I REMEMEBER many years ago hitting a wall in my learning of Chamorro. I had gotten the basics and could carry on conversations with people. I could express myself in a casual and sort of everyday way. But when the conversation would become a little bit more complex, when the subject matter got more detailed or more sophisticated, the Chamorro language would politely be set aside and English would prevail. Chamorro would make cameo appearances afterwards, but never ever truly gain control over what was being said, until the "adios, estaki” appeared.

For me this would happen because I was still learning the language and there were still plenty of things I wasn't sure how you were supposed to talk about in the Chamorro language. But what depressed me was that sometimes it would be the other person, the one who was far more fluent than myself in the language, who would switch to English first. They would do so either because of an assumption that it was pointless to continue in Chamorro because I couldn’t understand, or because they themselves couldn’t express themselves any further in the language.

This was compounded by the fact that many Chamorros feel the language is primarily a “social language.” It is something that you speak like a spice in life, but it doesn’t really nourish you, you can’t survive off it the way you can with English. People felt that it wasn't really a big deal if you couldn't use Chamorro to talk about "big" or "important" things. The language was just something meant for parties, gossip, songs and jokes.

I think of myself as an intellectual person in English and so the thought that somehow I might be structurally prevented from being "intellectual" in Chamorro wounded me deeply.

This Fall at the University of Guam, we inaugurated an undergraduate degree program in Chamorro Studies. This is something I have long dreamed of and I am ridiculously happy that it exists. The program will emphasize students becoming fluent in reading, writing and speaking the Chamorro language, but also give them a comprehensive knowledge base regarding the history and culture of the Chamorros.

Part of why this program is important is because it can help push the boundaries of what people conceive to be the limits of the Chamorro language. Eventually classes will not just be taught for those wanting to learn Chamorro, but classes will be conducted in the Chamorro language about other topics. You can take a class to discuss Guam history, gifino' Chamoru. You can take a class to discuss Micronesian philosophy, gifino’ Chamoru. You could even take a class on literature, gifino' Chamoru.

For most people, the Chamorro language today exists as something to be learned, but never to actually use. There is a social value to saying you are learning Chamorro, but most people don’t see any actual value in it. This program is important because it will challenge the perceptions of the Chamorro language. It will go very far in deepening not just our understanding, but also our imagining of what is Chamorro.

Returning two years ago when I was hitting my wall, I was lost because of that switch to English. I would try my hardest to keep using Chamorro, but would become less and less inspired to do so when so many people would switch to English once the conversation got more detailed or complex. For most Chamorros, they encounter some of the most detailed and complex Chamorro there is through their relationship to the Catholic Church. The rhetorical artifacts the church has produced through Masses, rosaries and funerals can be very abstract, poetic, and beautiful. Chamorros continue to experience it today, but most don't even understand what is being said, even if they are speaking along with it. They may understand the gist, but not perceive the depth.

For me growing up on Guam as a non-Catholic, I rarely brushed up against that world. As I got older and more people died, I would hear it more and more, but as I didn't speak Chamorro until I was 20, they could have been speaking Esperanto for all I knew.

Eventually I was able to get past this wall, through the help of my grandmother and her friends in our Seventh Day Adventist Church. For years I would drive my grandmother to church early Saturday morning. At that time there would be Sabbath school in different languages from Asia and Micronesia, including Chamorro. They would talk about sin, salvation, forgiveness, love and repentance, concepts that felt so abstract and otherworldly compared to the “hafa adais” and “hafa tatamanuhaos” that I was used to. It was like watching them build and rebuild the universe through their words. While at first I would struggle to follow them, eventually I felt the boundaries of my own mind expand in the Chamorro language and I finally felt that wall give way.