Feeding Pidgin
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By Catherine E. Toth
Advertiser Staff Writer
"Eh, try wait."
Frantically, the teenager with shiny-straight hair pulled open her baby blue ROXY bag and scrambled to find her cell phone, chirping to the tune of "10 Out Of 10" by Louchie Lou and Michie One.
"Try hurry up," her friend snapped, as the No. 55 bus rolled up to them. "Look! Da bus stay here already. We go, we go."
"Hello?" the other teen answered into her pink Nokia phone. "Ho, whassup? Where you stay? ... We going da kine. You coming or what? . . . Brah, how's dat . . ."
The two boarded the Kane'ohe-bound bus and disappeared.
Leaning against the railings outside T&C Surf Shop at Ala Moana Center, a group of near-teens chatted away on a Saturday afternoon, talking about boring classes, the latest gossip and where to eat afterward.
"You heard what she said?" said one girl, dressed more for the beach than for shopping. "It was, like, so rude, like, who does that?"
"What, what, what?" asked another girl, bouncing toward her with an unmistakable curiosity. "What happened?"
"No, she was just ak-ing all, like, whatevers," she said, rolling her eyes.
During that conversation, two guys, slightly outside the gossip ring, mumbled to each other. But now and then, their voices rose above the chatter of the others, with phrases like, "Ho, shut up!" and "Not even!"
Linguistics experts would have a field day eavesdropping on these everyday conversations. Pidgin, once a plantation dialect born out of the necessity to communicate between people of disparate native languages, is now a hodgepodge of words and inflections, borrowed from other languages and dialects, but still beloved by its speakers.
Some speak with traces of hip-hop and MTV; others rely on their own ethnic vocabulary. Some use standard English construction with pidgin inflections; others create a new rhythm, borrowed from their native languages.
As history shows, Pidgin, also known as Hawaiian Creole English when capitalized, changes from generation to generation, place to place, person to person.
But awareness of pidgin as a viable, vital language is on the rise. With local writers getting national acclaim for their Pidgin-inflected works and the introduction of Pidgin literature and writing in classrooms, views toward the vernacular are shifting. Slowly.
"It's in print, it has been in print, it will be in print," said Lois-Ann Yamanaka, famed local writer and fluent Pidgin speaker. "That, to me, is very encouraging. That is an indicator of its survival."
Evolving language
This is not your grandmother's Pidgin.
Now considered a creole (a language that develops when different languages remain in contact with each other) rather than a pidgin (a jargon using words and grammar from different languages), Pidgin is still changing with the times.
"The original pidgin was, at best, a second language for its speakers," the immigrants to Hawai'i, said Kent Sakoda, lecturer in second language studies at the University of Hawai'i-Manoa and vocal Pidgin advocate. "But starting with the second generation, the creole developed. It became the first language of the speakers. It's a real difference."
Pidgin, Sakoda said, is a full-blown language, with its own words, grammar and structure. And it has gone through some significant changes.
For starters, there are not as many Hawaiian words in Pidgin as there were generations ago. Some experts also feel that Pidgin is going through a de-creolization, that some of its creole features are being replaced by English-like features.
Some pre-verbal markers have changed over the years as well. For example, earlier Pidgin speakers used "been" as a past-tense marker (as in "We been go"). Now, speakers use "wen." On Kaua'i, Sakoda added, speakers use "had" instead of "been" or "wen," another indicator that Pidgin is constantly evolving.
Intonation, though, "has been most resistant to change," he said.
And though Pidgin has evolved over the years, its vitality has remained a constant.
"The reason why it exists is because people want it to exist," said Darrell H.Y. Lum, co-editor of Bamboo Ridge Press and longtime local poet, author and playwright. "They nurture it. And to me, that's really wonderful."
Stigma of stereotypes
There may be more awareness of Pidgin, as it has crept into literature and writing classes. But underneath that surface of acceptance still brews the controversy of stereotypes and misconceptions.
What does it mean to speak Pidgin? How do people view Pidgin speakers? Who can do it and who can't? Is there a wrong way to speak and write Pidgin? Who's the authority?
"Pidgin is its own language, it's not a dialect," said Sakoda, who teaches "Pidgin and Creole English in Hawai'i" at UH. "It's gone past the point of being 'bad English.' It's legitimate. But the question is, it's legitimate what?"
Two years ago, state schools superintendent Paul LeMahieu blamed the influence of Pidgin for Hawai'i's dismal scores on a national student writing test. He said, "If you speak pidgin, then you think pidgin, and you write pidgin."
That quote stirred, once again, heated debates about banning pidgin in classrooms.
According to the state Board of Education regulation 2100.3, "oral communication, specifically standard English, may be the most significant basic skill in our lifetime." Toward that end, staff is required to provide comprehensive and effective instruction in oral standard English, while modeling its usage in the classroom and other school-related settings. The only exception is with Hawaiian or foreign languages, of which Pidgin is not considered.
And the debate, which began decades ago, still has not found a resolution. Editorials and letters to the editor in The Advertiser over the years have reinforced that.
"I think some people hope Pidgin will eventually die, that after a couple of generations it will disappear. I doubt that's going to happen," said John Michael Kearns, associate professor of history and humanities at Hawai'i Pacific University and local playwright. "And if there are still people who believe that literature should be written in Pidgin, then it's really not going to die. It will evolve. Language does that."
Many feel the stigma still exists that labels Pidgin speakers as stupid, ignorant and simple. A recent psycholinguistic study done by a UH graduate student found that both local and non-local jurors viewed Pidgin speakers as being less credible than non-Pidgin speakers. Another study found people classified Pidgin speakers as less intelligent but friendlier.
For decades and generations, speaking pidgin has been discouraged. Parents pressed their children to speak standard English, promising of a better chance of success, more opportunities, a brighter future.
This attitude is not unique to Hawai'i.
"All over the world, in any given country, the non-standard language has a stigma attached to it," Kearns said.
But people in Hawai'i also acknowledge that Pidgin is a different kind of handshake, more secret than corporate, more insider than out.
"What's nice is that Pidgin has this nice, down-to-earth feel about it," Kearns said. "There's nothing highfaluting about it. It's very concrete."
And speakers identify with Pidgin. It is part of who they are.
"There's something about the language that people connect to," Lum said. "In some fashion it represents who they are. That's the real value, to have people connect to the language and have mastery over it — and having good fun with it. That's the future."
More than just a social skill
But there are some advocates who want to see Pidgin recognized as being more than a social skill or a marker of being local.
"Whether you speak 'em or no speak 'em, (Pidgin) is all around," wrote Lee Tonouchi, editor of Hybolics and local writer self-dubbed as "Da Pidgin Guerrilla," answering queries by e-mail. "But always going get people who tink dat Pidgin is fo' da birds. And unfortunately those is da people who stay winning da battle."
Tonouchi speaks and writes only in Pidgin. Even his master's thesis was done entirely in the creole. That's his way of practicing what he preaches. His passion, he says, comes from "insai."
"Da heart. Da soul. Outsai, too. Da Pidgin Force is one energy field created by all Pidgin talkers," he wrote. "It surrounds us. It penetrates us. It binds da galaxy togeddah."
He views Pidgin as dynamic and constantly evolving: "Cuz get da whole Pidgin continuum ah. Pidgin spans across da islands, across da generations, across various cultures, so ees not possible fo' one person fo' know every single variety of Pidgin ... Who's to say who's right and who's wrong?"
His views are similar to those shared by members of Da Pidgin Coup, a group of UH faculty and students who have been meeting regularly since 1998 to discuss and work on the various aspects of Pidgin.
Its members all are advocates of Pidgin in their own ways. Some believe it should be an official language of Hawai'i, others promote its usage in classrooms. One member is even waiting for a Pidgin speaker to anchor the TV news.
They discuss Pidgin as a legitimate language, using phrases such as "non-native speaker," "bilingual" and "sub-dialects." They discuss the social functions of pidgin, how people instantly relate to and feel comfortable with each other when Pidgin is used instead of the more formal standard English.
Unified in their support of Pidgin, the members have different ideas of the state and fate of it. They come from as near as Kalihi to as far as Australia. Disagreements are frequent, but indicative of the various viewpoints people, even advocates, have about Pidgin.
"This group doesn't seem to have a cohesive view (on the subject), and that's healthy," said Joan Wylie, a graduate student in linguistics at UH. "In the broad view, though, we all promote Pidgin."
That is the purpose of Da Pidgin Coup. To promote Pidgin in whatever shape or form. From literature to legislation. From novels to knowledge.
"Everybody here speaks Pidgin," said Suzie Jacobs, a retired professor in the UH English Department and Da Pidgin Coup member. "It's used across social lines. We live in Pidgin. You can't say Pidgin isn't in the classrooms — it's everywhere."
Message is 'pass it on'
The bottom line is that Pidgin, according to advocates and speakers, is here to stay.
It has become an option for local writers to tell stories in their own voice.
"And like any other vernacular or voice, the more you see it, the more people become familiar with it," Yamanaka said.
Though Pidgin has been in print since the early 20th century, some names have made the vernacular more prominent in recent years. Lum, Yamanaka, Eric Chock, Lisa Matsumoto, Ed Sakamoto, to name a few. They have influenced such up-and-comers as Tonouchi, Lisa Linn Kana'e and Cedric Yamanaka.
Some use Pidgin to make a statement. Most use it because it adds authenticity and a distinct local flavor.
"I think Pidgin is a wonderful vehicle for self-expression," said Lisa Matsumoto, local playwright and executive and artistic director of '–hi'a Productions. "It captures the essence of 'local' Hawai'i. It's an expression of who we are and how we all learned to live together in these islands ... I think it would be a shame to lose this expression and part of our history."
And with the proliferation of Pidgin in literature may come the respect many advocates feel it deserves.
"It's people's first language, whether you think it's a dialect or not," said Diana Eades, associate professor of second language studies at UH. "In a sense, the message is to pass it on."
