Articles and Stories

June 3, 2025

Aroldo sat quietly by the fire in San Juan Atitán, Guatemala, mourning the recent loss of his father. Over a simple dinner, he turned to his mother and spoke in Mam, their native Mayan language: he was ready to leave. He wanted to journey north to the United States, in search of new beginnings. A year later, with family waiting for him in California, Aroldo began the long trek that would carry him through mountains, deserts, and borders.

He didn’t carry much, but what he did bring was powerful: his language. Mam, rooted in the ancient Mayan civilizations of Central America, now travels with migrants like Aroldo—finding new homes in places like the San Francisco Bay Area. In fact, Mayan languages such as Mam and K’iche’ have become so prevalent that they now appear among the top languages in U.S. immigration courts.

Speaking Beyond Spanish

Immigrants from Mexico and Central America are often labeled “Hispanic,” yet many of them, like Aroldo, don’t speak Spanish as their first language—if they speak it at all. Their mother tongues are Indigenous, steeped in centuries of cultural identity. Scholars like Tessa Scott, a Mam linguist at UC Berkeley, warn that lumping all Latin American migrants under one label leads to serious oversights in legal, medical, and translation services.

A new California law aims to address this by collecting more detailed data on language preferences—including Indigenous ones. As Indigenous migrants continue arriving, services that once assumed Spanish would suffice are now grappling with the nuances of these ancient languages.

Ancient Roots, Modern Voices

Mayan languages are far from relics. Once spoken by city-states across the Yucatán Peninsula, their influence lives on—not just through loanwords like cacao and cigar, but in the living communities of Mam, K’iche’, and Q’eqchi’ speakers in the U.S.

They’ve even inspired a cultural revival. Mayan scholars and artists are reclaiming Classic Maya hieroglyphs, hosting workshops, and printing traditional glyphs on T-shirts and mugs. In California, children like Aroldo’s nephew now speak English at school, but Mam at home—a living link to a heritage thousands of years old.

For communities like San Juan Atitán, migration has reshaped the economy and redefined identity. But what remains constant is the language—a quiet thread that ties generations together, whether in the Guatemalan highlands or the heart of Oakland.