An Interview with Mikel Morris, Part 2

Conducted in Fall/Winter 2009-2010

Mikel Morris, an American with dual US/Spanish nationality living in Zarautz, Spain, has written the definitive Basque-English dictionary and is currently working on the Morris Magnum which promises to be the largest bilingual Basque dictionary in existence. 

In the first part of this interview, Mikel shared his thoughts and hard-hitting observations on the status of the Basque language, the efforts the Basque government is making to promote Euskara, and his own tribulations in getting his dictionary published. 

In this part 2, Mikel describes how difficult it has been for him to work within the Basque system, his views of the future of the Basque language and the bright spots in the current efforts to promote the Basque language, and gives an update on the status of the second edition of his Magnum dictionary.

Buber’s Basque Page: In our previous interview, you mentioned that, after publication of your dictionary in 1998, there were no invitations to the Euskaltzaindia, what did you mean by that exactly?

Mikel Morris: Several people that I know have noticed that. They have told me that it is either obvious snub or a colossal omission. It is not as if they had never met me. I was on the Literature Committee of the Euskaltzaindia 1986-1988 chaired by Federico Krutwig. I am also the only person who has written a major Basque bilingual dictionary who is not at least an “euskaltzain urgazle”. It is not because I am not a native speaker of Basque because there are, and have been, several euskalberriak there. It is not because I was born outside the Basque Country because another “Anglo-Saxon”, Alan King, was recognized a few years back.

Mikel Morris is an American and Spanish citizen who has lived in Colorado, Mississippi, Oklahoma, Angola, and the Basque Country, where he has lived since 1979. In 1988, he founded the Morris Academy, in Zarautz, an English school and publishing house. With degrees in International Relations and Hispanic and General Linguistics, his passion for languages is evident. 

Mikel has written the definitive Basque-English dictionary, a project that took 19 years to complete the first edition. While Mikel has taken on new projects, developing dictionaries for both Thai and Chinese, he also continues to develop his Basque-English dictionary, with the Morris Magnum in the works. This dictionary will be the largest bilingual Basque dictionary in existence.

Nonetheless, I should also point out that the president of the Euskaltzaindia, Andres Urrutia, was instrumental in helping me secure the grant from the Spanish Government. He is one of the most open-minded of the euskaltzainak and is a kind and generous person. Urrutia is from Biscay, hardly surprising given that most of my “favourite” euskaltzainak are from there, and I admire him a lot for his efforts to make Basque a language viable for writing law. Urrutia’s help for me is proof that I am not exactly a “persona non grata” among all quarters there and people like him give me hope for the future of the Basque language and country.

Why would some euskaltzainak not take a liking to me or strive to ignore me? I suppose that there are some people who take the greatest possible exception to my virulent outspokenness regarding the direction that Basque is taking. A true intellectual challenges the established order of things if, in his or her opinion, they are not altogether right and could care less what that establishment thinks. I am vehemently opposed to the mindless aping of Spanish in the area of terminology and syntax. I am also quite outspoken about Basque always automatically taking a second seat to Spanish (or French) in everything, including the Euskaltzaindia’s own dictionary, “Orotariko Euskal Hiztegia”. I am not obstinate or set in my ways and am ever ready to debate any and every one of my positions unlike those championing “euspañol”. They really don’t like serious debate, especially written debate. I have challenged Elhuyar to debates in the itzulist forum (translators forum) but they declined as it was — in their words — not the place. In view of the fact that so many of the new “euskaltzainak” have direct ties to Elhuyar, it is clear that I will continue to be blackballed, perhaps forever. Understandably, some Elhuyar people really do not like to be challenged so vociferously and the end result is there is no real debate anywhere.

This is a crying shame because the Basque Country is being increasingly inundated by immigrants from other countries. If Basque culture (or cultura vasca, or kultura baska, or Euskal Kultura, euscal cultura, whatever) cannot accommodate those who are not of Spanish origin (i.e. those who are not Spanish immigrants or Spanish-speaking immigrants), than I am afraid that Basque has had it. Is it enough that we Anglo-Saxons, Chinese, Romanians, Arabs, etc. learn how to speak Basque or do we also have to adopt Spanish culture as well in order to integrate into Basque-speaking Hegoalde society? If that is the case, why learn Basque? What is the point? We non-Hispanics are at a loss when the supposed euskaldunak frequently sidetrack to endless jokes in Spanish and a million references that are only in Spanish. Such references can range anywhere from quotations from the Bible to quips by philosophers to talking about Spanish TV programs and songs. All movie titles are referred to in Spanish as well as historical names. If all there is to Basque culture is the Korrika runathon, an anemic ETB 1, bertsolari contests, folk sports contests, cute folklore, the occasional Benito Lertxundi song, and drinking cider — in the absence of a vibrant media, outward-looking (not hispanocentric) literature — then why go to all the trouble? Such statements may be anathema to many here but such matters ought to be debated. Nevertheless, misguided misfits such as myself who pose such audacious, soul- searching, faith-challenging questions have absolutely no place in the Euskaltzaindia.

I am supremely confident that, eventually, I will be proven right and future, wiser generations of Basques will side with a majority of my positions. Those born before 1984 generally have a very hard time thinking outside their Spanish and/or French mindsets. Just think of the education that they have received and the media that they normally and overwhelmingly read and watch. I really think that a generation of Basques who have a reasonable command of English, or even Chinese, will make all the difference but that will take a long time, if ever.

I must admit that I used to feel despondent about my “ostracism” but I no longer care that much. Sour grapes perhaps, but deep reflection has consoled me in the knowledge that the world is far larger than the Basque County and, after having spent the very best years of my youth working, worrying, dreaming, and sacrificing greatly to save a minority language from the often ignorant indifference of many of its speakers and the cunning guile of its enemies. As I have said before a few times, this is why Asia is proving more and more to be the “promised land” for me. I will still do things for Basque as it still arouses my ever-craving intellectual curiosity but my heart is in Thailand and China now.

BBPYou also previously mentioned that there were no posts were on offer at a university in the Basque Country after your dictionary was published. Didn’t you actually teach once at the University of the Basque Country?

Mikel Morris: My experience at the University of the Basque Country can mostly be summed up by such words as “utter frustration”, “utter disgust”, “raging wrath”. Readers who are not familiar with the university system here will be amazed at how things “work” here.

I originally sought to get my Ph.d. in this country in 1995 since I already had a B.A: and two M.A.s from the States but after I applied for admission and was accepted, I was told that even though I might get a doctorate, it would be totally worthless in Spain since I did not have an undergraduate degree from Spain. Thus, I was literally shanghaied into the undergraduate programme of the UPV (Universidad del País Vasco, I can’t bring myself to call it the EHU in view of the real situation of Basque there).

This quite literally brought me into conflict with some professors there. They were flummoxed to see that I was both a graduate AND an undergraduate. It had never happened but there I was, living proof of yet another impossible contradiction.

As I had to teach at my language school, I was only able to go to the university to take the finals. I depended on the good will of fellow students in the class to pass some notes on to me which, to their great credit, they did. I was the old guy, the old Anglo guy, for them.

One professor particularly took an intense dislike to my situation. Without naming the scoundrel outright, let us say he is the professor that teaches Transformational Grammar. I shall refer to him as Mr. V. I made an appointment with him to request the possibility of being able to take the final a bit earlier since I had to take a group of Basque students to America on the date of the final. The conversation started off all right but then when he mentioned that it was totally impossible for me to be both an undergraduate and graduate student and that there must have been a grievous mistake. I told him that I was admitted on the basis of my American degrees but that I had to get an undergraduate degree from Spain since it would be faster to do it than to wait for Madrid to “convalidate” (“recognize”) my U.S. degrees. I quipped that Franz Kafka was alive and well at the UPV. Mr. V then wielded his God-like professorial prerogative and thundered out of the blue,

“You think you are SO special, don’t you? Well, you are not. I cannot make an exception for you if I don’t allow it for others. I prefer people to ask me questions that I can deal with, not ones such as yours”. After that, I could see that he really, really, really did not like me.

After my dictionary was finally published, there seemed to be even more antipathy from some professors. I was waiting in the hallway for a professor when another professor, who sported a very Basque surname and who I never had a class with, stopped and asked me, quite out of the blue, and in Spanish, “are you the one who wrote the Basque dictionary?”.

“Yes, that’s right”, I replied, She then remarked abruptly “well, I don’t speak Basque”.

What do you say to something like that? I just said, “Oh, well, not everyone does”. Perhaps she was miffed at me for doing such a thing when she had a Basque surname and I did not. Who knows?, but the incident showed that there was ill feeling towards me. I never flaunted my dictionary. I really tried to keep a very low profile but that was so very hard when almost everyone spoke such atrocious English that when I opened my mouth, everyone else looked on in uneasy awe, especially some of the professors.

University rules meant that it took me 4 years to finish the undergraduate programme, no matter what, while I did the doctorate courses in 2 years. The most difficult class was Mr. V’s since I could not attend his classes, and when I could, I did not understand his take on Chomsky and the notes in class had little to do with what was actually on the test. I had to sit for the test 3 or 4 times and I think Mr. V flunked me with great relish and satisfaction but then again 60% of the class usually flunked his exams. Amazing. As I said above, I did attend some of Mr. V’s unpalatable lectures in which I was subjected to hearing transformation grammar explained in a truly atrocious accent but they were of little value to me. As for the last test I sat for, I studied for it 10 hours a day in August. I pulled out all stops to prepare for it. I was even able to join a study group in Pamplona where I was able to explain the arcane workings of the problems of the test to others in the group. The ones who I helped got an 8 on the test while I was given, begrudgingly I suppose, a minimum passing 5 (out of 10). I was all right by that. I wanted to see the back of Mr. V. I anxiously wanted him out of my life.

There were many such incidents but I survived and got my “licenciatura” in English Philology. I also got all of the Basque certificates and so what was left was my thesis. My thesis director, Luis Larringan, was a very kind man and interested in my dictionary material for the purpose of discourse analysis. When we presented the thesis proposal, it was turned down. The thesis director was shocked since it had never happened before. He looked into things and found that one of the professors on the board that examined thesis proposals worked very hard to sway the other professors to turn my thesis proposal down. That professor was none other than Mr. V. Hmmm. He really must have been gunning for me and to think that I thought the cad was out of my life forever!

A translation and interpreting department was established at the University and the goal was to integrate professions in the field into the University of the Basque Country. I decided to apply for it in January 2003 athough I was afraid that some people in the Department would try to thwart me as many often had tried before. To my amazement, I won the post. I could not belief my luck. My dictionary work was fundamental to being accepted and some of the people on the selection committee, I think, liked me (not all the professors in the English Department disliked me, quite the contrary).

However, all this happened just prior to the beginning of the term. Indeed, it was a just few scant days before the beginning of classes that we professors (profesores asociados, not to be confused with associate professors) even knew that we had the job. The man in charge of the mess, Gidor Bilbao, told us that we could teach anything since it was virgin territory. I was assigned to teach interpreting, consecutive interpreting from English to Basque to be exact.

I found the students to be quite nice, even delightful, but then came the first shock: Most of them could not even understand me speaking a slow, clear “special English”. Even fewer could speak English fluently or well enough for a foreigner to understand their translation. If that were not enough, I discovered that these future translators did not even know how to say basic words in Basque such as “knuckles”, “oats”, “aircraft carrier”, or even “velvet”.

I told the people in the department about that and was met by amazement … amazement that I even cared. I told them that the university ought to contact interpreting departments in countries with languages that have structures similar to Basque such as Finnish, Hungarian, and Turkish and build on their experience. They must have thought I was dangerously weird.

There was a meeting at the department and we were told by Prof. José Miguel Santa María that there was going to be another “convocatoria” but not to worry since all of us would be safe thanks to the points awarded for teaching experience. This was to be for the position of “Profesor colaborador”, legally a different position but, nevertheless, not to worry we were told. It was a mere formality.

Santa María, who speaks about as much Basque as George Bush (both of them), told me that I should move to Vitoria as they did not like someone like me having a language school. I told him that I would probably quit the language school but I could not move to Vitoria from Zarautz on account of my family. I would commute but never move. He did not seem to like that.

I remember the results of the second “convocatoria” in September, 2003. Out of the five people in the same situation, four got through easily. The only one that did not make it through was me. I was, and still am, shocked and extremely upset about it. In the previous convocatoria, I had obtained 31.02 points but this time I WENT DOWN to 24.02 points. Amazing. I was the only one of the candidates that actually went down in points. Everyone ELSE in my situation went considerably up in points.

I then took a closer look and compared these results in points:

  • Teaching experience: 
    • 3 (first “convocatoria”)
    • 11 (second “convocatoria”)
  • Research work (author of the only comprehensive English-Basque dictionary) 
    • 7.7 (first “convocatoria”);
    • 0,4 (second “convocatoria”).
  • Academic record (undergraduate degree from Spain, a B.A. and two M.As from the U.S:) 
    • 15,12 (first “convocatoria”)
    • 6 (second “convocatoria”).
  • Professional experience (experience as teacher, interpreter and translator at my business plus experience in teaching English for a Master’s program in Leioa) 
    • 5 (first “convocatoria”); 
    • 2 (second “convocatoria”).
  • Other “merits” : (attending conferences, having all the Basque diplomas, certifications, etc.)
    • 0,2 (first “convocatoria”); 
    • 5,1 (second “convocatoria”).
  • Total points: 31,02 (first “convocatoria”); 24,02 (second “convocatoria”).

In effect, it was an obvious manoeuvre by someone of influence to put someone else in (“eso tiene bicho” is the slang term used by those in Spanish academic circles for such situations) . In view of the fact that I was going to have more points for teaching experience, other points had to be lopped off wherever they could. Thus, my ace in the hole, my dictionary work, was relegated to less than half a point! My academic record was reduced by nearly two thirds. Even my professional experience was more than halved.

The one who wound up with my post got a total 27.46 points, and was awarded a full 2 points for a 7 page article about “Social Interpretation” which was deemed to be worth 5 times more than 19 years of my work of thousands of pages that had gone into my dictionary, a work that is still essential to both translation and interpreting in Basque today, whatever they might say. Nowadays, “social interpretation” from various languages to Spanish (not necessarily Basque) seems to be what the UPV seems keen on and so I can see that I really was the odd man out. Basque is just an afterthought there when it comes to interpreting from English to that language. It probably reflects the sociolinguistic situation rather accurately.

I confronted Prof. Santa Maria but it seemed to have been a done deal. He was arrogantly adamant that there was nothing I could do when I told him that I might take it to the courts if necessary. There is one thing that Spanish catedrático (tenured) professors know how to do and that is how to feather their nest and “arrange” things. The other people on the board either agreed with the “catedrático” or were cowered into acquiescing. I can say that a lot of the professors in the department were quite afraid of him and, I suppose, of their jobs.

I soon found that no one at the University would dare defend me in public even though they told me in private that it was grossly unfair. Apparently, one of the professors in the translation department, who, along with me, was one of the five whose posts were up for grabs, lobbied for the eventual winner and knew how to arrange things so that friend of hers would have a fighting chance (e.g. having her article published in Basque translators’ Journal SENEZ in anticipation that it would have been decisive).

Also, according to some sources, what they were looking for was greater emphasis on Spanish rather than Basque which explains their interest in “social interpretation”, little of which, if any, is done in Basque (it deals with interpreting for poor immigrants from other countries). I suppose I really was in the way as I would have fought tooth and nail for Basque.

I went to the trade unions. ELA essentially supported the university’s decision, LAB looked into it with a mixture of curious interest and indifference about really doing anything to help me but the only ones who truly went to bat for me were the much hated Comisiones Obreras trade union. They are hated by many because they are the ones who fight Basque-language requirements tooth and nail. They, of all people, were the only ones who showed genuine outrage at my predicament. The union lawyers told me that only in rare cases does the university lose because they have been given so much leeway by the Basque Parliament. Had the university been under Spanish (MEC) control, I might have had a better case since MEC universities are under far tighter rules.

I asked the Basque Translators’ Association (EIZIE) to prepare a statement that simply stated that my dictionary was the main dictionary used by translators. It was hardly a bold assertion since in those days my dictionary was the only one utilized as Gorka Aulestia’s dictionary was not used by any translator that I or anyone else knew of in the Basque Country. The president of said association in those days was Carlos del Olmo who claimed that they could not do such a thing since it could not be proven. That, of course, is patently false since dictionary sales could readily attest to which dictionary was most widespread (by then, hardly any copies of Aulestia’s were even available in stores, let alone sold). I felt like Caesar being stabbed by Brutus. I still find it unforgivable.

To bring this sordid matter to some closure, let me say that it was appealed to the powers that be in the UPV but ultimately rejected. It was taken to court. In court, I was able to hear the University lawyer’s case. In a nutshell, the university lawyer claimed the second “convocatoria” had absolutely nothing to do whatsoever with the first one because, in their opinion, a single class was going to be taught in Spanish even though the content of the classes was nearly the same as that of the previous term. At that, the judge eventually ruled in favour of the University since, as I said above, that its what usually happens anyway, barring shockingly scandalous revelations, on account of the great leeway granted to that University. I have been told by some UPV “catedráticos” that quite a few people on all three campuses know about my inglorious defenestration and have commented on the injustice of it all.

This whole mess eventually made me realize that I should forget trying to help and save Basque altogether, especially if I had no bigwig as a mentor to fend for me (a prerequisite here), and to go on to other matters such as other languages and even to concentrate on actually making money. Basque needs all the help it can get but if my love for Basque is not returned, I decided, why not start afresh in non-Basque projects? I had plans to write an extensive Latin-Basque dictionary, Greek-Basque, and even detailed, definitive books on how to translate English into Basque and vice verse. I no longer plan to waste my time on such quixotic nonsense if no one really cares.

It is only when I decided that Basque should not be the sole axis of my professional, even personal, life that my financial situation has improved immensely and even support for my large dictionary project from the Spanish Parliament came through after I had given up seeking support. In any case, nowadays I would no sooner teach at the University of the Basque Country than undergo a frontal lobotomy without anaesthesia. At this moment, the very idea of dealing with such a chaotic, Kafkaesque organization is grossly abhorrent to me, especially when the pay seems to be so abysmal, even for a tenured professor. Sour grapes, to be sure, but this opinion stems from bitter experience and 20/20 hindsight.

BBPClearly, you have a great deal of material for future projects about Euskara, most of which, because of forces outside your control, you are abandoning. Will any of those projects see the light of day? You are working on a new English-Basque dictionary, correct?

Mikel Morris: Once upon a time, I wanted to write a definitive book for translating English into Basque that would be comprehensive and authoritative. I have also designed Latin-Basque and Classical Greek-Basque dictionaries. These, except in the event of a sincere plea not to do so backed up with funds to carry them out, will never see the light. If the Basques are indifferent about these projects, why should I go to all the trouble of doing them? I have also thought about preparing projects connecting Basque to immigrant groups (Arabic, Romanian, Portuguese even Wolof) but no one I’ve talked to cares. So, on to other things. Life is short.

I am working on the second, greatly expanded edition of the Morris Magnum dictionary which came out in 2008 (limited print run). I have put so much effort into this project that I feel it must be completed, no matter what. The same goes for my French-Basque, German-Basque, and Chinese-Basque projects. They will be completed since I have already spent so much time and money on them.

BBPDo you see any future for Euskara? 

Mikel Morris: The answer is quite simple: Yes, there is a future for Basque. I really think that Basques — despite their lack of effective planning, dearth of initiative in higher cultural matters, want of cosmopolitan outlook, and inability to look on their language as something ready for prime time — are genuinely worried about its future and have invested millions of euros in it, albeit poorly invested in many cases. Children do speak it as a first language all over the country. The problem is that when they become teenagers, they use it less when they realize that there are not many fun things in it compared to Spanish, French and now English. That is where the problem lies as I have said time after time. In their adult life, Basque is used among young people from Basque-speaking towns who learnt in Basque but it is often diluted with Spanish words and calques. Sometimes, one sentence is in Basque and another in Spanish. There are even times when a sentence starts in one language and ends in another (code-switching in the jargon of linguistics).

However, everyone wants their kids to learn Basque when they are kids and a language without child speakers is a language doomed to disappear after two or three generations.

It has been said that by 2100, only 400 of the estimated 6,000 languages on the planet today will survive. I hope that is overly pessimistic but I am not sure. There are hundreds of languages with just hundreds of speakers. Those are certainly doomed though they might live on in cyberspace, not unlike what is being done by fanciers of Elvish and Klingon.

Basque has advantages over almost every language that is in the same predicament. It has money because the Basque Country is a rich country. There is awareness that something must be done and politics do favour Basque no matter who is in power. Compare the situation of Basque with the situation of Welsh, Frisian, Breton or most of the mostly non-official indigenous languages in the Americas, Asia and Africa. In the world of minority languages, Basque has been seen as a model and is the envy of all minority language enthusiasts. Barring a cataclysmic collapse of the political system, Basque will never be prohibited again, at least in the Southern Basque Country which leads to where it will not survive: Iparralde, aka the Northern Basque Country or the French Basque Country.

The Southern Basque Country has everything the Northern Basque Country does not: a vibrant, diversified economy, political awareness, and an overriding concern to preserve the language. Just 6% of the children in Iparralde actually speak Basque and that is thanks to the ikastola movement. Were it not for the Southern Basque Country, Basque might have simply disappeared already in the Northern Basque Country. The French state, while anxious about multilingualism in Europe with French being proposed as one of the languages in the cocktail (they know they have lost the battle with English), is very much in favour of monolingualism in the French state. There are no Basques, Flemings, Corsicans, Bretons in France, only French. That sounds nice but it condemns every other language to extinction.

The French Parliament passed a law making French the sole official language of the state. It was said that such steps were needed in order to stem the overwhelming onslaught of English on Europe. At the present, English is fast becoming the only lingua franca among all of the people of Europe despite France’s best efforts. Thus, in the French view of things, if regional languages such as Basque, Corsican, and Breton have even semi-official status, it will weaken the status of French within Europe, perhaps the world. Regional languages are tolerated when deemed weak and attacked with the full power of the French state when deemed resilient. Basque is in the first category while Corsican and German (Alsatian) belong to the second. In a nutshell, considering the number of child speakers in the French Basque Country, the lack of political will (Basque nationalists rarely get above 10-15% in elections, and the derelict tourist-based/farm-based economy there, Basque, barring a spectacular miracle, does not have a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving in Iparralde beyond token status.

BBPDo you see any hope in the next generation for an Euskara that not only survives, but also thrives?

Mikel Morris: This question is much harder to answer. One must define “thrive”. If it means being vibrant and going from strength to strength, being able to keep up with the times then one can say that Basque has never thriven throughout its history. It has always fudged along. In Roman times, they were content to borrow Latin words and even learn enough Latin to get along when fighting in (not against) Roman legions. Later on, the Roman Catholic church authorities ignored Basque and cultivated Latin and latinate languages. Basque was never cultivated by anybody, even in Navarre when it was an overwhelmingly Basque-speaking kingdom. There were no people like the venerable Bede as there were among the Anglo-Saxons. No one, save for the occasional bertsoa snippet, ever bothered to write anything serious down until 1545. The Basque ruling elite simply stuck to the easy course of diglossia which is unbalanced biligualism. They were content to adopt the language of the empire and speak Basque at home with the wife, children, animals, and servants. The elite in the city were relatively lazy and did nothing for the language. No translations of the classical writers were ever undertaken until very late. No serious dictionaries (I don’t consider Larramendi’s dictionary serious) containing modern concepts were ever written. No encylopaedias were ever written. No text books were ever written. Education was never systematically carried out in Basque until recently. Only cathechisms for peasants were written along with various kinds of religious books. With a scant few exceptions (e.g. Peru Abarka), little literature was written in Basque aside from religious tracts and bertsopaperak. The men and women of learning in the Basque Country certainly did let Basque culture down in contrast to what the Catalans or what the Finns did for their culture.

Since rural peasants rarely invent anything culturally relevant or write novels, treatises, encyclopaedias, etc., Basque, confined to a rural setting, just fudged along while Spanish and French made significant headway in the cities and larger towns. There were few serious attempts to make Basque a viable “normal” standard language capable of transmitting higher culture until the 1960’s. It is all now a game of “catchup”, and there is a lot of catching up to do.

Thus, the goal must be to overcome millennia of fudging along. Even though the Basque language is said to be thousands of years old, Basque-language culture still has to grow up. Up to now, it has been like a child that has never grown up. It has to wean itself of the apron strings of Spanish/French and be able to be independent. It has to have confident, fully capable speakers who are able to produce interesting things for the whole gamut of society. Indeed, these cultural products should be interesting for the world. Translation can make Basque culture available to the entire world just like Scandinavian culture is so there are no limits to what can be done in Basque.

Are Basques ready to do this? In view of their history and looking back on their recent track record, I am afraid that Basque will survive rather than thrive since fudging along is a deeply-ingrained and time-honoured trait of the people that speak it. I sincerely hope I am completely wrong.

BBPHow do you see the future regarding language policy and Euskara in general with Patxi Lopez becoming lehendakari?

Mikel Morris: This is a very interesting situation and, this being the Basque Country, a very complicated and messy one at that. Nothing is what it seems and nobody actually spells it out in black and white.

To start with, there is a general perception among those who tend to vote for Basque nationalism that Mr. Lopez’s government is a result of a kind of an devilishly brilliant trick. They point out that only 43% of the electorate actually voted for PSOE and PP and that over 100,000 votes for HB were nullified.

The above is objectively true but it should be explained in context. The percentage of votes is skewered in favour of pro-Spain (or constitutionalist if you prefer) parties since each province is accorded equal representation regardless of the population. This was done to placate Araba so that they would not feel that they would be steamrolled by Biscay’s demographics and industries. Since a huge percentage of Araba’s population came directly from “deep” Spain in the 1960’s, it is hardly surprising that the pro-Spain/constitutionalist parties have a majority of the votes there. It was the system that the Basques decided on themselves.

Secondly, the ploy to nix HB’s seats in the Basque Parliament was a veritable cakewalk since HB (or whatever their name of the day happens to be) is so very easy to predict . All the Spaniards had to do was to wait for ETA to murder someone in cold blood and then confirm that HB people would fail to condemn the murder, something which they did not. Predictable, so very predictable. The plan was then put into effect like clockwork. Had there been an even mild reprimand by HB spokesmen, the plan would have gone haywire.

Since the HB people are so fundamentalist and politically clumsy that they cannot even so much as utter an even slightly nasty tone about a foul, heinous murder (e.g. of the industrialist murdered in Azpeitia recently), the deed to outlaw their latest ersatz organization was a cinch for the Spanish. Moreover, HB decided that they should instruct their voters to vote with ballots that would be later declared null and void, something that would have a direct impact on the distribution of seats according to the d’Hont calculation method. Had they instructed their followers to abstain, Ibarretxe would have won re-election since those 100,000 votes would not have been taken into consideration. It is inconceivable that HB could not have foreseen that such a ploy would not have favoured PSOE and PP. Add to this EA’s (Eusko Alkartasuna) utter insanity of going it alone instead of opting for a coalition with the PNV and we can understand how the perfect storm swept the PSOE into power and the PNV into opposition.

The pro-Spain/constitutionalist voters are overjoyed at Patxi becoming lehendakari for various reasons. There has been great resentment against the PNV, rightly or wrongly, among many voters in the Basque Country. They are deemed by many to be the party of the oligarchy, of those who are proud of their Basqueness (defined more by the number of Basque surnames in the family rather than their ability to speak the language) than anything else. Many of those who are not so “vasco” (I won’t use the word “euskaldun” here) and/or who are to the left of the PNV politically are equally glad to see the back of them.

Some of the PSOE and PP voters want Basque to be de-emphasized if not forgotten. Before the policy was to push for Basque to be the language of instruction in all of the schools instead of being a subject. For many, this was the last straw because of the hypocrisy of those advocating such a policy and because it was seen as a ploy to impose “Basque patriotism” on school children. Indeed, EA was the party pushing so very hard for Basque to be used as the only language of instruction in Basque schools and yet a great percentage of its parliamentarians couldn’t even speak Basque. As I recalled in another question, EA failed to make an alliance with Aralar because their negotiators could not even speak Basque. In any case, it is said, quite plausibly, that EA pushed so hard for Basque in the schools not because they loved Euskara so very much but because they wanted to win over HB’s disaffected voters. I guess that didn’t work out for them, did it?

In view of Basque nationalists themselves failing to actually speak Euskara, how can you possibly insist on the grand old language being used in schools and hospitals if you cannot even use it in your own house? Perhaps now they will change but I doubt it. Old habits are so very hard to get over.

Thus, if Basque is pushed by those who either do not speak it or hardly use it in any serious matters, if it is wholly testimonial at best in non Basque-nationalist circles, if it is deemed to be entirely local/hickish as well as not ready for serious things, and if there is the general perception that there is hardly anything of real interest available in Basque (engaging TV channels, sports magazines, gossip magazines, etc.) then pushing so hard for Basque is ultimately untenable. A great shame. There is a great need for genuinely cosmopolitan leadership for Basque language policy but, alas, I am only dreaming.

I honestly do not believe that PSOE will do anything drastic against Basque, whatever the PP might allegedly insist. They took over at arguably the worst possible moment. They are in a sinking economy that is part of a country that has already sunk very deep and is still sinking. The huge property bubble that has burst, Spain’s lagging productivity coupled with scant innovation are factors that will tend to prolong the tragic recession. If the Socialists attack Basque directly and if the economy is still in the tank, they will go down in flames in the next election for the Basque Parliament. However, in my humble opinion, some backward steps have been taken. The education department has withdrawn plans to make Basque the “vehicular language” in education thereby going back to the status quo, i.e. Spanish is the vehicular language.

In the beginning, I thought that they just might do better than the PNV. The PSOE-led government in Catalonia has championed Catalan far more than the CiU ever did. and the CiU did a lot compared to here. In my own little world, the PNV-led Department of Culture decided that they would never support any dictionaries for reasons unbeknownst to me even though serious dictionaries in Basque are hardly commercial ventures. Instead, they preferred to fund lavish “Euskara Eguna” celebrations, send txistularis to Argentina, and wage the outlandishly nonsensical “Ukan Virus” campaign. Such fluff constituted high priority items for them. They set up bureaucratic apparatuses for promoting Basque but Basque still lacks basic tools such as world-class dictionaries in various languages, comprehensive encyclopaedias, and interesting media of the kind that Basques actually want to see and use. Perhaps the new Basque Government will be able to invest in “infrastructure” projects (dictionaries, encyclopaedias) with the money that they save on axing the Ukan Virus program, etc. Basque needs “smart” investments, not expensive elephantine bureaucratic solutions that usually just mean “jobs for the boys”. Basque needs “software”, not just more “bureaucratic hardware”.

Nevertheless, it is worrisome that the speaker of the Basque Parliament speaks little, if any, Basque and that Mr. Lopez is hardly fluent at all (though he promises to pull an “Ibarretxe” by the time his term ends, i.e. he’ll be speaking it well). Some Basques might be gnashing their teeth at some of the steps taken backward when it comes to Basque language policy, but then they happily go back to their Spanish-language newspapers, Spanish-dubbed Hollywood movies, Spanish-language internet, Spanish-language books (original and translation, even from Basque) and Spanish-language TV. Time will tell but when all is said and done, the Basque Country is definitely NOT Catalonia. In Catalonia, they actually love their language and even go so far as to really speak it, not just speak about it.

Buber's Basque Page: An Interview with Mikel Morris, Part 2

BBPIn light of all of the problems you see with the current handling of Euskara and its future, do you see any bright spots? Are there specific things you see that give you hope that things might begin moving in the right direction?

Mikel Morris: The brightest spot is what no one writes about. It is the perception that Basque is capable of expressing anything be it modern or ancient, whether urban or rural. Adolfo Suarez, the Spanish Prime Minister during the transition and a while after the 1978 Constitution was passed, was asked around 1977 whether education would be allowed in Basque. He basically said that the premise of the question was ridiculous because Basque itself was wholly incapable of rendering an explanation about nuclear physics. I met several people in the Basque Country at that time who told me that Basque was simply not up to the task of anything beyond farming and fishing. We got into heated arguments about whether science could be taught through Basque. When I showed them a physics book in Basque, they dismissed it as just “batua”.

That groundless dig was akin to saying that physics can’t be taught in the backwoods of the Ozarks because people from the sticks can’t say words like inertia, kinetic. Even though Jed Clampett couldn’t rattle off them fancy-pants words, someone speaking standardized English can and the same goes for Basque. The problem is that few people still know standard Basque (Batua) as they should. All standard languages are somewhat artificial. Standard English once deemed that the future should be I or we shall, and will for the second and third persons, no sentence could end with a preposition (who did you come with), and that split infinitive (to boldly go where no man has gone before) were considered to be beneath contempt. These rules were influenced by Latin and not appropriate for a Germanic language like English, and they have been now mostly disregarded. Batua is still in the making but it has come a long way. However, as I have often said before, Basques have to know their language like Swedes know Swedish (paraphrasing Txillardegi here) which means they ought to know how to say oats, nutmeg, VAT, website, knuckles, caterpillar in their language without resorting to Spanish or “Euskañol”. Nonetheless, hardly anyone, aside from monolingual ignoramuses with a grudge, now claims that Basque cannot describe any modern concept.

Consequently, now no one thinks that it is insane for there to be text books about physics or string theory in Basque. Of course, no serious scientific research takes place in Basque but, then again, no serious scientific research takes place in Spanish either since English has that top spot in the world. The overwhelming presence of English in every possible sphere in the world ranging from aeronautics to cinema to computer technology practically puts Basque and Spanish (and nearly every other language) in the same boat. Like Basque, Spanish is a translation language, i.e. modern state-of-the-art technology and research is mostly done in English but translated into Spanish and/or Basque (or other languages) for those unable to read English very well. Spanish is virtually on par with Basque in areas such as, for example, m-theory (a super string theory) since English is the be-all and end-all of the cutting edge of modern science. Spanish beats Basque at having many more translations from English but it is still subservient to English in technical matters.

Another bright spot is the fact that a large percentage of the younger people (for example, those under 21) are familiar or very familiar with Basque. Just 20 years ago, Basque was on par with Bulgarian and Estonian in places like Barakaldo, much of Araba, and even Irun. This mighty wall of ignorance has fallen quite a lot among those born after 1990 although those who were born before then still call the shots in society. Basque may not be spoken that much more than a few years ago but at least there is now a strong base to go on. That coupled with the perception that Basque is just a coarse peasant speech best left to peasants and poor fishermen has given way to the reality that most Basque speakers actually live in urban settings.

Finally, another bright spot is the power of technology. Computers are able to even things up in many areas. The Basque Academy (Euskaltzaindia) has said several times that advances in computing were vital in the compiling of their 16 volume Basque-Spanish dictionary (Orotariko Euskal Hiztegia). The internet has freed access of information in Basque (though video games in Basque are rare).

However, the Basques have been slow to make full use of the internet’s potential. As I have said before, much more should and could be done with expanding the Basque version of Wikipedia so that Basque kids don’t have to switch to Spanish for information about various topics. There could be more Basque news websites than there are. There could be Basque-language clones of sports magazines, cars, etc. Printing is no longer necessary, just web design and people doing the content.

The power of digital technology could be used for Basque movies as well. I am constantly hearing complaints about how there is no money to make Basque movies but the judicious use of a fairly affordable digital camera, imaginative use of sound equipment plus an Apple computer with Final Cut editing can result in a world-class result. There are plenty of great films that have been done like that (Blair witch project, etc.). Of course, no blockbuster flicks like Titanic are possible but a lot of good work can still be achieved.

The real obstacle to Basque movies is the Basque themselves. It is not imperialistic Hollywood or the whims of a bloody-minded Spanish judge or Patxi Lopez or Jennifer Lopez or even a quite dead Franco. What is needed is a very good script, good acting, and good editing. Distribution can be tricky, that is true, but a truly good film can always get through and films can be dubbed or subtitled. Non-English movies all suffer the same fate but with a bit of luck and imagination, a lot can be achieved, even in Basque.

The power of technology levels the playing field for everyone. Modern technology is truly democratic. It has enabled me to be on par with organizations far greater in number and with greater ability to come up with government grants to produce dictionaries that are on par with dictionaries anywhere in the world. If I can make dictionaries on par with far larger organizations such as Elhuyar or even Oxford, certainly Basque culture can do the same. The limitations are in the mind, not in the demographics. Basques can do a lot if only they can learn how to overcome their inferiority complexes and defeatism.

BBPFinally, as it’s been a while since I asked, what is the status of the second edition of your dictionary?

Mikel Morris: About the status of the second edition of the Magnum, I am carefully making the biggest bilingual dictionary in Basque even bigger and better. I am having people process thousands of illustrative pictures so that Basques can better understand what a spool is, or a plinth or a gasket. I am also putting in a huge appendix containing chapters about how to write proper sentences for essays in Basque/English, how to write invitations, all kinds of letters, sentences used in a thesis, and functional sentences (what to say and when to say it, e.g. how to be evasive, how to express one’s condolences, how to express disagreement). Of course, I am trying to put in thousands of sentences that were done but which I had no time to put in the first edition. Hopefully, this will see the light by December, 2011. It is quite a job considering the fact that I have my responsibilities at my language school, not to mention working on my Asian projects (Chinese and Thai dictionaries) plus now I am helping out on a Haitian Creole dictionary project. I will be retiring from a lot of the academic teaching in 2013 but, in the meantime, I am working on these projects in preparation for that event.

BBPEskerrik asko, berriz, Mikel!

Discovering Your Own Worth: An Interview with Delphine Pontvieux

Conducted Spring 2010

In Delphine Pontvieux’s new novel ETA- Estimated Time of Arrest, her main character, Lartaun, is forced to flee his native Basque Country when he is accused of a crime he didn’t commit. Living under an assumed name in Mexico, he is given a chance to return by his childhood friend Patxi, but with a price. 

Estimated Time of Arrest is a fast-paced action thriller, combining politics, romance, and the best of police dramas into one superb tale. In this interview, Delphine describes her motivations, her interactions with reknowned musician Fermin Muguruza, and her experiences in writing and self-publishing her first novel.

Buber’s Basque Page: As demonstrated in your novel, Estimated Time of Arrest, you clearly have a great love of the Basque Country. What are your connections to Euskal Herria?

Delphine Pontvieux was born in Versailles and grew up in France. She graduated from the University of Burgundy in Dijon. She also lived, studied and worked in Australia, the USA, Spain and the Netherlands until she moved to Chicago, Illinois, in 1998, where she still lives today. She has 10 years of international sales and promotion experience in the music and entertainment industry.

Delphine loves the mountains (rock climbing, monoskiing) and the seas (boating, waterskiing, wakeboarding, long distance swimming, triathlons). She is a scuba instructor, cave and technical diver, and ocean conservation advocate. As a writer, she regularly contributes to international diving publications.

The website for Delphine’s publishing company, Miss Nyet, can be found here.

Delphine Pontvieux: It is quite interesting because I have no roots or family originating from the Basque country at all, other than the fact that my mother lived in Iparralde for a couple of years when she was a child. (And I remember her telling us how she had to recite her prayers in Basque every morning at school.) But for some reason, I have always been fascinated by the language, the culture and the social and political history of the Basque people. It stems back from my first trip to Spain when I was a young teenager. I attended a summer camp. A friend gave me a tape. On one side, there was this band called La Polla Records. On the other, Kortatu (the self titled LP). Kortatu was a musical revelation for me. It is THE band that got me listening to punk rock and ska. Both of these bands were at the forefront of the Rock Radikal Vasco movement. Then, as a teenager in the mid-eighties, the Basque conflict was in full swing. We paid attention to the news on national TV and we listened to the word on the street, at shows and in fanzines. Looking back today, I guess these times marked me more than I realized because they inspired me to write this book.

In 2007, I had this idea for the novel, but I knew very little about Euskal Herria, so I started reading a ton of books on the subject, ancient Basque history, the oppression of the Basques during the Franco era, and the creation and development of ETA over their 50 years of existence. These books helped me to understand the circumstances that led to the socio-political struggle in Euskal Herria, but I was missing the human connection to get a better understanding of the situation. That was when I got in touch with Fermin Muguruza (critically acclaimed Basque radical musician, singer, songwriter and award-winning film director whose artistic career spans well over two decades), who went above and beyond to reply to a million questions with patience and good humor. I am very thankful for all his help. Then of course, I traveled to Euskal Herria to get an intimate feel for the places I describe in the book, and as a result, I fell in love with this place. Thanks to Buber.net, by the way, I also got in touch with Guillermo Zubiaga, who drew the striking gold-foil illustration on the hardcover.

BBP: Both rock climbing and the valleys in the French Pyrenees feature prominently in your novel. You must have strong connections to both?

Delphine Pontvieux: I started rock climbing when I was a teenager living in Burgundy. It quickly developed into my favorite sport and I spent most of my summer evenings and week ends on the cliffs, along with a tight group of like-minded friends. Sometimes we would go climbing in the south of France, in the Verdon (which is the deepest canyon in Europe) or the Calanques (beautiful cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean sea). Of course, I also climbed in the Vallee d’Aspe and fell in love with the beauty of the place. So that found its way into the book as well due to its proximity with the Basque country. After that, I moved to the Netherlands and then Chicago, and the local topography has stopped me from rock climbing altogether.

BBP: You mentioned your contact with Fermin Muguruza. How did that come about? What was the most surprising aspect of that collaboration?

Delphine Pontvieux: I have always been a huge fan of Kortatu. I had all their vinyls etc. , yet I always managed to miss them wherever they played. Never had an actual connection other than listening and enjoying their music. Then, years later as i was working for a record label in the netherlands, i happened to call a record store in Euskadi and after talking together a while, I realized i was speaking to Fermin. That’s how i got to talk to him for the first time, totally by chance. Right away, he struck me as a very warm and open person. Then fast forward a decade when i started to work on my book. I thought i would send him an email and see if he would get back. Not only he did, but he also helped me tremendously and the most rewarding thing of all is that we became friends in the process. Fermin is so kind, curious, optimistic and excited to learn about new countries and people, it is no wonder why he has so many friends all around the world. 

BBP: While a work of fiction, the action of your novel is intimately set within the current political situation in Euskal Herria. To what extent is your novel based on real events?

Delphine Pontvieux: Indeed, while the story itself is entirely fictitious, I strived to keep the story in check within the actual historical context to give it more substance and credibility. For instance, the story alludes to events that really happened, such as the Hotel Mombar shooting, the arrest of ETA leaders in Bidart, France, etc. The 90s were an important turning point because that was when France started to collaborate with Spain to crack down on ETA members living on French soil, after decades of giving them political refugee status. I illustrated this reversal of situation in the book through the candid conversations between the gendarmes and French DST agents. The construction of the tunnel at the Somport was also going on then. What makes the story seem real is that the situations the characters face is plausible during this time and could indeed have happened in the real world, even though their adventures are entirely a product of my imagination.

BBP: What are your literary inspirations? Which Basque authors have most influenced your writing? Which do you most admire?

Delphine Pontvieux: I don’t know too many Basque authors, at least as far as fiction goes, but I am working on that. So far, the bulk of the books I have read from Basque authors has focused on Basque history and my research for the novel. I immensely enjoyed reading Basque Violence: Metaphor and Sacrament by Joseba Zulaika. Even though the complexity of his research far exceeded the kind of information I needed for the novel, it really helped me get a better understanding of the Basque culture as well as the catalysts of and the historical context that led to terrorist violence.

BBP: While not trying to excuse violence, you also try to give voice to those who become militants, try to give a voice from the other side. Was it hard to achieve a balance between these?

Delphine Pontvieux: My intentions were to not express my own opinion about the situation, but rather to let the characters expose all sides of the conflict, and to give us a better understanding of their beliefs and actions by being who they are. Each character thus plays an important part by letting the reader know why the Basque conflict is such a complex situation. I tried to put myself in their respective shoes, and to talk their talk and walk their walk the way they would according to their respective beliefs and the events that shaped their lives. Events that ultimately put them on the path to become police officers, secret agents, fascists, non-violent activists, disabused militants or even terrorists. 

BBP: What where your inspirations for your characters, especially Lartaun, Faustine, and Patxi?

Delphine Pontvieux: None of the characters were based on one particular person I have ever known or read about in my life. They are rather the result of an interesting patchwork of bits and pieces of people’s minds, lives, struggles and beliefs I weaved together inside my head to create each one of these characters. I find there is part of me in all of them, even though their personalities are very different from one another. 

BBP: Your novel was published by Miss Nyet Publishing, which I understand is your own publishing business, so essentially you self-published, is that correct? Can you describe some of your experience in going from your idea for a novel to the final product? Will Miss Nyet be publishing other authors as well?

Delphine Pontvieux: Yes, Miss Nyet publishing is a company I created in July of last year.

And yes I am definitely looking forward to putting out the work of more authors in the future.

All in all, I started working on my book in February of 2007 and I got the final product in my hands just before Thanksgiving of 2009. The book was released on December of 2009. I immensely enjoyed having total freedom over how I wanted my book to look, the type of layout, illustrations, colors and even the type of paper it is printed on. And I learnt a ton in the process. How to pick a printer, figure out what the differences between the grades and quality of papers are, the different types of binding and printing techniques, layout etc….

I loved every step of the way, because it was all new and exciting, just like writing the book itself.

I have worked for 10+ years for very successful, 100% independently-owned record labels in the past. As a result, the independent model of doing business has always been very much engrained in me, especially when working for an industry largely dominated by ‘major’ companies. I always took it upon myself to get the work done. It can be risky at times but also very rewarding. Thus, when my novel was nearing completion, I never really thought about shopping my manuscript to agents and so forth. My editor, who used to work for a big publishing company in New York, advised me to try the ‘traditional route’ first, because she thought I had a good chance of finding an agent. So she presented my book to four of her prominent agent friends in LA, which is seldom heard of. I got a reply the very next day from one of them. She liked my writing, but thought the story was too political for her audience. I did not hear back from the other three. I told myself, “OK, so we tried that. Now it’s time to really get to work.”

While I was putting the finishing touches on my novel, I contacted a lawyer and laid the foundations for Miss Nyet Publishing, LLC. It made all the sense in the world to me. I WANTED to create my company, just as much as I wanted my book to be read.

By releasing my own work first, I am learning the ropes, as well as getting acquainted with many interesting people who work in retail and media. I make mistakes, learn from them and find a better way to do things. I am laying the foundation so that I am ready to release the work of other authors when the right time and opportunity come my way. It is a tough road, but there is not a day that I don’t learn something new, or regret the decision I took, and it is all very exciting. I am lucky I can put the experience and expertise I acquired while working in the music industry to the book-publishing business. I think my outlook is a bit unique because I have a fresh take on things, and I’m not afraid of breaking the rules because I don’t really know what they are just yet.

My motto is don’t wait around for someone to discover your worth. It may take years, or it may never even happen. Be proactive about the goals you set out to achieve!

BBP: In self-publishing and now promoting your novel, what has surprised you the most about the experience, both good and not so good?

Delphine Pontvieux: The bad that is good in my case: a lot of people view self publishing as a bad thing because they immediately assume that the writer tried to get published the traditional way but got rejected everywhere, so he/she self-published as a last resort. I always knew from the beginning I wanted to start a publishing company so I did not go ahead and query agents etc. I’d rather prove myself, and if a bigger publisher finds out about my work and wants to strike a deal, then all is well. I did not want to waste my time, but rather be proactive about the goals I set for myself. The great thing is that industry people are always amazed when they see the quality of my book. They’re like: it looks so professional! Well, yes, I would never settle for mediocrity. Plus my goal is to put put more books by other authors in the future. Also, I have 10 years of promotion and marketing experience in the entertainment business, so that definitely comes handy, too. Also, some said I would never get to the chains because I “self-published” my book. Well, I proved them wrong. My book is now available for order pretty much anywhere, from Amazon to Borders to Barnes and Noble etc. I am proud of that achievement. Still, the bad is when it comes to promotion. When not backed up by a large traditional publisher, it is extremely difficult to get any reviews in the mainstream press and media. So I have to be more creative and find other venues to get the word of mouth going.

BBP: Have you had any response to your novel from people in the Basque Country?

Delphine Pontvieux: So far not too much, because it is not available for sale there to date. I would love to sell it there though. I am in touch with a Basque publisher, we will see how that goes. I hope that once the book is available in Euskal herria, I will be able to promote it through the local media. I am focusing mainly on the states right now, as well as on the Basque community living in the USA. I have received feedback from American Basques who have read it already, and they really loved it and found the story very credible, so that’s a good thing!

BBP: Clearly you are a person who relishes in challenges. Do you have any big happenings — besides writing your second novel — on the horizon?

Delphine Pontvieux: Focus on promoting and marketing my book and my company until it becomes successful. Between that and everything else, that should keep me plenty busy!

BBP: You’ve traveled and lived in a number of places. Do you hope to visit places other than Euskal Herria in future novels?

Delphine Pontvieux: I hope so, yes! so far there is a scene out of the new novel which takes place in Mexico on the Riviera Maya, and I am thinking of locales such as Australia…but it is too early to tell which places my characters will drag me to this time around!

BBP: Your novel ends such that there are more stories to tell. Do you have plans for another novel involving these characters? Or another related to the Basque Country?

Delphine Pontvieux: Ha! That is indeed a recurring question from many who have just finished reading my novel and I take it as a great compliment. I must say that it’s been hard for me as well to put my characters to “rest” when the book was done, especially after living with them in my head for over two years. I grew quite fond of them and I, too, wonder: ‘What are they going to do next?’

I am currently working on my second novel, but I am still in the early stages of writing it. It’ll be a surprise!

BBP: Is there anything you’d like to say to the readers of Buber’s Basque Page before we wrap up?

Delphine Pontvieux: A lot of people in the states who bought my book had never heard of the Basque country before. Now they are quite well versed on the subject. Not only they enjoyed the read, but they learnt about a country and a culture at the same time. That makes me happy. So I thank you very much for your interest in my work, I hope that you’ll be curious to read it in your turn and, later on, to spread the word to everyone you know!

And thank you very much, Blas, for your fantastic support. it means a lot to me!

Delphine

BBP: Eskerrik asko zuri, Delphine!

Be Open and Curious: An Interview with Gloria Lejardi

To those with any connection to the Basque community in Idaho, Gloria Lejardi is a household name. Having been a driving force behind youth dancing in the Treasure Valley of Idaho for so long, she has made her mark on so many young Basques in the area. Her dance classes are often the first foray into Basque culture for many kids, many of whom parlayed that experience into a deep and lasting appreciation and fascination with the culture. In this interview, Gloria describes her experiences as a dancer and a dance teacher, the origin of her passion for dance and music, and her dream trip to the Basque Country with her grandchildren.

I was born in Burns, Oregon, to Margarita Osa and Henry Garatea, first generation Basques.  Many of my childhood memories are centered around boarding houses and of course family gatherings.  My amuma, Margarita Osa (Aremayo), was my first Basque dance teacher.  She loved all music and dance and was happiest when a celebration included dancing. We moved to Boise when I started the 7th grade and this is when I began dancing with the Boise Euzkaldunak children’s group.  From there I went on to dance with the Oinkari Basque Dancers for 15 years. In 1980 I started my dance group, originally called the Caldwell Basque Dancers and now called Herribatza Dantzariak.  I am grateful for all those who taught me about Basque dance through the years.

In regards to Euskara, I started taking classes from Miren Artiach (Rementeria) when I was a senior in high school and studied with her for a few years.  Attending a summer program in 1972, sponsored by the University of Nevada, Reno, was my first experience in the Basque Country. Then in 1974-75 I went to study in Onati with the first Boise State sponsored program. Jon Onatibia was our Euskara teacher and I still refer to his books while teaching my class.

Buber’s Basque Page: Gloria, you are the grandchild of Basque immigrants. How did growing up in a Basque family and in the Basque culture impact your childhood? Did you feel different from the other kids?

Gloria Lejardi: My maternal and paternal grandparents were immigrants; my parents were born in the US. I seemed to always know as a child that being Basque was different but I do not ever remember it being anything other than special. Although I did not learn Euskara until later, we all knew Basque words and phrases. Some words I did not even realize were actually Basque. For example, I remember in elementary school during lunch the girl next to me said her food was too hot so I told her to “putz” on it.  She, of course, did not understand so I blew on her food to show her. All of our friends called our grandmothers “amuma” and it just seemed to be a natural thing to do. The Basque Boarding House was part of my upbringing. When I was a child my paternal grandmother, Lucy Garatea (Luciana Aboitiz) owned the Plaza boarding house in Burns, Oregon. Many Sundays and holidays were spent there among the boarders. An interesting fact is that my maternal grandparents (Marcelino and Margarita (Aremayo) Osa actually built this boarding house and my mother and her siblings lived there until my mother was in high school. There were many Basque families in our town so the language, the card games, the music, and the food were a natural state of being for me.

BBP: When was your first trip to the Basque Country? Where did you go? What did you think?

Gloria Lejardi: My first trip was during the summer of 1972. I attended a 6-week course through the University of Nevada, Reno, where we stayed 3 weeks in Ustaritz in Iparralde and 3 weeks at Arantzazu in Gipuzkoa. We studied Euskara with Jon Onatibia and went on many excursions to experience as much as we could in those 6 weeks. After the course, I visited relatives for another 4 weeks. My first impressions were how green everything was compared to the high desert areas that I was used to, and the smell of diesel.  When I visited relatives in Ondarroa, Lekeitio, and Elantxobe it was the smell of the ocean that was so noticeable. Of course the food was another experience. As a child I refused to try many of my grandmothers’ specialties but while in the Basque Country, I knew better than to refuse, so I learned to eat and love gambak, txipiroiak, mina, and more. 

BBP: You clearly have a passion for the Basque culture that you’ve channeled over many years through dance. How do you see the role of dance in keeping the culture alive?

Gloria Lejardi: My amuma Margarita Osa loved all music and all types of dancing and she was our first dance teacher. My clearest memories are dancing the Jota and Porrusalda at church events, accompanied by the piano and amuma stage left playing the spoons to keep us in beat. I think a few times she made us repeat our performance if we didn’t dance well enough! She was a task master for sure, the Ondarrutarra that she was should explain it all!

Music and dance through the centuries tell a story about the times. The traditional dress of the time, the instruments, the intricate steps, or the adaptations of foreign dances are all a part of the Basque culture.  Just like passing on our beloved Euskara keeps it alive, the passing down of these dances is another way to keep the Basque culture alive. Of course this goes for traditional sports, gastronomy, bertsolaritza, etc. 

Gloria with the Herribatza Dantzariak.

BBP: What are your proudest or most memorable moments that you’ve had dancing, both as a dancer yourself and as a teacher?

Gloria Lejardi: During the 15 years that I was an Oinkari Basque Dancer I was able to travel to a number of different Basque festivals or dances and, of course, this led to a familiarity with the people and these different communities, which in turn led to friendships.  The most memorable trip for me was our trip to Montreal.  At that time, I had never been out of the country, so this was an eye opener. Montreal is a beautiful city and another first was riding the subway to our performance location. The first day carrying the Ikurina and bags of equipment was quite the site for the other passengers. Most of us had never been to a big city so we probably looked like a bunch of dumb tourists, oh well…..

BBP: It seems that dance is, in many ways, a bigger element of cultural identity for Basques in the diaspora than in the Basque Country itself. How do you see the differing ways culture and identity are expressed in the diaspora versus in the home country?

Gloria Lejardi: I think this is because it is much more acceptable for immigrants to showcase their music and dance to the local people than anything else and then comes the sharing of the food. Dancing is the most fun and enticing element of the culture to teach the children and grandchildren of  immigrants.  For some, dancing is the only Basque thing they will learn but for me it was just the first step.  Participating in dance led to my desire to learn Euskara and I know this has happened for many others. 

BBP: Homedale has an amazingly vibrant Basque community and, for such a small group, has accomplished some amazing things, including the building of their Basque center the Txoko Ona. How has Homedale accomplished so much where others have struggled?

Gloria Lejardi: I think it was the vision and hard work of many people but if I try to name them all I would surely miss someone. Some people gave money, others donated hours of work and the building came together under the leadership of the building committee. There is always work to do, a class to teach, an event to volunteer for or Txoko Ona would not continue to exist.

BBP: The nature of the Basque community in the United States is evolving. We don’t have the influx of Basques coming to work, the same motivations that brought your grandparents and my dad. How do you see the future of the Basque diaspora in the United States? How do we compensate for the diminished ties directly to the Basque Country?

Gloria Lejardi: I believe that the way we compensate for the loss of the immigrant generation and what they have given us is to cross the ocean in the other direction.  For so many immigrants the trip here was permanent because travel was so difficult and expensive. For others, they occasionally made trips back to the Basque Country but the influx of immigrants was waning. The opportunity to study in the Basque Country opened up in the 70’s and continues today.  Young American Basques are continuing to attend language schools (barnetegis) to learn Euskara and immerse themselves in the day to day culture.  Also the visits of musical or dance groups, Ikastola teachers, and occasionally visiting professors continue to enrich our cultural lives here in the US. I have always taught my dancers how to count in Euskara and maybe a few other words but in the last ten years I have enlarged the vocabulary to include directions, colors, family members, and a few phrases. Hopefully dance and a little language will encourage them to continue to learn about their Basque culture.

BBP: You are a mother and now a grandmother (zorionak!). How do you pass the Basque culture onto your daughters and grandchildren? What do you hope their connection to the Basque culture and the Basque Country will be?

Lejardi family chorizos!

Gloria Lejardi: We spoke to our daughters in Euskara as much as we could when they were growing up but they say they only speak “baby Basque.” Their children know words and phrases only, but hopefully, like me, they will want to learn Euskara and perhaps study in the Basque Country. Of course our daughters were part of my dance group and continued on dancing with the Oinkaris for many years. Currently two of our grandchildren are dancing in my group. When it comes to the food, I have tried to learn to cook like my grandmothers did; low and slow starting with olive oil, onions, and garlic. Our daughters are very good cooks and are always willing to try something new. One family tradition we started when our girls were young was “chorizo making” and 25 years later our grandchildren and extended family are ready to go when the time comes.  My dream is to be able to travel to the Basque Country with our grandchildren. The Basque Country has to be experienced with all the senses; the smell of the ocean or fresh mountain air; the sound of the music or Euskera spoken by children; the taste of the food or of txakoli; the view from a mountain top or of waves crashing to shore; and finally the feeling, coming to the surface, of what it means to be an Euskalduna.

BBP: Your ideal trip to the Basque Country would be with your grandchildren. Where would you go? If you were planning your ideal route through Euskalherria, what would it look like? Where would you stop, what foods would you have to share, who would you have to see for it to be the ideal trip?

Gloria with her husband John, her daughters Miren and Yasone, and their families.

Gloria Lejardi: Ideally we would pick one town for a home base and visit all of our relatives from there.

I find you can feel the sense of the community if you sleep, shop, eat, and drink in one town for the majority of your visit. You become familiar with the streets; the shop owners get to know you; the coffee barista understands your Euskara even though you speak it with an accent (me, not my husband; he speaks like an Erenotarra). I would first take them to see where their great and great-great grandparents were born; Ibarengelua/Elantxobe; Ondarroa; Nabarniz; Lekeitio; Gabika; and Ereno. Of course we would explore Gernika with all its history and the Monday market. The Peace Museum is also a must see. Into Gipuzkoa I would show them Onati, where I went to school, Arantzazu, and also the beautiful town of Tolosa. Besides enjoying the beaches, a hike up the trail to San Miguel above Ereno with a picnic lunch would be ideal. The view from there is breathtaking! My go-to choice of food in the Basque Country is fresh fish, particularly Lebatza, or Hake in English. No trip there would be complete without pintxos; daily of course!  I would like our grandchildren to explore this array of wonders, watch their faces as they take the first bite, and see what they like the best.

BBP: What advice would you have for the next generation that wants to connect to their Basque roots but isn’t quite sure how?

Gloria Lejardi: I would tell them to start with what they do know. Do you know your immigrant family history or only know a name? With the genealogy sites readily available it is not difficult to research family names and birthplaces. Researching Basque history is another good way to connect to your culture; there are so many good sites where one can learn about the history of Basques in the world.  If you know of family in the Basque Country then connecting with them is the first step. Planning a trip to visit the birthplaces of ancestors and exploring the area is another step to take. Be open and curious to whatever experiences come your way.

Basque Fact of the Week: Jose Mari Iparragirre, the Man Behind The Tree of Gernika

Soldier. Poet. Singer. Composer. Romanticist. Jose Mari Iparragirre was all of those things and more. A man out of time, he enjoyed great success and renown but never found a place he truly belonged. Even so, his most famous song, Gernikako Arbola, inspired generations of Basques.

Jose Mari Iparragirre, according to Pancho Bringas. He recreates an episode of Iparragirre’s exile from Araba, Bizkaia and Gipuzkoa for singing ‘Gernikako arbola’ in 1852. Image from Berria.eus.
  • Iparragirre was born on August 12, 1820, in the village of Urretxu, in Gipuzkoa. His father, a merchant, pushed him towards of life of letters – Iparragirre was sent to Zerain to study Spanish with his uncle, then to Vitoria-Gasteiz when he was 11 to study Latin, possibly to prepare him for the priesthood. When he was 13, the family moved to Madrid where he entered a school run by the Jesuits.
  • In 1833, the First Carlist War broke out and Iparragirre ran away to join the fight, with no other thought than “love for my countrymen.” He enlisted on the Carlist side, as part of the first battalion of Gipuzkoa. It seems this is when he took up the guitar, playing during free moments. He was injured first in the battle of Arrigorriaga and later in the Battle of Mendigorria, both in 1835, after which he became an attendant to Carlos, the claimant to the throne. Rejecting the Convention of Vergara that ended the war but saw a reduction in the strength of the fueros — the tradition of Basque home rule — and the final incorporation of the Basque Country into Spain, Iparragirre fled to France.
  • Iparragirre became, in essence, a traveling minstrel. With guitar in hand, he wandered Europe, singing his songs wherever he could. In 1848, he joined the French Revolution of 1848, singing La Marseillaise — the French National Anthem — and inspiring the crowd. Once he took over, Napoleon III expelled Iparragirre as a subversive, after which he traveled through Italy, Switzerland, Germany, and, ultimately, England.
  • In England, he met with a Spanish general who proposed a pardon. Iparragirre was given a pardon to return to Spain in 1853, and, it was during that year, in Madrid, that he first publicly performed, with Juan José Altuna, Gernikako Arbola. The song became the de facto Basque anthem, sung by Basques everywhere. The Spanish authorities became nervous and expelled him from Spain in 1855.
  • This time, Iparragirre made his way across the Atlantic, to Argentina, with fellow Gipuzkoan, Anjela Kerexeta, in tow. In Argentina, they wed and had 8 children together. All the while, Iparragirre kept composing songs. In 1876, the last of the Basque fueros were abolished, leaving Iparragirre disconsolate for some time. He struggled, unable to make a living as a musician and with no mind for business. He told Anjela “It doesn’t matter if you have anything or not. Even the birds have nothing, and they live happily, flying in the sun.”
  • In 1876, with the financial support of his countrymen, Iparragirre returned to the Basque Country, leaving his family behind in Argentina. He was honored by his country. He traveled, giving public recitals. Ultimately, he was given a pension by the provincial councils of Bizkaia, Gipuzkoa, and Araba while that of Nafarroa gave him a donation. He died on April 6, 1881, in Itsaso, Gipuzkoa, after being caught in a storm and catching pneumonia.

Primary sources: Arozamena Ayala, Ainhoa. Iparraguirre Balerdi, José María. Enciclopedia Auñamendi. Available at: http://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/es/iparraguirre-balerdi-jose-maria/ar-69087/; Amagoia Gurrutxaga Uranga, Konbentzioen kontra, Berria; Wikipedia.

Buber’s Basque Story: Part 28

“Bai,” replied Ainhoa. “Zer nahi duzue?”

Maite looked at Kepa with uncertain eyes before returning her gaze to Ainhoa. “Ummm,” she began. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Marina.”

“Nor?” asked Ainhoa when suddenly her eyes flashed, changing from Ainhoa’s dark brown to the green they recognized from their earlier encounter with Marina.

“Marina?” asked Kepa.

“Bai,” replied Marina with a smile. “I guess the zatiak I gave you also let you call me to you. Provided, of course, there is a vessel nearby.”

“Is that all Ainhoa is to you, your vessel?” asked Maite. “That’s a bit cold, isn’t it?”

Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

Marina shrugged. “I know she is more than that. When I possess her, I know everything about her — her hopes and dreams, her lusts and passions, her fears and anxieties. I know her through and through. But, what else should I call her? Call all of the kinswomen that I possess?”

“I guess vessel — ontzi — is as good as anything,” replied Maite. “Anyways, what happens next? How do we know when to help you, where to go?”

Marina paused for a moment, a look of concentration on her face. “To be honest, I’m not quite sure. It’s not like I’ve given the zatiak to anyone before. I’m not quite sure what to expect. But, I suspect the zatiak will be the key, they will guide you and transport you where you need to go.”

“Seriously?” asked Maite, clearly frustrated. “You ask us to help, but you don’t have any clue how this will happen?”

“Begira,” replied Marina. “Look, I don’t know half of what is going on, I’m learning as I go. It isn’t like I created the zatiak, at least not on purpose, and I don’t know exactly what giving them to you means. I just know it was the right thing to do.” She took Maite’s hand. “I’m just doing the best I can. I need you to trust me and to help me figure this all out. Otherwise de Lancre…”

“Yeah, I know, badakit. De Lancre will control all of the magic and rule the world.” She sighed. “I just wish we had more to go on.”

“I do too,” replied Marina. “I really wish I could tell you more. But, I simply don’t know. For now, go on your trip, do your interview. When the time is right, I think the zatiak will show you the way.”

Maite looked at Kepa, who shrugged. “What else can we do? We can’t just sit here, waiting for something to happen.”

“Fine,” said Maite, resignation clear in her voice. “I just hope I don’t end up regretting this.”

Marina smiled. “Oh, I expect you will, at least a few times. But, I also think you will find this journey fascinating.”

Basque Fact of the Week: Mikel Jokin Eleizegi Arteaga, the Basque Giant

Men and women who are exceptionally tall, who stand out in a crowd, who literally tower over the rest of us, certainly draw our attention. They fascinate us. Often, they become entertainers — André the Giant parlayed his size first in professional wrestling and then acting. Today, people of unusual height, particularly in basketball, use it to achieve success — think Manute Bol, Shawn Bradley, and Yao Ming, who all measured 7 feet 6 inches or greater. But, back in the 1800s, such opportunities were lacking. People who stood out, literally, became curiosities, touring as part of so-called “freak” shows. Such was the fate of Mikel Jokin Eleizegi Arteaga, the Basque Giant.

Portrait of Joaquín Eleisegui, woodcut by Pablo Alabern. Inscription: «THE INCOMPARABLE SPANISH GIANT MR. JOAQUÍN DE ELEISEGUI”. National Library of Spain. Photo from Wikipedia. To the left is his father and to the right his brother.
  • Mikel, known as the Giant of Alzo (Altzo in Basque), was born on July 10, 1818, in the baserri Ipintza-zar in the town of Altzo, in Gipuzkoa, just outside of Tolosa and about 20 miles south of Donostia. He died on November 20, 1861 at the age of 43.
  • Mikel was the largest person in Europe during his time. He was 7 feet 5 inches (2.27 meters) tall and had a wing span (length from fingertip to fingertip) of 7 feet 11 inches (2.42 meters). At his largest, he weighed 467 pounds or 212 kilograms.
  • During his lifetime, Mikel became a celebrity due to his enormous stature. After being discovered by José Antonio Arzadun of Lecumberri, Nafarroa, he became part of Arzadun’s traveling exhibit, touring Europe with his first stop being in Bilbao. His contract, signed in 1843, stipulated that Mikel would be allowed to go to mass every day, no matter where he was, and that all of Mikel’s tobacco would be paid for). At the height of his celebrity, Mikel met with four kings and queens: Isabel II of Spain, Luis Felipe I of France, María de la Gloria of Portugal, and Victoria I of the United Kingdom.
  • A businessman, who saw a potential sensation, arranged for Mikel to meet a giantess from England and asked if they would like to get married. The woman immediately said yes, but Mikel responded, saying to his father who was with him “Aita guazen Altzo-ra” (Aita, let’s go back to Altzo).
  • Like many who grow to such large sizes, Mikel suffered from acromegaly, or gigantism. André the Giant and Ted Cassidy, who played Lurch on The Addams Family, also suffered from the same disease.
  • Upon his death, he was buried in Altzo, but there was always a suspicion that his body had been dug up by either curious scientist or grave robbers, speculation fueled by the movie Handia (Giant), a fictionalization of Mikel’s life. However, in an excavation conducted in 2020, his bones were found exactly where they were supposed to be.

Primary sources: ELEICEGUI, Miguel Joaquín. Enciclopedia Auñamendi. Available at: http://aunamendi.eusko-ikaskuntza.eus/es/eleicegui-miguel-joaquin/ar-37804/; Wikipedia; Donostia International Physics Center.

Buber’s Basque Story: Part 27

It was late at night. Kepa and Maite sat together on a bench in the town’s plaza. Koldo, Itxaso, Xanti, and Ainhoa had pulled up chairs from the tables at the Herriko Taberna. Kepa took a sip of his kalimotxo.

“When do you leave for the States?” asked Itxaso. While Kepa and Maite saw Koldo all the time, they hadn’t seen his sister or her boyfriend since the concert. Itxaso seemed even more excited about their upcoming trip than they were. “It must be so exciting! I’ve never been outside of the Basque Country. Ok, I guess I’ve been to other parts of Spain. And there was that one trip to Paris. But still, America? It sounds so big! What are you going to do? Do you have everything planned?”

Kepa chuckled. “Hold on there! One question at a time.” He held up his glass. “I’ve had a little too much to keep track of all of your questions. We leave next weekend. We’re going to New York, where Maite has a distant cousin. And then to California. After Maite’s interview, we’ll be seeing my cousin and then driving south. We haven’t figured out everything yet, but we for sure want to see the Grand Canyon and Hollywood.”

Itxaso sighed. “Hollywood.” She looked at Xanti. “We have to go!”

Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“What?” replied Xanti, a look of horror crossing his face. “There’s no way I can arrange time off by next week.”

Itxaso gave him a playful punch in the arm. “Not now, txoriburu,” she teased. “But soon! I bet there are movie stars everywhere. Wouldn’t it be cool to see Hugh Jackman? Or Nicole Kidman?”

Ainhoa let out a small cough. “You do know that both of them are Australian, right? They probably don’t even live in the United States.”

Itxaso simply shrugged. “Whatever. I’m sure there is someone worth seeing.” She turned back to Kepa and Maite. “You’ll tell me everyone you saw when you get back, right?”

“Noski,” replied Maite. “Of course. I can’t imagine a better use of our time.”

“Anyways,” interrupted Koldo, changing the subject as he raised his glass. “Good luck with the interview, Maite. I’m sure you’ll make us proud.”

The others also raised their glasses, clinking them together before each taking a sip. “Eskerrik asko, Koldo.”

“Sorry to be the killjoy,” said Xanti as he stood, “but I’ve got to work tomorrow. I’m going to head home and get some sleep.” He gave Itxaso a kiss on the cheek. “See you tomorrow evening?”

“Bai,” she said, her smile beaming.

“Have fun,” said Xanti to Kepa and Maite, waving as he walked away.

“I have to go to,” said Koldo. “Sorry to bail on you guys, but I’ve got to make some calls to arrange our next gig, check out spaces, all of that.” He looked at Itxaso. “You ready?”

She nodded as she took a last sip from her glass and put it on a nearby table. “Let me know when you’re back,” she said to Kepa and Maite. “I want to know everything!”

Kepa laughed as Itxaso and Koldo headed up the road to where Koldo’s car was parked.

Ainhoa also stood. “It was good getting to know you guys a little better,” she said. “See you when you get back.”

“Ainhoa, itxaron mesedez,” said Maite, reaching out to grab Ainhoa’s hand. “Please wait. Can we talk a moment?” 

Basque Fact of the Week: Basque Peppers

I hate peppers. They smell nasty when they are cooking and they taste vile. My dad had literally hundreds of pepper plants in his garden. He would always give me a hard time when I ate his homemade chorizo, which I loved, saying how could I like those when they had peppers in them? When I was a kid, the kitchen was often filled with the smells of txoritxero peppers being cooked by the platefuls, particularly when friends were over. Though I didn’t like them, my dad ate them like candy. My mom and him would fry them in olive oil, garlic and salt, and then cook their French fries in the leftover oil (I preferred their eggs in the chorizo grease…) Regardless of how I feel about them, peppers are certainly a key ingredient in Basque cuisine.

My daughter and me eating fried peppers in the restaurant just outside of San Juan de Gaztelugatxe. These were actually padrón peppers, from Galicia. Photo by my wife, Lisa Van De Graaff.
  • Peppers are, of course, not native to Europe. They are native to the Americas, particularly Mexico, Central America, and the northern part of South America. However, in 1493, the Spanish took seeds back to Europe and from there they spread across the continent and, indeed, the rest of the world. Today, China is the world’s largest producer of both bell and chili peppers.
  • As peppers spread and were planted in different parts of the world, they evolved, with tastes that became particular to each local region. This is just as true of the Basque Country as anywhere else. The particular climate has led to at least six varieties of peppers unique to the Basque Country: Paprika Anglet from Lapurdi, Le Piment d’Espelette also from Lapurdi, the Gernika pepper from Bizkaia, the Guindillas Tolosa from Gipuzkoa, and two varieties from Nafarroa: the Piquillo Lodosa and Cornicabra, or Goat’s Horn.
  • Perhaps the most famous Basque pepper variety is that of Espelette. This variety, granted a “protected designation of origin” in 2002, is cultivated in various places around the village of Ezpeleta, where ristras of drying Espelette peppers can be found hanging from rafters of many of the houses. A relatively mild pepper (though hot compared to other Basque varieties), it is used to make Bayonne ham, amongst other things. There is even a site dedicated to this pepper. This pepper is often dried and used to season foods.
  • The peppers my dad grew were the choricero (txorixero or, the way I heard him say it, txoritxero) or Gernika peppers. When green, they are often fried in oil and salted, served as an appetizer before the main meal. Or, allowed to ripen further until they turn red, they are used in a number of dishes in Bizkaia, including bacalao a la vizcaína. As with Espelette peppers, they can also be dried out and used as seasoning. And, of course, they are a key ingredient in chorizo!
  • Piquillo peppers are traditionally grown in the town of Lodosa in Nafarroa. The piquillo is a sweet pepper and is much meatier than the others, making it ideal for stuffing with cheese, seafood, or actual meat. They are sold roasted and peeled in tins.
  • In the roughly 600 hundred years since they were introduced, peppers have become an integral part of Basque cuisine. And, now, I live in a place — New Mexico — where chiles are also central to food. I can’t escape the peppers!

Thanks to Lisa Van De Graaff for the photo and inspiration for this post.

Buber’s Basque Story: Part 26

“Ok, Marina,” said Maite as she and Kepa walked back to their mysterious new friend, hand in hand. “What now?”

“Are you going to help me?” asked Marina warily.

“Bai, noski!” answered Kepa, the excitement clear in his voice. “Tell us what we need to do.”

“Eskerrik asko!” replied Marina, a smile dancing on her lips. “I hoped I could count on you two. And, to be honest, I don’t know what I’d do if you’d said no.”

Buber’s Basque Story is a weekly serial. While it is a work of fiction, it has elements from both my own experiences and stories I’ve heard from various people. The characters, while in some cases inspired by real people, aren’t directly modeled on anyone in particular. I expect there will be inconsistencies and factual errors. I don’t know where it is going, and I’ll probably forget where it’s been. Why am I doing this? To give me an excuse and a deadline for some creative writing and because I thought people might enjoy it. Gozatu!

“Come back and ask again?” said Maite. “How do we know you haven’t asked us a hundred times already, if we would just forget if you were here before?”

“Yeah, like that movie, Groundhog Day!” exclaimed Kepa. “Maybe you’ve been here trying to get us to say yes, asking us in a million different ways until you got it just right and we said yes.”

“I think getting you out of that baserri and away from that television alone will be worth it,” muttered Maite.

“I guess you wouldn’t know,” answered Marina with a shrug. “All you can do is trust me.” As if to emphasize the point, she held out the two zatiak that were still floating above the palm of each hand. 

Kepa looked at Maite, the excitement beaming from his eyes, as he reached out for the zatiak in Marina’s left hand. Maite reached out to grab his hand. “Elkarrekin,” she said. “Together.”

Kepa nodded as he held Maite’s hand. “Elkarrekin.” 

Together, they reached out with their free hand and each grabbed one of the zatiak in unison. They both suddenly went rigid as light poured from the zatiak into their hands and down their arms, coursing along their blood vessels as it weaved around their bones, through their muscles, and throughout their bodies. They both glowed as the light infused each of them. They each let out a silent scream, the light bursting forth from their eyes, their ears, and their open mouths. Marina looked away, shielding her eyes, as they became literal bodies of light, brighter than the afternoon sun that hung above them. Maite watched as Kepa mouthed “Ederra. Beautiful.” The intensity of the light grew exponentially until, with a flash, it was gone. Maite and Kepa stood there, looking like they had before, but with a strange new twinkle in their eyes. Both of their faces were flush with wonder and excitement.

“That was amazing,” Kepa said in a whisper. “I think I saw where and when all of the zatiak are, but only briefly.”

“I saw it too,” said Maite, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t really believe…” she began as her voice trailed off.

Maite looked at her free hand, the one that had picked up the zatiak. It was empty. “Non?” she asked. “Where?”

“It is inside of you now, part of you,” replied Marina. “Its power is your power. And, what better way of hiding it from de Lancre, than to hide it within yourselves.”

Maite just shook her head. “It’s all so incredible…”

Marina smiled. “I know it is a lot, and I appreciate the trust you placed in me. There is still a lot to learn, but for the moment, it is time to rest. Head back down to the town. I think you both could use a bit of txikiteo. I suspect Ainhoa and your other friends will be waiting for you.” Marina winked at them.

Fighting Basques: A Love Story. The Ybarrola Family in the United States

This article originally appeared in Spanish at El Diario. You can find all of the English versions of the Fighting Basques series here.

A young Maria “Mary” Kivimägi/Kewe poses smiling in one of the few images of her that remains. (All photos are courtesy of the Ybarrola family).

“Echoes of two wars, 1936-1945” aims to disseminate the stories of those Basques and Navarrese who participated in two of the warfare events that defined the future of much of the 20th century. With this blog, the intention of the Sancho de Beurko Association is to rescue from anonymity the thousands of people who constitute the backbone of the historical memory of the Basque and Navarre communities, on both sides of the Pyrenees, and their diasporas of emigrants and descendants, with a primary emphasis on the United States, during the period from 1936 to 1945.

THE AUTHORS
Guillermo Tabernilla
is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association, a non-profit organization that studies the history of the Basques and Navarrese from both sides of the Pyrenees in the Spanish Civil War and in World War II. He is currently their secretary and community manager. He is also editor of the digital magazine Saibigain. Between 2008 and 2016 he directed the catalog of the “Iron Belt” for the Heritage Directorate of the Basque Government and is, together with Pedro J. Oiarzabal, principal investigator of the Fighting Basques Project, a memory project on the Basques and Navarrese in the Second World War in collaboration with the federation of Basque Organizations of North America.

Pedro J. Oiarzabal is a Doctor in Political Science-Basque Studies, granted by the University of Nevada, Reno (USA). For two decades, his work has focused on research and consulting on public policies (citizenship abroad and return), diasporas and new technologies, and social and historical memory (oral history, migration and exile), with special emphasis on the Basque case. He is the author of more than twenty publications. He has authored the blog “Basque Identity 2.0” by EITB and “Diaspora Bizia” by EuskalKultura.eus. On Twitter @Oiarzabal.

Josu M. Aguirregabiria is a researcher and founder of the Sancho de Beurko Association and is currently its president. A specialist in the Civil War in Álava, he is the author of several publications related to this topic, among which “La batalla de Villarreal de Álava” (2015) y “Seis días de guerra en el frente de Álava. Comienza la ofensiva de Mola” (2018) stand out.

From the small Baltic province of present-day Estonia, located in northern Europe, the Kivimägi/Kewe family came to Tarhan — in the western part of the Crimean Peninsula bathed by the Black Sea. They were searching in these confines of the Russian Empire for a new beginning. Maria Kivimägi was born there in 1894. Within a few months, she, her parents, and five siblings (two boys and three girls) headed to North America. For a time they lived in South Dakota, United States, where three other sisters were born. Beginning in at least 1905, the family resided in the Province of Alberta, western Canada. At 17, Maria and her family crossed the border from Coutss, Alberta to Sweet Grass in Montana. Maria would make Montana her last home.

In 1897, the SS Rotterdam arrived at the port of New York from the French town of Boulogne-Sur-Mer. On board was the young Navarrese Juan Martin Ibarrola, born in 1876 in the town of Zilbeti in the Pyrenean Valley of Erro. His destination was Montana. It was upon entrance to the US where the spelling of his surname changed to Ybarrola. After a decade of hard work, Martin, together with his nephew Prudencio Agorreta Ibarrola who arrived in the country around 1910, established a sheep ranch. At least three other nephews, including Prudencio’s brother Benito, worked on the ranch for some time.

It was at Martin’s ranch — which converted each year into a sheep-shearing center open to his neighbors — that Maria met him. The ranch was located outside of Havre, near Chester, in Hill County, in north central Montana. With an area of nearly 3,000 square miles, Hill County in 1920 had a population of about 14,000 people. Other Basque families such as the Etchart-Urquilux also made Montana their new home. In 1918, Maria and Martin got married in Havre. Maria was 24 years old and Martin 42. They had 6 children: John Donald (1917), Catherine Josephine (Sister Ann Dolores) (1919-2015), James Martin (January 26, 1921), Ann Elizabeth (1922-1962), Rosemary ( 1924-2017) and Joseph (1926). They grew up on the Havre ranch, until the sudden death of their mother in 1928 from the flu changed their lives dramatically.

Family portrait of the Ybarrola-Kivimägi family made after Maria’s death. From left to right: Ann, Catherine, Martin, Joseph (sitting on his father’s lap), John (in the background), Rosemary and James.

Despite Martin’s efforts to keep the family together, he eventually had to take the children to the Santo Tomás Orphan Home in the town of Great Falls, Montana where they received housing and education. The orphanage had been founded by the Sisters of Providence in 1908. Later, Martin decided to move into the orphanage itself to be close to his children, giving the ranch to Prudencio. He took care of the Sisters’ animals to cover the cost of keeping his children, although they only had limited contact as they were in separate dwellings. After graduating from the orphanage in 1936, Catherine, the older sister, entered the Sisters of Providence in 1937 as a novice in Seattle, Washington. She made her final vows in 1941. She was renamed Sister Ann Dolores.

Five of the six siblings pose during a military leave for soldiers John and James in Stockton during WWII. Standing from left to right: John, Joseph and James. Below: Rosemary and Ann.

Like many children of Basque-American families, three of the Ybarrola brothers also served in the US military. The oldest, Don Ybarrola, enlisted six months before the attack on Pearl Harbor, and spent four years in the military, graduating with the rank of sergeant. He passed away in San Leandro, California, in 1980, at the age of 63. Joe Ybarrola, the youngest of the family, enlisted in the Air Force in the fall of 1944, passing away at age 70 in Stockton, California.

Official photo of Platoon 3, Company A, of the 46th United States Naval Construction Battalion in which Jim (indicated by the arrow) served for two long years. (US Navy Seabee Museum).

At the age of 22, Jim Ybarrola enlisted in the Navy in Seattle in 1943. He served in the 46th Naval Construction Battalion, known as the “seabees” (a nickname inspired by pronouncing the acronym CB, Construction Battalions). These battalions were created beginning in March 1942 and served on multiple fronts throughout the theaters of operations in the Atlantic — including D-Day in Normandy — and in the Pacific, with a presence on more than 300 islands. Their job was to build all kinds of infrastructure, including airfields, docks, ammunition bunkers, supply depots, hospitals, fuel tanks, and barracks. Jim developed his military career in the South Pacific. The 46th took part in the D + 2 Day (March 1, 1944) of the assault on Los Negros Island, of the Admiralty, occupied by Japan since April 7, 1942. The allied victory meant the definitive isolation of the largest Japanese base, located in the city of Rabaul, in New Guinea, clearing one more obstacle on the unstoppable road to Japan.

Jim leaning against a B-24 Liberator bomber while on one of the Pacific islands.

According to Jim’s son, the anthropologist Steven Ybarrola, “the war was one of the things my father talked about a lot. It had a huge impact on his life. It wasn’t traumatic for him, from what I could see, but rather a time of camaraderie. He rarely spoke of the traumas of the war, unless he spoke of having contracted malaria and its recurrence throughout his life after the war. This may be due to the fact that he was not in ‘active’ combat, but rather on a construction team. ” After the war, the entire family, with the exception of Sister Ann Dolores, managed to reunite in the city of Stockton, the last military destination to which Don was sent. The father of the family, Martin, passed away at the age of 75 in this Californian town. He never returned to Zilbeti. An implicit theme in the immigration stories of Maria and Martin — and the consequent separation from their own families (in Martin’s case since he was 21 years old) — is the great importance they conferred on the family, whether it was the sacrifice Martin made to keep his children together or the tenacity to keep the family together after WWII, values that they were able to instill in their children and their children in theirs.

Portrait of James “Jim” Ybarrola. “He was with us for 98 years, but it still wasn’t enough!”

Jim passed away on November 3, 2019, in Stockton, at the age of 98. “My father had a sharp wit and a great sense of humor. He was with us for 98 years, but it still wasn’t enough!” laments his son Steven. With his departure, and that of many of his comrades in arms, an important part of the living memory of the United States and the Basque Country is lost. They put aside their families, their jobs and studies. Ultimately, they postponed their lives for an eventual allied victory that would make it possible for them to soon return to their homes and to their loved ones. An estimated 250,000 WWII veterans are still alive today. May this article, on the 75th Anniversary of the Victory in Europe, serve as a small tribute from the Sancho de Beurko Association and the research project “Fighting Basques: Basque Memory of WWII” to the hundreds of Basques and Americans of Basque origin who sacrificed their lives, and in some cases to the ultimate consequence, in favor of freedom.