the standard. Similarly, in the USA, Noah Webster produced the American Dictionary of the English Language in 1827, marking an important step in ensuring linguistic independence from England. A language, such as Kwéyòl, which is in the very first stages of standardisation, is likely to encounter a number of problems in the absence of a dictionary. The development of a dictionary was not part of the original agenda of the Standing Committee programme in St Lucia and Dominica. An undertaking was made, however, that the different working groups from the two islands would carry out the task of compiling comprehensive wordlists from different areas of activities, such as education and agriculture, to form the basis of a long term dictionary project.

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The earliest attempts at producing Kwéyòl dictionaries started with Toynbee's (1969) 200 word glossary in A Visitor's Guide to St Lucian Patois. In an unpublished thesis, Vaughn (1979) also sets out to develop a dictionary of selected words and phrases with approximately 3,940 listings in English and 3,340 in Kwéyòl. However, this list is part of an unpublished M.Phil (thesis). Fontaine's (1988) Lékòl Kwéyòl contains a more accessible glossary of approximately 300 words. The first Dominican Kwéyòl/English Dictionary with 6,000 entries was published by the Folk Research Institute (FRI), KEK and University of the West Indies (UWI) (1991). One difficulty, however, is its limited availability: only a few hundred copies were produced and it is unlikely that additional copies will become available in the foreseeable future. The St Lucian Dictionary (Mondesir, 1992a) is widely available but costs £114 and as such is clearly beyond the budget of most students and organisations involved in mother tongue teaching. The British Kwéyòl dictionary. In the context of the UK classes, both students and tutors were motivated to compile an extended glossary for a number of practical reasons. Until 1988, the only dictionary-like resource available in Kwéyòl was the 300 word list in the Lékòl Kwéyòl handbook (Fontaine, 1988). Although the students found it useful in building their vocabulary, it became clear very early on that the scope of the glossary was inadequate either for use in the class or for independent reference for the students. Initially tutors looked to dictionaries from the Francophone islands of Guadeloupe, Martinique and Mauritius as teaching aids, but discovered that regional differences in vocabulary and orthography were problematic. While the Haitian dictionary proved the most useful in terms of sharing a similar lexicon and writing system, it was not a satisfactory substitute for a Dominican or St Lucian dictionary. To compensate for the inadequacy of the glossary, both tutors and students compiled their individual word-lists and updated a central one kept by the language and literacy groups. As one student commented, 'It seemed a logical progression to compile a dictionary for our personal use and for the wider community'. Additional reasons for wanting to compile the dictionary fell into three categories: the desire to continue learning the language away from the classroom; the wish to enhance the status of the language, and the possibility of using the dictionary for other applications. Students learning a new language use a dictionary for practical reasons such as increasing vocabulary and checking the pronunciation of a word.

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Therefore the absence of such an important reference tool makes the task of learning the language more difficult: I wanted to use the dictionary to increase my vocabulary as it was not possible to memorise all those words. When I first started learning Kwéyòl I picked up a lot of words and was unsure of the pronunciation. I couldn't use these words with the children in case I didn't get it right. For example, I was searching for the word glass. I wasn't sure whether it was vè, vé, or jè. By the time I searched through my list of words and waited for confirmation from the class the following week, the word had evaporated. The time involved in that process was generally very frustrating. Using a dictionary is a routine exercise in the day to day life of most individuals engaged in reading and writing activities and the same principle holds in a language-learning situation. As one class member explained: At work, I constantly need an English dictionary to check my spelling or pronunciation, so as you can imagine, the problem is even greater in a language learning situation. The lack of a dictionary invariably raises the thorny issue of the speaker's cultural identity vis-à-vis the language, and the status and legitimacy of Kwéyòl in the Caribbean and the UK. The following comments were typical: Another possible benefit of having a Kwéyòl dictionary is that it puts Kwéyòl on a par with other languages and can be used as a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it helps people to learn the language as well as ensuring that the language survives. On the other hand, it is a good argument for legitimising the language as well as a means of forcing the Dominican and St Lucian government to give the language official recognition. My partner is Black British and Kwéyòl is my second language, so I'm not a fluent Patwa speaker. The feeling of leaving something behind for my children from my half of the culture is very strong. When the children are learning to write in English, for example the word cat, I would also like them to be able to write the same word chat in Kwéyòl. Therefore, it's up to me to give that to my children. In addition to being an essential tool for independent learning, and reinforcing the speaker's cultural identity, the dictionary also has applications in the wider speech community. As one of the participants remarked:

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I believe there would be a great deal of support for a Kwéyòl dictionary, particularly in the tourist industry. A variety of people who have connections with Kwéyòl speakers or who are interested in visiting the islands for holidays would also find the dictionary useful. Many of the tourists don't visit local places such as the market and I'm sure that being armed with a dictionary would give them encouragement to learn the language and visit local places. The dictionary work group. As can be seen, students and tutors were acutely aware of the advantages of having a dictionary for teaching purposes, as a tool to support language learning and for the promotion of the language in the wider community. A dictionary work group was initiated by the Tower Hamlets tutors with a view to compiling and publishing the dictionary as an in-house project. Other members of the group included a tutor from the Book Place, a community centre in south-east London, native students (from both Dominica and St Lucia) of different ages and non-native students with intermediate level skills in spoken and written Kwéyòl. Students also brought additional skills in practical areas such as computer programming, word-processing, a working knowledge of French and linguistics. The central aim of the project was to compile a 3,000 to 3,500 word bilingual glossary or first dictionary to use in the classes or at home on a self-study basis. It was hoped that the dictionary would be useful for people with different levels of linguistic competence. From the inception of the Kwéyòl classes, tutors and students expressed a commitment to produce their own dictionary. Funding for the publication was discussed with the Departmental Manager responsible for community languages in December, 1990. A small budget was eventually approved and this included monies to pay up to a maximum of 40 secretarial hours, refreshments, stationery, and the printing of 250 to 300 copies of the dictionary. The group felt that £6 to £8 a copy would be a realistic asking price for the dictionary and that sales would generate enough money to finance reprints or in-house publication of new booklets. An obvious target group for the dictionary would include past and present students attending Kwéyòl classes throughout London. Students have also said that they would support the venture by selling materials to their families and friends. Although a clear dissemination strategy needed to be worked out, other likely targets for the UK would include Dominican and St Lucian clubs and associations, venues such as churches and markets that are frequented by Kwéyòl speakers, black book stores and local libraries.

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After brief discussions with the other tutor from the Tower Hamlets Kwéyòl class, the idea of bringing together a dictionary group comprising tutors and students took hold in December, 1990. Word-lists from the two Kwéyòl classes were brought together and checked for accuracy of meaning, spelling mistakes and repetition. Copies of the raw data were then sent to all members of the group and arrangements made to start work on compiling the publication in early January 1991. There were a number of practical difficulties involved in the compilation of the dictionary. The group met at La Caye Housing Co-op, an organisation founded by Kwéyòl speakers, every Saturday between 2 p.m. and 8 p.m. Free meeting space was offered with the use of photocopying and computing facilities for as long as the group needed it. The arrangement worked well for a few months, but soon ran into a number of problems. All participants except one were in full-time employment and had other social commitments. Time-keeping was always an issue. The difficulties increased with three members of the group working shifts and unable to attend all the sessions. Most people had family commitments and could not realistically devote such a concentrated period of time to the project. For many, Saturday was the only opportunity to shop for the family and carry out domestic duties in the home. Another difficulty was the differing levels of linguistic competence within the group. The work group comprised three Dominicans and three St Lucians. It was felt that the group's collective stock of knowledge of Kwéyòl words was too limited and that having a wider pool of native Eastern Caribbean Kwéyòl speakers would have been an asset. The interpersonal relations between group members also made it difficult to negotiate some of the tasks. A considerable degree of sensitivity was needed for working with people who were not comfortable with the writing process, particularly the most senior member of the group who was the least secure about putting pen to paper. It is not uncommon to hear older Kwéyòl speakers dismiss the notion of writing Kwéyòl with expressions such as alé épi bétiz sa-a, ki moun na'ay ékwi? ('What nonsense, who would understand what I'm saying if I wrote Kwéyòl?'). While the senior member of the group was clearly supportive of our efforts, she may well have felt some ambivalence about the task in hand. Her defensive behaviour certainly indicated a degree of discomfort. Her usefulness to the group, however, was beyond question. She was regularly able to confirm both the grammatical function of particular words and the existence of words that were contested, as well as illustrating their use in sentences. Take the following examples:

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déja (adv.) already, before. See also the short form ha. 1. Nonm-la di i déjà fini twavay sa-a. The man said he has finished the work already. 2. Yo ha voyé lèt-la. They have already sent the letter. kla (n) hand bell. Also variation of klòch, An Lékòl, yo toujou sonnen an ti kla, lè i tan pou lison-an. During school, they always sound a little hand-bell when it is time for the lesson to begin. Whilst the group's senior member undoubtedly made an invaluable contribution to the project, she tended to respond very defensively when, for example, she was asked to clarify words that were disputed. Younger members of the group often found her behaviour intimidating. The age of the rest of the group and the difference in educational backgrounds may also have contributed to a feeling of unease. Her position as a valued member and as an important resource to the group perhaps needed to be reinforced in a different way. The third draft of the dictionary was finished in just under twelve months, but, as it neared completion, Tower Hamlets Adult Education service was decentralised. Each of the seven neighbourhoods now assumed responsibility for adult education provision with the result that the budget that had been allocated for the dictionary project was now withdrawn. A number of other avenues for funding are being explored. Grammars The production of grammars is another activity which is central to the process of standardising a language. Within linguistics, 'grammar' refers to a systematic study of language which explores the way words and their component parts combine to form sentences (Crystal, 1985). In this sense, a grammar is a body of facts or rules that native speakers know about their language. Hudson (1992) points to the vagueness surrounding the boundaries of grammar. What does the grammar of a language include? More importantly, should such information be included in grammar books? The question of what constitutes a grammatical or acceptable utterance in a creole situation is a particularly complex one. Bickerton (1977), for instance, suggests that a number of questions need to be considered before deciding whether the grammar of a creole can be described as valid. Firstly, what constitutes 'acceptability' and 'grammaticality' in a creole context? Next, how reliable is a speaker's intuition of the language? Thirdly, to what degree can a valid grammar be based on such intuitions? Such questions are, however, less pressing in the case of St Lucia and Dominica where we are dealing with the relative stability of a French creole which co-exists with

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English than in situations such as Jamaica where an English creole in continuing contact with English has arguably given rise to a post creole continuum (De Camp, 1971). It is possible to distinguish several different kinds of grammar. Crystal (1980: 166-7), for instance, distinguishes between traditional grammars (written before the development of linguistics as an autonomous area of study); theoretical grammars which 'go beyond the study of individual languages, using language data as a means of developing theoretical insights into the nature of linguistic inquiry'; descriptive or reference grammars which provide comprehensive descriptions of syntax and morphology; and pedagogical grammars which are designed for the teaching and learning of another language, or for developing awareness of the mother tongue. In the context of the present discussion, we are clearly dealing with the need for pedagogical grammars. Kwéyòl grammars Whereas a great deal of progress has been made in the development of the orthography and dictionaries, as yet relatively little work has been done in the area of pedagogical grammars. Carrington (1984) contains extensive discussion of Kwéyòl grammar, but very much within a descriptive framework which is not accessible to nonspecialists. The only publications in this area designed for learners are Toynbee's (1979) A Visitor's Guide to St Lucia Patois, which is now unsuitable for use with learners because it does not use the official orthography, and Fontaine's (1988) Lékòl Kwéyòl, which provides a useful introduction to the grammar. The table of contents (Figure 7.5) gives an indication of the scope of this 44-page work. Lékòl Kwéyòl is a very welcome addition to the resources available for teaching the language. However, as the table of contents indicates, it is extremely limited in scope. It is quite clearly not suitable for use as a text book, but is more useful as a point of reference when issues arise in class. Balata, the bilingual newssheet mentioned in the discussion of orthographies above, also provides material on the grammar of Kwéyòl, which has been used with students in classes (see p.90). The production of grammars is clearly much less advanced than other areas of the codification of the language, such as the development of the orthography or dictionaries. A new pedagogical grammar is currently in preparation by Jones Mondesir, the compiler of the St Lucian dictionary, and this will certainly be a welcome addition to teaching resources.

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Figure 7.5 Contents page of Fontaine (1988) Introduction Alphabet I. Pronouns, nouns

iii 1 2

Articles (indefinite), negatives 3 Articles (definite), present continuous 4 Introduction to verbs 5 Interrogatives II. Adjectives

6 7

Colours 7 Possessive, demonstrative adjectives 9 Numbers 11 Telling the time 12 Days of the week, months of the year III. Past tense

14 15

Direct and indirect object pronouns 15 Prepositions, conjunctions 17 IV. Future tense 18 Modals, imperative 18 Past continuous tense, conditional mood 20 Greetings, more greetings 21 At the grocers, at the hotel 22 At the shop, around and about 23 General expressions, at the restaurant 28 An anatomy lesson, opposites, on the job Proverbs Acknowledgements Dictionary

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Figure 7.6 Balata 22. 12. 84, Number 7/8, pp.4-5

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Other Materials to Support Kwéyòl Teaching Other materials used in the Kwéyòl classes can be grouped for the purposes of the present discussion into those originating in the Caribbean and those produced by tutors and students in the UK. Caribbean materials range from roughly twenty folk tales and bible stories produced by the Summer Institute of Linguists; two collections of poetry (Mondesir, c.1985; Movement for Cultural Awareness, 1988); and a few publications by non-governmental organisations in St Lucia (FRC, 1986) and Dominica (Henderson, 1989). Materials generated in the UK include two bilingual anthologies of poetry (Dalphinis, 1985b, 1991). However, most of the material used to support teaching in the UK has been generated by the classes, either through the efforts of the students or the tutors (Noel, 1982; Nwenmely, 1990). Considerable importance is attached to producing materials which address the interest and cultural experiences of people based in the UK. In this way, a stock of materials is readily available for use both for teaching purposes and as the basis for future publications when finances become available. While all of these materials bring a Caribbean flavour to the learning environment, they also raise a number of problems. By far the greatest number of Kwéyòl materials in St Lucia has been produced by the Summer Institute of Linguistics. As Baker et al. (1993) point out, religious organisations or personnel still influence the process of literacy, particularly in 'under-developed' societies, where they produce texts mainly of a religious nature. While SIL's contribution to the stock of literature is greatly appreciated by students attending the various Kwéyòl classes, its religious and political associations are of concern to those who wish to protect their language and culture from foreign domination. Most of the Kwéyòl materials tend to be limited in range and, in most cases, were not specifically designed for teaching purposes. One consequence has been that the materials have had to be adapted to suit the learning needs of the students. Many of the texts referred to above do not use the official orthography and it is necessary to draw the students' attention to the different spelling conventions in order to avoid undue confusion. As mentioned previously, much of the reading material is suitable only for advanced learners. However, even fairly competent Kwéyòl speakers acquiring the language in the UK may experience difficulty with the less familiar vocabulary items found in many of the publications. Another difficulty is that the materials are produced

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Figure 7.7 Lékòl Kwéyòl (Fontaine, 1988: 19) by small organisations with limited resources. Consequently, they tend to be poorly designed and of low quality. The Lékòl Kwéyòl course workbook, for instance, is a typed manuscript with line illustrations (see Figure 7.7). An obvious consequence is that such materials look home-produced, in marked contrast to the commercially produced materials available for the teaching of European languages. In the UK context, this clearly raises a number of issues in relation to the quality, status and the general appeal of the materials to both native speakers and a wider audience which includes the general public, libraries, or schools. There are similar problems with materials produced in the UK with very limited budgets (see Eade, 1994 for a discussion of design issues in postliteracy materials). Conclusion... The discussion has centred on the range of Kwéyòl resources available to support Kwéyòl teaching. An important factor here, is that Kwéyòl has only a recent history of being recorded in writing and therefore is in the early stages of standardisation. Developments in this area are thus, of critical importance. As Fishman (1991) observes, weakened languages, such as Kwéyòl, are too inadequately resourced to afford 'the multiplicity of standards' that marks major world languages such as English.

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I have looked at three main developments in the codification of the language which are essential for the standardisation process: orthography, dictionaries and grammar. Although Kwéyòl has not yet received official recognition, the development of a writing system is, of course, an impressive achievement, as well as an essential foundation on which to build. An enormous amount of work still needs to be done in promoting and teaching the orthography, and this can only be achieved with far more resources than are currently available. The promotion of the orthography in the UK context is also very limited: the only opportunity to learn it is currently via the small number of Kwéyòl classes. However, the situation in the UK is very different in other respects: students in the Kwéyòl classes are already literate and are therefore involved in a very different kind of learning exercise. Nevertheless, the orthography has been well received and students usually show excitement at seeing Kwéyòl in the written form. Work on the production of dictionaries in the Caribbean tends to be relatively inaccessible: it is sometimes located in unpublished theses, or has been produced in limited numbers (as is the case for the Dominican dictionary) or is very expensive (as in the St Lucian dictionary). Work began on the production of a British dictionary to support student learning before the most recent and most satisfactory dictionary was available. Not only is the end product a valuable teaching resource, but the development of the dictionary was a very valuable learning experience for all concerned. Grammars for the Kwéyòl language are the least developed area in terms of the codification of the language. To date, there are very few publications which address this question and those which are available are very limited in scope. One consequence has been that the tutors have had to generate a considerable quantity of their own teaching materials, something which has been more readily achievable within a communicative teaching framework than it would have been with more traditional approaches to language teaching. The problems of resourcing are not just limited to grammar. Even more pressing is the serious shortage of reading materials to support teaching. Those publications which are available from the Caribbean and the UK, like the grammars, are few in number and limited in scope. They are largely unsuitable for beginners and leave much to be desired in terms of the quality of the design and reproduction. The demands on Kwéyòl teachers are therefore rather different from those working with languages with a written tradition: teachers not only need to be fluent speakers of the language but also need to have a heightened awareness of its structures because there are very few reference

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sources against which to check their intuition. They also need to be aware of the sociocultural environment in which the language exists. The reality is that teaching takes place in a context where speakers constantly demonstrate ambivalent attitudes towards the language and culture. Finally, teachers need to be flexible and creative in the production of materials to support their teaching, because they cannot call on the range of resources available to speakers of standardised languages.

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8 The Quest for Status: Accrediting the Kwéyòl Classes As we saw in the previous chapter, the classes have a wide-ranging agenda for developmental work. This includes the production of resource materials such as dictionaries, grammar handbooks and teaching materials. It was inevitable that, as the classes developed, discussion of course accreditation should also be added to the list of objectives. This was an important departure. Community language classes are generally informal in nature and qualifications in these languages are limited to a small number of courses such as GCSE Urdu or A level Bengali, aimed at students of school age. The focus for the present chapter, then, is the accreditation for the Kwéyòl classes. This process began with the development of a criterion-referenced test for Kwéyòl and led ultimately to the recognition of the classes by the London Open College Federation. Tutor Perspectives on Accreditation. Various common themes emerged in interviews with tutors on the reasons for wanting the classes to be accredited. Several people expressed the view that accreditation would enhance their professional credibility: Teaching a certificated course would inspire students to feel confident in me as a tutor. It would allow students to have confidence in me, not only because they know that the fluency in the language is there, but also because I'm doing something which legitimises the teaching activity. Tutors were also very sensitive to the status implications of accreditation for Kwéyòl. No advanced Kwéyòl language and literacy classes existed in either the UK or the Caribbean. Accreditation meant that, at the time of submission, the Poplar Neighbourhood classes would be the only Kwéyòl certificated course either in the UK or in the Caribbean. There was thus a desire to contribute to the development of the language in a practical way.

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In this respect, accreditation adds 'legitimacy' to the language, both within the speech community and beyond. As already indicated, the attitude, both among some members of the wider population and in official circles in St Lucia and Dominica, is one of ambivalence towards the language. The older generation tend to see European languages as having greater status and therefore have little interest in the promotion of Kwéyòl. Younger speakers, however, often attach far more importance to Kwéyòl as a symbol of their cultural identity and are often favourably disposed to initiatives which legitimise its development and use (Morris & Nwenmely, 1993; Nwenmely, 1994). Establishing a qualification in the language in the UK therefore had the potential to challenge negative attitudes and add weight to arguments for a bilingual language policy in the Eastern Caribbean. The notion of legitimacy, however, inevitably raises a number of difficulties. For instance, who is qualified to define what constitutes a legitimate language? Members of the speech community? Linguists? Or those outside the speech community with the economic and political power to impose their view? Further, if St Lucians and Dominicans, as politically and linguistically oppressed minorities, accept the view that accreditation legitimises a language which, until recently, had no tradition of writing, whose cultural framework are they operating within? However, while tutors were aware of the potential dangers associated with the accreditation process, there was sufficient consensus about its benefits for the Kwéyòl speech community to justify proceeding. The Kwéyòl Test The first step on the road to accreditation was the development of the Kwéyòl test. The design of language tests has traditionally been an activity carried out by those with technical expertise. Yet, as Harrison (1983) points out, language teachers are just as well placed as technical specialists to set or write tests for their students. Where the language does not have a written tradition or, as in the case of Kwéyòl, where the language has only recently acquired a writing system, it is unlikely that there will be any formal means of assessment. The only alternative, therefore, is for the tutors concerned to write their own assessment and this is what we set out to do. The design of the Kwéyòl test was carried out as a joint venture with a fellow student, Kathy Copley, as part of an MA programme in Second Language Teaching at Birkbeck College in 1989. The test was designed for adult learners attending Tower Hamlets Adult Education Institute's

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Kwéyòl language and literacy classes as a means of assessing students' practical communication skills in Kwéyòl (see Appendix A). Issues in test design An important first step in writing a successful test is to draw-up an accurate specification which focuses on a number of areas, including test format; objectives; skills and content (Harrison, 1983; Sumner, 1987; Weir, 1988). For instance, test format, needs to address issues such as length, the use of recording techniques and the appropriate number of questions. The objectives need to be determined by the type of test required, a complex process in the case of the Kwéyòl classes where teaching extends over a long period. Most current test designs take account of both receptive and productive performance in the skills specification, focusing, for instance, on listening, speaking, reading and writing. In addition, the content specification provides a detailed breakdown of the language and subjects to be covered, which in turn, are shaped by the objectives. In designing the test, we took into consideration views expressed by students in informal interviews. It needed to assess both oral and written communication. We also took into account the ability to understand the cultural context of the speech community. In other words, we were concerned with sociolinguistic and sociocultural, as well as linguistic competencies (Canale & Swain, 1980; Van Ek, 1987). We were also aware of the need to allow students to be entered at different levels of experience. Traditionally, tests have been norm-referenced or designed to measure how the performance of a student or group of students compares with the performance of another student or group of students whose scores are given as the norm. In contrast, the Kwéyòl test is criterion-referenced: student performance must match agreed criteria in order to pass the test or be allocated the corresponding credits. The student's score is therefore interpreted with reference to the criterion score, rather than to the scores of other students. The Kwéyòl test examines four skill areas: listening, speaking, reading and writing. For each area, students are asked to complete a range of tasks. In the spoken skill test, for instance, beginners would be expected to achieve tasks 1-4, intermediate students 1-7, and advanced students 1-11. The Kwéyòl test operates in a number of different ways. It is possible, for instance, to take one element of the test, such as the reading component, or to use the test as a whole. It can be used diagnostically to identify the students' strengths and also areas that need developing during the life of the course, thus informing future teaching. In this sense the Kwéyòl test has

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formative potential. It can, however, also be used summatively, to assess students' learning at the end of the programme. LOCF Accreditation. Having developed the Kwéyòl test, it was a natural next step to explore the possibilities for accreditation. Close scrutiny of the different bodies suggested that the London Open College Federation (LOCF) matched our requirements most closely. Its credit system recognises learning on programmes run by training centres, employers and voluntary groups throughout the UK. Additional features include low-cost examinations, and flexibility in assessment methods and credit allocation. As some of the current and potential Kwéyòl students have few or no qualifications, the LOCF scheme seemed to offer the most encouraging range of options for personal development. The tutor responsible for the literacy class, Dudif J. John-Rose, and I spent roughly three months working with the support of an education adviser from the teachers' centre in Tower Hamlets to ensure that the Kwéyòl assessment scheme conformed to the modern languages assessment criteria of the LOCF. The Kwéyòl programme submission document was presented at LOCF's Humanities/Language Panel early in 1992 and was recognised unconditionally as offering five credits at Levels 1 and 2; and seven credits at Levels 3 and 4. There are two main stages in the accreditation process: the validation of the programme by the recognition panel and the accreditation of student achievement. The recognition panel operates a peer-group system whereby tutors from the same or related fields come together to consider a number of programmes for approval, under the guidance and support of LOCF officers. The role of the panel members is to consider three important aspects of the submission document: the programme's internal consistency and coherence; the suitability of the number of credits allocated and the appropriacy of the credit levels. Internal consistency and coherence refers to whether the course content is relevant to the target group; whether the aims relate to the objectives; whether the objectives or learning outcomes are clear to both the tutor and students; the manner in which the learning will be assessed; and the evidence made available to the moderator. In order to determine the appropriate numbers of credits for the course, the panel discusses issues such as the amount of private study carried out by the student. For instance, 30 hours contact and private study is regarded as equivalent to one credit.

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Agreement is then reached on the number of credits available for the entire programme. There are four different levels of credits. In order to determine the level of credit, the panel examines whether the criteria for awarding each level are clearly expressed; whether these are appropriate for the target group and desired learning outcomes; whether they are consistent with general definitions of LOCF; and the means by which students are assisted to understand the assessment of their work. The second stage in the accreditation process involves assessment of students' achievement by tutors, using the criteria approved by the recognition panel. The principle tasks of the moderator are, firstly, to ensure that the course programme accurately reflects the document submitted to the recognition panel; secondly, to provide support and advice for the tutor and the course programme in general; thirdly, to sample the students' work and countersign the award of credits allocated to the students. The students on both the language and literacy courses were informed about the London Open College Federation's accreditation scheme and were given a choice as to whether they would participate in the programme. As part of the assessment scheme, the recognition panel recommended that the Kwéyòl test, discussed earlier, could be administered to students. It was decided that the results could be interpreted so that scores above a cut-off point are allocated a pass mark, whilst those below are deemed to have failed. Overall, the test would not be used to disadvantage the students in any way. The highest mark allocated to the student from either the test or the course work would be used as the basis for allocating credits. Student Views on Accreditation Student reactions to accreditation were varied. Some felt accreditation was a positive development and identified a range of reasons why it should be pursued. They shared the views of tutors reported above in the discussion of the rationale for seeking accreditation. They believed, for instance, that having a qualification in Kwéyòl would make an important contribution towards their own personal growth. In other words, accreditation is seen as having intrinsic value. Typical comments included: It's important to satisfy the individual's need for recognition. It is also practical and useful to say to someone that you have reached a certain level in the language. It is important that a person can feel that attending the Kwéyòl course is actually something that can be seen as an accomplishment.

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Students also perceived extrinsic benefits. For instance, economic rewards in terms of an up-grade in salary scale as well as wider career opportunities, were viewed as potential benefits arising from accreditation: Having Kwéyòl qualifications might be useful for work. It's always good to have extra ones because we're all graded at work and if you want to do further training, they like to see that you have actually been doing some method of learning and not just studying for the sake of it. Some jobs or organisations require a second language and therefore having a Kwéyòl qualification could improve career prospects. Accreditation status would also lead to a number of progression routes for students participating in the scheme, such as using the qualification to gain entry to Access Courses or higher education. Some students also appreciated the potential of a recognised qualification in the Caribbean. As one student commented: Qualifications in Kwéyòl will have the greatest impact on the older generation like my parents. It would help them look at the language differently. My boyfriend's parents, for example, consider themselves high class and think that speaking Patwa is for backward people who are born in the country. So any development in the language such as qualifications, will really jolt their way of thinking. There was also a recognition that commitment to developing the language in the UK may, incidentally, enhance the status of the language in the Caribbean. As one student commented: Another useful spin-off is to be able to rub the governments of Dominica and St Lucia's noses in the fact that the language is important. In short, there was a general consensus among students attending the Kwéyòl classes that accreditation was a desirable goal. This was expressed variably in terms of possibilities for personal growth, economic and social rewards and the development of the Kwéyòl language. However, the positive views expressed in many student interviews did not result in any take-up of the scheme in the first year of operation. There are a number of explanations why students may not have wanted to participate. Firstly, accreditation is a very recent phenomenon and students did not join the classes with the expectation that they would be doing an accredited course. The idea was introduced during the first term, and the work involved such as producing assignments, keeping records, evaluating progress, etc. was viewed as too time consuming.

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Secondly, some people perceive the Kwéyòl classes as an informal social activity. One student commented that he came to the classes purely for pleasure. He was 'not interested in chasing Kwéyòl qualifications.' Another stressed he was 'not really bothered about qualifications' because he intended returning to Dominica. He saw no value in the scheme as he was more concerned with Kwéyòl history and social issues. My own inertia in presenting the possibilities of accreditation more persuasively and creating opportunities to sample what it might entail in non-threatening ways also merits discussion. The work involved in administering the scheme requires stamina, time and good organisation. Further, it is very difficult for a part-time tutor with a full-time day job to be both innovator and implementor. Although it would be inappropriate to pressure students only interested in studying Kwéyòl for leisure purposes to pursue accreditation, it has become obvious that certain practical steps will be necessary if the accreditation option is to be taken seriously. In the first instance, the advantages of following an accredited programme need to be explained to students from the outset, and organisational aspects of delivering this programme need to be clearly articulated, both for myself as tutor and for the students. A core of half a dozen students has committed themselves to the LOCF scheme for the coming session. Close monitoring of the progress of the scheme will be essential. However, if accreditation is seen to meet the needs of the students, further developments may well be relatively rapid. While some students will always prefer to avoid formal assessment, the interest in accreditation may well increase, not only at the Poplar Neighbourhood Centre, but in other Kwéyòl classes. There has also been some discussion of the possibility of steering interested students whose learning has been accredited towards a diploma or degree programme in Caribbean studies at Goldsmith College. Discussion. Tutors for the Kwéyòl language classes felt it was important to explore the possibilities of accreditation for a number of reasons. We felt that it would enhance our professional credibility and ensure that students' needs were met in a more systematic way. We also recognised the status implications of accreditation and the ways in which this might make a practical contribution to the development of the language. The first step in the accreditation process was to design a Kwéyòl test. This was a complex process because there were no previous initiatives in this area. Although tests are normally designed by language specialists

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with particular expertise, the only course of action for those of us involved in Kwéyòl classes was to seek the relevant information and apply it to our own teaching situation. Building on recent developments in language teaching methodology and assessment, we designed a criterion-referenced test which could be used both summatively and formatively. The next stage was to find a means of accrediting the learning measured by the Kwéyòl test. Students interested in formal qualifications required a very flexible form of assessment: they wanted to be tested in different skills and at different levels. They also wanted some control over when they were tested. The LOCF was chosen as the most suitable validating body because it met these needs. The majority of students were enthusiastic about developments in this area. They recognised that accreditation would enhance the status of Kwéyòl and place it on a par with other community languages such as Urdu and Punjabi. They also recognised the potential of a formal qualification for their own career development. It must be pointed out, however, only a small number of students may wish to take part in the scheme. Many people value the informal, social nature of the classes and are not interested in formal qualifications. Students with a history of school failure feel intimidated by the idea of exams. However, while there is no question of pressurising students to take part in the accreditation scheme, they now have the possibility of external validation if they so desire. The experience of the Kwéyòl classes has implications for teachers of many other community languages. Kwéyòl is just one of approximately 200 different language spoken in London (ILEA, 1987). While significant progress has been made with some minority languages (especially the most common European and Asian languages), speakers of the lesser-used minority languages currently have few opportunities for accreditation. The development of the Kwéyòl test and the accreditation of the classes may serve as a model for others engaged in promoting minority languages. When classes are targeted at adult learners, the experience of those involved in the Kwéyòl classes suggests that careful attention must be paid to the choice of validating body. The more academic route offered, for instance, by GCSE and Advanced level courses is ill-suited to the needs of most adults. The more flexible approach to learning and assessment offered by bodies such as LOCF has proved to be more appropriate. The rigorous validation process for accrediting the Kwéyòl classes focused attention on a number of important issues, including syllabus design, resources and tutor training. The tutors in the Kwéyòl classes come

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from a wide range of social, employment and educational backgrounds and most have had no prior training in teaching. Seemingly, their main credential is their knowledge of the language. They freely acknowledged, however, that their lack of professional training seriously undermines their performance and makes the learning experience less satisfactory for their students. While the present study is concerned with the teaching of Kwéyòl, it should be recognised that the lack of professional training is widespread in community language teaching. There is evidence, for instance, from both the UK and Canada that teachers come from many different backgrounds and have few opportunities for professional development (Bourne, 1989; Edwards & Redfern, 1992). Similar concerns have been expressed about the lack of appropriate training for teachers working with local literacies both in micro-states like Malta and in multilingual states like India (Agnihotri, 1994; Mayo, 1994). The situation of Kwéyòl tutors is, in some respects, closer to that of teachers involved with local literacies than to those working with community languages with a written tradition. Kwéyòl has a very recent history of writing and very few teaching resources. Tutors also need to be well-informed about the socio-historical and cultural issues surrounding the language. An obvious solution is the development of a training programme which is aimed specifically at tutors working in this area. Such a programme would be of interest not only to those working in the UK, but also to teachers in French creole-speaking micro-states in the Caribbean and Indian Ocean; and to adult educators working with French creole-speaking immigrant populations, such as Haitians in North America. The underlying principles involved in developing such a course would also be pertinent to those committed to sustaining local literacies both in other micro-nations and multilingual situations.

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9 Sé Pou'w Mantjé Néyé Pou Apwann Najé: You Must Survive Drowning in Order to Learn to Swim. The impetus for this study grew out of the realisation that language is a powerful symbol of cultural identity. My desire to regain fluency in spoken Kwéyòl and to become literate in the language was an assertion of pride in having a distinct cultural identity. The quest to acquire these skills was a voyage of personal discovery, which was achieved first as a student of the language, and, later, as Kwéyòl tutor. The focus for the study was data generated from a number of Kwéyòl classes in London, and in particular, from the Poplar Neighbour Centre classes where I am currently tutor. Using my personal experience as a starting point, I wanted to explore the perceptions of students and tutors to determine the extent to which their experiences were similar to my own. I wanted to find out how the teaching and learning of Kwéyòl could lead to a greater level of sociopolitical awareness amongst St Lucians and Dominicans in the UK. And finally, I wanted to explore the potential of the Kwéyòl classes for both my own personal development and for student advancement. My exploration took the form of critical ethnography. This approach to research rejects the notion of a 'value-free' stance and encourages researchers to make explicit their ideological position. The central issue was not whether my position was biased, but rather, whose interest is being served by my research into Kwéyòl? The challenge therefore, was for me to ensure reliability in the data collection to minimise personal bias and to strive to make a contribution towards the development of the language. Catalytic validity is a fundamental principle of critical ethnography: the assumption is that research is not merely an academic exercise but that participants be actively engaged in the research and that the process of

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documentation results in an awareness of the wider issues for all participants. The present study sought to involve students and tutors in the Kwéyòl classes by regularly feeding back information for verification and clarification on areas of ambiguity. This process was also invaluable in creating opportunities to reflect on both my research and teaching practice. It has also led to action on the part of concerned individuals, including the design of a Kwéyòl test, achieving accreditation for the classes and the development of teaching resources, all of which have benefited the classes as a whole. Kwéyòl in the Caribbean The main focus of the book is the Kwéyòl speech community in London. Any consideration of developments in the UK, however, needs to be placed within the context of a sociolinguistic description of the Eastern Caribbean. In both St Lucia and Dominica, English remains the official language and is used in high domains such as education, commerce and law, while Kwéyòl is used in low domains such as the family and informal gatherings. Growing nationalist sentiment, however, has led to increasing pressure for wider acceptance of Kwéyòl and has generated debate around the need for language policy and planning. St Lucia and Dominica as yet do not have official language policies. As we have noted in Chapters 2 and 3, any discussions of language policy and planning need to take into account the relationship between language and power. Decisions on which language to use in specific domains are based on acceptance of attitudes and practices inherited from the previous colonial administration which emphasised the low status and the limited range of uses for the Kwéyòl language. Many people involved in promoting literacy, however, advocate the development of a bilingual policy which acknowledges the value of English and at the same time, recognises the needs of the Kwéyòl-speaking majority. Such a policy would take account, for instance, of the role of English in meeting developmental and modernisation needs, not only in the Caribbean but also in a world context. At the same time it would address the fact that Kwéyòl contributes significantly to the national development of both islands. Official commitment to the development of a bilingual language policy ceased with the passing of the Labour government in 1982 and responsibility for the promotion of Kwéyòl now falls on the shoulders of NGOs with very limited resources. Progress in this area is therefore very uncertain. However, on a note of optimism, the numbers of successful attempts at

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reversing language shift around the world offer some encouragement for the future. Take, for instance, the case of the Quebecois, 'the white niggers of America', who successfully promoted the use of French in historically Anglo dominated spheres to become 'masters of their own house' (Fishman, 1991). The situation in the Caribbean has obvious implications for the Kwéyòl speech community in the UK whose members keep in regular contact both through holidays and visits from relatives. Kwéyòl in the UK.. The Kwéyòl speech community in the UK has received little attention in the literature. In both the Caribbean and in the UK, a great deal is known about English-based creoles, particularly Jamaican, but the French-based creoles spoken in the Eastern Caribbean have received much less attention. Even less is known about the Kwéyòl speech community in the UK. An important aim of the book has therefore been to provide more information on this speech community. An exploration of the patterns of settlement of Kwéyòl speakers in different parts of the UK suggests that while Dominicans and St Lucians undoubtedly share a degree of comradeship with other Caribbeans, Kwéyòl functions as a marker of a distinctive linguistic and cultural identity. This is clearly demonstrated in the high incidence of, for instance, friendship and intermarriage between the two groups. Various aspects of community life also help maintain the language. Kwéyòl features prominently in social and cultural events. Music, cultural activities, and social settings such as markets, churches, pubs and clubs all promote the use of Kwéyòl. In addition, they ensure that a growing number of people from Dominican and St Lucian backgrounds have access to another cultural identity besides that of being Black British. Although a variety of social networks contribute to the maintenance of the language, my own personal experiences and observation inform me that there has been a massive shift from Kwéyòl to English among Dominicans and St Lucians. Discussions with past and present students, as well as questionnaire data, also support this view. There would seem to be a number of explanations for this shift. Firstly, the Kwéyòl speech community is both small and widely dispersed throughout the capital and within the metropolitan areas. Secondly, schools prior to the late 1970s tended to place emphasis on standard English to the exclusion of any non-standard variety including AngloEnglish and Anglo-French creoles. Thirdly, as was pointed out in Chapter 2, many Kwéyòl speaking parents colluded with this approach, viewing linguistic integration as a passport to

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educational success. The combination of these factors then, would seem to have encouraged a shift from Kwéyòl to English. Thus, when Dominicans and St Lucians first arrived in Britain, Kwéyòl was the main language of the home. With the passing of time, however, Black British English gained wider currency and soon became the preferred choice, as it served a useful function in the assertion of a positive racial identity. However, despite this shift, not all Kwéyòl speakers have negative attitudes towards the language. Fishman (1991) notes language shift reversal and language maintenance are not about language per se, but rather, language in its cultural context. Whilst Hebrew, for instance, is not used in daily life the fact remains that it is strongly associated with 'Jewishness' and it is precisely this socio-historic connection that has supported successful language reversal and maintenance efforts. While it would be unrealistic to claim that the efforts of the classes would be sufficient to turn the tide of language shift, they represent a practical course of action for those committed to reclaiming their linguistic and cultural heritage. The Kwéyòl Classes Kwéyòl classes were first offered in London in an attempt to meet the perceived needs of adults experiencing difficulties with reading and writing. As the classes progressed, the client group changed and students now come from a range of social class, educational and occupational backgrounds, though there is an increasing white-collar bias. They also represent a range of ages, with the largest number between 20 and 30 years old. They vary in Kwéyòl competence from absolute beginners to fluent speakers. By far the largest group is made up of Britishborn descendants of St Lucians and Dominicans and their partners who come from a variety of other islands and from the UK. A very small number of students have no family links with the UK but have been attracted to the study of Kwéyòl either through friendship with Eastern Caribbeans or because they have spent a holiday in the region. As I explained at the outset, in my experience language is a powerful symbol of cultural identity and my attempts to learn to speak, read and write Kwéyòl were inextricably linked with a voyage of personal discovery. My motivation in undertaking this study was to explore the perceptions of other students and tutors involved in the Kwéyòl classes: to what extent did the experiences match my own? It became clear that students come to the classes for a variety of reasons. Not only are they eager to develop their language and literacy skills in spoken Kwéyòl, but social reasons are very

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important, too. The classes are a means of making friends and allowing students to feel more integrated members of the extended family and the wider speech community. Attendance at classes also helps to reinforce the status and pride associated with a distinctive cultural identity. Very often this was expressed in terms of the importance of passing down a sense of self from one generation to the next, for children born in a foreign environment. Even those students who did not originate from Dominica or St Lucia drew attention to the importance of keeping the language alive and of raising its status. In short, the classes provide a practical course of action for those committed to maintaining the Kwéyòl language and for those who are conscious of the links between the language, national identity and pride. Analysis of the interview data thus leaves no doubt that my own perception of the role of the Kwéyòl classes is by no means isolated or idiosyncratic: students committed to developing their language and literacy skills have a strong empathy with Kwéyòl language and culture which they deem to be an essential part of their identity. There was also ample evidence that the exploration of cultural identity can lead to student empowerment. While students did not identify growth in self confidence as a reason for attending classes, it is apparent that the opportunity to debate and challenge attitudes around Kwéyòl had increased their ability to cope with problems around cultural identity. The classes fulfil a range of other important functions for the students, too, serving as a launching pad, for instance, for further study or other aspects of personal development. They also provide a range of challenges for tutors, not least of which is the development of resources to support the learning of Kwéyòl. Resources An overview of resources for the teaching of Kwéyòl shows both enormous advances and serious limitations. An important factor here is that the language has only a recent history of being recorded in writing and therefore is in the early stages of standardisation. There are three main developments in the codification of the language essential to the standardisation process: orthography, dictionaries and grammar. Of the three main development areas, greatest progress has been made in the area of the orthography. An official orthography has been available in St Lucia and Dominica since 1982. The development of a writing system is, of course, an impressive achievement, as well as an essential foundation on which to build. Four guiding principles informed the design of the writing system for Kwéyòl: economy, ecology, technology and universal-

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ity. In terms of economy, each letter represents a specific sound and therefore means that Kwéyòl has a good sound-letter correspondence. The most pertinent ecological consideration was ensuring that the letters used for Kwéyòl were compatible with English, the language with which Kwéyòl co-exists. Technological considerations concerned the ease with which individual letters could be written and the cost of adapting equipment such as the typewriter to deal with the accented vowels è and ò. Universality was viewed as the most important guiding principle. To this end, it was viewed as desirable to use a common representation for all the French creoles. Despite the significant contribution that the writing system has made towards the development of Kwéyòl, the orthography is still controversial in St Lucia and Dominica. In general, it is very little used by those who are acquainted with it and the mass of the population are unaware of its existence. Even when it is used in publications that promote the use of Kwéyòl, such as Balata, there are sometimes inconsistencies. In short, an enormous amount of work still needs to be done in promoting and teaching the orthography, but this can only be achieved with far more resources than are currently available. In the UK the Kwéyòl orthography is used in a limited context, e.g. via the small number of Kwéyòl classes in the London area. The linguistic situation in the UK is also very different to that of the Caribbean where Kwéyòl is sometimes used to facilitate literacy in English. In contrast, students in the UK Kwéyòl classes are already literate and are therefore engaged in a very different kind of learning exercise. Nevertheless, the introduction of the orthography and, later, the dictionaries has generated a great deal of enthusiasm amongst past and present students of the classes. Dictionaries The second area of development in the codification of Kwéyòl concerns the production of dictionaries. Work has been underway in the Caribbean for many years. However much of this work remains inaccessible. Sometimes it is to be found in unpublished theses; on other occasions, as in the case of the Dominican dictionary, only small numbers were produced and publications rapidly go out of print. By far the most scholarly and comprehensive work undertaken to date is inaccessible for financial reasons: at the time of writing it is being sold at £115 per copy. The need to support student learning with resources such as dictionaries was identified as a matter of urgency early on in the history of the Kwéyòl classes, at which time none of the Caribbean materials were available.

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Initially, a class word list was prepared and used in conjunction with the small glossary from the Kwéyòl handbook Fontaine (1988). The production of the word-list also served as an impetus for the Kwéyòl-British dictionary. It rapidly emerged not only that the end product would be a very useful resource but that the process of production was a valuable learning experience for all concerned. But while the students involved in the dictionary work group benefited by increasing their vocabulary and improving their Kwéyòl pronunciation, there were also associated problems. For instance, there were numerous debates on the authenticity of certain words as well as questions on the validity of regional variations in the lexicon, which were difficult to resolve within the group. Economic difficulties in finding funds to publish the dictionary also remain to be resolved. Grammars.. The production of grammars for the Kwéyòl language is the least developed area in terms of the codification of the language. To date, there are very few publications available and those in existence are very limited in scope. One consequence has been that tutors have had to generate a considerable quantity of their own teaching material which, in turn, has raised a number of pedagogical issues. As can be seen, the demands on Kwéyòl teachers are rather different from those working with languages with a written tradition: they need to be aware of the socio-cultural environment in which the language exists; they have to be fluent speakers of the language and also need to have a heightened awareness of the structures, as there are very few reference sources against which to check their intuition; and tutors also need to be flexible and creative in the production of materials to support their teaching. Other materials. Such problems are not specific to grammar, but also apply to other resources, such as reading materials. These are few in number. Caribbean resources are limited to approximately twenty Bible and folk tales, some song books and a small number of publications produced by the FRC. UK materials are even fewer in number. They consist of a small number of anthologies and publications produced by past students of the Kwéyòl classes. Reading materials in Kwéyòl thus tend to be limited in range. A related problem is that most resources were not specifically designed for teaching purposes. As a result, teachers have had to adapt the available

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publications to the learning needs of students. Another problem is that some of the materials do not use the official orthography. When facing this situation in the classroom, teachers need to draw the students' attention to the different spelling conventions to avoid undue confusion. Finally, reading materials tend to be poorly designed and of low quality. This is particularly the case for those produced in the Caribbean, where resources are very limited. There is clearly an urgent need in both the Caribbean and the UK for the further production of materials. In the Eastern Caribbean context, the Folk Research Centre (FRC) and Komité pou ékwi Kwéyòl (KEK) have assumed responsibility for this role. However, this is just one aspect of their work and their resources are woefully inadequate. The Summer Institute of Linguists (SIL) is in a different position to NGOs like FRC and KEK. As an American organisation dedicated to the production of Christian literature, it is likely to continue producing Kwéyòl materials, but these will always be limited to the propagation of Christian knowledge from a Eurocentric perspective. In the UK context, a small number of established writers of St Lucian heritage are likely to continue publishing in Kwéyòl. The classes also generate impressive quantities of reading material which are invaluable for teaching purposes. The ongoing problem, however, in both the UK and the Caribbean is the shortage of finance for publishing this work. Accreditation Exploring accreditation of the Kwéyòl classes presented a number of exciting challenges. The decision to develop a formal test and accredit the classes was a complex process because of the lack of previous initiatives in this area. Students required a flexible form of assessment which would test different skills at different levels as well as allowing control over when they were tested. The London Open College Federation was chosen as the most suitable validating body for the Kwéyòl language and literacy courses because it offered a number of special features that were sympathetic to student demands. The rigorous validation process successfully focused our attention on important issues in syllabus design and the monitoring and evaluation of both student and tutor performance. While there was overall support for accreditation, only a small number of students have wished to participate in the scheme as they have found the informal and social nature of the classes of greater value than formal qualifications per se. Moreover, students who have experienced little educational success felt intimidated by the notion of exams. The most

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important issue here, however, would seem to be that of choice. The accreditation process now ensures that any student attending the classes has the possibility of external validation if they so require. Some Recurring Themes Throughout this book, various themes emerge which have implications for future research and development. The most pertinent issues include the need for tutor training, limited resources, the status of Kwéyòl and the position of Black researchers. Tutor Training The shortage of trained teachers of community languages, particularly in UK schools, has been viewed as a cause for concern since the 1980s (Bourne, 1989). Community languages are placed on the lowest rung of the hierarchy in mainstream schooling and are also treated as an area of low priority within adult education. This low status is further reinforced by the fact that those engaged in teaching community languages in schools and in adult education are largely recruited from untrained members of the minority communities. This lack of formal training has also been highlighted as an area of concern for Kwéyòl tutors. Tutors come from a wide range of social, employment and educational backgrounds and most have had no prior training in teaching. Seemingly, their main credential is their knowledge of the language. One consequence of lack of professional training has been that the practice of untrained Kwéyòl tutors has largely been informed by the experience of our own schooling which tended to be traditional and to rely on the 'talk and chalk' approach. Certain adaptations have inevitably taken place and individual tutors have learned a great deal about what works best, partly through trial and error and partly in discussion with other tutors or by working from time to time in team teaching situations. The shortage of commercially prepared resources has meant that UK tutors are responsible for designing their own curriculum and teaching materials. These activities, of course, require specialist knowledge, skills and experience. In the absence of relevant training it is not surprising that Kwéyòl tutors' attempts to grapple with these questions have been haphazard. Tutors have also been ill-equipped to deal with mixed ability classes. The wide range of abilities amongst students is a problem common to many tutors, who frequently complain of the enormous demands which this

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places on their planning and organisational abilities. In this situation, there is a risk that the learning needs of some students are not being adequately met. Assessment of student and teaching performance is an issue which needs to be addressed. While tutors acknowledge that very little evaluation of either student attainment or of their own teaching takes place on a systematic basis, they appreciate the need for development in this area. Tutors acknowledge that their lack of professional training seriously undermines their performance and makes the learning experience less satisfactory for their students. The majority have not explored the possibility of professional development, either through ignorance of such provision or because they have not had access to suitable opportunities. However, all recognise the importance of training. The suitability of currently available teacher training courses is, however, open to question. The needs of Kwéyòl tutors are significantly different from those of either English literacy tutors or teachers of other community languages. Kwéyòl has a very recent history of writing and very few teaching resources. Kwéyòl tutors also need to be very well-informed about the socio-historical and cultural issues surrounding the language. The obvious solution is the development of a training programme which is aimed specifically at tutors working in this area. Such a programme would be of interest not only to those working in the UK but also to those working in the Eastern Caribbean. Limited Resources Limited resources are a recurring problem with serious implications for the Kwéyòl language in both Britain and the Caribbean. This is an issue which affects three main areas: the amount of provision in Kwéyòl, the availability of tutor training and the production of resources. Kwéyòl in the UK is taught in the context of an adult education service which is rapidly contracting. The Kwéyòl speech community is small and low profile in its demand for community education resources. As such, it is accorded low priority. This is shown, for instance, in cuts which have been made in recent years to the length of classes as well as the numbers of classes that are available. As a recent cost-cutting exercise within Poplar Neighbourhood, the tutorial hours for the Kwéyòl language class were reduced to two hours per week and funding for the Kwéyòl literacy class was withdrawn.

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Although resources are available in adult education for the professional development of language and literacy tutors, such provision is usually restricted to the areas of English literacy and numeracy. To date, no budget is available for in-service training for community languages. This is an issue that clearly requires urgent attention. However, against a background of stringent cuts in adult education provision, the picture is not optimistic. Materials production is also affected by under-funding. Some money was made available, for instance, for the development of a dictionary. However, the budget was withdrawn following reorganisation of the London Borough of Tower Hamlets into neighbourhoods. The Kwéyòl classes have also generated a pool of other materials that are suitable for teaching and worthy of reaching a wider audience. Funding to publish these materials is unlikely to be forthcoming from the adult education budget in the near future, an ongoing source of frustration for students and tutors. Despite these various challenges, important pioneering work continues to be carried out on the language. It should also be borne in mind that whilst Kwéyòl teaching affects a relatively small community in the UK, any developments in Britain also have implications for what happens in the Eastern Caribbean and also for those involved in sustaining local literacies in many other parts of the world. The status of Kwéyòl... The findings reported in this book underline the invisibility of Kwéyòl speakers as a group. St Lucians and Dominicans are generally assumed to be West Indians or Black British and there is widespread ignorance around the existence of a French-creole speaking community. This is reflected in Caribbean literature (e.g. Salkey, 1969) and also in various language surveys. Nicholas (1988:30; 1989), for instance, notes the problems involved in language surveys in relation to 'creoles, patois or West Indian dialect': Where creole questions are included, researchers are faced, of course, with a variety of methodological problems. There is a basic problem that there is no received terminology with general acceptance in creole language communities. . . It is thus difficult to arrive at satisfactory terms and questions relating to creoles/West Indian dialects which communicate the necessary distinctions. Many speakers, for example, do not find the term 'English-based creole' acceptable or familiar. Some speakers will refer to their language as a 'broken' form of the European language with which it is associated, terms which are easily misunderstood by outsiders.

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Difficulties in relation to English-based creoles become even more complex in relation to French-based creoles. In spite of the fact that the Poplar Neighbourhood Kwéyòl classes are the first in the UK, the Borough does not officially recognise Kwéyòl by recording it in its Language Census. Tower Hamlets continues the tradition established by previous language censuses and records both French- and English-based creoles under the umbrella term 'English creoles'. The refusal to officially recognise Caribbean creoles perpetuates confusion and contributes to the low profile of children and adults from Dominican and St Lucian backgrounds. Further, the acknowledgement of other community languages, with a significantly smaller population, sends a clear message to people from Caribbean backgrounds that their linguistic and cultural heritage continues to be viewed as inferior and lacking validity. In the context of the multicultural make-up of the population of the Borough, it can be argued that the refusal to acknowledge Caribbean languages is yet another example of divide and rule amongst people of colour. Nicholas (1989) points to the power of language surveys as agents of change within educational institutions: clearly a great deal more research and development within this area needs to take place if issues of status and equality are to be adequately addressed. The role of Black researchers. A final issue which emerges from this book is the role of Black researchers. There is a growing interest within minority communities to protect their linguistic and cultural heritage by organising cultural activities, establishing language classes and carrying out research on the language (Alladina & Edwards, 1991). African and Caribbean languages are often not officially recognised and have not traditionally been considered high priority areas for research. Where research exists, this has been largely carried out by white researchers. In this respect, the current study and the work of Caribbean scholars resident in the UK, such as Dalphinis (1985a), Sutcliffe & Wong (1986), Brandt (1990), and Mondesir (1992b) are important because they not only extend knowledge but also provide a Black perspective on Caribbean creoles. This is an issue which has attracted an increasing amount of attention in recent years (Alladina, 1986; Edwards, 1993). Alladina (1986), for instance, draws attention to the way in which much of the research on Black language has been undertaken by white researchers. Edwards (1994) adds weight to this argument. In a discussion of who is best qualified to write about minorities, she explains her own decision, as a white researcher, to turn her

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attention from Black language to other issues and to concentrate instead on empowering Black graduate researchers. Although Edwards' position is supported by other progressive writers on language issues, and is generally viewed as desirable by the educational establishment, the small numbers of Black academics and postgraduate researchers suggest traditional exclusionary practices continue largely unchallenged. As Edwards & Troyna (1993: 31) point out, the present situation 'can only be corrected by the development of a policy which explicitly and selfconsciously addresses the centrality of Black academics to the research process.' The present study has attempted to document the situation of the Kwéyòl speech community in the UK from a Black perspective. It has pointed to important achievements, limitations and issues which remain to be resolved. This situation is well summed-up in the words of a Kwéyòl proverb: Sé pou'w mantjé néyé pou apwann najéin order to learn to swim, you must survive drowning.

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Appendix: The Kwéyòl Test

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