A Navajo scientist couldn't translate his work to family. So he created a project to bridge the gap.

MILWAUKEE — To his peers in Shiprock, New Mexico, he was known as “the detective.”

As a kid, he was always asking questions, wondering how things worked and why.

“That’s probably where (my love of science) started. Just questioning everything,” said Sterling Martin, a recent biophysics graduate from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. 

Growing up in the Navajo tradition, Martin received limited answers to his questions, citing how his elders often told him: “That’s just the way it's always been.” 

Unsatisfied, Martin sought to find his own answers, and ultimately became a scientist.

As his expertise became more niche, Martin felt a growing distance between his science and his culture: The more he learned, the less he could communicate with his family back home.

There were no Navajo words to accurately describe the science he was doing. 

He began to ask himself, “How can I use my experience and skills I’ve learned to give back to Navajo Nation?” 

That's when Martin and his colleagues — Joanna Bundus, a biology post-doctoral fellow at UW-Madison, and Susana Wadgymar, an assistant professor of biology at Davidson College in North Carolina — founded Project ENABLE (Enriching Navajo As a Biology Language for Education), an online dictionary of biology terms translated from English to Diné Bizaad, a Navajo language.

Developed by a team of research scientists, linguists, Diné speakers, Diné elders and artists, Project ENABLE is providing culturally relevant scientific information to the Navajo communities in an accessible format.

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It is one of several translation projects in the United States that aims to expand knowledge while protecting communities from further language loss. 

Instead of viewing language loss as inevitable, revitalization efforts recognize that language is key to providing Indigenous communities with autonomy.

This starts with understanding language and culture as inseparable.

Language and culture intertwined

The extinction of Indigenous languages is rooted in 19th- and 20th-century boarding schools across the U.S. and Canada. 

Forced assimilation into an English-speaking culture resulted in chronic language loss throughout Indigenous communities, with many first language speakers reluctantly leaving their language and culture behind. 

When language and culture are restricted, the community suffers: Lost connections to history, tradition and cultural identity can affect mental health. Suicide rates increase when more than half the members of a community lose their language.

How can a community revitalize a language, when the number of fluent speakers is declining?

Winonah Ojanen, a second and third-grade Ojibwe immersion school teacher in Duluth, Minnesota, explained that translation projects — which include the creation of new words — are essential for preserving language and culture.

"The reason why our culture can survive and thrive today ... is because of adaptation. Our culture shows up in our language when (we create) these words," Ojanen said.

For example, Ojanen described how the words for solids, liquids and gasses were created from an Ojibwe spring tradition: sugarbush harvesting.

The sap that comes from the trees is liquid (nibiiwaagamin), then when it's boiled, a gas (zhaagawi-nesewin) is released. After boiling, it changes into a thick syrup, and it takes the form of a solid (mishkawaa). 

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In her lessons, Ojanen shows that science can be viewed through a cultural lens in a way that is different from how these concepts are typically approached in English. 

Take the word “chromosome."

In Latin, the root literally translates to "dark blob." Without knowing the definition, an English speaker gains no meaning from the word alone.

The Diné translation — iiná bitł'óól bit'oh — however, is fundamentally informative, providing a basic understanding of how DNA is contained in cells: To a Diné speaker, chromosome means "nests of DNA." 

Simply knowing the Diné word, speakers "automatically get a defining visual of what (the word) means,” Wadgymar said. “Almost all the words can be translated literally into something very visual, relevant and tactile ... in a way that we don't experience regularly as English speakers.”

From this perspective, the adapted terminology expands the language in a way that is accurate, descriptive and meaningful to the community using it. 

Working with the Diné community

Each of the 250 dictionary terms were hand-picked by Martin, Bundus and Wadgymar.

To help the team select the most useful words, Martin recruited help from friends and teachers on the reservation. Together, they developed a manageable and informative list of high-concept terms appropriate for a middle-school grade level. 

Martin said the real "proof of concept" for their translations came from his family. His mother, Delphine McThomas; father, Leo Martin; and grandmother, Doris McThomas; worked closely with the ENABLE team in translating each term for accuracy and clarity.

“They really could see the potential from this … as a way of better interacting with the global community and understanding the world around us a little bit more, while also maintaining our language,” Martin said.

Improving health conversations

Since the ENABLE dictionary was published online in 2021, Martin has seen the direct impact it has had on his Navajo community and how it can serve as a model for future translation projects.

Delphine McThomas works at the local hospital on the reservation in New Mexico, and Martin described how the terms she’s used from the dictionary have improved communication between hospital workers and patients.

Indigenous communities are often left out of major public health conversations; public health officials and doctors may not have the right culturally focused translations necessary to provide health and safety guidelines.

This has been an ongoing problem, and it became a major issue during COVID-19.

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Once activists and knowledgeable doctors began communicating with first language speakers in their languages, Indigenous communities adopted the measures needed to manage and reduce the spread.

“(Indigenous communities) are willing to adhere to scientific advice and protocols, as long as they’re communicated and explained in a way that’s accessible and relevant,” Wadgymar said. "(This is) a group of people that want to do what’s best for their whole community."

Beyond that, when speakers have the right words and concepts to understand medical issues, they’ve regained the autonomy and authority to make informed decisions about their health care. 

'You, too, can do this'

When he first went home to communicate his science with his family using these terms, Martin said it was an "emotional experience."

“It was just such a beautiful moment,” he said. “After all these years, I can tell you in our language what I’m doing (as a scientist).” 

But for Martin's family, it was more than simply understanding his research. 

“I just remember my mom and uncle saying, ‘If we learned science like this growing up, I would have been a scientist.’”

That was particularly enlightening for Martin — realizing through his work that the disconnect of Indigenous people from science could be bridged by breaking down the language barrier.

Many students on the reservations receive formal education from white, English-speaking teachers but then return home to Diné speakers, creating a gap in communication. 

The project has had a direct effect on the community, he said: “These kids can go to school and come back and (show their family), ‘This is what I learned.'” 

While this may seem like a small victory — localized to single households — it’s just one component of a larger goal.

Long term, the ENABLE team plans to develop educational materials that teachers can use to engage Navajo students. Formalized curriculum initiatives — providing teachers with resources about Indigenous languages — are essential for retaining language and culture and helping students reimagine what’s possible. 

As Ojanen said about her own students: "They can carry (their culture) with them and use that knowledge ... in whatever they want to study."

She directly challenges the notion of a "typical scientist" by teaching her students that science is simply recognizing and recovering patterns in the natural world.

In fact, "Indigenous people were always scientists," she said.

STEM fields historically funnel out underrepresented groups and often ignore the Indigenous perspective, Ojanen and Bundus said. 

Because of this, Martin is motivated to serve as an example for future scientists, showing students on the reservation: “You, too, can do this.” 

When it comes to his culture and his science: “I don't see them as two separate things anymore,” he said.