(BLOG #1.5 by Jeremy Eckert, UIC-Barcelona student – this is a bonus blog post inspired by BLOG #1)

When people talk about changing English norms, a common concern is whether it is fair for certain groups of speakers to set the standards for the language. Braj Kachru addressed this issue through his well-known model of Inner Circle, Outer Circle, and Expanding Circle Englishes, arguing that Inner Circle countries have traditionally acted as norm-setters. Some scholars think its unjust for the “Inner Circle” countries to still be setting English norms today. Now, of course, I am not denying the initial injustice of colonization, nor the violence and coercion through which English spread in many parts of the world. However, when the question shifts from historical responsibility to the practical matter of how language norms came to exist and why they persist, it is hard to see how anywhere except the ‘Inner Circle’ would set English norms. Areas with the largest historical populations of English speakers and writers naturally gained influence by producing dictionaries and literary works that were widely read and passed down over time.

Sure, the outer/expanding circles have their own native English speakers now. But language norms are shaped not only by the number of people speaking English today, but also by generations of speakers who passed away, and whose language use left a mark. Their writing and speech helped establish patterns (as well as songs, literature, films) that continue to influence English to this day. As G. K. Chesterton once put it, tradition can be seen as a kind of “democracy of the dead,” and I think the same can be applied to talking about language traditions, where past speakers still indirectly have a voice in how the language looks and sounds today. (To be clear, I’m saying this as an explanation for why Inner-Circle countries still set norms today, but I’m not saying that this is how it will – or  how it should – be in the future, as English becomes less and less tied to the Inner-Circle.)

Similar to the backlash against Inner-Circle’s monopoly on norm setting, there is some academic backlash against the term “native speaker” itself. I believe that even though the term “native speaker“ is often criticized for being hard to define clearly, it remains a useful way to talk about language ability. Using the term does not mean claiming that native speakers are morally superior. It simply recognizes that some speakers develop a strong intuitive feel for the language after acquiring it in childhood and having lifelong exposure to its everyday use. Do I feel inferior by having to admit that I’m not a native speaker of French? No, it’s simply a fact.

I’ve also noticed that even people who criticize the concept of the “native speaker” as unscientific often continue to use the term in their own speech. They may rightly question its role in teaching, but they still rely on it as a reference point. The term is simply unavoidable, not because of ideology, but because there is no clear replacement that captures the same mix of experience and historical connection to a language.

Acknowledging this does not mean that native-speaker norms must always be the main goal in language teaching. Teachers can still question which models are most useful for learners in different contexts. But keeping the term helps us talk about language proficiency.

At the same time, reflecting on the concept of the native speaker has required me to confront my own position and the privileges attached to it. Having taught in the Middle East and East Asia, I have seen firsthand the effort students must make simply to access subject knowledge through English. For many learners, English is not just the medium of instruction but an additional cognitive barrier layered on top of already demanding academic materials. Watching students strain their brains just to follow explanations has made me acutely aware of how different this experience is from my own.

I have been fortunate to study all of my subject areas in my native language, allowing me to focus fully on content without the added difficulty of decoding a foreign language. It’s easy for native speakers to overlook this, especially if you’ve never been required to learn complex material through a second language. The way language fades into the background for native speakers while studying a subject matter is a powerful advantage.

This privilege extends beyond the classroom. I am also aware that my position as a native speaker has opened up professional opportunities that would have been far more difficult to get otherwise. For example, opening an English school in my current host country would almost certainly have been more challenging had I not been recognized as a native speaker. In fact, my privilege exists on two levels: native-speaker privilege on top of passport privilege. There are many fluent and highly competent native speakers of English whose language ability is denied because of their nationality, despite having the same proficiency as other native speakers. Recognizing this has made clear that “native speaker” status is not only about language, but also about global power structures that decides whose English is legitimate.

Discussions about decolonizing English teaching also raise questions about the links between language and power. While it is unrealistic to separate language completely from culture, we may need to do so for English because it inhabits a special position compared to other languages taught around the world. The aim of TEFL is world communication, not cultural transfer. While reflecting during my MA course, I had to own up to this fact. As my professor talked about “decolonizing TEFL” and “native speakerism”, I couldn’t help but initially balk at the idea. “I wonder if teachers of other languages share this anxiety that teaching their language might be linked to cultural domination or colonization. Most likely not!…” I thought to myself. But the fact is, only teachers of English have to worry about this right now, because nothing else even comes close to having the world status of English. I personally know many teachers of Mandarin, including some working in organizations such as the Confucius Institute which has been spreading to countries around the world, and all of them say they never worry that teaching their language is a form of cultural domination. Instead, sharing language and culture is seen as something positive, worth celebrating.

English, however, carries a heavier historical burden. In some cases, such as the forced removal of Aboriginal children in Australia and their compulsory education in English (to name just one of many grim stains on the name of English teaching in history), the language was used not simply for communication, but as a tool to suppress and replace local cultures. Because of this history, decolonizing English teaching is less about rejecting English literature or its past, and more about being aware of the responsibility that comes with the language’s global power.

If English now functions as a universal means of communication, it needs to loosen its ties to cultural superiority in ways that other languages do not. This does not mean stripping English of culture entirely, but it does mean teaching it with greater sensitivity to whose cultures are centered and whose are ignored.

Sources

Kachru, B. B. (1985). Standards, codification and sociolinguistic realism: The English language in the outer circle. In R. Quirk & H. G. Widdowson (Eds.), English in the world: Teaching and learning the language and literatures (pp. 11–30). Cambridge University Press.

Kachru’s circle model. (n.d.). StudyLib. https://studylib.net/doc/27634818/kachrus-circle-model

Australian Human Rights Commission. (n.d.). Historical context: The stolen generations. https://humanrights.gov.au/bringing-them-home/significance/historical-context-the-stolen-generations.html